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stubborn, but she shall be tried,
is of wilfulness and pride."

or fraught, but willing to persuade,
il father met the smiling maid :
d he, "I long, and yet I dread
y conduct; hath Josiah fled?
d and fretted by thy scornful air,
peace betaken him to prayer?

1 his pure and modest mind distress,
arks upon his speech, address,
voice?"-"All this I must confess."—
child! what labour will it cost

back!"—"I do not think him lost."
then, trifler! insult and disdain ?"-
rom these he courts me to refrain."
me, Sybil; should Josiah leave
s house?"-" My father's child would
e."-

grace, and if he come again love?"-"I might from grief refrain."— thou, daughter, our design embrace?"st it, if it be of grace?"

Fill'd with huge balls, of farinaceous food;
With bacon, mass saline, where never lean
Beneath the brown and bristly rind was seen;
When from a single horn the party drew
Their copious draughts of heavy ale and new;
When the course cloth she saw, with many a stain
Soil'd by rude hinds who cut and came again,
She could not breathe; but, with a heavy sigh,
Rein'd the fair neck, and shut th' offended eye;
She minced the sanguine flesh in frustums fine,
And wonder'd much to see the creatures dine:
When she resolved her father's heart to move,
If hearts of farmers were alive to love.

She now entreated by herself to sit
In the small parlour, if papa thought fit,
And there to dine, to read, to work alone.

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No!" said the farmer, in an angry tone;

These are your school-taught airs; your mother's
pride

Would send you there; but I am now your guide.
Arise betimes, our early meal prepare,
And this despatch'd, let business be your care;

d in three plain words thy mind ex- Look to the lasses, let there not be one

Who lacks attention, till her tasks be done;

have this good youth?"-" Dear father! In every household work your portion take,

TALE VII.

THE WIDOW'S TALE.

e! for aught that I could ever read, er hear by tale or history,

ourse of true love never did run smooth: ther it was different in blood,

e misgrafted in respect of years,

e it stood upon the choice of friends;
here were a sympathy in choice,
death, or sickness did lay siege to it.
Midsummer Night's Dream, act i. sc. 1.

u didst then ne'er love so heartily,
rememberest not the slightest folly
ver love did make thee run into.

As You Like It, act ii. sc. 4. Le man mercy; love him, take his offer. Ibid. act iii. sc. 5.

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And what you make not, see that others make:
At leisure times attend the wheel, and see
The whitening web he sprinkled on the Lea ;
When thus employ'd, should our young neighbour

view

A useful lass, you may have more to do."

Dreadful were these commands; but worse than these

The parting hint, a farmer could not please :

'Tis true she had without abhorrence seen
Young Harry Carr, when he was smart and clean;
But to be married, be a farmer's wife,

A slave a drudge! she could not, for her life.
With swimming eyes the fretful nymph with
drew,

And, deeply sighing, to her chamber flew ;
There on her knees, to Heaven she grieving pray'd
For change of prospect to a tortured maid

44

Harry, a youth whose late departed sire
Had left him all industrious men require,
Saw the pale beauty; and her shape and air
Engaged him much, and yet he must forbear:
For my small farm what can the damsel do?"
He said then stopp'd to take another view:
"Pity so sweet a lass will nothing learn
Of household cares; for what can beauty earn
By those small arts which they at school attain,
That keep them useless, and yet make them vain?"
This luckless damsel look'd the village round,
To find a friend, and one was quickly found;
A pensive widow, whose mild air and dress
Pleased the sad nymph, who wish'd her soul's dis

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She happier days has known, but seems at ease,
And you may call her lady, if you please:
But if you wish, good sister, to improve,
You shall see twenty better worth your love."
These Nancy met; but, spite of all they taught,
This useless widow was the one she sought:
The father growl'd; but said he knew no harm
In such connexion that could give alarm:
"And if we thwart the trifler in her course,
Tis odds against us she will take a worse."

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Then met the friends; the widow heard the sigh Duties in every state demand your care,
That ask'd at once compassion and reply.
"Would you, my child, converse with one so poor,
Yours were the kindness-yonder is my door;
And, save the time that we in public pray,
From that poor cottage I but rarely stray."
There went the nymph, and made her strong
complaints,

And light are those that will require it there:
Fix on the youth a favouring eye, and these,
To him pertaining, or as his, will please."

Painting her wo as injured feeling paints.

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"O, dearest friend! do think how one must feel,
Shock'd all day long, and sicken'd every meal!
Could you behold our kitchen, (and to you
A scene so shocking must indeed be new,)
A mind like yours, with true refinement graced,
Would let no vulgar scenes pollute your taste;
And yet, in truth, from such a polish'd mind
All base ideas must resistance find,
And sordid pictures from the fancy pass,
As the breath startles from the polish'd glass.
Here you enjoy a sweet romantic scene,
Without so pleasant, and within so clean;
These twining jess'mines, what delicious gloom
And soothing fragrance yield they to the room!
What lovely garden! there you oft retire,
And tales of wo and tenderness admire :
In that neat case, your books, in order placed,
Soothe the full soul, and charm the cultured taste;
And thus, while all about you wears a charm,
How must you scorn the farmer and the farm!"
The widow smiled, and "Know you not," said she,
"How much these farmers scorn or pity me;
Who see what you admire, and laugh at all they
see?

True, their opinion alters not my fate,
By falsely judging of an humble state:
This garden, you with such delight behold,
Tempts not a feeble dame who dreads the cold;
These plants, which please so well your livelier

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What words," the lass replied, "offend my ear! Try you my patience? Can you be sincere ? | And am I told a willing hand to give To a rude farmer, and with rustic live! Far other fate was yours: some gentle youth Admired your beauty, and avow'd his truth; The power of love prevail'd, and freely both Gave the fond heart, and pledged the binding oath; And then the rival's plot, the parent's power, And jealous fears, drew on the happy hour: Ah! let not memory lose the blissful view, But fairly show what love has done for you."

"Agreed, my daughter, what my heart has known Of love's strange power shall be with frankness shown:

But let me warn you, that experience finds
Few of the scenes that lively hope designs."

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'Mysterious all," said Nancy; "you, I know, Have suffer'd much; now deign the grief to show I am your friend, and so prepare my heart In all your sorrows to receive a part."

The widow answer'd, "I had once, like you,
Such thoughts of love; no dream is more untrue:
You judge it fated and decreed to dwell
In youthful hearts, which nothing can expel.
A passion doom'd to reign, and irresistible.
The struggling mind, when once subdued, in vain
Rejects the fury or defies the pain;

The strongest reason fails the flame t' allay.
And resolution droops and faints away:
Hence, when the destined lovers meet, they prove
At once the force of this all-powerful love:
Each from that period feels the mutual smart,
Nor seeks to cure it heart is changed for heart;
Nor is there peace till they delighted stand,
And, at the altar, hand is joined to hand.

"Alas! my child, there are who, dreaming so,
Waste their fresh youth, and waking feel the wo
There is no spirit sent the heart to move
With such prevailing and alarming love;
Passion to reason will submit; or why
Should wealthy maids the poorest swains deny?
Or how could classes and degrees create
The slightest bar to such resistless fate?
Yet high and low, you see, forbear to mix;
No beggars' eyes the heart of kings transfix;
And who but amorous peers or nobles sigh
When titled beauties pass triumphant by?
For reason wakes, proud wishes to reprove;
You cannot hope, and therefore dare not love:
All would be safe, did we at first inquire,

Does reason sanction what our hearts desire?' But quitting precept, let example show What joys from love uncheck'd by prudence flow

ch, and pored upon his books: vas when seen, and, when he saw ers, would in haste withdraw; youth departed with the year, cost us neither sigh nor tear. my father still the youth remain'd, ward and kinder notice gain'd: ding, to the garden stray'd, ooks or musing was delay'd; rse in summer evenings led, ⇒ evenings, or of what we read: sions we were much alone; look, the manner, and the tone, have meaning,) all that we discuss'd ch pleasure to a parent trust. 'twas friendship; and my friend and I ⇒ happy, and began to sigh: st, and then my father, found e wandering o'er enchanted ground; -oubles in his own affairs,

ot bear addition to his cares : ved, yet angry, Child,' said he, mbrace contempt and beggary? ure to see each other cursed every human wo the worst? ever with distress, in dread gging or of wanting bread; -ty, with unrelenting force,

n offspring from your love divorce: gh your folly, must be doom'd to pine, plore your passion, or resign; -, what good will then remain ? e, it doubles every pain.'

vere true," exclaim'd the lass," and fled
power who fill'd your soul with dread?"
id the smiling friend, "he fill'd my
h with bread :

at other place that bread to gain
sider'd, and we sought in vain :
y twentieth year at thirty-five
as fainter, yet our love alive;
ars in anxious doubt had pass'd."

Ed the damsel, "you were bless'd at last?"
ain adorn'd the widow's face,

starting tear usurp'd its place.

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Joys,

in the night,
Shone on our gloom with inauspicious light;
And then domestic sorrows, till the mind,
Worn with distresses, to despair inclined;
Add too the ill that from the passion flows,
When its contemptuous frown the world bestows,
The peevish spirit caused by long delay,
When being gloomy we contemn the gay,
When, being wretched, we incline to hate
And censure others in a happier state;
Yet loving still, and still compell'd to move
In the sad labyrinth of lingering love :
While you, exempt from want, despair, alarm,
May wed-O! take the farmer and the farm."
Nay," said the nymph, "joy smiled on you at
last?"

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"Smiled for a moment," she replied, " and pass'd :
My lover still the same dull means pursued,
Assistant call'd, but kept in servitude;
His spirits wearied in the prime of life,
By fears and wishes in eternal strife;
At length he urged impatient, Now consent;
With thee united, fortune may relent.'
I paused, consenting; but a friend arose,
Pleased a fair view, though distant, to disclose;
From the rough ocean we beheld a gleam
Of joy, as transient as the joys we dream;
By lying hopes deceived, my friend retired,
And sail'd-was wounded-reach'd us-and

expired!

You shall behold his grave, and when I die,
There-but 'tis folly-I request to lie.”

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Thus," said the lass," to joy you bade adieu.
But how a widow ?-that cannot be true:

Or was it force, in some unhappy hour,
That placed you, grieving, in a tyrant's power?"
"Force, my young friend, when forty years are
fled,

Is what a woman seldom has to dread;
She needs no brazen locks nor guarding walls,
And seldom comes a lover though she calls:
Yet moved by fancy, one approved my face,
Though time and tears had wrought it much dis-
grace.

"The man I married was sedate and meek,
And spoke of love as men in earnest speak:

ass'd the heavy years, and each had more Poor as I was, he ceaseless sought, for years,

-exations than the years before fail'd; his family was rent,

v states his grieving daughters sent;
ore thriving kindred found a way,
hout welcome-servants without pay;
g hour was grievous; still I feel
weet converse at our final meal;
then reveal'd his former fears,

mis sternness, and then join'd our tears;
strove our feelings to repress,
and left us heirs to his distress
as humble friends, my sisters chose,
wealthy widow sought repose;

a chilling frown her friend received
rejoice, and wonder'd that I grieved;
my anxious lover tried his skill
7 life, he was depende

A heart in sorrow and a face in tears;
That heart I gave not; and 'twas long before
I gave attention, and then nothing more;
But in my breast some grateful feeling rose
For one whose love so sad a subject chose;
Till long delaying, fearing to repent,
But grateful still, I gave a cold assent.

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Thus we were wed; no fault had I to find,
And he but one; my heart could not be kind:
Alas! of every early hope bereft,
There was no fondness in my bosom left;
So had I told him, but had told in vain,
He lived but to indulge me and complain :
His was this cottage, he enclosed this ground,
And planted all these blooming shrubs around;
to my room these curious trifles brought,

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1

Teach me,' he cried, that pensive mind to ease, For all my pleasure is the hope to please.'

"Serene, though heavy, were the days we spent, Yet kind each word, and generous each intent; But his dejection lessen'd every day, And to a placid kindness died away; In tranquil ease we pass'd our latter years, By griefs untroubled, unassail'd by fears.

Let not romantic views your bosom sway,
Yield to your duties, and their call obey :
Fly not a youth, frank, honest, and sincere ;
Observe his merits, and his passion hear!
'Tis true, no hero, but a farmer sues-
Slow in his speech, but worthy in his views;
With him you cannot that affliction prove
That rends the bosom of the poor in love:
Health, comfort, competence, and cheerful days,
Your friends' approval, and your father's praise,
Will crown the deed, and you escape their fate
Who plan so wildly, and are wise too late."
The damsel heard; at first th' advice was
strange,

Yet wrought a happy, nay, a speedy change:
I have no care," she said, when next they met,
But one may wonder he is silent yet:

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He looks around him with his usual stare,
And utters nothing-not that I shall care."
This pettish humour pleased th' experienced
friend-

None need despair whose silence can offend;

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Should I," resumed the thoughtful lass, "consent

To hear the man, the man may now repent: Think you my sighs shall call him from the plough, Or give one hint, that You may woo me now?" " "Persist, my love," replied the friend, "and gain

A parent's praise, that cannot be in vain."

The father saw the change, but not the cause, And gave the alter'd maid his fond applause: The coarser manners she in part removed, In part endured, improving and improved; She spoke of household works, she rose betimes, And said neglect and indolence were crimes; The various duties of their life she weigh'd, And strict attention to her dairy paid; The names of servants now familiar grew And fair Lucindas from her mind withdrew: As prudent travellers for their ease assume Their modes and language to whose lands they

come:

So to the farmer this fair lass inclined,
Gave to the business of the farm her mind;
To useful arts she turn'd her hand and eye;
And by her manners told him-" You may try."
Th' observing lover more attention paid,
With growing pleasure, to the alter'd maid;
He fear'd to lose her, and began to see
That a slim beauty might a helpmate be:
"Twixt hope and fear he now the lass address'd,
And in his Sunday robe his love express'd :
She felt no chilling dread, no thrilling joy,
Nor was too quickly kind, too slowly coy;
But still she lent an unreluctant ear
To all the rural business of the year;

Till love's strong hopes endured no more delay,
And Harry ask'd, and Nancy named the day.

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"A happy change! my boy," the father cried : How lost your sister all her school-day pride?"

The youth replied, "It is the widow's deed: The cure is perfect, and was wrought with speed."

And comes there, boy, this benefit of books, Of that smart dress, and of those dainty looks? We must be kind; some offerings from the farm To the white cot will speak our feelings warm; Will show that people, when they know the fact, Where they have judged severely, can retract. Oft have I smiled, when I beheld her pass With cautious step, as if she hurt the grass; Where if a snail's retreat she chanced to storm, She look'd as begging pardon of the worm; And what, said I, still laughing at the view, Have these weak creatures in the world to do? But some are made for action, some to speak; And, while she looks so pitiful and meek, Her words are weighty, though her nerves are weak."

Soon told the village bells the rite was done, That join'd the school-bred miss and farmer's son; Her former habits some slight scandal raised, But real worth was soon perceived and praised; She, her neat taste imparted to the farm, And he, th' improving skill and vigorous arm.

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THERE was a worthy, but a simple pair,
Who nursed a daughter fairest of the fair:
Sons they had lost, and she alone remain'd,
Heir to the kindness they had all obtain'd;
Heir to the fortune they design'd for all,
Nor had th' allotted portion then been small;
But now, by fate enrich'd with beauty rare,
They watch'd their treasure with peculiar care
The fairest features they could early trace,
And, blind with love, saw merit in her face-
Saw virtue, wisdom, dignity, and grace:
And Dorothea, from her infant years,
Gain'd all her wishes from their pride or fears:
She wrote a billet, and a novel read,
And with her fame her vanity was fed;
Each word, each look, each action was a cause
For flattering wonder, and for fond applause;
She rode or danced, and ever glanced around,
Seeking for praise, and smiling when she found

The yielding pair to her petitions gave
An humble friend to be a civil slave;
Who for a poor support herself resign'd,
To the base toil of a dependent mind:
By nature cold, our heiress stoop'd to art,
To gain the credit of a tender heart.

Hence at her door must suppliant paupers stand, To bless the bounty of her beauteous hand : And now her education all complete, She talk'd of virtuous love and union sweet; She was indeed by no soft passion moved, But wish'd, with all her soul, to be beloved. Here on the favour'd beauty fortune smiled; Her chosen husband was a man so mild, So humbly temper'd, so intent to please, It quite distress'd her to remain at ease, Without a cause to sigh, without pretence to tease: She tried his patience in a thousand modes, And tired it not upon the roughest roads. Pleasures she sought, and, disappointed, sigh'd For joys, she said, "to her alone denied ; And she was sure her parents, if alive, Would many comforts for their child contrive." The gentle husband bade her name him one; No-that," she answer'd, "should for her be done;

How could she say what pleasures were around? But she was certain many might be found.”— Would she some sea-port, Weymouth, Scarborough, grace?"—

"He knew she hated every watering place."The town?"—"What! now 'twas empty, joyless,

dull?"

-In winter?"—" No; she liked it worse when full."

She talk'd of building-" Would she plan a room?" "No! she could live, as he desired, in gloom.” "Call then our friends and neighbours."-" He might call,

And they might come and fill his ugly hall;

A noisy vulgar set, he knew she scorn'd them all.” Then might their two dear girls their time employ,

And their improvement yield a solid joy."—
Solid indeed! and heavy-O! the bliss
Of teaching letters to a lisping miss!"-
My dear, my gentle Dorothea, say,
Can I oblige you?"-" You may go away.'
Twelve heavy years this patient soul sustain'd
This wasp's attacks, and then her praise obtain'd,
Graved on a marble tomb, where he at peace
remain'd.

Two daughters wept their loss; the one a child
With a plain face, strong sense, and temper mild,
Who keenly felt the mother's angry taunt,
Thou art the image of thy pious aunt."
Long ume had Lucy wept her slighted face,
And then began to smile at her disgrace.
Her father's sister who the world had seen
Near sixty years when Lucy saw sixteen,
Begg'd the plain girl: the gracious mother smiled,
And freely gave her grieved but passive child;
ad with her elder born, the beauty bless'd,
As parent rested, if such minds can rest :
No miss her waxen babe could so admire,
Nurse with such care, or with such pride attire ;
They were companions meet, with equal mind,
Bless'd with one love, and to one point inclined;

Beauty to keep, adorn, increase, and guard,
Was their sole care, and had its full reward:
In rising splendour with the one it reign'd,
And in the other was by care sustain'd,
The daughter's charms increased, the parent's yet
remain'd.

Leave we these ladies to their daily care,
To see how meekness and discretion fare:-
A village maid, unvex'd by want or love,
Could not with more delight than Lucy move;
The village lark, high mounted in the spring,
Could not with purer joy than Lucy sing;
Her cares all light, her pleasures all sincere,
Her duty joy, and her companion dear;
In tender friendship and in true respect
Lived aunt and niece, no flattery, no neglect-
They read, walk'd, visited-together pray'd,
Together slept the matron and the maid :
There was such goodness, such pure nature seen
In Lucy's looks, a manner so serene ;
Such harmony in motion, speech, and air,
That without fairness she was more than fair:
Had more than beauty in each speaking grace
That lent their cloudless glory to the face;
Where mild good sense in placid, looks were
shown,

And felt in every bosom but her own.
The one presiding feature in her mind,
Was the pure meekness of a will resign'd;
A tender spirit, freed from all pretence
Of wit, and pleased in mild benevolence;
Bless'd in protecting fondness she reposed,
With every wish indulged though undisclosed;
But love, like zephyr on the limpid lake,
Was now the bosom of the maid to shake,
And in that gentle mind a gentle strife to make.

Among their chosen friends, a favour'd few,
The aunt and niece a youthful rector knew ;
Who, though a younger brother, might address
A younger sister, fearless of success :
His friends a lofty race, their native pride
At first display'd, and their assent denied ;
But, pleased such virtues and such love to trace,
They own'd she would adorn the loftiest race.
The aunt, a mother's caution to supply,
Had watch'd the youthful priest with jealous eye;
And, anxious for her charge, had view'd unseen
The cautious life that keeps the conscience clean:
In all she found him all she wish'd to find,
With slight exception of a lofty mind;
A certain manner that express'd desire
To be received as brother to the 'squire.
Lucy's meek eye had beam'd with many a tear,
Lucy's soft heart had beat with many a fear,
Before he told (although his looks, she thought,
Had oft confess'd) that he her favour sought:
But when he kneel'd, (she wish'd him not to kneel,)
And spoke the fears and hopes that lovers feel;
When too the prudent aunt herself confess'd,
Her wishes on the gentle youth would rest;
The maiden's eye with tender passion beam'd,
She dwelt with fondness on the life she schemed;
The household cares, the soft and lasting ties
Of love, with all his binding charities;
Their village taught, consoled, assisted, fed,
Till the young zealot tears of pleasure shed.

But would her mother? Ah! she fear'd it wrong To have indulged these forward hopes so long ;

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