BALLAD THE NINTH.
Lovely woman! how brave is thy soul,
When duty and love are combin'd!
Then danger in vain would controul
Thy tender, yet resolute mind.
Boulla thus in an African glade,
In her season of beauty and youth,
In the deadliest danger display'd
All the quick-sighted courage of truth.
Tho' the wife of a peasant, yet none
Her grandeur of heart rose above;
And her husband was nature's true son
In simplicity, labour, and love.
'Twas his task, and he manag'd it well,
The herd of his master to guide,
Where a marshy and desolate dell
Daily drink to the cattle supplied.
In this toil a dear playfellow shar'd,
A little, brave, sensible boy!
Who nobly for manhood prepar'd,
Made every kind office his joy.
One day as the dell they drew near,
They perceiv'd all the cattle around
Starting wild, in tumultuous fear,
As if thunder had shaken the ground.
The peasant, in wonder and awe,
Keenly search'd for the cause of their fright;
Very soon it's just motive he saw,
And he shudder'd himself at the sight;
For couch'd in the midst of the glade
An enormous fierce Lion he view'd;
His eye-balls shot flame thro' the shade,
And with gore his vast jaw was imbru'd.
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