Five years she pass'd in this delightful home;
Five happy years: but, when the sixth was come,
The New Comer.
The Miller from a Market Town hard by,
Brought home a sturdy Youth his strength to try,
To raise the sluice-gates early every morn,
To heave his powder'd sacks and grind his corn:
And meeting Phoebe, whom he lov'd so dear,
'I've brought you home a Husband, Girl?—D'ye hear?
He begg'd for work; his money seem'd but scant:
Those that will work 'tis pity they should want.
So use him well, and we shall shortly see
Whether he merits what I've done, like thee.'
Now throbb'd her heart,—a new sensation
Whene'er the comely Stranger was in right:
For he at once assiduously strove.
To please so sweet a Maid, and win her love.
At every corner stopp'd her in her way;
And saw fresh beauties opening ev'ry day;
He took delight in tracing in her face
The mantling blush, and every nameless grace,
[Footnote: A Maxim which all ought to remember. C.L.]
First Impressions.
That Sensibility would bring to view,
When Love he mention'd;—-Love, and Honour true,
But Phoebe still was shy; and wish'd to know
More of the honest Youth, whose manly brow
She verily believ'd was Truth's own throne,
And all his words as artless as her own;
Most true she judg'd; yet, long the Youth forbore
Divulging where, and how, he liv'd before;
And seem'd to strive his History to hide,
Till fair Esteem enlisted on his side.
The Miller saw, and mention'd, in his prajse,
The prompt fidelity of all his ways;
Till in a vacant hour, the Dinner done,
One day he jokjng cried, 'Come here, my Son!
'Tis pity that so good a Lad as you
Beneath my roof should bring disorders new!
But here's my Phoebe,—once so light and airy,
She'd trip along the passage like a Fairy,—
Enquiry. Ingenuous Explanation.
Has lost her swiftness quite, since here you came:—
And yet;… I can't perceive the Girl is lame!
The obstacles she meets with still fall thicker:
Old as I am I'd turn a corner quicker.'—
The Youth blush'd deep; and Phoebe hung her head:
The good Man smil'd, and thus again he said:
'Not that I deem it matter of surprise,
That you should love to gaze at Phoebe's eyes;
But be explicit, Boy; and deal with honour:
I feel my happiness depend upon her.
When here you came you'd sorrow on your brow;
And I've forborne to question you till now.
First, then, say what thou art.' He instant bow'd,
And thus, in Phoebe's hearing, spoke aloud: