A
DISAPPOINTMENT
.
ON
village
green
whose
smooth
and
well-worn
sod
,
Cross
pathed
,
with
many
a
gossip's
foot
is
trod
;
By
cottage
door
where
playful
children
run
,
And
cats
and
curs
sit
basking
in
the
sun
;
Where
o'er
an
earthen
seat
the
thorn
is
bent
,
Cross-armed
and
back
to
wall
poor
William
leant
.
His
bonnet
all
awry
,
his
gathered
brow
,
His
hanging
lip
and
lengthened
visage
shew
A
mind
but
ill
at
ease
.
With
motions
strange
His
listless
limbs
their
wayward
postures
change
;
While
many
a
crooked
line
and
curious
maze
With
clouted
shoon
he
on
the
sand
pourtrays
.
At
length
the
half-chew'd
straw
fell
from
his
mouth
,
And
to
himself
low
spoke
the
moody
youth
.
"
How
simple
is
the
lad
,
and
reft
of
skill
,
Who
thinks
with
love
to
fix
a
woman's
will
!
Who
every
Sunday
morn
to
please
her
sight
,
Knots
up
his
neck-cloth
gay
and
hosen
white
;
Who
for
her
pleasure
keeps
his
pockets
bare
,
And
half
his
wages
spends
on
pedlar's
ware
;
When
every
niggard
clown
or
dotard
old
,
Who
hides
in
secret
nooks
his
oft-told
gold
,
Whose
field
or
orchard
tempts
,
with
all
her
pride
,
At
little
cost
may
win
her
for
his
bride
!
While
all
the
meed
her
silly
lover
gains
,
Is
but
the
neighbours'
jeering
for
his
pains
.
On
Sunday
last
,
when
Susan's
banns
were
read
,
And
I
astonished
sat
with
hanging
head
,
Cold
grew
my
shrinking
frame
,
and
loose
my
knee
,
While
every
neighbour's
eye
was
fixed
on
me
.
Ah
Sue
!
when
last
we
worked
at
Hodge's
hay
,
And
still
at
me
you
mocked
in
wanton
play
—
When
last
at
fair
,
well
pleased
by
chapman's
stand
,
You
took
the
new-bought
fairing
from
my
hand
—
When
at
old
Hobb's
you
sung
that
song
so
gay
,
'
Sweet
William
,
'
still
the
burthen
of
the
lay
,
—
I
little
thought
,
alas
!
the
lots
were
cast
,
That
thou
shouldst
be
another's
bride
at
last
:
And
had
,
when
last
we
tripped
it
on
the
green
,
And
laughed
at
stiff-back'd
Rob
,
small
thoughts
I
ween
,
Ere
yet
another
scanty
month
was
flown
To
see
thee
wedded
to
the
hateful
clown
;
Ay
,
lucky
churl
!
more
gold
thy
pockets
line
;
But
did
these
shapely
limbs
resemble
thine
,
I'd
stay
at
home
and
tend
the
household
geer
,
Nor
on
the
green
with
other
lads
appear
.
Ay
,
lucky
churl
!
no
store
thy
cottage
lacks
,
And
round
thy
barn
thick
stand
the
sheltered
stacks
,
But
did
such
features
coarse
my
visage
grace
,
I'd
never
budge
the
bonnet
from
my
face
.
Yet
let
it
be
;
it
shall
not
break
my
ease
!
He
best
deserves
who
doth
the
maiden
please
.
Such
silly
cause
no
more
shall
give
me
pain
,
Nor
ever
maiden
cross
my
rest
again
.
Such
grizzled
suitors
with
their
taste
agree
,
And
the
black
fiend
may
have
them
all
for
me
!
Now
through
the
village
rise
confused
sounds
,
Hoarse
lads
,
and
children
shrill
,
and
yelping
hounds
.
Straight
every
housewife
at
her
door
is
seen
,
And
pausing
hedgers
on
their
mattocks
lean
.
At
every
narrow
lane
and
alley's
mouth
,
Loud-laughing
lasses
stand
and
joking
youth
.
A
bridal
band
tricked
out
in
colours
gay
,
With
minstrels
blythe
before
to
cheer
the
way
,
From
clouds
of
curling
dust
that
onward
fly
,
In
rural
splendour
breaks
upon
the
eye
.
As
in
their
way
they
hold
so
gayly
on
,
Caps
,
beads
,
and
buttons
,
glancing
to
the
sun
,
Each
village
wag
with
eye
of
roguish
cast
,
Some
maiden
jogs
and
vents
the
ready
jest
;
While
village
toast
the
passing
belles
deride
,
And
sober
matrons
marvel
at
their
pride
.
But
William
,
head
erect
with
settled
brow
,
In
sullen
silence
viewed
the
passing
show
;
And
oft
he
scratched
his
pate
with
careless
grace
,
And
scorned
to
pull
the
bonnet
o'er
his
face
;
But
did
with
steady
look
unaltered
wait
,
Till
hindmost
man
had
passed
the
Churchyard
gate
,
Then
turned
him
to
his
cot
with
visage
flat
,
Where
honest
Lightfoot
on
the
threshold
sat
.
Up
leaped
the
kindly
beast
his
hand
to
lick
,
And
for
his
pains
received
an
angry
kick
.
Loud
shuts
the
door
with
harsh
and
thundering
din
;
The
echoes
round
their
circling
course
begin
.
From
cot
to
cot
,
church
tower
,
and
rocky
dell
,
It
grows
amain
with
wide
progressive
swell
,
And
Lightfoot
joins
the
coil
with
loud
and
piteous
yell
.