Classic Poem

A TALE .

N EAR the High road, upon a winding stream,
An honest Miller rose to Wealth and Fame:
The noblest Virtues cheer'd his lengthen'd days,
And all the Country echo'd with his praise:
His Wife, the Doctress of the neighb'ring Poor,
Drew constant pray'rs and blessings round his door.
One Summer's night, (the hour of rest was come,)
Darkness unusual overspread their home;
A chilling blast was felt: the foremost cloud
Sprinkled the bubbling Pool; and thunder loud,
Though distant yet, menac'd the country round,
And fill'd the Heavens with its solemn sound.
Who can retire to rest when tempests lour?
Nor wait the issue of the coming hour?
Meekly resign'd she sat, in anxious pain;
He fill'd his pipe, and listen'd to the rain
That batter'd furiously their strong abode,
Roar'd in the Dam, and lash'd the pebbled road;
When, mingling with the storm, confus'd and wild,
They heard, or thought they heard, a screaming Child:
The voice approach'd; and, 'midst the thunder's roar,
Now loudly begg'd for Mercy at the door.
M ERCY was there: the Miller heard the call;
His door he open'd; when a sudden squall
Drove in a wretched Girl; who weeping stood,
Whilst the cold rain dripp'd from her in a flood.
With kind officiousness the tender Dame
Rous'd up the dying embers to a flame;
Dry clothes procur'd, and cheer'd her shiv'ring guest,
And sooth'd the sorrows of her infant breast.
But as she stript her shoulders, lily-white,
What marks of cruel usage shock'd their sight!
Weals, and blue wounds, most piteous to behold
Upon a Child yet scarcely ten years old.
The Miller felt his indignation rise,
Yet, as the weary stranger clos'd her eyes,
And seem'd fatigu'd beyond her strength and years,
" Sleep, Child, (he said,) and wipe away your tears."
They watch'd her slumbers till the storm was done;
When thus the gen'rous Man again begun:
" See, flutt'ring sighs that rise against her will,
" And agitating dreams disturb her still!
" Dame, we should know before we go to rest,
" Whence comes this Girl, and how she came distrest.
" Wake her, and ask; for she is sorely bruis'd:
" I long to know by whom she's thus misus'd —
" Child, what's your name? how came you in the storm?
" Have you no home to keep you dry and warm?
" Who gave you all those wounds your shoulders show?
" Where are your Parents? Whither would you go?
The Stranger bursting into tears, look'd pale,
And this the purport of her artless tale:
" I have no Parents; and no friends beside:
" I well remember when my Mother died:
" My Brother cried; and so did I that day:
" We had no Father; — he was gone away.
" That night we left our home new clothes to wear:
" The Workhouse found them; we were carried there.
" We lov'd each other dearly; when we met
" We always shar'd what trifles we could get.
" But G EORGE was older by a year than me: —
" He parted from me and was sent to Sea.
" " Good-bye, dear Phaebe," the poor fellow said:
" Perhaps he'll come again; perhaps he's dead.
" When I grew strong enough I went to place,
" My Mistress had a sour ill-natur'd face;
" And though I've been so often beat and chid,
" I strove to please her, Sir; indeed, I did.
" Weary and spiritless to bed I crept,
" And always cried at night before I slept.
" This morning I offended; and I bore
" A cruel beating, worse than all before.
" Unknown to all the House I ran away;
" And thus far travell'd through the sultry day;
" And, O don't send me back; I dare not go — "
" I send you back!" the Miller cried, " no, no."
Th' appeals of Wretchedness had weight with him,
And Sympathy would warm him ev'ry limb;
He mutter'd, glorying in the work begun,
" Well done, my little Wench; 'twas nobly done!"
Then said, with looks more cheering than the fire,
And feelings such as Pity can inspire,
" My house has childless been this many a year;
" While you deserve it you shall tarry here."
The Orphan mark'd the ardour of his eye,
Blest his kind words, and thank'd him with a sigh.
Thus was the sacred compact doubly seal'd;
Thus were her spirits rais'd, her bruises heal'd:
Thankful, and cheerful too, no more afraid,
Thus little P HoeBE was the Miller's Maid.
Grateful they found her; patient of controul;
A most bewitching gentleness of soul
Made pleasure of what work she had to do:
She grew in stature, and in beauty too.
Five years she pass'd in this delightful home;
Five happy years: but when the sixth was come,
The Miller , from a Market Town hard by,
Brought home a sturdy Youth, his strength to try.
To raise the sluice-gates early every morn,
To heave his powder'd sacks and grind his corn:
And meeting P HoeBE , whom he lov'd so dear,
" I've brought you home a Husband, Girl; — d'ye hear?
" He begg'd for work; his money seem'd but scant:
" Those that will work 'tis pity they should want.
" So use him well, and we shall shortly see
" Whether he merits what I've done, like thee."
Now throbb'd her heart, — a new sensation quite, —
Whene'er the comely Stranger was in sight:
For he at once assiduously strove
To please so sweet a Maid, and win her love:
At ev'ry corner stopp'd her in her way;
And saw fresh beauties opening ev'ry day.
He took delight in tracing in her face
The mantling blush, and ev'ry nameless grace,
That Sensibility would bring to view,
When Love he mention'd; — Love, and Honour true.
But P HoeBE still was shy; and wish'd to know
More of the honest Youth, whose manly brow
She verily believ'd was Truth's own throne,
And all his words as artless as her own:
Most true she judg'd; yet, long the Youth forbore
Divulging where, and how, he liv'd before;
And seem'd to strive his History to hide,
Till fair Esteem enlisted on his side.
The Miller saw, and mention'd, in his praise,
The prompt fidelity of all his ways:
Till in a vacant hour, the Dinner done,
One day he joking cried, " Come here, my Son!
" 'Tis pity that so good a Lad as you
" Beneath my roof should bring disorders new!
" But here's my P HoeBE , — once so light and airy
" She'd trip along the passage like a Fairy, —
" Has lost her swiftness quite, since here you came: —
" And yet; — I can't perceive the Girl is lame!
" The obstacles she meets with still fall thicker:
" Old as I am I'd turn a corner quicker."
The Youth blush'd deep; and P HoeBE hung her head:
The good Man smil'd, and thus again he said:
" Not that I deem it matter of surprise,
" That you should love to gaze at P HoeBE'S eyes;
" But be explicit, Boy; and deal with honour:
" I feel my happiness depend upon her.
" When here you came you'd sorrow on your brow;
" And I've forborne to question you till now.
" First, then, say what thou art." He instant bow'd,
And thus, in P HoeBE'S hearing, spoke aloud:
" Thus far experienc'd, Sir, in you I find
" All that is generous, fatherly, and kind;
" And while you look for proofs of real worth,
" You'll not regard the meanness of my birth.
" When, pennyless and sad, you met with me,
" I'd just escap'd the dangers of the Sea;
" Resolv'd to try my fortunes on the shore:
" To get my bread; and trust the waves no more:
" Having no Home, nor Parents left behind,
" I'd all my fortune, all my Friends, to find.
" Keen disappointment wounded me that morn:
" For, trav'lling near the spot where I was born,
" I at the well-known door where I was bred,
" Inquir'd who still was living, who was dead:
" But first, and most, I sought with anxious fear
" Tidings to gain of her who once was dear;
" A Girl, with all the meekness of the dove,
" The constant sharer of my childhood's love;
" She call'd me Brother: — which I heard with pride,
" Though now suspect we are not so allied.
" Thus much I learnt; (no more the churls would say;)
" She went to service, and she ran away,
" And scandal added" — " Hold!" the Miller cried,
And, in an instant, stood by P HoeBE'S side;
For he observ'd, while list'ning to the tale,
Her spirits falter'd, and her cheeks turn'd pale;
Whilst her clasp'd hands descended to her knee,
She sinking whisper'd forth, " O G OD , 'tis he! "
The good Man, though he guess'd the pleasing truth,
Was far too busy to inform the Youth;
But stirr'd himself amain to aid his Wife,
Who soon restor'd the trembler back to life.
Awhile insensible she still appear'd;
But, " O my Brother ," was distinctly heard:
Th' astonish'd Youth now held her to his breast;
And tears and kisses soon explain'd the rest.
Past deeds now from each tongue alternate fell:
For news of dearest import both could tell.
Fondly, from childhood's tears to youth's full prime,
They match'd the incidents of jogging time;
And prov'd that, when with Tyranny opprest,
Poor P HoeBE groan'd with wounds and broken rest,
G EORGE felt no less: was harass'd and forlorn;
A rope's end follow'd him both night and morn.
And in that very storm when P HoeBE fled,
When the rain drench'd her yet unshelter'd head;
That very Storm he on the Ocean brav'd,
The Vessel founder'd, and the Boy was sav'd!
Mysterious Heav'n! — and O with what delight —
She told the happy issue of her flight:
To his charm'd heart a living picture drew;
And gave to hospitality its due!
The list'ning Host observ'd the gentle Pair;
And ponder'd on the means that brought them there:
Convinc'd, while unimpeach'd their Virtue stood,
'Twas H EAV'N'S high Will that he should do them good.
But now the anxious Dame, impatient grown,
Demanded what the Youth had heard, or known,
Whereon to ground those doubts but just exprest; —
Doubts, which must interest the feeling breast;
" Her Brother wert thou, G EORGE ? — how; prithee say:
" Canst thou forego, or cast that name away?"
" No living proofs have I," the Youth reply'd,
" That we by closest ties are not allied;
" But in my memory live, and ever will,
" A mother's dying words — I hear them still:
" She said, to one who watch'd her parting breath,
" " Don't separate the Children at my death,
" " They 're not both mine: but " — here the scene was clos'd,
" She died; and left us helpless and expos'd;
" Nor Time hath thrown, nor Reason's opening pow'r,
" One friendly ray on that benighted hour."
Ne'er did the Chieftains of a Warring State
Hear from the Oracle their half-told fate
With more religious fear, or more suspense,
Than P HoeBE now endur'd: — for ev'ry sense
Became absorb'd in this unwelcome theme;
Nay, ev'ry meditation, ev'ry dream,
Th' inexplicable sentence held to view;
" They're not both mine ," was ev'ry morning new:
For, till this hour, the Maid had never prov'd
How far she was enthrall'd, how much she lov'd:
In that fond character he first appear'd;
His kindness charm'd her, and his smiles endear'd:
This dubious mystery the passion crost;
Her peace was wounded, and her Lover lost.
For G EORGE , with all his resolution strove
To check the progress of his growing love;
Or, if he e'er indulg'd a tender kiss,
Th' unravell'd secret robb'd him of his bliss.
Health's foe, Suspense, so irksome to be borne,
An ever-piercing and retreating thorn,
Hung on their Hearts, when Nature bade them rise,
And stole Content's bright ensign from their eyes.
The good folk saw the change, and griev'd to find
These troubles labouring in P HoeBE'S mind;
They lov'd them both; and with one voice propos'd
The only means whence Truth might be disclos'd;
That, when the Summer Months should shrink the rill,
And scarce its languid stream would turn the Mill,
When the Spring broods, and Pigs, and Lambs, were rear'd,
(A time when G EORGE and P HoeBE might be spar'd,)
Their birth-place they should visit once again,
To try with joint endeavours to obtain
From Record, or Tradition, what might be
To chain, or set their chain'd affections free:
Affinity beyond all doubts to prove;
Or clear the road for Nature and for Love.
Never, till now, did P HoeBE count the hours,
Or think May long, or wish away its flowers;
With mutual sighs both fann'd the wings of Time;
As we climb Hills and gladden as we climb,
And reach at last the distant promis'd seat,
Casting the glowing landscape at our feet.
Oft had the Morning Rose with dew been wet,
And oft the journeying Sun in glory set,
Beyond the willow'd meads of vigorous grass,
The steep green hill, and woods they were to pass;
When now the day arriv'd: Impatience reign'd;
And G EORGE , — by trifling obstacles detain'd, —
His bending Blackthorn on the threshold prest,
Survey'd the windward clouds, and hop'd the best.
P HoeBE , attir'd with every modest grace,
While Health and Beauty revell'd in her face,
Came forth; but soon evinc'd an absent mind,
For, back she turn'd for something left behind;
Again the same, till G EORGE grew tir'd of home,
And peevishly exclaim'd, " Come, Phaebe, come ."
Another hindrance yet he had to feel:
As from the door they tripp'd with nimble heel,
A poor old Man, foot-founder'd and alone,
Thus urgent spoke, in Trouble's genuine tone:
" My pretty Maid, if happiness you seek,
" May disappointment never fade your cheek! —
" Yours be the joy; — yet, feel another's woe:
" O leave some little gift before you go."
His words struck home; and back she turn'd again,
(The ready friend of indigence and pain,)
To banish hunger from his shatter'd frame;
And close behind her, Lo, the Miller came,
With jug in hand, and cried, " G EORGE , why such haste?
" Here; take a draught; and let that Soldier taste."
" Thanks for your bounty, Sir," the Veteran said;
Threw down his Wallet, and made bare his head;
And straight began, though mix'd with doubts and fears,
Th' unprefac'd History of his latter years.
" I cross'd th' Atlantic with my Comrades brave,
" Where sickness sweeps whole regiments to the grave;
" Yet I've escaped; and bear my arms no more;
" My age discharg'd me when I came on shore.
" My Wife , I've heard," — and here he wip'd his eyes, —
" In the cold corner of the Church-yard lies.
" By her consent it was I left my home:
" Employment fail'd, and poverty was come;
" The Bounty tempted me; — she had it all:
" We parted; and I've seen my betters fall.
" Yet, as I'm spar'd, though in this piteous case,
" I'm trav'lling homeward to my native place;
" Though should I reach that dear remember'd spot,
" Perhaps O LD G RAINGER will be quite forgot."
All eyes beheld young G EORGE with wonder start:
Strong were the secret bodings of his heart;
Yet not indulg'd: for he with doubts survey'd
By turns the Stranger and the lovely Maid.
" Had you no Children?" — " Yes, young Man, I'd two:
" A Boy , if still he lives, as old as you:
" Yet not my own; but likely so to prove;
" Though but the pledge of an unlawful Love;
" I cherish'd him, to hide a Sister's shame:
" He shar'd my best affections, and my name.
" But why, young folks, should I detain you here?
" Go: and may blessings wait upon your cheer;
" I too will travel on; — perhaps to find
" The only treasure that I left behind.
" Such kindly thoughts my fainting hopes revive!
" P HoeBE , my Cherub, ART thou still alive?"
Could nature hold! — Could youthful love forbear!
G EORGE clasp'd the wond'ring Maid , and whisper'd, " There!
" You're mine for ever! — O, sustain the rest;
" And hush the tumult of your throbbing breast."
Then to the Soldier turn'd, with manly pride,
And fondly led his long-intended Bride .
" Here, see your Child; nor wish a sweeter flow'r.
" 'Tis G EORGE that speaks; thou 'lt bless the happy hour! —
" Nay, be compos'd; for all will yet be well,
" Though here our history's too long to tell." —
A long-lost Father found, the mystery clear'd,
What mingled transports in her face appear'd!
The gazing Veteran stood with hands uprais'd —
" Art thou indeed my Child! then, G OD be prais'd."
O'er his rough cheeks the tears profusely spread:
Such as fools say become not Men to shed;
Past hours of bliss, regenerated charms,
Rose, when he felt his Daughter in his arms:
So tender was the scene, the generous D AME
Wept, as she told of P HoeBE'S virtuous fame,
And the good H OST , with gestures passing strange,
Abstracted seem'd through fields of joy to range;
Rejoicing that his favour'd roof should prove
V IRTUE'S asylum, and the nurse of L OVE ;
Rejoicing that to him the task was given,
While his full Soul was mounting up to Heav'n.
But now, as from a dream his Reason sprung,
And heartiest greetings dwelt upon his tongue:
The sounding Kitchen floor at once receiv'd
The happy group, with all their fears reliev'd;
" Soldier," he cried, " you've found your Girl; 'tis true:
" But suffer me to be a Father too;
" For, never Child that blest a Parent's knee,
" Could shew more duty than she has to me.
" Strangely she came; Affliction chas'd her hard:
" I pitied her; — and this is my reward!
" Here sit you down; recount your perils o'er;
" Henceforth be this your home; and grieve no more:
" Plenty hath shower'd her dewdrops on my head;
" Care visits not my Table, nor my Bed.
" My Heart's warm wishes thus then I fulfil;
" My Dame and I can live without the Mill:
" G EORGE , take the whole; I'll near you still remain,
" To guide your judgment in the choice of grain:
" In Virtue's path commence your prosperous life;
" And from my hand receive your worthy Wife.
" Rise, P HoeBE ; rise, my Girl! — kneel not to me;
" But to THAT P OW'R who interpos'd for thee.
" Integrity hath mark'd your favourite Youth;
" Fair budding Honour, Constancy, and Truth:
" Go to his arms; — and may unsullied joys
" Bring smiling round me, rosy Girls and Boys!
" I'll love them for thy sake. And may your days
" Glide on, as glides the Stream that never stays;
" Bright as whose shingled bed, till life's decline,
" May all your Worth, and all your Virtues shine!"