THE WEAVER'S BOY. Daily to kneel, at church aloud to pray, While his loose thoughts were wand'ring far away, Was his religion. Marvel not he fell, But rather how he stood so long, so well; Virtuous, because temptation ne'er?ssail'd, But soon it came, more soon, alas, prevail'd ! One eve, when toil was o'er, his silent hearth Miss'd the gay pratfie of accustom'd mirth: . The ale-house had receiv'd its luckless guest: "What could he do ? a friend so warmly prest." Thou fatal vestibule to Vice's fane, Who ever sought thee once, nor went again ? Or who from Virtue's path.has ever past, Who found the f?t step could be made the last ? Next time, he went to drink his Mary's health, Then meet a nei?hbour? and at last by stealth. Alas, when aught we fear should be reveal'd, Still find we more, that we would wish conce?'d; 'Till Sin, grown bold, no longer shrinks away, But bates her forehead to the open day ! Why should the Muse, with vain endearour, dwell On what all eloquence were vain 'to tell; How trembling love the first slight wound receives, Suspects, doubts, hesitates, at last believes ? For him, no more unsullied love had charms, He lef? the wife's, and sought the wanton's, arms. ......... ?Google ?
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