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"The Servant started back a few paces, ar sight of the nemendous fist which the Farmer denched."

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PRIDE OF THE VILLAGE;

OR, THE

FARMER'S DAUGHTERS.

A Domestic tory.

BY HANNAH MARIA JONES,

AUTHORESS OP

The Gipsy Mother, Emily Moreland, Rosaline Woodbridge, Scottish Chieftains, fe fc.

What is our hope? a rainbow in the skies,
That lures us on, but as we follow, flies !
What is our pleasure? but the dream that leads
'Mid clfin palaces and flowery meads,
Then wakes to dark reality-to woe-
And all the ills that wait man's path below!
What is our trust!--the leaf in autumn's bower
Is not more frail, the phantom of an hour!
Yet let us deem not, though alike for all
The daily sun may shine, the dews may fall
That though on all the brumal tempests beat,
That though on all young spring bestows her heat-
Though summer ripens, and though autumn yields
Por all the aureate treasures of her fields
Let us not deem that Truth has empty claims,
That Right and Wrong are accidental names,
That conscious strength is not to Virtue given,
Or that this crooked path will lead to Heaven!

DELTA.

EMBELLISHED WITH SUPERIOR STEEL ENGRAVINGS.

LONDON :

GEORGE VIRTUE, 26, IVY LANE, PATERNOSTER ROW.

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