Fear to the bashful swain, let the wished beam
Of Katie’s smile should prove an empty dream;
Dread to the merchant, lest the wild, weird glance
Should tell of loss, of shipwreck and mischance;
And even the parson grave forebore to frown
As her dark eye flashed o’er his passing form.
For why? His memory this precaution lends
‘Of the unrighteous Mammon to make friends.’
Yet oft the village gossip told a deed
Of kindly pity to the poor man’s need;