The poorest peasant of the meanest soil,
The child of poverty, and heir to toil,
Early, from radiant love's impartial light,
Steals one small spark to cheer his world of night:
Dear spark! which oft, through winter's chilling woes.
Is all the warmth his little cottage knows!
Sheridan

Laura was lightsome, gay, and free from guile;
Bright were her eyes, and beautiful her smile:
Women found fault, but men were heard to swear
That she was lovely, though she was not fair .
Her parents were not rich, nor very poor;
She had enough, nor breathed a wish for more;
Blithe were the mornings, gay the evenings spent,
And youthful eyes smiled back a calm content.
Yes, she was happy, and she was at rest,
Till the world filled with cares her little breast,
Taught her to fear all dowagers and mothers,
Smile on gay lords, and cut their younger brothers.
This last rule cost her now and then a sigh —
'Tis wrong to say so — but I know not why
Men, when they're handsome, are not liked the less,
And may be pleasant, though they're pennyless —
But Laura's mother never would agree
That needy men could pleasant partners be;
To gain her favour, vain was all exertion,
A younger brother was her great aversion.
The mother hoped and prayed — her prayer was granted,
A lordling came — the very thing she wanted —
" Oh! what a match, my dear!" — and Laura sighed
And hung her head, and timidly replied,
" She did not love," — " What put it in your head
That it was needful? — you are asked to wed —
Romantic love is all a childish folly,
So marry, dear! and don't look melancholy;
Besides, you cannot always live at home —
Another year your sister's turn will come —
And you will be so rich! — where shall we go?
Let us begin to think of your trousseau! "
And Laura laughed, and looked up at her mother:
She loved not him — but then, she loved no other!
Days passed away — she spent the last few hours
In pinning on lace veils and orange flowers;
With beating heart the maid to church was carried,
And Laura blushed, and trembled, and — was married!
Quickly the happy couple speed away,
And friends' congratulations end the day.
" Sweet girl! how well she look'd! dress'd with such care!
How the rich veil became her face and hair!
A lovely woman, certainly," — and Laura
Left friends behind, with all the world before her!
Dwelt for a while (remembrance sad and strong!)
In Laura's mind her little brother's song —
The quick light step — the blue and sparkling eye,
The bright perfection of his infancy —
Her sister's gentle smile — all these arise,
Whilst damp'd her wedding veil her weeping eyes;
But soon consoled, again the maid grew gay,
Swift in amusement flew each busy day;
The country seat was exquisite; she found
New beauties every time she looked around;
The lawn so green, so smooth, so sunny too,
The flowers so bright, the heavens of such a blue! —
" Oh! this was happiness!" — It might have been,
Had there been no reverse of this fair scene.
But Laura's lord was not what lords should be; —
Cold, harsh, unfeeling, proud, alas! was he —
And yet a very fool — had he been stern,
She would have tried the tyrant's will to learn —
Had he been passionate, she still had loved —
Or jealous, time her virtue would have proved;
But, as he was, without a soul or mind
Too savage e'en to be in seeming kind —
The slave of petty feelings, every hour
He changed his will, to show he had the power;
And Laura wept, that she had linked her fate
With one too cold to love, too mean to hate.
A mother's hopes were left her, and she said,
" My child, at least, will love me!" days, months, sped —
She watched the grave, and wept the early dead!
The scene was changed: nought pleases Laura now,
Nor sunny sky, nor richly sweeping bough;
At the long window, opening to the ground,
She sits, while evening spreads its shadows round;
Or through the glowing noon, for weary hours,
Watches the bees that flutter o'er the flowers;
Or when the moon is up, and stars are out,
She leaves her lonely room to roam about;
And while the night breeze murmurs o'er her head,
Upbraids the living, or bewails the dead!
Both are alike insensible — her mate,
Weary of home, hath left her to her fate;
Nor recks he now that Laura weeps or sighs,
So he enjoy what Heaven to her denies.
But there was one who thought eyes blue and deep,
Like Laura's were too beautiful to weep;
Perchance he told her so — perchance she guessed
He deemed her lovelier than his words expressed —
A cousin he of Laura's moody lord,
But how unlike him! — every gentle word
And gentlier tone — the song, the walk, the book,
The graceful step, the bright expressive look,
Awoke in her a deep and sad regret
Of what he might have been — ah! might be yet!