THE PRIDE of such a party, Nature's pride, Was lovely POLL;[Footnote: MARY RAYNER, of Ixworth Thorp.] who innocently try'd, With hat of airy shape and ribbons gay, Love to inspire, and stand in Hymen's way: But, ere her _twentieth_ Summer could expand, Or youth was render'd happy with her hand, Her mind's serenity was lost and gone, Her eye grew languid, and she wept alone; Yet causeless seem'd her grief; for quick restrain'd, Mirth follow'd loud, or indignation reign'd: Whims wild and simple led her from her home, The heath, the common, or the fields to roam: Terror and joy alternate rul'd her hours; Now blithe she sung, and gather'd useless flow'rs; Now pluck'd a tender twig from every bough, To whip the hov'ring demons from her brow. Ill-fated Maid! thy guiding spark is fled, And lasting wretchedness awaits thy bed ... Thy bed of straw! for mark, where even now O'er their lost child afflicted parents bow; Their woe she knows not, but perversely coy, Inverted customs yield her sullen joy; Her midnight meals in secresy she takes, Low mutt'ring to the moon, that rising breaks Through night's dark gloom:... oh how much more forlorn _Her_ night, that knows of no returning dawn!... [Illustration:] Slow from the threshold, once her infant seat, O'er the cold earth she crawls to her retreat; Quitting the cot's warm walls unhous'd to lie, Or share the swine's impure and narrow sty; The damp night air her shiv'ring limbs assails; In dreams she moans, and fancied wrongs bewails. When morning wakes, none earlier rous'd than she, When pendent drops fall glitt'ring from the tree; But nought her rayless melancholy cheers, Or sooths her breast, or stops her streaming tears. Her matted locks unornamented flow; Clasping her knees, and waving to and fro;... Her head bow'd down, her faded cheek to hide;... A piteous mourner by the pathway side. Some tufted molehill through the livelong day She calls her throne; there weeps her life away: And oft the gaily passing stranger stays His well-tim'd step, and takes a silent gaze, Till sympathetic drops unbidden start, And pangs quick springing muster round his heart; And soft he treads with other gazers round, And fain would catch her sorrow's plaintive sound: One word alone is all that strikes the ear, One short, pathetic, simple word,... "_Oh dear!_" A thousand times repeated to the wind, That wafts the sigh, but leaves the pang behind! For ever of the proffer'd parley shy, She hears the' unwelcome foot advancing nigh; Nor quite unconscious of her wretched plight, Gives one sad look, and hurries out of sight....