Three hundred pounds

In yonder snug cottage, beneath the cliff's side,

And close to the pebbles that limit the tide,

Were five little fellows, a couple's fond care,

Who'd barely enough, not a morsel to spare.

They sometimes were hatless when summer was hot

And shoeless when winter in snow wrapt their cot;

Yet up grew the boys that no hardship could break,

And one of the five is my lad of the lake.

That rivals were mine I had once to deplore,

And every new day made their number one more;

No maiden beheld him but glaz'd for a while,

Bewitch'd by his figure, entranc'd by his smile:

And what gave each motion additional grace,

My Hywel's good heart might be read on his face;

At church, at the playfield, the fair, or the wake,

Unmatch'd was my Hywel, the lad of the lake.

My father, o bless him! Few better, or such,

Yet loves his dear money a little too much,

Declar'd, if by fancy alone I was sway'd,

Nor his wealth, nor his blessing, my Hywel should aid!

I answer'd, my Hywel has vigour and health,

And these to the children of Nature are wealth;

Tho' my heart were a dozen, they'd all of them break,

If still he denied me the lad of the lake.

Now hear how my troubles and sorrows are past,

How my father himself grew a convert at last;

'Twas when his foot slip't as he enter'd the boat,

My Hywel uprais'd him as quick as a thought.

He ey'd him with kindness, and gave me a kiss,

And said, Kate, I should like to have grandsons like this;

Be happy, my girl, and the treasure now take,

Tho'poor, yet a prize is thy lad of the lake.