NOT far from where the hermit's cell was placed, Within a village dwelled a widow chaste; Her residence was at the further end And all her store--a daughter as a friend, Who candour, youth, and charms supreme possessed; And still a virgin lived, howe'er distressed.

Though if the real truth perhaps we name, 'Twas more simplicity than virtuous aim; Not much of industry, but honest heart; No wealth, nor lovers, who might hope impart.

In Adam's days, when all with clothes were born, She doubtless might like finery have worn; A house was furnished then without expense; For sheets or mattresses you'd no pretence; Not e'en a bed was necessary thought No blankets, pillowbiers, nor quilts were bought.

Those times are o'er; then Hymen came alone; But now a lawyer in his train is shown.

OUR anchorite, in begging through the place; This girl beheld,--but not with eyes of grace.

Said he, she'll do, and, if thou manag'st right, Lucius, at times, with her to pa.s.s the night.

No time he lost, his wishes to secure: The means, we may suppose, not over pure.

QUITE near the open fields they lived, I've said; An humble, boarded cottage o'er their head.

One charming night--no, I mistake 'tis plain, Our hermit, favoured much by wind and rain, Pierced in the boarding, where by time 'twas worn; A hole through which he introduced a horn; And loudly bawled:--attend to what I say, Ye women, my commands at once obey.

This voice spread terror through the little cot; Both hid their heads and trembled for their lot; But still our monk his horn would sound aloud Awake! cried he; your favour G.o.d has vowed; My faithful servant, Lucius, haste to seek; At early dawn go find this hermit meek To no one say a word: 'tis Heav'n ordains; Fear nothing, Lucius ever blessed remains; I'll show the way myself: your daughter place, Good widow, with this holy man of grace; And from their intercourse a pope shall spring, Who back to virtue christendom will bring.

HE spoke to them so very loud and clear, They heard, though 'neath the clothes half dead with fear.

Some time howe'er the females lay in dread; At length the daughter ventured out her head, And, pulling hastily her parent's arm, Said she, dear mother, (not suspecting harm) Good Heav'ns! must I obey and thither go?

What would the holy man on me bestow?

I know not what to say nor how to act; Now cousin Anne would with him be exact, And better recollect his sage advice:-- Fool! said the mother, never be so nice; Go, nothing fear, and do whate'er's desired; Much understanding will not be required; The first or second time thou'lt get thy cue, And cousin Anne will less know what to do.

Indeed? the girl replied; well, let's away, And we'll return to bed without delay.

But softly, cried the mother with a smile; Not quite so fast, for Satan may beguile; And if 'twere so, hast taken proper care?

I think he spoke like one who would ensnare.

To be precipitate, in such a case, Perhaps might lead at once to dire disgrace.

If thou wert terrified and did'st not hear, Myself I'm sure was quite o'ercome with fear.

No, no, rejoined the daughter, I am right: I clearly heard, dear mother, spite of fright.

Well then, replied the widow, let us pray, That we by Satan be not led astray.

AT length they both arose when morning came, And through the day the converse was the same.

At night howe'er the horn was heard once more, And terrified the females as before.

Thou unbelieving woman, cried the voice, For certain purposes of G.o.d the choice; No more delay, but to the hermit fly, Or 'tis decreed that thou shalt quickly die.

Now, mother, said the girl, I told you well; Come, let us hasten to the hermit's cell; So much I dread your death, I'll nothing shun; And if 'tis requisite, I'll even run.

Away then, cried the mother, let us go; Some pains to dress, the daughter would bestow, Without reflecting what might be her fare:-- To PLEASE is ev'ry blooming la.s.s's care.

OUR monk was on the watch you may suppose; A hole he made that would a glimpse disclose; By which, when near his cell the females drew, They might, with whip in hand the hermit view, Who, like a culprit punished for his crimes, Received the lash, and that so many times, It sounded like the discipline of schools, And made more noise than flogging fifty fools.

WHEN first our pilgrims knocked, he would not hear; And, for the moment, whipping would appear; The holy lash severely he applied, Which, through the hole, with pain our females spied; At length the door he ope'd, but from his eyes No satisfaction beamed: he showed surprise.

With trembling knees and blushes o'er the face, The widow now explained the mystick case.

Six steps behind, the beauteous daughter stood, And waited the decree she thought so good.

The hypocrite howe'er the hermit played, And sent these humble pilgrims back dismayed.

Said he, the evil spirit much I dread; No female to my cell should e'er be led; Excuse me then: such acts would sorrow bring; From me the HOLY FATHER ne'er spring.

What ne'er from you? the widow straight replied: And why should not the blessing, pray, be tried?

No other answer howsoe'er she got; So back they trudged once more to gain their cot.

Ah! mother, said the girl, 'tis my belief, Our many heavy sins have caused thus grief.

WHEN night arrived and they in sleep were lost, Again the hermit's horn the woodwork crossed; Return, return, cried he with horrid tone; To-morrow you'll have due attention shown; I've changed the hermit's cold fastidious mind, And when you come, he'll act as I've designed.

THE couple left their bed at break of day, And to the cell repaired without delay Our tale to shorten, Lucius kind appeared To rigid rules no longer he adhered.

The mother with him let her girl remain, And hastened to her humble roof again.

The belle complying looked:--he took her arm, And soon familiar grew with ev'ry charm.

O HYPOCRITES! how oft your wily art Deceives the world and causes poignant smart.

AT matins they so very often met, Some awkward indications caused regret.

The fair at length her ap.r.o.n-string perceived Grew daily shorter, which her bosom grieved; But nothing to the hermit she'd unfold, Nor e'en those feelings to her mother told; She dreaded lest she should be sent away, And be deprived at once of Cupid's play.

You'll tell me whence so much discernment came?

From this same play:--the tree of art by name.

For sev'n long months the nymph her visits paid; Her inexperience doubtless wanted aid.

BUT when the mother saw her daughter's case, She made her thank the monk, and leave the place.

The hermit blessed the Lord for what was done; A pleasant course his humble slave had run.

He told the mother and her daughter fair, The child, by G.o.d's permission, gifts would share.

Howe'er, be careful, said the wily wight, That with your infant ev'ry thing goes right; To you, from thence, great happiness will spring: You'll reign the parent of what's more than king; Your relatives to n.o.ble rank will rise: Some will be princes; others lords comprise; Your nephews cardinals; your cousins too Will dukes become, if they the truth pursue; And places, castles, palaces, there'll be, For you and them of every high degree; You'll nothing want: eternal is the source, Like waters flowing in the river's course.

This long prediction o'er: with features grave, His benediction to them both he gave.

WHEN home returned, the girl, each day and night, Amused her mind with prospects of delight; By fancy's aid she saw the future pope, And all prepared to greet her fondest hope; But what arrived the whole at once o'erthrew Hats, dukedoms, castles, vanished from the view: The promised elevation of the NAME Dissolved to air:-a little female came!

THE CONVENT GARDENER OF LAMPORECHIO

WHEN Cupid with his dart, would hearts a.s.sail, The rampart most secure is not the VEIL; A husband better will the FAIR protect, Than walls or lattices, I much suspect.

Those parents, who in nunneries have got Their daughters (whether willingly or not), Most clearly in a glaring error prove, To fancy G.o.d will round their actions move; 'Tis an abuse of what we hold divine; The Devil with them surely must combine.

Besides, 'twere folly to suppose that vice Ne'er entered convent walls, and nuns were ice.

A very diff'rent sentiment I hold: Girls, who in publick move, however bold, Have greater terrors lest they get a stain; For, honour lost, they never fame regain.

Few enemies their modesty attack; The others have but one their minds to rack.

TEMPTATION, daughter of the drowsy dame, That hates to move, and IDLENESS we name, Is ever practising each wily art, To spread her snares around the throbbing heart; And fond DESIRE, the child of lorn CONSTRAINT, Is anxious to the soul soft scenes to paint.

If I've a worthy daughter made a nun, Is that a reason she's a saint?--Mere fun!

Avaunt such folly!--three in four you'll find, Of those who wear the veil--have changed their mind; Their fingers bite, and often do much worse: Those convent vows, full soon, become a curse; Such things at least have sometimes reached my ear (For doubtless I must speak from others here); Of his Boccace a merry tale has told, Which into rhyme I've put, as you'll behold.

WITHIN a nunnery, in days of yore, A good old man supplied the garden-store; The nuns, in general, were smart and gay, And kept their tongues in motion through the day.

Religious duties they regarded less, Than for the palour* to be nice in dress Arranging ev'ry article to please, That each might captivate and charm at ease; The changes constantly they rang around, And made the convent-walls with din resound.

Eight sisters and an abbess held the place, And strange to say--there DISCORD you might trace.

All nine had youth, and many beauty too: Young friars round the place were oft in view, Who reckoned ev'ry step they took so well, That always in the proper road they fell.

Th' aged gard'ner, of whom ere now we spoke, Was oft bewildered, they would so provoke; Capricious, whimsical, from day to day, Each would command and try to have her way; And as they ne'er agreed among themselves, He suffered more than if with fifty elves; When one was pleased, another soon complained: At length to quit the nuns he was constrained.

He left them, poor and wretched as he came; No cross, pile, money:--e'en his coat the same.

A YOUTH of Lamporechio, gay and bold, One day this gard'ner met as I am told; And after conversation 'bout the place, Said, he should like nun's service to embrace, And that he wished sincerely to be hired: He'd gratis do whatever was required.

'Twas clear indeed his object was not pelf; He thought however he might reward himself; And as the sisters were not over wise, A nun he now and then might make his prize; Proceed from one to more with like address, Till with the whole he'd had complete success.

Said Nuto (such we find the gard'ner's name), Believe me, friend, you will be much to blame; Some other service seek, I recommend; These convent-dames will ne'er their whimseys end.

I'd rather live without or soup or bread, Than work for them, however nicely fed.

STRANGE creatures are these nuns, upon my word; Their ways ridiculous and e'en absurd; Who, with the sisterhood, has never been, Has clearly yet, not perfect torment seen, Such service, prithee, never try to gain; To do what they require I know is vain; One will have soft, and t'other asks for hard: Thou'lt be a fool such ninnies to regard; No work thou'lt do, whatever be the want: THIS cabbages,--THAT carrots tells thee plant: Said t'other, fain I'd bring it to the test; I'm but a simpleton, it is confessed; Yet still a month in place, and thou wilt see; How well I with the convent-dames agree.

The reason is, my life is in its prime, While thou art sunk in years and worn by time, I'm proper for their work, and only ask, To be admitted to the drudging task.

Well, said the former, if resolved to try, To their factotum instantly apply; Come; let's away. Lead on, the other cried; I've got a thought, which I'll to you confide:-- I'll seem an idiot, and quite dumb appear.-- In that, said Nuto, only persevere, And then perhaps the confessor thou'lt find, With their factotum carelessly inclined; No fears nor dark suspicions of a mute: Thou'lt ev'ry way, my friend, their wishes suit.

THE place, as was expected, soon he got; And half the grounds to trench, at once his lot: He acted well the nincomp.o.o.p and fool, Yet still was steady to the garden tool; The nuns continually would flock around, And much amus.e.m.e.nt in his anticks found.