WRITTEN ON WHITSUN-MONDAY 1795. (Mary) Matilda Betham Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T143264 Betham, Mary Matilda, 1776-1852. Elegies and Other Small Poems, by Matilda Betham. Ipswich Printed by W. Burrell, and sold by Longman, Paternoster-Row, and Jermyn and Forster, Ipswich 1797 pp. [45]-48.

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WRITTEN ON WHITSUN-MONDAY 1795. AT an open window sitting , On this day of mirth and glee , 'Cross a flow'ry vista flitting , Many passing forms I see . Ah ! lovely prospect , stay awhile ! And longer glad my doating eye , With poverty's delighted smile , And lighten'd step , as passing by ; With labour's spruce and ruddy train , Deck'd out in all their best array , Who , months of toil and care disdain , Paid by the pleasures of a day . The village girl still let me view , Hast'ning to the neighb'ring fair ; Her cap adorn'd with pink or blue , And nicely smooth her glossy hair . With sparkling eye and smiling face , Ting'd o'er with beauty's warmest glow ; With timid air , and humble grace , With clear and undepressed brow . Go ! lovely girl , and share the day , To thy industrious merit due ; There join the dance , or choral lay ; Thou blooming , village rose , adieu ! And thou , O youth , so blythe and free , Bounding swiftly o'er the plain , Go , taste the joys of liberty , And cheer thy spirit , happy swain ! How different to the lonely hour , When slowly following the plough , Self-buoyant joy forgets the pow'r , Which warms thy gladden'd bosom now . If some rural prize desiring , Or ambitious of applause , Loud huzzas thy wishes firing , Thy steady hand the furrow draws ; Ne'er a victor fam'd in story , Greater praise and reverence drew , Than thou , attir'd in humble glory , So , guiltless conqueror , adieu ! Oh , here a charming group appears ! A cottage family , so gay , Whose youthful hopes , uncheck'd by fears , In smiles of thoughtless rapture play . Here , borne in fond , parental arms , The infant's roving eye we view ; Boasting a thousand , thousand charms , Endearing innocents , adieu ! They go ! no more with beating heart , And lively , dancing step to tread ; Unwillingly will they depart , To seek again their homely shed . Ah ! Eve , I love thy veil of grey , Which will conceal them from my view , For , bending home their weary way , How sad would be our last adieu !