62 



Though kind her heart, and soft as freshest dough, 

 Determination sits upon her brow. 

 From her resolve appeals no captious she, 

 Firm is her will, and final her decree. 

 What dread dismay her gathering brows inspire, 

 Whene er, displeased, she rages round the fire ! 

 Her voice like pounding pestles shakes the air 

 And fills with terror all that linger there. 

 Swift, for his hole, each mouse affrighted runs, 

 E en crawling roach the raging priestess shuns ; 

 Poor Pompey slinks far in the deepest shade, 

 And every cat through window, flies dismayed ! 

 John whistles low, yet wisely holds his tongue, 

 While trembling Betty wonders what goes wrong. 

 But when, again, upon her rotund cheeks, 

 A glowing smile, a mind contented speaks, 

 All else doth smile, all else a pleasure knows, 

 With cheerful radiance all the kitchen glows , 

 With greater lustre shines each burnished tin, 

 And simmering pots their liveliest airs begin ^ 



As when fierce Boreas, rujcs, the raging skies, 

 Summons his, winds, and bids the tempest rise ; 

 Marshals, from far, the clouds in grim array, 

 And spreads their gathering volumes for the fray; 



