The renew'd Journey.

Once more he'd go; full resolute awhile,

But heard his native Bells on every stile;

The sound recall'd him with a pow'rful charm,

The Heath wide open'd, and the day was warm;

There, where a bed of tempting green he found,

Increasing anguish weigh'd him to the ground;

His well-grown limbs the scatter'd Daisies press'd,

While his clinch'd hand fell heavy on his breast.

‘ Why do I go in cruel sport to say,

“I love thee, Jane; appoint the happy day?”

‘ Why seek her sweet ingenuous reply,

‘ Then grasp her hand and proffer — poverty?

‘ Why, if I love her and adore her name,

‘ Why act like time and sickness on her frame?

‘ Why should my scanty pittance nip her prime,

‘ And chace away the Rose before its time?

‘ I'm young,‘ tis true; the world beholds me free;

‘ Labour ne'er show'd a frightful face to me;