THE OLD MAN'S REVERIE. SOOTHED by the self-same ditty, see Where unobserved he finds a joy At once it comes, by memory's power, Reserved for twilight's darkling hour, And as with thoughts of former years Think not he doats because he weeps; And oft in age a helpless pride With jealous weakness pines, (To second infancy allied) And every woe refines. He ponders on his infant years, T How swift those lovely hours were past, In darkness closed how soon! As if a winter's night o'ercast The brightest summer's noon. His withered hand he holds to view, And as he thinks o'er all his ills, SONG. BY MISS MITFORD. SWEET is the balmy evening hour, I love to loiter on the hill, And catch each trembling ray;Fair as they are, they mind me still Of fairer things than they. What is the breath of closing flowers What are the dew-drops' crystal showers But Fancy's flashes gay? I love them, for they mind me still Of one more dear than they. THE VICAR'S DAUGHTER. FROM THE GERMAN OF BURGER. BESIDE the parson's bower of yew, Why steals along the pond of toads That lights a spot where grows no grass, The vicar's daughter once was good, And young and fair, and many came To win the damsel's love. High o'er the hamlet, from the hill, In the sheen of evening gleam: There dwelt, 'mid riot, rout, and roar, Whether he met the dawning day, He sent the maid his picture, girt "Let go thy sweethearts, one and all; "The tale I would to thee bewray, In secret must be said: At midnight hour I'll seek thy bower; Fair girl, be not afraid. "And when the amorous nightingale I'll pipe my quail-call from the field: In cap and mantle dight he came, And hushed the dogs with bread. And when the amorous nightingale The words he whispered were so soft, No lure, no soothing guise, he spared, He called on holy God above, He clasped her to his breast, and swore To be for ever true: "O yield thee to my wishful arms, Thy choice thou shalt not rue." And while she strove, he drew her on, So still, so dim-and round about Sweet smelt the beans in flower. There beat her heart, and heaved her breast, And pleaded every sense; And there the glowing breath of lust Did blast her innocence. But when the fragrant beans began And when she saw the pods increase, And when the mowers went afield, She felt her burden stir within, And shook with tender dread. And when the winds of autumn hissed Then could the damsel's piteous plight Her sire, a harsh and angry man, With furious voice reviled: "Hence, from my sight! I'll none of theeI harbour not thy child!" And fast, amid her fluttering hair, With clenched fist he gripes, And seized a leathern thong, and lashed |