Next died the Widow Goe, an active dame, Famed ten miles round, and worthy all her fame; She lost her husband when their loves were young, But kept her farm, her credit, and her tongue: Full thirty years she ruled, with matchless skill, With guiding judgment and resistless will; 130 Advice she scorn'd, rebellions she suppress'd, And sons and servants bow'd at her behest. Like that great man's, who to his Saviour came, Were the strong words of this commanding dame:-- "Come," if she said, they came; if "go," were gone; And if "do this,"--that instant it was done. Her maidens told she was all eye and ear, In darkness saw and could at distance hear;-- No parish-business in the place could stir, Without direction or assent from her; 140 In turn she took each office as it fell, Knew all their duties, and discharged them well; The lazy vagrants in her presence shook, And pregnant damsels fear'd her stern rebuke; She look'd on want with judgment clear and cool, And felt with reason and bestow'd by rule; She match'd both sons and daughters to her mind, And lent them eyes--for Love, she heard, was blind; Yet ceaseless still she throve, alert, alive, The working bee, in full or empty hive; 150 Busy and careful, like that working bee, No time for love nor tender cares had she; But when our farmers made their amorous vows, She talk'd of market-steeds and patent-ploughs. Not unemploy'd her evenings pass'd away, Amusement closed, as business waked the day; When to her toilet's brief concern she ran, And conversation with her friends began, Who all were welcome, what they saw, to share; And joyous neighbours praised her Christmas fare, 160 That none around might, in their scorn, complain Of Gossip Goe as greedy in her gain. Thus long she reign'd, admired, if not approved; Praised, if not honour'd; fear'd, if not beloved;-- When, as the busy days of Spring drew near, That call'd for all the forecast of the year; When lively hope the rising crops survey'd, And April promised what September paid; When stray'd her lambs where gorse and greenweed grow; When rose her grass in richer vales below; 170 When pleased she look'd on all the smiling land, And view'd the hinds who wrought at her command; (Poultry in groups still follow'd where she went;) Then dread o'ercame her--that her days were spent. "Bless me! I die, and not a warning giv'n,-- With _much_ to do on Earth, and ALL for Heav'n!-- No reparation for my soul's affairs, No leave petition'd for the barn's repairs; Accounts perplex'd, my interest yet unpaid, My mind unsettled, and my will unmade; 180 A lawyer, haste, and, in your way, a priest; And let me die in one good work at least." She spake, and, trembling, dropp'd upon her knees,