My husband died, and now no more My smile was sought, or ask'd my hand-- A widow'd vagrant, vile and poor, Beneath a vagrant's vile command. Ceaseless I roved the country round, To win my bread by fraudful arts, 80 And long a poor subsistence found, By spreading nets for simple hearts. Though poor, and abject, and despised, Their fortunes to the crowd I told; I gave the young the love they prized, And promised wealth to bless the old; Schemes for the doubtful I devised, And charms for the forsaken sold. At length for arts like these confined In prison with a lawless crew, 90 I soon perceived a kindred mind, And there my long-lost daughter knew: His father's child, whom Aaron gave To wander with a distant clan, The miseries of the world to brave, And be the slave of vice and man. She knew my name--we met in pain; Our parting pangs can I express? She sail'd a convict o'er the main, And left an heir to her distress. 100 This is that heir to shame and pain, For whom I only could descry A world of trouble and disdain-- Yet, could I bear to see her die, Or stretch her feeble hand in vain, And, weeping, beg of me supply? No! though the fate thy mother knew Was shameful! shameful though thy race Have wander'd all, a lawless crew, Outcasts, despised in every place: 110 Yet, as the dark and muddy tide, When far from its polluted source, Becomes more pure, and, purified, Flows in a clear and happy course-- In thee, dear infant! so may end Our shame, in thee our sorrows cease! And thy pure course will then extend, In floods of joy, o'er vales of peace. Oh! by the God who loves to spare, Deny me not the boon I crave; 120 Let this loved child your mercy share, And let me find a peaceful grave; Make her yet spotless soul your care, And let my sins their portion have; Her for a better fate prepare, And punish whom 'twere sin to save! MAGISTRATE. Recall the word, renounce the thought, Command thy heart and bend thy knee. There is to all a pardon brought, A ransom rich, assured and free; 130 'Tis full when found, 'tis found if sought, Oh! seek it, till 'tis seal'd to thee. VAGRANT. But how my pardon shall I know? MAGISTRATE. By feeling dread that 'tis not sent; By tears, for sin that freely flow; By grief, that all thy tears are spent; By thoughts on that great debt we owe, With all the mercy God has lent; By suffering what thou canst not show, Yet showing how thine heart is rent: 140 Till thou canst feel thy bosom glow, And say, "MY SAVIOUR, I REPENT!" FOOTNOTES: