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 cloaths to wear: 'The _Work-house_ found them; we were carried there. 'We lov'd each other dearly; when we met 'We always shar'd what trifles we could get. _Rustic Hospitality and Protection of the friendless_. But _George_ was older by a year than me:-- He parted from me and was sent to Sea. "Good-bye, dear Phoebe," 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-natured 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 every limb; _The Child becomes one of the Family_. 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 ardor 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 PHOEBE 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 New Comer_. 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 _Phoebe_, 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 Whene'er the comely Stranger was in right: For he at once assiduously strove. To please so sweet a Maid, and win her love. At every 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 every nameless grace, [Footnote: A Maxim which all ought to remember. C.L.]