Rural Tales, Ballads, and Songs — A Reader’s Guide

Bright was the summer sky, the Mornings gay, And Jane was young and chearful as the Day. Not yet to Love but Mirth she paid her vows; And Echo mock'd her as she call'd her Cows. Tufts of green Broom, that full in blossom vied, And grac'd with spotted gold the upland side, The level fogs o'erlook'd; too high to share; So lovely JANE o'erlook'd the clouds of Care;

No meadow-flow'r rose fresher to the view, That met her morning footsteps in the dew; Where, if a nodding stranger ey'd her charms, The blush of innocence was up in arms, Love's random glances struck the unguarded mind, And Beauty's magic made him look behind. Duly as morning blush'd or twilight came, Secure of greeting smiles and Village fame, She pass'd the Straw-roof'd Shed, in ranges where Hung many a well-turn'd Shoe and glitt'ring _Share_; Where WALTER, as the charmer tripp'd along, Would stop his roaring Bellows and his Song.-- Dawn of affection; Love's delicious sigh! Caught from the lightnings of a speaking eye, That leads the heart to rapture or to woe, 'Twas WALTER'S fate thy mad'ning power to know; And scarce to know, ere in its infant twine, As the Blast shakes the tendrils of the Vine,

The budding bliss that full of promise grew The chilling blight of separation knew. Scarce had he told his heart's unquiet case, And JANE to shun him ceas'd to mend her pace, And learnt to listen trembling as he spoke, And fondly judge his words beyond a joke; When, at the Goal that bounds our prospects here, Jane's widow'd Mistress ended her career: Blessings attended her divided store, The Mansion sold, (Jane's peaceful home no more,) A distant Village own'd her for its Queen, Another service, and another scene; But could another scene so pleasing prove, Twelve weary miles from Walter and from Love? The Maid grew thoughtful: yet to Fate resign'd, Knew not the worth of what she left behind. He, when at Eve releas'd from toil and heat, Soon miss'd the smiles that taught his heart to beat,

_The Lover's-Journey._

Each sabbath-day of late was wont to prove Hope's liberal feast, the holiday of Love: But now, upon his spirit's ebbing strength Came each dull hour's intolerable length. The next had scarcely dawn'd when Walter hied O'er hill and dale, Affection for his guide: O'er the brown Heath his pathless journey lay, Where screaming Lapwings hail'd the op'ning day. High rose the Sun, the anxious Lover sigh'd; His slipp'ry soles bespoke the dew was dried: Her last farewell hung fondly on his tongue As o'er the tufted Furze elate he sprung; Trifling impediments; his heart was light, For Love and Beauty glow'd in fancy's sight; And soon he gaz'd on Jane's enchanting face, Renew'd his passion,--but, destroy'd his peace. Truth, at whose shrine he bow'd, inflicted pain; And Conscience whisper'd, '_Never come again_.'

For now, his tide of gladness to oppose, A clay-cold damp of doubts and fears arose; Clouds, which involve, midst Love and Reason's strife, The poor man's prospect when he takes a wife. Though gay his journeys in the Summer's prime, Each seem'd the repetition of a crime; He never left her but with many a sigh, When tears stole down his face, she knew not why. Severe his task those visits to forego, And feed his heart with voluntary woe. Yet this he did; the wan Moon circling found His evenings cheerless, and his rest unsound; And saw th' unquenched flame his bosom swell: What were his doubts, thus let the Story tell A month's sharp conflict only serv'd to prove The pow'r, as well as truth, of Walter's love. Absence more strongly on his mind portray'd His own sweet, injur'd, unoffending Maid.

_The renew'd Journey._

Once more he'd go; full resolute awhile, But heard his native Bells on every stile; The sound recall'd him with a pow'rful charm, The Heath wide open'd, and the day was warm; There, where a bed of tempting green he found, Increasing anguish weigh'd him to the ground; His well-grown limbs the scatter'd Daisies press'd, While his clinch'd hand fell heavy on his breast. 'Why do I go in cruel sport to say, "I love thee, Jane; appoint the happy day?" 'Why seek her sweet ingenuous reply, 'Then grasp her hand and proffer--poverty? 'Why, if I love her and adore her name, 'Why act like time and sickness on her frame? 'Why should my scanty pittance nip her prime, 'And chace away the Rose before its time? 'I'm young, 'tis true; the world beholds me free; 'Labour ne'er show'd a frightful face to me;