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Has a gmall space for garden-ground assigned ;
Here — till return of morn, dismissed the farm -
The careful peasant plies the sinewy arm :
Warmed as he works, and casts his look around
On every foot of that improving ground;
It is his own he sees ; his master's eye
Peers not about, some secret fault to spy ;
Nor voice severe is there, nor censure known ;-
Hope, profit, pleasure, — they are all his own.

Here grow the humble cives, and hard by them,
The tall leek, tapering with his rushy stem ;
High climb his pulse in many an even row,
Deep strike the ponderous roots in soil below,
And herbs of potent smell and pungent taste

Give a warm relish to the night's repast. Apples and cherries grafted by his hand, And clustered nuts, for neighboring market stand.

Nor thus concludes his labor ; near the cot, The reed-fence rises round some favorite spot ; Where rich carnations, pinks with purple eyes, Proud hyacinths, the least some florist's prize, Tulips tall-stemmed, and pounced auriculas, rise. THE COTTAGER'S SUNDAY EVE,'-FAMILY GATHERING ; TALK;


No need of classing ; each within its place
The feeling finger in the dark can trace ;
First from the corner, furthest from the wall,'
Such all the rules, and they suffice for all.

There pious works for Sunday's use are found,
Companions for that Bible newly bound ;
That Bible, bought by sixpence weekly saved,
Has choicest prints by famous hands engraved ;
Has choicest notes by famous heads made out,
That teach the simple reader where to doubt ;
That make him stop to reason why? and how ?
And where he wondered then, to cavil now.

! ra her give me commentators plain,
Who with no deep researches vex the brain ;
Who from the dark and doubtful love to run,
And hold their glimmering tapers to the sun ;
Who simple truth with nine-fold reasons back,
And guard the point no enemies attack.

Bunyan's famed pilgrim rests that shelf upon ;
A genius rare but rude was honest John ;
Not one who, early by the Muse beguiled,
Drank from her well the waters undefiled ;
Not one who slowly gained the hill sublime,
Then often sipped, and little at a time ;
But one who dabbled in the sacred springs,
And drank them muddy, mixed with baser things.

TICMB ; JACK THE GIANT-KILLER. Here to interpret dreams we read the rules, Science our own ! and never taught in schools ; In moles and specks we Fortune's gifts discern, And Fate's fixt will from Nature's wanderings learn.

Of hermit Quarle we read in island rare, Far from mankind and seeming far from care ; Safe from all want and sound in every limb, Yes! there was he, and there was care with him.

Unbound and heaped these valued works beside, Laid humbler works, the pedler's pack supplied ; Yet these, long since, have all acquired a name ; The Wandering Jew has found his way to fame ; And fame, denied to many a labored song, (strong. Crowns Thumb the great, and Hickerthrift the

There too is he, by wizard-power upheld, Jack, by whose arm the giant-brood were quelled ; His shoes of swiftness on his feet he placed ; His coat of darkness on his loins he braced : His sword of sharpness in his hand he took, And off the heads of doughty giants stroke ; Their glaring eyes beheld no mortal near ; No sound of feet alarmned the drowsy ear ; No English bloud their Pagan sense could smell, But heads dropt headlong, wondering why they fell.

These hear the parent swain, reclined at ease,
With half his listening offspring on his knees.

To every cot the lord's indulgent mind

Here on a Sunday eve, when service ends,
Meet and rejoice a family of friends ;
All speak aloud, are happy, and are free,
And glad they seem, and gayly they agree.

What, though fastidious ears may shun the speech,
Where all are talkers, and where none can teach ;
Where still the welcome and the words are old,
And the same stories are forever told ;
Yet theirs is joy that, bursting from the heart,
Prompts the glad tongue these nothings to impart;
That forms these tones of gladness we despise,
That lifts their steps, that sparkles in their eyes ;
That talks, or laughs, or runs, or shouts, or plays,
And speaks in all their looks and all their ways.

SOT, CHEAT, SHREW ; SMUGGLERS ; PROSTITUTES. Fair scenes of peace ! ye might detain us long, But Vice and Misery now demand the song ; And turn our view from dwellings simply neat, To this infected row, we term our Street.

Here, in cabal, a disputatious crew Each evening meet; the sot, the cheat, the shrew ; Riots are nightly heard, the curse, the cries Of beaten wife, perverse in her replies ; [hand, While shrieking children hold each threatening And sometimes life and sometimes food demand : Boys in their first stol'n rags to swear begin, And girls, who knew not sex, are skilled in gin : Snarers and smugglers here their gains divide, Ensnaring females here their victims hide ; And here is one, the sibyl of the row, Who knows all secrets, or affects to know ; Seeking their fate, to her the simple run ; To her the guilty, theirs a while to shun; Mistress of worthless arts, depraved in will, Her care unblest, and unrepaid her skill,

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Slave to the tribe, to whose command she stoops, And poorer than the poorest maid she dupes.



Pistols are here, unpaired ; with nets and hooks,
Of every kind, for rivers, ponds, and brooks ;
An ample flask, that nightly rovers fill,
With recent poison from the Dutchman's still ;
A box of tools with wires of various size,
Frocks, wigs, and hats, for night or day disguise,
And bludgeons stout to gain or guard a prize.


Between the road-way and the walls, offence Invades all eyes and strikes on every sense ; There lie, obscene, at every open door, Heaps from the hearth and sweepings from the floor; And day by day the mingled masses grow, As sinks are disembogued and gutters flow.

There hungry dogs from hungry children steal, There pigs and chickens quarrel for a meal ; There dropsied infants wail without redress, And all is want, and woe, and wretchedness : Yet should these boys, with bodies bronzed and bare, High-swol'n and hard, outlive that lack of careForced on goine farm the unexerted strength, Though loth, to action is compelled at length, When warmed by health, as serpents in the Spring, Aside their slough of indolence they fling. CORRUPTING HABITS OF LIFE. — DIRTY BEDS AND RAGs.

To every house belongs a space of ground, Of equal size, once fenced with paling round ; That paling now by slothful waste destroyed, Dead gorse and stumps of elder fill the void ; Save in the centre-spot, whose walls of clay Hide sots and striplings at their drink and play ; Within, a board, beneath a tiled retreat, Allures the bubble and maintains the cheat; Where heavy ale in spots like varnish shows, Where chalky tallies yet remain in rows; Black pipes and broken jugs the seats defile, The walls and windows, rhymes and reck’nings vile; Prints of the meanest kind disgrace the door, And cards, in curses torn, lie fragments on the floor.


Yet ere they go, a greater evil comes — See crowded beds in those contiguous rooms ; Beds but ill parted, by a paltry screen, Of papered lath or curtain, dropped between ; Daughters and sons to yon compartments creep, And parents here beside their children sleep ; Ye who have power, these thoughtless people part, Nor let the ear be first to taint the heart.

Come ! search within, nor sight nor smell regard; The true physician walks the foulest ward. See ! on the floor, what frowzy patches rest! What nauseous fragments on yon fractured chest ! What downy-dust beneath yon window-seat ! And round these posts that serve this bed for feet; This bed where all those tattered garments lie, Worn by each sex, and now perforce thrown by.

COCK FIGHTING. Here his poor bird th' inhuman cocker brings, Arms his hard heel, and clips his golden wings; With spicy food the impatient spirit feeds, And shouts and curses as the battle bleeds : Struck through the brain, deprived of both his eyes, The vanquished bird must combat till he dies ; Must faintly peck at his victorious foe, And reel and stagger at ench feeble blow; When fallen, the savage grasps his dabbled plumes, His blood-stained arms, for other deaths assumes ; And damns the craven-fowl, that lost his stake, And only bled and perished for his sake.



PEASANTS ; PAUPERS; FARMERS. Such are our peasants, those to whom we yield Glories unsought, the fathers of the field ; And these who take from our reluctant bands What Burn advises or the bench commands.

Our farmers round, well-pleased with constant gain, Like other farmers, flourish and complain.-These are our groups, our portraits next appear, And close our exhibition for the year.

See ! as we gaze, an infant lifts its head, Left by neglect and burrowed in that bed ; The mother-gossip has the love supprest, An infant's cry once wakened in her breast; And daily prattles as her round she takes (With strong resentment) of the want she makes.

Whence all these woes? — from want of virtuous Of honest shame, of time-improving skill ; [will, From want of care, to employ the vacant hour, And want of every kind, but want of power.




Here are no wheels for either wool or flax, But packs of cards made up of sundry packs ; Here is no clock, nor will they turn the glass, And see how swift th' important moments pass ; There are no books, but ballads on the wall, Are some abusive, and indecent all ;

Tum porro puer (ut sævis projectus ab undis,
Navita) nudus humi jacet infans indigus omni
Vitali auxilio,
Vagituque locum lugubri complet, ut æquum est,
Cui tantum in vitâ restat transire malorum.

Lucretius, de Nat. Rerum, lib. v. 1 THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER; A TALE OF SIN AND SORROW ;

With evil omen, we that year begin :
A child of shame - stern Justice adds, of sin
Is first recorded ; — I would hide the deed,
But vain the wish ; I sigh, and I proceed :

And could I well the instructive truth convey,

THE SAILOR'S REVENGE. SEDUCTION. — DISCLOSURES. 'T would warn the giddy and awake the gay.

* Revenge ! revenge !' the angry lover cried, Of all the nymphs, who gave our village grace,

Then sought the nymph, and · Be thou now my The miller's daughter had the fairest face.

bride.' Proud was the miller ; money was his pride ;

Bride had she been, but they no priest could move He rode to market, as our farmers ride ;

To bind in law the couple bound by love. And 't was his boast, inspired by spirits, there,

What then was left, these lovers to requite ? His favorite Lucy should be rich as fair ;

But stolen moments of disturbed delight; But she must meek and still obedient prove,

Soft trembling tumults, terrors dearly prized, And not presume, without his leave, to love.

Transports that pained, and joys that agonized :

Till the fond damsel, pleased with lad so trim, THE SAILOR ; HIS SCHEME.

Awed by her parent and enticed by him ; A youthful sailor heard him ; — Ha !' quoth he, Her lovely form from savage power to save, • This miller's maiden is a prize for me ;

Gave — not her hand – but all she could she gave. His charms I love, his riches I desire,

Then came the days of shame, the grievous night, And all his threats but fan the kindling fire ; The varying look, the wandering appetite ; My ebbing purse no more the foe shall fill,

The joy assumed, while sorrow dimmed the eyes, But love's kind act and Lucy at the mill.'

The forced sad smiles that followed sudden sighs, Thus thought the youth, and soon the chuse began, And every art, long used, but used in vain, Stretched all his sail, nor thought of pause or plan : To hide thy progress, Nature, and thy pain. His trusty staff in his bold hand he took,

Too eager caution shows some danger 's near, Like him, and like his frigate, Heart of Oak ; The bully's bluster proves the coward's fear ; Fresh were his features, his attire was new;

His sober step the drunkard vainly tries, Clean was his linen, and his jacket blue ;

And nymphs expose the failings they disguise. Of finest jean his trousers tight and trim,

First, whispering gossips were in parties seen ; Brushed the large buckle, at the silver rim.

Then louder scandal walked the village-green ;

Next babbling folly told the growing ill, THE SAILOR'S WOOING, — THE MILLER AND SAILOR.

And busy malice dropt it at the mill. He soon arrived, he traced the village-green,

THE SEQUEL ; THE FATHER'S CURSE AND DAUGHTER'S EXILE. There saw the maid, and was with pleasure seen ;

"Go! to thy curse and mine,' the father said, Then talked of love, till Lucy's yielding heart

Strife and confusion stalk around thy bed ; Confessed 't was painful, though ’t was right, to part. Want and a wailing brat thy portion be, • For ah ! my father has an haughty soul ;

Plague to thy fondness as thy fault to me, Whom best he loves, he loves but to control ;

Where skulks the villain?' Me to some churl in bargain he 'll consign,

.On the ocean wide, And make some tyrant of the parish mine ;

My William seeks a portion for his bride.' Cold is his heart, and he, with looks severe,

Vain be his search ! but till the traitor come, Has often forced, but seldom shed the tear ;

The Higler's cottage be thy future home ; Save when my mother died, some drops expressed There with his ancient shrew and Care abide, A kind of sorrow for a wife at rest :

And hide thy head, thy shame thou canst not hide.' To me a master's stern regard is shown, I'm like his steed, prized highly as his own ;

LUCY A MOTHER, BUT NOT A WIFE. - WILLIAM DIES AT SEA. Stroked but corrected, threatened when supplied,

Day after day were past in grief and pain, His slave and boast, his victim and his pride.'

Week after week, nor came the youth again ; "Cheer up, my lass ; I'll to thy father go,

Her boy was born — no lads nor lasses came
The miller cannot be the sailor's foe;


the rite or give the child a name ; Both live by heaven's free gale that plays aloud Nor grave conceited nurse, of office proud, (crowd: In the stretched canvas and the piping shroud ;

Bore the young Christian, roaring, through the The rush of winds, the fapping sails above,

In a small chamber was my office done, And rattling planks within, are sounds we love ;

Where blinks thro' papered panes the setting sun; Calms are our dread ; when tempests plough the

Where noisy sparrows, perched on pent-house near, We take a reef, and to the rocking sleep.' [deep.

Chirp tuneless joy and mock the frequent tear ;

Bats on their webby wings in darkness move,

And feebly shriek their melancholy love.
Ha !' qucth the miller, moved at speech so rash,

No sailor came ; the months in terror fled ! · Art thou like me? Then where thy notes and cash ?

Then news arrived ; he fought, and he was dead. Away to Wapping, and a wife command,

LUCY AND HER FATHER'S MISTRESSES. - HER RESTLESS UXWith all thy wealth, a guinea, in thine hand ;

HAPPINESS AND WANDERINGS. There with thy messmates quaff the muddy cheer, At the lone cottage Lucy lives, and still And leave my Lucy for thy betters here.'

Walks, for her weekly pittance, to the mill ;

Has in a different mode a sovereign sway :
As tides the same attractive influence know
In the least ebb and in their proudest flow;
The wise frugality that does not give
A life to saving, but that saves to live,
Sparing not pinching, mindful though not mean,
O’er all presiding, yet in nothing seen.

A mean seraglio there her father keeps,
Whose mirth insults her, as she stands and weeps ;
And sees the plenty, while compelled to stay,
Her father's pride become his harlots' prey.

Throughout the lanes she glides at evening's close,
There softly lulls her infant to repose ;
Then sits and gazes, but with viewless look,
As gilds the moon the rimpling of the brook ;
Then sings her vespers, but in voice so low,
She hears their murmurs as the waters flow;
And she, too, murmurs, and begins to find
The solemn wanderings of a wounded mind;
Visions of terror views of woe succeed,
The mind's impatience to the body's need ;
By turns to that, by turns to this a prey,
She knows what reason yields, and dreads what

madness may.


Recorded next a babe of love I trace ! Of many loves, the mother's fresh disgrace ; Again, thou harlot ! could not all thy pain, All my reproof, thy wanton thoughts restrain?'

• Far other thoughts, your Reverence, caused the 'T was pure good-nature, not a wanton will ; [ill, They urged me, paid me, begged me to comply, Not hard of heart or slow to yield am I, But prone to grant, as melting charity. For wanton wishes, let the frail ones smart, But all my failing is a tender heart.'

For rite of churching soon she made her way, In dread of scandal, should she miss the day ; Two matrons came! with them she humbly knelt, Their action copied, and their comforts felt, From that great pain and peril to be free, Though still in peril of that pain to be ; Alas ! what numbers, like this amorous dame, Are quick to censure, but are dead to shame.



PAIR; ROBERT AND SUSAN. Next with their boy a decent couple came, And called him Robert, 't was his father's name ; Three girls preceded, all by time endeared, And future births were neither hoped nor feared ; Blest in each other, but to no excess ; Health, quiet, comfort, formed their happiness ; Love, all made up of torture and delight, Was but mere madness in this couple's sight; Susan could think, though not without a sigh, If she were gone, who should her place supply ; And Robert, half in earnest, half in jest, Talk of her spouse when he should be at rest ; Yet strange would either think it to be told, Their love was cooling or their hearts were cold ; Few were their acres, but they, well content, Were, on each pay-day, ready with their rent; And few their wishes — what their farm denied, The neighboring town at trifling cost supplied ; If at the draper's window Susan cast A longing look, as with her goods she passed ; And with the produce of the wheel and churn Bought her a Sunday robo on her return; True to her maxim, she would take no rest, Till care repaid that portion to the chest : Or if, when loitering at the Whitsun-fair, Her Robert spent some idle shillings there ; Up at the barn, before the break of day, He made his labor for th’indulgence pay ; Thus both — that wste itself might work in vain Wrought double tides, and all was well again.

Twin-infants then appear, a girl, a boy, The o'erflowing cup of Gerard Ablett's joy : Seven have I named, and but six years have past By him and Judith since I bound them fast ; (vine Well pleased, the bridegroom smiled, to hear – A

Fruitful and spreading round the walls be thine,

And branch-like be thine offspring.' – Gerard Looked joyful love, and softly said, “Amen.' [then Now of that vine he would no more increase, Those playful branches now disturbed his peace ; Them he beholds around his table spread, But finds, the more the branch, the less the bread ; And, while they run his humbled walls about, They keep the sunshine of good-humor out.


FROGALITY. Yet though so prudent, there were times of joy, The day they wed, the christening of the boy, When to the wealthier farmers there was shown Welcome unfeigned, and plenty like their own ; For Susan served the great, and had some pride, Among our topmost people to preside ; Yet in that plenty, in that welcome free, There was the guiding nice frugality ; That in the festal as the frugal day,


CARES ; FOR DACGHTERS, WIFE, SONS. Cease, man, to grieve ! thy master's lot survey, Whem wife and children, thou and thire, obey ; A farmer, proud beyond a farmer's pride, Of all around the envy or the guide ; Who trots to market on a steed so fine, That, when I meet him, I'm ashamed of mine ; Whose board is high up-heaped with generous fare, Which five stout sons and three tall daughters share: Cease, man, to grieve ; and listen to his care. A few years fled, and all thy boys shall be Lords of a cot, and laborers like thee; Thy girls unportioned neighboring youths shall lead, Brides from my church, and thenceforth thou art


And I return, still childless doomed to live,
Like the vexed patriarch,“ Are they mine to give ?”
Ah ! much I envy thee thy boys, who ride
On poplar branch, and canter at thy side ; [know,
And girls, whose cheeks thy chin's fierce fondness
And with fresh beauty at the contact glow.'


0, simple friend,' said Humphrey, wouldst thou A father's pleasure, by a husband's pain ? [gain Alas ! what pleasure, when some vigorous boy Should swell thy pride, some rosy girl thy joy ? Is it to doubt, who grafted this sweet flower, Or whence arose that spirit and that power?

* Four years I've wed ; not one bas past in vain : Behold the fifth ! Behold, a babe again ! My wife's gay friends the unwelcome imp admire, And fill the room with gratulation dire ; While I in silence sate, revolving all ! That influence ancient men, or that befall ; (came; A gay pert guest Heaven knows his businessA glorious boy, he cried, and what the name? Angry I growled. “My spirit cease to tease ! Name it yourselves, - Cain, Judas, if you please! His father's give him, should you that explore, The devil's or yours : " I said, and sought the door. My tender partner not a word or sigh Gives to my wrath, not to my speech reply ; But takes her comforts, triumphs in my pain, And looks undaunted for a birth again.'


But then thy master shall of cares complain,
Care after care, a long connected train ;
His sons for farms shall ask a large supply,
For farmers' sons each gentle miss shall sigh ;
Thy mistress, reasoning well of life's decay,
Shall ask a chaisc, and hardly brook delay;
The smart young Cornet, who, with so much grace,
Rode in the ranks and betted at the race,
While the vexed parent rails at deed so rash,
Shall den his luck, and stretch his hand for cash.
Sad troubles, Gerard ! now pertain to thee,
When thy rich master seems from trouble free ;
But 't is one fate at different times assigned,
And thou shalt lose the cares that he must find.

"Ah!' quoth our village grocer, rich and old,
Would I might one such cause for care behold!'
To whom his friend, Mine greater bliss would be
Would heaven take those my spouse assigns to me.'

Aged were both; that Dawkins, Ditchcm this, Who much of marriage thought, and much amiss ; Both would delay : the one, till, riches gained, The son he wished might be to honor trained ; His friend, lest fierce intruding heirs should come, To waste his hoard, and vex his quiet home.

SKETCH OF DAWKINS. - SKETCH OF DITCHEM. Dawkins, a dealer once, on burthened back Bore his whole substance in a pedler's pack ; To dames discreet, the duties yet unpaid, His stores of lace and hyson he conveyed : When thus enriched, he chose at home to stop, And fleece his neighbors in a new-built shop; Then wooed a spinster blithe, and hoped, when wed, For love's fair favors and a fruitful bed.

Not so his friend ; -on widow fair and staid He fixed his eye, but he was much afraid ; Yet wooed ; while she his hair of silver hue Demurely noticed, and her eye withdrew. Doubtful he paused. — Ah ! were I sure,' he cried, • No craving children would my gains divide ; Fair as she is, I would my widow take, And live more largely for my partner's sake.' [past, With such their views, some thoughtful years they And, hoping, dreading, they were bound at last. And what their fate? Observe them as they go, Comparing fear with fear, and woe with woe.

DAWKINS'S PLAINT. . Ah! Humphrey ! Humphrey ! Envy in my breast Sickens to see thee in thy children blest ; They are thy joys, while I go grieving home, To a sad spouse and our eternal gloom ; We look despondency ; no infant near, To bless the eye, or win the parent's ear ; Our sudden heats and quarrels to allay, And soothe the petty sufferings of the day : Alike our want, yet both the want reprove. Where are,

cry, these pledges of our love ? When she, like Jacob's wife, makes fierce reply, Yet fond—“0! give me children, or I die ;"

a name:

Heirs thus denied afflict the pining heart, And thus afforded jealous pangs impart; To prove these arrows of the giant's hand Are not for man to stay or to command. Then with their infants three the parents came, And each assigned — 't was all they had Names of no mark or price ; of them not one Shall court our view on the sepulchral stone; Or stop the clerk, the engraven scrolls to spell, Or keep the sexton from the sermon-bell. NINTII BAPTISM. - ORPHAN GIRL ; GOOD SCHOOL-MISTRESS.

An orphan girl succeeds : ere she was born, Her father died; her mother, on that morn ; The pious mistress of the school sustains Her parents' part, nor their affection feigns, But pitying feels ; with due respect and joy, I trace the matron at her loved employ ; What time the striplings, wearied ev'n with play, Part at the closing of the Summer's day, [way. And each by different path returns the well-known Then I behold her at her cottage door, Frugal of light ;- her Bible laid before, When on her double duty she proceeds, Of time as frugal ; knitting as she reads : Her idle neighbors, who approach to tell Of news or nothing, she by looks compels To hear reluctant, while the lads who pass In pure respect walk silent on the grass ; Then sinks the day, but not to rest she goes, Till solemn prayers the daily duties close.

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