 | The poems, odes, songs, and other metrical effusions, of Samuel Woodworth |  |
THE PILGRIM,
To his fair fellow-traveller from Brookfield to Hartford.
You saw, dear Mary, or you might have seen,
How the poor steeds that whirl'd us down from B---
Were lash'd and urged along, with slackened rein,
Or check'd and shorten'd when they ran too free.
How the poor steeds that whirl'd us down from B---
Were lash'd and urged along, with slackened rein,
Or check'd and shorten'd when they ran too free.
So I, my girl, though (Heaven be praised) no horse,
Am sometimes lash'd and sometimes curb'd by Fate;
Now hurried forward with resistless force,
Now check'd, and forced against my will to wait.
Am sometimes lash'd and sometimes curb'd by Fate;
Now hurried forward with resistless force,
Now check'd, and forced against my will to wait.
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I fondly hoped to pass my days at home,
And only tread my native rural plains;
But Fate forbade, and I am doom'd to roam,
Gall'd by her whip, and straightened with her reins.
And only tread my native rural plains;
But Fate forbade, and I am doom'd to roam,
Gall'd by her whip, and straightened with her reins.
I gain'd an inn, that promis'd food and rest,
For Joy and Peace were pictured on the sign;
I saw the turtle settling in her nest,
And thought such happiness might soon be mine.
For Joy and Peace were pictured on the sign;
I saw the turtle settling in her nest,
And thought such happiness might soon be mine.
Vain, foolish thought! for crack went madam's lash,
And I was driven from the loved abode;
O'er bog and moor, through thick and thin to dash,
Without e'en hope to cheer me on the road.
And I was driven from the loved abode;
O'er bog and moor, through thick and thin to dash,
Without e'en hope to cheer me on the road.
And now, though fostered by your generous care,
Blest with your smiles, and friendship's tenderest tie,
Yet, Jehu-like, she drives me to despair—
Adieu, dear girl! for I again must fly.
Blest with your smiles, and friendship's tenderest tie,
Yet, Jehu-like, she drives me to despair—
Adieu, dear girl! for I again must fly.
| The poems, odes, songs, and other metrical effusions, of Samuel Woodworth | |