The Adopted Daughter.
But now, as from a dream, his Reason sprung,
And heartiest greetings dwelt upon his tongue;
The sounding Kitchen floor at once receiv'd
The happy group, with all their fears reliev'd:
'Soldier,' he cried, 'you've found your Girl; 'tis true:
But suffer me to be a Father too;
For, never Child that blest a Parent's knee,
Could show more duty than she has to met
Strangely she came; Affliction chas'd her hard:
I pitied her;—and this is my reward!
Here sit you down; recount your perils o'er:
Henceforth be this your home; and grieve no more:
Plenty hath shower'd her dewdrops on my head;
Care visits not my Table, nor my Bed.
My heart's warm wishes thus then I fulfill:—
My Dame and I can live without the Mill:
George, take the whole; I'll near you still remain
To guide your judgment in the choice of Grain:
Perfect Content: hopes and prospects of Goodness.
In Virtue's path commence your prosperous life;
And from my hand receive your worthy Wife.
Rise, Phoebe; rise, my Girl!—kneel not to me;
But to THAT POW'R who interpos'd for thee.
Integrity hath mark'd your favourite Youth;
Fair budding Honour, Constancy, and Truth:
Go to his arms;—and may unsullied joys
Bring smiling round me, rosy Girls and Boys!
I'll love them for thy sake. And may your days
Glide on, as glides the Stream that never stays;
Bright as whose shingled bed, till life's decline,
May all your Worth, and all your Virtues shine!'
[Illustration]
THE WIDOW TO HER HOUR-GLASS.
Come, friend, I'll turn thee up again:
Companion of the lonely hour!
Spring thirty times hath fed with rain
And cloath'd with leaves my humble bower,
Since thou hast stood
In frame of wood,
On Chest or Window by my side:
At every Birth still thou wert near,
Still spoke thine admonitions clear.—
And, when my Husband died,
I've often watch'd thy streaming sand
And seen the growing Mountain rise,
And often found Life's hopes to stand
On props as weak in Wisdom's eyes:
Its conic crown
Still sliding down,
Again heap'd up, then down again;
The sand above more hollow grew,
Like days and years still filt'ring through,
And mingling joy and pain.
While thus I spin and sometimes sing,
(For now and then my heart will glow)
Thou measur'st Time's expanding wing
By thee the noontide hour I know:
Though silent thou,
Still shalt thou flow,
And jog along thy destin'd way:
But when I glean the sultry fields,
When Earth her yellow Harvest yields,
Thou get'st a Holiday.
Steady as Truth, on either end
Thy daily task performing well,
Thou'rt Meditation's constant friend,
And strik'st the Heart without a Bell:
Come, lovely May!
Thy lengthen'd day
Shall gild once more thy native plain;
Curl inward here, sweet Woodbine flow'r;—
'Companion of the lonely hour,
'I'll turn thee up again.