With curious eye had view'd him o'er,
Had mark'd the tatter'd garb he wore,
And through the yawning frieze had feen
No traces of a shirt within.
And now her hands with pious care
A fhirt of home-fpun cloth prepare:
'Twas coarse, but would the longer hold,
And ferve to fence him from the cold.
The toil employ'd her all the night,
And ended with the rifing light.
The priest arofe at break of day,
And haften'd to pursue his way;
With thanks he took the finish'd vest,
The hofpitable dame he blefs'd,
"And that thy charity, he faid,
"May fall with int'reft on thy head,
"May thy firft work, when I am gone,
"Continue 'till the setting fun."
She heard; but foon her houshold care
Had banish'd from her thoughts the pray'r;
The remnant of her cloth fhe took,
And meafur'd out her little ftock.
Beneath her hands the length'ning piece
Surpriz'd her with a vaft increase;
Aftonish'd at a fight so new,
She measur'd ftill and ftill it grew.
As when in fleep, with winged pace
O'er hills and plains we urge the race,
With eager hopes we onward bend,
And think our labour near its end;'
But mimick Fancy foon fupplies
New scenes to cheat our wond'ring eyes;
Before our feet new plains extend,
New vallies fink, new hills afcend,
And ftill the goal, when these are o'er,
Appears as diftant as before.
In fuch a dream with fuch furprize,
From morn to eve the woman plies
Her task; but when the setting ray
Had clos'd her labour with the day,
With joy the wond'rous heap furvey'd,
And faw her bounty well repay'd.
A neighb'ring dame, the ftory known,
Much wifh'd to make the cafe her own;
For tho' fhe ne'er was feen before
To lodge the ftranger or the poor,
She wifely thought on one fo good
Her charity were well bestow'd.
As by her door his journey lay,
She stop'd the trav'ler on his way;
Beg'd him to enter and receive
Such welcome as her house could give:
The priest comply'd, and ent'ring found
The board with various plenty crown'd;
On heaps of down he paft the night,
And flumber'd 'till the morning light.
At break of day the dame addrefs'd
In friendly guise her rev'rend guest:
Linen fo coarfe, fhe faid, was ne'er
Defign'd for Chriftian backs to wear
And as it griev'd her to furvey
Such virtue in fo mean array,
Herfelf had toil'd with fleepless eyes
To furnish him with fresh fupplies :
Fine was the texture, fuch as comes
From wealthy Holland's fkilful looms.
The priest accepts the proffer'd boon,
He thanks her for her kindness shown,
And grateful as he leaves her door,
Repeats the pray'r he made before.
Juft parted from the holy man,
With eager hafte the matron ran
To reach her cloth, and had defign'd
To measure what was left behind;
But thinking first, that as the pray'r
For the whole day had fix'd her care,
One labour would employ it all,
And leave no time for Nature's call,
Ere to the deftin'd work the goes,
She deems it best to pluck a rose.
The hiffing geefe, as forth fhe went,
Gave omens of the dire event;
The herds, that graz'd the neighb’ring plain,
Look'd up, and fnuff'd the coming rain;
The bird that screams at midnight hours,
(Diviner of approaching show'rs)
Full on the left, with hideous croak,
Stood flutt'ring on a blasted oak..
Amazement feiz'd the trembling dame,
When first she faw the plenteous ftream:
She wonder'd much, and much fhe fear'd;
And think how Niobe appear'd,
When chang'd into a rock she stood,
And at her feet the headlong flood,
With downward force impetuous ran,
High foaming, o'er the delug'd plain;
So look'd the dame, when all around
The torrent fmoak'd upon the ground:
Still spreading wider than before,
It feem'd a sea without a fhore.
Your bards that wrote in heathen days,
Had fuch a theme employ'd their lays,
Had tortur'd their inventive brain,
With dire portents to fill the ftrain;
Had bid the neighb'ring river mourn
His alter'd ftream and tainted urn;
Or made the Naiads lift their heads,
Aftonish'd from their wat'ry beds,
And, seated on the river's fide,
Squeeze from their locks the briny tide.
But little skill'd in Pagan lore;
I pafs fach idle fancies o'er :
Truth is my care, whose lovely face
Shines brightest in the plainest drefs.
At eve the torrent stopt its course ; the
Stung with vexation and remorse;
The dame laments her fruitless coft,
Her hopes deceiv'd, her labour loft.
Nor think that here her fuff'rings end
Reproach and infamy attend;
Surrounding boys, where-e'er the came,
With infults loud divulge her shame;
And farmers ftop her with demands
Of recompence for damag'd lands.
OW fhort is life's uncertain space!
Alas! how quickly done!
How swift the wild precarious chace !
And yet how difficult the race!
How very hard to run!
Youth ftops at firft its wilful ears
To Wifdom's prudent voice;
'Till now arriv'd to riper years,
Experienc'd age worn out with cares
Repents its earlier choice.
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