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Mary Darby Robinson - The Granny Grey, a Love Tale
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DAME DOWSON, was a granny grey,
    Who, three score years and ten,
Had pass`d her busy hours away,
    In talking of the Men !
They were her theme, at home, abroad,
At wake, and by the winter fire,
Whether it froze, or blew, or thaw`d,
In sunshine or in shade, her ire
Was never calm`d; for still she made
Scandal her pleasure—and her trade!

A Grand-daughter DAME DOWSON had—
    As fair, as fair could be!
Lovely enough to make Men mad;
For, on her cheek`s soft downy rose
LOVE seem`d in dimples to repose;
Her clear blue eyes look`d mildly bright
Like ether drops of liquid light,
Or sapphire gems,—which VENUS bore,
When, for the silver-sanded shore,
    She left her native Sea!

ANNETTA, was the damsel`s name;
A pretty, soft, romantic sound;
Such as a lover`s heart may wound;
    And set his fancy in a flame:
For had the maid been christen`d JOAN,
    Or DEBORAH, or HESTER,—
The little God had coldly prest her,
    Or, let her quite alone!
For magic is the silver sound—
Which, often, in a NAME is found!

ANNETTA was belov`d; and She
    To WILLIAM gave her vows;
For WILLIAM was as brave a Youth,
As ever claim`d the meed of truth,
    And, to reward such constancy,
        Nature that meed allows.
But Old DAME DOWSON could not bear
A Youth so brave—a Maid so fair.

The GRANNY GREY, with maxims grave
Oft to ANNETTA lessons gave:
And still the burthen of the Tale
Was, "Keep the wicked Men away,
"For should their wily arts prevail
    "You`ll surely rue the day!"
And credit was to GRANNY due,
The truth, she, by EXPERIENCE, knew!
ANNETTA blush`d, and promis`d She
Obedient to her will would be.

But Love, with cunning all his own,
Would never let the Maid alone:
And though she dar`d not see her Lover,
Lest GRANNY should the deed discover,
She, for a woman`s weapon, still,
From CUPID`S pinion pluck`d a quill:
And, with it, prov`d that human art
Cannot confine the Female Heart.

At length, an assignation She
    With WILLIAM slily made,
It was beneath an old Oak Tree,
    Whose widely spreading shade
The Moon`s soft beams contriv`d to break
For many a Village Lover`s sake.
But Envy has a Lynx`s eye
And GRANNY DOWSON cautious went
Before, to spoil their merriment,
    Thinking no creature nigh.

Young WILLIAM came; but at the tree
The watchful GRANDAM found!
Straight to the Village hasten`d he
And summoning his neighbours round,
The Hedgerow`s tangled boughs among,
Conceal`d the list`ning wond`ring throng.
He told them that, for many a night,
An OLD GREY OWL was heard;
A fierce, ill-omen`d, crabbed Bird—
Who fill`d the village with affright.
He swore this Bird was large and keen,
With claws of fire, and eye-balls green;
That nothing rested, where she came;
That many pranks the monster play`d,
And many a timid trembling Maid
    She brought to shame
For negligence, that was her own;
Turning the milk to water, clear,
And spilling from the cask, small-beer;

Pinching, like fairies, harmless lasses,
And shewing Imps, in looking-glasses;
Or, with heart-piercing groan,
Along the church-yard path, swift gliding,
Or, on a broomstick, witchlike, riding.
All listen`d trembling;  For the Tale
Made cheeks of Oker, chalky pale;
The young a valiant doubt pretended;
The old believ`d, and all attended.

Now to DAME DOWSON he repairs
And in his arms, enfolds the Granny:
Kneels at her feet, and fondly swears
    He will be true as any !
Caresses her with well feign`d bliss
And, fearfully , implores a Kiss—
On the green turf distracted lying ,
He wastes his ardent breath, in sighing.

The DAME was silent; for the Lover
    Would, when she spoke,
    She fear`d, discover
    Her envious joke:
And she was too much charm`d to be
In haste,—to end the Comedy!

Now WILLIAM, weary of such wooing,
Began, with all his might, hollooing:—
When suddenly from ev`ry bush
The eager throngs impatient rush;
With shouting, and with boist`rous glee
    DAME DOWSON they pursue,
And from the broad Oak`s canopy,
O`er moonlight fields of sparkling dew,
They bear in triumph the Old DAME,
Bawling, with loud Huzza`s, her name;
"A witch, a witch !" the people cry,
"A witch !" the echoing hills reply:
`Till to her home the GRANNY came,
Where, to confirm the tale of shame,
Each rising day they went, in throngs,
With ribbald jests, and sportive songs,
`Till GRANNY of her spleen, repented;
And to young WILLIAM`S ardent pray`r,
To take, for life, ANNETTA fair,—
     At last ,—CONSENTED.

And should this TALE, fall in the way
Of LOVERS CROSS`D, or GRANNIES GREY,—
Let them confess, `tis made to prove—
The wisest heads ,—TOO WEAK FOR LOVE!
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