 | The Dramatic and Poetical Works of Joanna Baillie |  |
XXIX.
But when she reach'd the Belgian strand,Hard was her lot. Fast fell the rain,
And there lay many miles of land,
A stranger's land, ere she might gain
The nearest town. With hardship cross'd,
The wayward child its shoes had lost;
Their coin was spent, their garments light,
And dark and dreary was the night,
Then like some gypsy girl on desert moor,
Her helpless charge upon her back she bore.
Who then had guess'd that figure slight,
So bending in such humble plight,
Was one of proud and gentle race;
Possessing all that well became
Th' accomplish'd maid or high-born dame,
Befitting princely hall or monarch's court to grace?
| The Dramatic and Poetical Works of Joanna Baillie | |