| Hunt and Lee, comps. The Book of the Sonnet. 1867. | | | | VII. A Rencontre at Tytherington | | By John Watson Dalby |
| | (Merci, Monsieur, merci!)
FORTH from the farmer’s hospitable nook, | |
| Among the trees and where the waters gushed,— | |
| A holy calmness all the welkin hushed, | |
| And lo! before me stood, or rather shook, | |
| A tall gaunt figure iron want had crushed | 5 |
| Into a thing scarce humanlike. He spoke, | |
| Help in his native accents did invoke, | |
| While through his frame a tide of diverse feelings rushed. | |
| “Poor, wretched, and from Paris!” all he said; | |
| Yet, plainly written in his visage pale, | 10 |
| Fancy could still piece out the mournful tale; | |
| And, right or wrong, the history fully read | |
| Of the wan outcast in a Gloucester vale, | |
| In that sad, low, strange tongue, imploring bread. | | | | |
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