Poems, partly of rural life, (in national English.) ::

A winter's midday sunn'd the tops
Of red-stemm'd boughs in hedge and copse,
And circling winds, with playsome flight,
That blew to darksome hills, where light
First breaks upon our eastward sight,
And bent the withy-wand, and shook
The white-leav'd reeds beside the brook,
Were whirling on the water.

And there a little maid, with fast
But little span-wide footsteps, past,
Out-bearing, with a smileless pride,
Hung underhanded at her side,
Within a snow-white napkin tied,
Her father's dinner, far beyond
Where whiffy winds, that cross'd the pond,
Were whirling on the water.

Who knows how sweet a father feels
The coming of such homely meals,
Prepared by love with timely thought,
And thus by meek-soul'd childhood brought!
Not all the dainties gold e'er bought,
Could bring him greater bliss, although
He takes them where the cold winds blow
Athwart the wavy waters.

Her locks were hanging, glossy black,
Wind-driven down her neck and back;
And by the pond, to her dismay,
The wind, that tried as if in play
To take her little cloak away,
At last blew suddenly inside
Her little bonnet now untied,
And whirl'd it on the waters.

And others, standing on the brim,
Might laugh to see the bonnet swim,
Although it made the poor maid start
And shake with fright in ev'ry part,
For mother-fear was in her heart;
But yet, at last, she found a wand
To reach it whirling o'er the pond,
Upon the ruffled waters.

And, as she tried, the faithless clay
Below her footstep slipp'd away,
And downward to the dismal deep
She sank, while water, in a heap,
Roll'd bubbling over her, to keep
Her little form so young and fair,
With blooming cheeks and glossy hair,
Beneath the whirling waters.

But God, who set his ground below
Our feet, and made his waters flow,
That love may help us when they roll
Or fall to hurt us, binds each soul
With sweet compassion to the whole:
And so brought me along that way
To see that little maid that lay
Thus struggling in the waters.

And eagerly I went to wade
The water to the little maid,
And with a joy excelling aught
That now can hold my backward thought,
I saw her rise alive, and caught
Her in my clasping arms half dead,
And rais'd her from her wavy bed,
The ever whirling waters.

University of Virginia Library

THE BONNET IN THE WATER.