To Goody Twoshoes

Ah, little Goody ! I have known thee long,
And feel it strange to call thee Lady Jones.
Art thou as happy 'mid the bowing throng
As when thou hadst thy two shoes on the stones ?
Sole sound of comfort that could reach thy heart.
When thy companion child must needs depart.
Thy lamb, thy raven, and thy box of letters,
Thy love for all the tribes of earth and air,

Thy shrewd odd sayings, apt to make thy betters.
Or folks so call'd, look round with wondrous stare,
And deeper minds reflect on wisdom given
To fortune's waifs by compensating Heaven ; —
All these, to curious childhood dear, as new,
Retain a value to the satiate age.
And pass full oft before the inward view

Of souls long strangers to the brief square page,
The tinsell'd covers, and the strange old pictures
That served our ancestors instead of lectures.
I've trembled with thee in the church so cold,

And fearful in its soundless solitude.
What place so dreary as deserted fold,

Where few hours past the shepherd wise and good
Had spoke the words that take the sting from death
And change our human tears to wells of faith ?
But more of fear and more of pain was thine.
And short and smother'd was thy sweet breath, when
A little musty hay, a narrow line
Of darkness, parted thee from evil men.
With horrid whisper plotting crime and plunder,
Mocking with mutter'd oaths the awful thunder.
A neighbourhood unmeet for one like thee ;
Yet out of evil, maids whose minds are right,
As thine was in its sweet simplicity,

Draw blessings for themselves ; celestial light
Beams on the weakest in extreme distresses
Assurance, where proud prudence hardly guesses.
Such wert thou, Goody, in thy childish days,
And though, no doubt, thou didst grow old in time,

And wert a spinster much deserving praise.
That praise I will not speak in prose or rhyme ;
Far rather I'd believe thee tripping still
With Ralph the Raven, and with Baa-Lamb Bill.