PHOEBE ELLIOT. 393 



tion for her was unbounded. " Oh ! think better 

 of it," said the lad, " it is not yet too late/' 



Phoebe's heart throbbed with emotion, and she 

 dared not trust herself to make a reply. A rude 

 stile had to be passed before she came to the last 

 field which led to the Church. She seated herself 

 on it to rest her trembling limbs, and to fortify 

 her resolutions. The boy threw himself on the 

 bank near it, and covered his face with the sleeve 

 of his smock frock. Phoebe heard his sobs, and 

 they seemed to warn her of her future misery. 

 Her memory stole back to the days of her happy 

 childhood she thought of the pleasant hours she 

 had often spent with her youthful companions, 

 in the field which lay before her, the grass was 

 fresh and green in its young luxuriance. The well 

 known trees were budding forth in all their usual 

 beauty, and the cheerful birds hopped gaily from 

 twig to twig sending forth their little notes of 

 humble praise the lark too caroled over her 

 head that bird of the peasantry, which the 

 plough man rejoices to hear, and which beguiles 

 the task of the early mower 



The lark, who from her airy height 

 On twinkling pinions poised, pour'd forth profuse, 

 In thrilling sequence of exuberant song, 

 As one whose joyous nature overflow'd 

 With life and power, her rich and rapturous strain.* 



* SOUTHEY'S Roderick. 



