Page:Lass of fair wone, or, The parson's daugter (sic) betrayed.pdf/5

 And when the mowers went afield. The yellow corn to ted, She felt her burden stir within, And shook with tender dread.

And when the winds of autumn hist Along the stubble field; Then could the damsel’s piteous plight No longer be conceal’d

Her sire, a harsh and angry man, With furious voice reviled: “Hence from my sight! I’ll none of thee “I harbour not thy child.”

And fast, amid her fluttering hair, With clenched fist he gripes, And seiz’d a leathern thong, and lash’d Her side with sounding stripes.

Her lily skin, so soft and white, He ribb’d with bloody wales; And thrust her out, though black the night, Though sleet and storm assails.

Up the harsh rock, on flinty paths, The maiden had to roam; On tottering step she grop’d her way, And sought her lover’s home.

“ A mother thou hast made of me. Before thou mad’st a wife: For this, upon my tender breast. These livid stripes are rife: