The Young Stranger.

Drove in a wretched Girl; who weeping stood, Whilst the cold rain dripp'd from her in a flood. With kind officiousness the tender Dame Rous'd up the dying embers to a flame; Dry cloaths procur'd, and cheer'd her shiv'ring guest, And sooth'd the sorrows of her infant breast. But as she stript her shoulders, lily-white, What marks of cruel usage shock'd their sight! Weals, and blue wounds, most piteous to behold Upon a Child yet scarcely Ten years old. The Miller felt his indignation rise, Yet, as the weary stranger clos'd her eyes, And seem'd fatigu'd beyond her strength and years, 'Sleep, Child,' he said, 'and wipe away your tears.' They watch'd her slumbers till the storm was done; When thus the generous Man again begun: 'See, fluttering sighs that rise against her will, And agitating dreams disturb her still!