And torn green gown loose hanging at her back,
One who an infant in her arms sustains,

And seems in patience striving with her pains;
Pinched are her looks, as one who pines for bread,
Whose cares are growing and whose hopes are fled;
Pale her parched lips, her heavy eyes sunk low,
And tears unnoticed 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, her anxious soul alarms.
With water burdened, 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;
Thence, but with pain, her slender foot 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 the inflating grief,
That shuts the swelling bosom from relief;
That speaks in feeble cries a soul distressed,
Or the sad laugh that cannot be repressed;
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, nor allured 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 Phoebe Dawson, pride of Lammas Fair;
Who took her lover for his sparkling eyes,
Expressions warm, and love-inspiring lies:

The faithless flatterer soon his vows forgot,
A captious tyrant or a noisy sot;

If present, railing, till he saw her pained;
If absent, spending what their labours gained;
Till that fair form in want and sickness pined,
And hope and comfort fled that gentle mind.

MISERIES OF VICE.

What indeed I meant At first was vengeance; but I long pursued The pair, and I at last their misery viewed In that vile garret, which I cannot paint.The sight was loathsome, and the smell was faint; And there that wife,—whom I had loved so well, And thought so happy, was condemned to dwell; The gay, the grateful wife, whom I was glad To see in dress beyond our station clad, And to behold among our neighbours fine, More than perhaps became a wife of mine; And now among her neighbours to explore, And see her poorest of the very poor ! I would describe it, but I bore a part, Nor can explain the feelings of my heart; Yet memory since has aided me to trace The horrid features of that dismal place. There she reclined unmoved, her bosom bare To her companion's unimpassioned stare, And my wild wonder !-Seat of virtue! chaste As lovely once! O how wert thou disgraced! Upon that breast, by sordid rags defiled, Lay the wan features of a famished child ;That sin-born babe in utter misery laid, Too feebly wretched e'en to cry for aid; The ragged sheeting, o'er her person drawn, Served for the dress that hunger placed in pawn. At the bed's feet the man reclined his frame: Their chairs were perished to support the flame

That warmed his agued limbs; and, sad to see,
That shook him fiercely as he gazed on me.

I was confused in this unhappy view:
My wife! my friend! I could not think it true;
My children's mother, my Alicia,-laid
On such a bed: so wretched, -so afraid!
And her gay, young seducer, in the guise
Of all we dread, abjure, defy, despise,
And all the fear and terror in his look,
Still more my mind to its foundation shook.

At last he spoke :-' Long since I would have died, 'But could not leave her, though for death I sighed, ' And tried the poisoned cup, and dropped it as I tried. 'She is a woman, and that famished thing

Makes her to life, with all its evils, cling:

Feed her, and let her breathe her last in peace,
'And all my sufferings with your promise cease!
Ghastly he smiled:-I knew not what I felt,
But my heart melted-hearts of flint would melt,
To see their anguish, penury, and shame,
How base, how low, how groveling they became;
I could not speak my purpose, but my eyes,
And my expression-bade the creature rise.

Yet, O! that woman's look! my words are vain
Her mixed and troubled feelings to explain;
True there was shame and consciousness of fall,
But yet remembrance of my love withal,

And knowledge of that power which she would now recal.

But still the more that she to memory brought,
The greater anguish in my mind was wrought;
The more she tried to bring the past in view,
She greater horror on the present threw ;
So that, for love or pity, terror thrilled
My blood, and vile and odious thoughts instilled.
This war within, those passions in their strife,
If thus protracted, had exhausted life;
But the strong view of these departed years,
Caused a full burst of salutary tears,
And as I wept at large, and thought alone,
I felt my reason re-ascend her throne."