I saw his Features take a savage Gloom,
And deeply threaten for the Days to come;
Low spake the Lass, and lisp'd and minc'd the while;
Look'd on the Lad and faintly tried to smile;
With soft'ned Speech and humbled Tone she strove,
To stir the Embers of departed Love;
While he a Tyrant, frowning walk'd before,
Felt the poor Purse, and sought the public Door,
She sadly following in submission went,
And saw the final Shilling foully spent ;
Then to her Father's Hut the Pair withdrew,
And bade to Love and Comfort long Adieu!-
Ah! fly Temptation, Youth, refrain! refrain!
I preach for ever; but I preach in vain!
Two Summers since, I saw at Lammas Fair,
The sweetest Flower that ever blossom'd there;
When PHOBE DAWSON gaily cross'd the Green,
In haste to see, and happy to be seen;
Her Air, her Manners, all who saw, admir'd;
Courteous though coy, and gentle though retir'd;
The Joy of Youth and Health her Eyes display'd
And Ease of Heart, her every Look convey'd ;'
A native Skill her simple Robes exprest,
As with untutor'd Elegance she dress'd;
The Lads around, admir'd so fair a Sight,
And PHOBE felt, and felt she gave, Delight.
Admirers soon of every Age she gain'd,
Her Beauty won them, and her Worth retain'd;
Envy itself, could no Contempt display,
They wish'd her well, whom yet they wish'd away;
Correct in Thought, she judg'd a Servant's Place
Preserv'd a rustic Beauty from Disgrace;
But yet on Sunday-Eve in Freedom's Hour,
With secret Joy she felt that Beauty's Power;
When some proud Bliss upon the Heart would steal,
That, poor or rich, a Beauty still must feel.-
At length, the Youth ordain'd to move her breast,
Before the Swains with bolder Spirit press'd;
With looks less timid, made his Passion known,
And pleas'd by Manners, most unlike her own;
Loud though in Love, and confident though Young.
Fierce in his Air, and voluble of Tongue ;
By trade a Tailor, though, in scorn of trade,
He serv'd the Squire and brush'd the Coat he made;
Yet now, would PHOвE her Consent afford,
Her Slave alone, again he'd mount the Board;
With her should Years of growing Love be spent,
And growing Wealth:-she sigh'd and look'd Consent.
Now, through the Lane, up Hill, and cross the Green,
(Seen but by few and blushing to be seen-
Dejected, thoughtful, anxious, and afraid,)
Led by the Lover, walk'd the silent Maid:
Slow through the Meadows rov'd they, many a Mile,
Toy'd by each Bank and trifled at each Stile ;
Where as he painted every blissful View,
And highly colour'd what he strongly drew,
The pensive Damsel, prone to tender Fears,
Dimm'd the false Prospect with prophetic Tears:
Thus pass'd th' allotted Hours, till lingering late,
The Lover loiter'd at the Master's Gate;
There he pronounc'd Adieu! and yet would stay,
Till chidden-sooth'd-intreated-forc'd away;
He would of Coldness, though indulg'd, complain,
And oft retire and oft return again;
When, if his teazing vext her gentle Mind,
The Grief assum'd, compell'd her to be kind!
For he would Proof of plighted Kindness crave,
That she resented first, and then forgave,
And to his Grief and Penance yielded more,
Than his Presumption had requir'd before;
Ah! fly Temptation, Youth, refrain; refrain,
Each yielding Maid and each presuming Swain!
Lo! now with red rent Cloak and Bonnet black, And torn green Gown, loose hanging at her back, One who an Infant in her Arm sustains,
And seems in patience, striving with her pains;
Pinch'd are her Looks, as one who pines for Bread,
Whose Cares are growing and whose Hopes are fled;
Pale her parch'd Lips, her heavy Eyes sunk low,
And Tears unnotic'd from their Channels flow;
Serene her Manner, till some sudden pain,
Frets the meek Soul, and then she's calm again ;-
Her broken Pitcher to the Pool she takes,
And every Step with cautious terror makes;
For not alone that Infant in her Arms,
But nearer Cause, maternal Fear, alarms;
With Water burthen'd, then she picks her Way,
Slowly and cautious in the clinging Clay;
Till in Mid-Green she trusts a Place unsound,
And deeply plunges in th' adhesive Ground;
From whence her slender Foot with pain she takes,
While Hope the Mind as Strength the Frame forsakes,
For when so full the Cup of Sorrow grows,
Add but a Drop, it instantly o'erflows.
And now her Path, but not her Peace she gains,
Safe from her Task, but shivering with her pains-
Her Home she reaches, open leaves the Door,
And placing first her Infant on the Floor,
She bares her Bosom to the Wind, and sits,
And sobbing, struggles with the rising Fits;
In vain, they come, she feels th' inflating Grief,
That shuts the swelling Bosom from Relief;
That speaks in feeble Cries a Soul distrest,
Or the sad Laugh that cannot be represt;
The Neighbour-Matron leaves her Wheel, and flies
With all the Aid her Poverty supplies;
Unfee'd, the Calls of Nature she obeys,
Not led by Profit, not allur'd by Praise;
And waiting long, till these Contentions cease,
She speaks of Comfort, and departs in Peace.
Friend of Distress! the Mourner feels thy Aid,
She cannot pay thee, but thou wilt be paid.
But who this Child of Weakness, Want and Care? 'Tis PHOBE DAWSON, Pride of LAMMAS FAIR; Who took her Lover for his sparkling Eyes, Expressions warm, and Love-inspiring Lies;
Compassion first assail'd her gentle Heart,
For all his Suffering, all his Bosom's Smart:
"And then his Prayers; they would a Savage move,
"And win the coldest of the Sex to Love :".
But ah! too soon his Looks Success declar'd,
Too late her Loss the Marriage Rite repair'd;
The faithless Flatterer then his Vows forgot,
A captious Tyrant or a noisy Sot:
If present, railing, till he saw her pain'd;
If absent, spending what their Labours gain'd;
Till that fair Form in Want and Sickness pin'd,
And Hope and Comfort fled that gentle Mind.
Then fly Temptation, Youth; resist, refrain!
Nor let me preach for ever and in vain!
Next came a well-drest Pair, who left their Coach And made in long Procession slow Approach:
For, this gay Bride had many a female Friend,
And Youths were there, this favour'd Youth t'attend:
Silent, nor wanting due respect, the Crowd
Stood humbly round, and Gratulation bow'd;
But not that silent Crowd, in Wonder fixt,
Not numerous Friends who Praise and Envy mixt,
Nor Nymphs attending near, to swell the Pride
Of one more fair, the ever-smiling Bride;
Nor that gay Bride adorn'd with every Grace,
Nor Love nor Joy triumphant in her Face,
Could from the Youth's, sad Signs of Sorrow chase:
Why didst thou grieve? Wealth, Pleasure, Freedom,
Vext it thy Soul, that Freedom to resign?
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