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 And Heaven had doom'd her early years to Toil That pure from Tyranny's least deed, herself Unfear'd by Fellow-natures, she might wait On the poor Lab'ring man with kindly looks, And minister refreshment to the tir'd Way-wanderer, when along the rough-hewn Bench The sweltry man had stretch'd him, and aloft Vacantly watch'd the rudely pictured board Which on the Mulberry-bough with welcome creek Swung to the pleasant breeze. Here, too, the Maid Learnt more than Schools could teach: Man's shifting mind, His Vices and his Sorrows! And full oft At Tales of cruel Wrong and strange Distress Had wept and shiver'd. To the tottering Eld Still as a Daughter would she run: she plac'd His cold Limbs at the sunny Door, and lov'd To hear him story, in his garrulous sort, Of his eventful years, all come and gone.


 * So twenty seasons past. The Virgin's Form,

Active and tall, nor Sloth nor Luxury Had shrunk or paled. Her front sublime and broad, Her flexile eye-brows wildly hair'd and low, And her full eye, now bright, now unillum'd,