Nor had he father; hope she did awhile, And would not weep, although she could not smile; Till news was brought us that the youth was slain, And then, I think, she never smiled again; Or if she did, it was but to express A feeling far, indeed, from happiness! 240 Something that her bewilder’d mind conceived, When she inform’d us that she never grieved, But was right merry, then her head was wild, And grief had gain’d possession of my child. Yet, though bewilder’d for a time, and prone To ramble much and speak aloud, alone; Yet did she all that duty ever ask’d And more, her will self-govern’d and untask’d. With meekness bearing all reproach, all joy To her was lost; she wept upon her boy, 250 Wish’d for his death, in fear that he might live New sorrow to a burden’d heart to give. ‘There was a teacher, where my husband went-- } _Sent_, as he told the people--what he meant } You cannot understand, but--he was sent. } This man from meeting came, and strove to win Her mind to peace by drawing off the sin, Or what it was, that, working in her breast, Robb’d it of comfort, confidence, and rest. He came and reason’d, and she seem’d to feel 260 The pains he took--her griefs began to heal; She ever answer’d kindly when he spoke, And always thank’d him for the pains he took; So, after three long years, and all the while Wrapt up in grief, she blest us with a smile, And spoke in comfort; but she mix’d no more With younger persons, as she did before. ‘Still Ruth was pretty; in her person neat; So thought the teacher, when they chanced to meet. He was a weaver by his worldly trade, 270 But powerful work in the assemblies made; People came leagues to town to hear him sift The holy text,--he had the grace and gift; Widows and maidens flock’d to hear his voice; Of either kind he might have had his choice;-- But he had chosen--we had seen how shy The girl was getting, my good man and I; That when the weaver came, she kept with us, Where he his points and doctrines might discuss; But in our bit of garden, or the room 280 We call our parlour, there he must not come. She loved him not, and though she could attend To his discourses as her guide and friend, Yet now to these she gave a listless ear, As if a friend she would no longer hear; This might he take for woman’s art, and cried, ‘Spouse of my heart, I must not be denied!’-- Fearless he spoke, and I had hope to see My girl a wife--but this was not to be. ‘My husband, thinking of his worldly store, 290 And not, frail man, enduring to be poor, Seeing his friend would for his child provide And hers, he grieved to have the man denied;