To her he came to die, and every day
She took some portion of the dread away;
With him she prayed, to him his Bible read,
Soothed the faint heart, and held the aching head:
She came with smiles the hour of pain to cheer,
Apart she sighed; alone, she shed the tear;
Then, as if breaking from a cloud, she gave
Fresh light, and gilt the prospect of the grave.
One day he lighter seemed, and they forgot
The care, the dread, the anguish of their lot;
They spoke with cheerfulness, and seemed to think,
Yet said not so-" Perhaps he will not sink."
A sudden brightness in his look appeared,
A sudden vigour in his voice was heard ;—
She had been reading in the Book of Prayer,
And led him forth, and placed him in his chair;
Lively he seemed, aud spake of all he knew,
The friendly many, and the favourite few;
Nor one that day did he to mind recall,
But she has treasured, and she loves them all;
When in her way she meets them, they appear
Peculiar people-death has made them dear.
He named his friend, but then his hand she prest,
And fondly whispered, "Thou must go to rest.”
"I go," he said; but as he spoke, she found
His hand more cold, and fluttering was the sound;
Then gazed affrighted; but she caught a last,
A dying look of love, and all was past!
She placed a decent stone his grave above,
Neatly engraved--an offering of her love;
For that she wrought, for that forsook her bed,
Awake alike to duty and the dead;
She would have grieved, had friends presumed to spare
The least assistance-'twas her proper care.
Here will she come, and on the grave will sit,
Folding her arms, in long abstracted fit :
But if observer pass, will take her round,
And careless seem, for she would not be found;
Then go again, and thus her hours employ,
While visions please her, and while woes destroy.
Then died lamented, in the strength of life,
A valued Mother and a faithful Wife;
Called not away, when time had loosed each hold
On the fond heart, and each desire grew cold;
But when to all that knit us to our kind,
She felt fast bound, as charity can bind ;-
Not when the ills of age, its pain, its care,
The drooping spirit for its fate prepare;
And, each affection failing, leaves the heart
Loosed from life's charm, and willing to depart ;-
But ALL her ties the strong invader broke,
In all their strength, by one tremendous stroke:
Sudden and swift the eager pest came on,
And terror grew, till every hope was gone:
Still those around appeared for hope to seek!
But viewed the sick and were afraid to speak.
Slowly they bore, with solemn step, the dead :—
When grief grew loud and bitter tears were shed :—
My part began; a crowd drew near the place,
Awe in each eye, alarm in every face:
So swift the ill, and of so fierce a kind,
That fear with pity, mingled in each mind;
Friends with the husband came, their griefs to blend;
For good-man Frankford was to all a friend.
The last-born boy they held above the bier,
He knew not grief, but cries expressed his fear;
Each different age and sex revealed its pain,
In now a louder, now a lower strain ;
While the meek father, listening to their tones,
Swelled the full cadence of the grief by groans.
The elder sister strove her pangs to hide,
And soothing words to younger minds applied:
"Be still, be patient," oft she strove to say;
But failed as oft, and weeping turned away.
Curious and sad, upon the fresh-dug hill,
The village-lads stood melancholy still;
And idle children, wandering to-and-fro,
As nature guided, took the tone of woe.
Arrived at home, how then they gazed around,
In every place where she, no more, was found;
The seat at table she was wont to fill;
The fire-side chair, still set, but vacant still;
The garden walks, a labour all her own;
The lattice bower with trailing shrubs o'ergrown;
The Sunday-pew, she filled with all her race;
Each place of her's, was now a sacred place,
That, while it called up sorrows in the
eyes, Pierced the full heart, and forced them still to rise.
Two summers since, I saw, at Lammas Fair,
The sweetest flower that ever blossomed there,
When Phoebe Dawson gaily crossed the green,
In haste to see, and happy to be seen:
Her air, her manners, all who saw, admired;
Courteous though coy, and gentle though retired;
The joy of youth and health her eyes displayed,
And ease of heart her every look conveyed;
A native skill her simple robes expressed,
As with untutored elegance she dressed:
The lads around admired so fair a sight,
And Phoebe felt, and felt she gave, delight;
Admirers soon of every age she gained,
Her beauty won them and her worth retained;
Envy itself could no contempt display,
They wished her well, whom yet they wished away.
Correct in thought, she judged a servant's place,
Preserved 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, ordained to move her breast,
Before the swains with bolder spirit pressed;
With looks less timid made his passion known,
And pleased 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 served the Squire, and brushed the coat he made :
Yet now, would Phœbe 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 sighed, and looked consent.
Now, through the lane, up hill, and cross the green,
Seen by but few, and blushing to be seen,-
Dejected, thoughtful, anxious, and afraid,
Led by the lover, walked the silent maid:
Slow through the meadows roved they, many a mile
Toyed by each bank and trifled at each stile;
Where, as he painted every blissful view,
And highly coloured what he strongly drew,
The pensive damsel, prone to tender fears,
Dimmed the false prospect with prophetic tears.-
Thus passed the allotted hours, till lingering late,
The lover loitered at the master's gate;
There he pronounced adieu! and yet would stay,
Till chidden-soothed-intreated-forced away;
He would of coldness, though indulged, complain,
And oft retire and oft return again;
When, if his teasing vexed her gentle mind,
The grief assumed, compelled 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 required before.--
Oh! fly temptation, youth; refrain! refrain,
Each yielding maid and each presuming swain!
Lo! now with red rent cloak, and bonnet black,
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