_First Impressions_. That Sensibility would bring to view, When Love he mention'd;---Love, and Honour true, But _Phoebe_ 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 prajse, The prompt fidelity of all his ways; Till in a vacant hour, the Dinner done, One day he jokjng 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 _Phoebe_,--once so light and airy, She'd trip along the passage like a Fairy,-- _Enquiry. Ingenuous Explanation_. 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 _Phoebe_ 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 _Phoebe'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 _Phoebe'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. _The little History_. When, pennyless and sad, you met with me, I'd just escap'd the dangers of the Sea; Resolv'd to try my fortune 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'ling 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. _The Recognition_.