The Young Stranger.

Drove in a wretched Girl; who weeping stood,

Whilst the cold rain dripp'd from her in a flood.

With kind officiousness the tender Dame

Rous'd up the dying embers to a flame;

Dry cloaths procur'd, and cheer'd her shiv'ring guest,

And sooth'd the sorrows of her infant breast.

But as she stript her shoulders, lily-white,

What marks of cruel usage shock'd their sight!

Weals, and blue wounds, most piteous to behold

Upon a Child yet scarcely Ten years old.

The Miller felt his indignation rise,

Yet, as the weary stranger clos'd her eyes,

And seem'd fatigu'd beyond her strength and years,

‘ Sleep, Child,’ he said,‘ and wipe away your tears.’

They watch'd her slumbers till the storm was done;

When thus the generous Man again begun:

‘ See, fluttering sighs that rise against her will,

And agitating dreams disturb her still!