And the flax’s stonelike weight

Needed to be told;
But no longer was its state

Valued as of old.

When I took it to the weaver,

Something felt I start,
And more quickly, as with fever,

Throbb’d my trembling heart.

Then I bear the thread at length

Through the heat, to bleach;
But, alas, I scarce have strength

To the pool to reach.

What I in my little room

Span so fine and slight,—­
As was likely.  I presume—­

Came at last to light.

1800.*
-----
Before A court of justice.

The father’s name ye ne’er shall be told

Of my darling unborn life;
“Shame, shame,” ye cry, “on the strumpet bold!”

Yet I’m an honest wife.

To whom I’m wedded, ye ne’er shall be told,

Yet he’s both loving and fair;
He wears on his neck a chain of gold,

And a hat of straw doth he wear.

If scorn ’tis vain to seek to repel,

On me let the scorn be thrown. 
I know him well, and he knows me well,

And to God, too, all is known.

Sir Parson and Sir Bailiff, again,

I pray you, leave me in peace! 
My child it is, my child ’twill remain,

So let your questionings cease!

1815.*
-----
The page and the miller’s daughter.

Page.

Where goest thou?  Where? 
Miller’s daughter so fair!

Thy name, pray?—­

Miller’s daughter.

’Tis Lizzy.

Page. 
Where goest thou?  Where? 
With the rake in thy hand?

Miller’s daughter. 
Father’s meadows and land

To visit, I’m busy.

Page. 
Dost go there alone?

Miller’s daughter. 
By this rake, sir, ’tis shown

That we’re making the hay;
And the pears ripen fast
In the garden at last,

So I’ll pick them to-day.

Page. 
Is’t a silent thicket I yonder view?

Miller’s daughter. 
Oh, yes! there are two;
There’s one on each side.

Page. 
I’ll follow thee soon;
When the sun burns at noon
We’ll go there, o’urselves from his rays to hide,
And then in some glade all-verdant and deep—­

Miller’s daughter. 
Why, people would say—­

Page. 
Within mine arms thou gently wilt sleep.

Miller’s daughter.

Your pardon, I pray! 
Whoever is kiss’d by the miller-maid,
Upon the spot must needs be betray’d.

’Twould give me distress

To cover with white
Your pretty dark dress. 
Equal with equal! then all is right! 
That’s the motto in which I delight. 
I am in love with the miller-boy;
He wears nothing that I could destroy.