Poems (1905) :: :: University of Virginia Library

The House of Tracy was of all belov'd:
A generous, gentle, valiant, virtuous Race,
Admir'd for Courage and for Arts approv'd,
They shun'd Dishonour and they spurn'd Disgrace.
The Village Mansion was a noble Place,
Whose strong Foundations down a Vale were laid;
Pride of its Lords and of the Country Grace,
Its Towers were o'er the western hill display'd,
And on an Eastern Stream broad cast their Evening Shade.
Twice twenty Steps of Stone, now mossy all,
Led wandering Strangers to the central Door
Of a vast Room, by name the marble Hall,
Whose squares discolour'd form'd the polish'd floor.
Broad were the Stairs and black that rose before
And led to Chambers fair and Galleries wide;
Here Tracys stood, Men fam'd in days of yore;
These Pictures rare, by Taste and Wealth, supply'd
The Pride of Tracy these, and worthy praise the pride.
Th' Improver's Hand was seen in all the place;
But Mercy still was a Companion found,
And spar'd the Statues fair, the Wood to grace,
And Waters clear that fell with murmuring sound
From the green Terrace on the higher Ground,
With Flowers in Knolls on many a sunny Bank,
Where the white flocks o'er velvet Pasture bound;
Where Gold-fish long possess'd their marble Tank,
And steeds with silky Sides the living Water drank.
It was a lovely and a rich domain,
Vex'd by no Debt, no Mortgage, no Decrease;
No Tenant came with unredress'd Complaint
Of Churlish Steward or of rigorous Lease;
In the fair Village dwelt perpetual Peace,
Far as a Patron could his power extend,
Hail'd at his birth and mourn'd at his discease;
Where all, where each, was pleas'd his help to lend
To each, where all might seeking find a friend.
Two furlongs distant from that seat, its Pride,
Was the fair Village plac'd upon a Green,
By wood surrounded save the Eastern Side,
Where the broad, silent, silvery flood was seen.

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There stood the peasants' cots, a view serene
On either side a small and central Lake,
That long the scene of rustic Sports had been.
Unenvied People! may ye still partake
Life's honest Joys and pure, and late may ye forsake!
The whiten'd Church and Vicar's low Abode
Are near each other and these Dwellings near;
But, far from Town and from the public Road,
Few Travellers stray, few Strangers travel here;
Where yet an Inn, “The Tracy's Arms,” appear,
The Mill, the Shop, and Trades that Peasants need,
But Farmers all; the Soil to all so dear
Gives to the Peasant's Cow a space to feed;
Such was the Tracys' will, and Heav'n approves the Deed.
A numerous Race were these, and Sons were lent
To England's Honour and were great in Arms;
But now the generous Blood seems nearly spent.
One Son one only Son had raised Alarms
For Generations three! nor female Charms
As heretofore had done their Parents Grace;
These Lords had dwelt amid their flocks and farms,
A mild benevolent and virtuous Race,
Whose Lives accorded well with this their favourite Place.

Sir Edward Tracy was a valiant Man,
Who served in Flanders under Good Queen Anne;
Was wounded there, and in his pleasant seat
Found a fair Dame that made Retirement sweet.
There he enjoy'd a life of social Ease,
And died before its vital Spirits freeze.
He left a pensive, mild, domestic heir,
Pleas'd to improve his Mansion and repair;
The small Improvements in his farms to make,
And rustic bliss to foster and partake.
He was a man who never in his Life,
For Joy or Business, left his charming wife;
To all her failings, if she had them, blind,
He saw her faultless, and he felt her kind.
With undirected, unaspiring Views,
He scorn'd Oppression, but he took his Dues;
For rural Works he shew'd some trifling Skill,
And little prone to either Good or ill.
His Heart was kind, but cool; his Passions right, but still.
He, with a feeble spark of Glory warm'd,
Wish'd his sole Boy to be with Study charm'd;
Wish'd him that Honour he had fail'd to gain,
And hail'd the Labour that was not in vain.
He liv'd, the Honour of his spotless Line,
Fram'd in the Senate and the Bar to shine;
But, unambitious at an early Age,
He buried all the Patriot in the Sage;

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And with his Lady, by her worth endear'd,
Read what was spoken when he, once, was heard.
She, form'd in Courts to shine, was pleas'd to shun
A thousand Lovers, to be blest with one;
And bade adieu without a single Sigh
To Passion's Language and to Flattery's Eye.
He, like his Fathers, left an only Boy,
Ere dawning Reason spurn'd the childish Toy;
Pleas'd to reflect [the] Mother's years were few,
Her Temper perfect, and her Judgment true;
That she would train him, good herself and wise,
All that was base and wicked to despise;
The Strength of Rebell Passions to defeat,
Life's Cares and Sorrows with firm Soul to meet,
And from the Flatterer's Voice indignant to retreat.

She train'd him thus, and early was he known
To seek her pleasure and disguise his own;
Yet, if her fondness could a failing spy,
His youthful Spirits were too strong and high.
She found, or fear'd, intemperate Love of Joy
And would correct what else might Time destroy.
Yet hard the Task, to Mothers doubly hard,
O'er the light Heart to keep incessant Guard;
Still shé against his buoyant Spirit strove,
Who smil'd at Duty, but bow'd down to Love.

This is our Hero, a fond Widow's Son,
Rich, of high spirits, and just twenty-one;
Yet [most] for Learning fam'd, and, tho' untried,
His native Courage not a Soul denied.
For, tho' the Tracys were so well belov'd,
Their real Courage was but seldom prov'd;
Yet never Tracy was by Honour call'd
Who fled the Summons or who look'd appall'd.
The timid parent, when the Son would cry
“To breathe is Joy, to live is Extacy;
“To feel this pleasure ever strong and new,
“And wish that every being felt it too”—
“Beware, my Tracy! let these Spirits sleep
“And for the days of certain sorrow keep!
“Kind [are] thy wishes, but are all in vain:
“There will be Griefs, Sighs, Sufferings and pain!
“Waste not the strength that [a] Kind Heaven affords
“In a vain flourish of Exulting Words;
“But train thyself for the uncertain task—
“I ask it fondly and 'tis all I ask!”—

“Friend of my Soul,” replied the youth, “suppress
“These fearful Precepts and their fond Distress!
“If Time indeed must all my Joys expell,
“Oh, let me feel them when at ease and well!
“I war with Care; it is my wish to go
“Where he resides and treat him as a foe.
“When in the Cot the ugly fiend I trace,
“I ask his business in that favour'd place;

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“A Golden Shield I cast before his Eyes
“And never leave him till away he flies.
“Tho' stubborn oft, his utmost Wrath I dare
“And sing exulting, Now begone, old Care!
“This Villain Care had pinch'd a modest Cheek,
“And so opprest her that she fear'd to speak.
“Her Lover's father, of her Charms afraid,
“Forc'd [her] fond Lover from the pining Maid.
“Poor Ellen's Mother shar'd her Daughter's Pain,
“And her best offer met the Earl's disdain.
“Grief held them all, when like an Hero true
“I freed the Captives and the Giant slew;
“Held a fair Prospect in the father's Eye
“And saw resistance in an instant die.
“Oh, take my Horses, and my Hounds dismiss,
“But [give] Thy Tracy such delight as this!
“[OMITTED] War
“With grief and wish him from thy bosom far!
“I for this cause [OMITTED] strive,
“And am content to seem but half alive;
“Yet can I never from myself conceal
“That giving Pleasure is the way to feel.

“Can I be sad, when I behold her mine,
“A beauteous maiden with a Soul divine?
“Did ever beauty meet the wond'ring Eye,
“Perfect as that which shines in Emely?
“Does not her Father to our Love consent?
“Then what [can] damp our joys, or what prevent?
“And is she not belov'd, esteem'd of thee?
“Oh I am happy,—happy let me be!

“Want I a kindred mind, my Julian? Shame
“Be to the Man who gave th' Apostate's Name
“To one whose Virtues all who know must Prize,
“And who from Truth will ne'er apostatize!
“Guide of my Life, Companion of my Youth,
“Thy modest Manners and thy love of Truth
“Cheer, aid and sooth me in my earthly race;
“And Want of Joy, would [thus] be Want of Grace.”—
“All, all are thine,” the gentle Lady cried;
“Wealth, Health and Friends has bounteous Heaven supply'd;
“The happiest Spirits and the loveliest Maid
“That ever smil'd; and yet am I afraid.
“For Friends have fallen off, and Love grown cold,
“And failing Health sigh'd over useless Gold;
“While the strong Spirits, once to Error led,
“Have flam'd to Madness or in Anguish fled.
“Nay, look not thus; against myself I plead;
“Bid thee be grave, and yet would not succeed.
“No, let me think my Tracy, when away—
“For thou must go—still innocent and Gay.
“Short is the Time; yet for a Month to part
“Shakes the faint Courage of a Mother's Heart;
“But to her aid thy Emely will come

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“And think thee happy while she prays thee home.
“Our distant friends this Sacrifice demand,
“E'er the lov'd Maid bestows her promis'd Hand.
“Court the good Dean! nor be with Ease denied,
“To come and bless thee with thy matchless Bride!
“Invite each friend to view thy happy Choice,
“Nor doubt the favouring Eye, th' approving Voice;
“For not an Ear will hear, and not an Eye
“Will see a Charmer like our Emely!
“But tak'st thou Julian?”

“Can I leave behind
“The only Comfort I can hope to find.
“Friends thou wilt see; yet them I may mistake,
“And I am certain of the Friend I take.”

“Yet this, my Son, and I will cease to plead:
“'Tis not in Youth the secret Soul to read;
“'Tis not in Age! for who can hope to scan
“Man's latent Thoughts, oft hidden from the Man?
“'Tis surely dangerous for the best below
“A Brother's Secrets like his own to know;
“Thy failings, follies, weakness, all to learn
“And half form'd wishes in their birth discern.
“[Loves] not thy friend—ah! let me judge him wrong—
“O'er Wine to sit—nay why that look?—too long?
“Have I not seen the bright'ning Eye, the Cheek
“With pleasure fever'd, paint the Judgment weak;
“And hast not thou, all joyful as thou art,
“Yet pour'd new spirit on the [bounding] Heart;
“And art thou, Tracy—I will add no more—
“Alone, in thought, as happy as before?
“Is all within so pure, so gay, so bright
“In thine own feelings and thy Maker's Sight,
“As I have known thee? is my Tracy sure?” [OMITTED]

As Water pour'd on Spirits pure and bright
Will a faint Heat and turbid Look excite,
But, both in Quiet suffer'd to remain,
The Heat will fly, and all be pure again:
So the cool Speech [in] Tracy's ardent Mind
Rais'd sudden Heat, with turbid thought combin'd.
But this not long the filial duty prest
On the warm Heart, and gave the Spirit rest.
Yet the good Lady in the friend beheld
A flaw she fear'd, and had the thought repell'd.
So forth they go, with Spirits light and gay,
Friends to invite and favours to convey
Against the Gladness of a nuptial day;
To see the Elders of their wealthy race,
And all the kindred Tracy to embrace; [OMITTED]
He had been [climbing] all his life, and now
Stopt to behold what Life would still allow;

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But all he then could from his Height explore
Prov'd to his Heart he should have stopt before.
Long at his College he was much approv'd;
The more admir'd were not so well belov'd:
Theirs deeper learning—his the mild address;
Theirs loftier Honour—and his sure success.
While yet a Fellow, for an office high
Two, far superior, were resolv'd to try;
And the kind Vincent wish'd with all his heart
He could the office to them both impart.
Not so [his] Brethren: they had all the Zeal
That rival voters for their favourites feel.
For Dr A. his Friends in varying Style
Were pleas'd by turns to flatter and revile:
Famous for all that Newton's self had known,
All that by Signs and Symbols can be shewn;
A man whose fame to distant times would live,
And tenfold pay the little boon they give—
And what his Rival? stealing all his days
Poor Scraps of Learning from dull Grecian Plays;
Restoring Meanings where, when all is done,
One is not found or a contested one;
From elder Critics pilfering half they write,
Who from reflectors steal reflected Light
An helper's help, Assistant's Satellite.

The friends of Dr B., with Wrath inflam'd,
Aloud the Learning of their Friend proclaim'd;
Nor in their rage retorting Scorn forbore:
That Dr A. had but a useless Store;
'Twas false that he could dare with Newton's vie;
Let him not dare, 'twas foolishness to try;
And, if he reach'd not what was done before,
What was the profit? he should try no more.
Such was their war, each Combination room
Lost its old peace and its harmonious Gloom.
Whist was no more, or, if again they play'd
Their want of Skill th' ingrossing thoughts betray'd.
While this was passing, a Report was spread—
But those who rais'd were secret as the dead—
That, as the contest caus'd such dire Debate,
To no small scandall of the learned State,
Unlike to end; for losers by their heat
Would keep Resentment to console Defeat—
Then was it best to set them both aside
And choose a friend to either part allied.
Then who but Vincent had a chance remote,
For all to him would give a second Vote;
Then for their Peace they would their first resign,
And give the Station to the good Divine.
From Ear to Ear it went, from Tongue to Tongue,
These Sons of Science and of Peace among;
Both rivals cry'd aloud, they'd rather see
Such Man elected than that A. or B.

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None ask'd who first the peaceful thought began
But made it theirs and chose the modest Man.

Thrice in his Life, by Merit and by ways
That please the powers who merit love to raise,
Rose the mild Doctor, and was now a Dean,
With grateful Spirit and a Conscience clean.
Some who behold him in his Weakness now,
By Pain and Time despoil'd of smile and bow,
When Observation finds his shrewd good sense
But prattling Love and tame benevolence,
Presum'd to wonder at Success so strange,
Thoughtless how Time had wrought the mighty Change. [OMITTED]
The Good Man promis'd, so would Heaven afford,
To join the favourite Pair and bless the nuptial Board.

As forth they rode, the Heir address'd his friend:
“Now to an antient Maid our course we bend;
“Suppress thy smile, nor by a Glance deride
“The Virgin's Spirit or the Tracy's Pride!” [OMITTED]

[_]

[Here follow some forty lines, partly illegible, relating a dream of Emely during the absence of Tracy, and concluding:]

Bound and yet free, they hasten'd to the Shore,
And found their Tent, and all they wish'd to find;
Much was of Bliss without, within was more—
Food for each Sense; amusement for the Mind;
Pictures of pleasant, Books of lively, kind;
And Notes and Instruments, for Music meet;
For one Delight another they resign'd.
Were ever pair transfer'd to happier Seat;
Was ever Youth so blest, was ever Maid so sweet?

Yet, but a moment—and the bliss was lost;
Tents, Treasures, Tracy, and Companions gone;
In black, vile boat, on dreadfull billow tost
On salt-sea Lake, sat Emely alone.
On the dark waters melancholy shone
The clouded Regent of the wintry Sky;
The muddy Shore no feet might rest upon;
Beyond, with haggard Looks and threat'ning Eye,
Walk'd Man she fear'd to see, yet fear'd, unseen, to die.

And, while she fear'd to die and, living, fear'd,
A peril worse than Death she now espied.
On the wild Waves the ruffian men appear'd,
And now approach'd, and now were at her Side;
Her tears they see not and her Cries deride.
Seaz'd in rude Arm, the trembling maid they take;
“Mercy!” her Cry; and, as aloud she cried,
Some unseen form in pitying accents spake:
“Choose first or last thy bliss! now wake, fond maid, awake!”

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She woke and wonder'd; then again she slept
And was with Tracy in the meanest Cot,
Wherever Poverty and Terror crept.
Such now appear'd their lamentable Lot;
Dread was on both, as some accursed Plot
Had Cecil for Contriver! and now fled
To the detested and deserted Spot.
With his sad wife! and now in constant dread
And wanting Hope and Health, and needing Peace and Bread.

She wept and, weeping, wonder'd at her Tears;
For every woe and care was put to flight.
Lord of his Land her Cecil now appears,
And She the Lady dearest in his Sight.
Her Views are pleasant and her prospect bright;
And then again the warning Spirit spake:
“Grief follow[s] Joy, succeeds to Woe Delight—
“Both thine; which first, fair Dreamer, wilt thou take?
“Choose either, but take both! now, Emely awake!”

[OMITTED]

“So ends the Vision and the Sens[e]!” she cry'd.
The Matron smil'd, was thoughtful, and reply'd:
“Thy previous fears to these suggestions led;
“Ah, tell me all that Emely can dread!
“Suspect'st thou Tracy's Virtue, Love or Truth?
“What is thy Trouble?”—“Inexperienc'd Youth.
“Scarcely is Cecil from his Tutor free,
“And my poor Nurse emancipated me,
“When Love our Union plans, and all with Love agree.
“But a few days, and thou wilt see thy Son
“Lord of his land, an Heir at twenty-one!
“And, agèd just nineteen, with purchas'd Aid
“Of special guides, I stand—a wond'rous Maid.
“To grace my Person some their arts combin'd,
“With varied Learning some to cram the Mind;
“But all I know of Letters, Form and Life
“Seems ill to fit me for your Tracy's Wife.
“What are these girlish works, these quivering Notes,
“With which we pain our fingers and our throats,
“What graceful Manners, and an Air of Ease,
“A power of pleasing, a Desire to please,
“A Temper mildly sweet, and gay good things like these?
“Let them be seen, and they engage the while
“The approving Eye and the assenting Smile—
“Nay, join'd with Beauty and display'd with art,
“To one directed, they have gain'd the Heart—
“But will not Tracy ask substantial things;
“Will he be happy with a bride who sings;
“Who, when her Husband would her Virtue trace,
“Will entertain him with each Girlish Grace?
“Will he the partner of his thoughts admire
“For Arts and forms her teachers can inspire,

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“And give to her the Secrets of his Heart,
“Whose own has nought but trifles to impart?
“I, too, with him upon the Lake could be,
“Sing in the Tent and dance upon the Lea;
“I in the House of Harmony might raise
“Th' approving Look in him who loves to praise.
“But on that Sea—and now, methinks, I sip
“The salt Sea-brine that dash'd upon my Lip
“In that old Boat, so shocking to each Sense,
“And all the Horror I espied from thence;
“And, more than these, in that vile hovel, den
“Of need and Guilt, that was so dreadful then!
“In Scenes like these, or what these Scenes portend,
“How could I cheer my Partner, how defend,
“Or be th' Adviser, Comforter or friend?
“Should I not then—but let me not appear
“A Vision's Victim, Misery's Volunteer—
“But should I not—at least, till I attain
“Maturer years—in maiden State remain?”

“Appeal to Cecil,” said the Matron; “say,
“‘Thou hadst my promise for th' important Day;
“‘The Mother's Wishes, and the full Consent
“‘Of all were thine, nor yet do I repent;
“‘But a dark dream of mingled good and ill
“‘Affects my Bosom and contracts my Will;
“‘And these, it tells me, as I cannot shun,
“‘I fly to Sorrow, to make sure of one.’
“Child of my Heart! these boding fears suppress;
“They often make, they ever point, Distress.
“Tho' young, yet Heav'n has to [thy] charge confin'd
“[The] noble Treasure of a powerful Mind.
“These lighter Graces seek not to condemn;
“'Tis they were made for thee, not [thou] for them;
“They are the polished Cut, and thy fair Soul the Gem.
“Say, should my Tracy be unvex'd with Care,
“Why not his Pleasures as their Mistress share?
“And, in Distress and Sorrow should he pine,
“Unview'd and absent, would they not be thine?
“Then, to thy Promise and thy Cecil true,
“The Path direct that Reason points pursue;
“Love chooses well his Way, when Reason enters too.” [OMITTED]
Near to this Mansion was an antient Hall
Of Veres; still standing, but inclined to fall.
Grey frown'd the massy towers, green shook the ivy'd Wall.
These were, it seemed, a Race from first to last,
A strange, unsocial, mark'd, peculiar Cast[e].
They lov'd all common Manners to defy
And chose a wayward Singularity.
In times of trouble they oppos'd the State—
Of Peace, the Church—and gloried in Debate.
It was their Humour and their boast to be

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From all the shackles of the Vulgar free;
All common rules they doubted or denied;
Each for himself determined to decide,
And to himself be Law, rule, Governor and Guide.

Old as it was, its Lords were much afraid
T' inspect the Mansion in the part decay'd,
For twofold Reasons: first, that from the part
Contiguous Ruin into View would start;
And next, they found, so many a Call had shar'd
The Current Cash, that nothing could be spar'd.

In the huge Hall, high hung in gilded frames,
Heroic Shreeves and venerable Dames,
With forms majestic and commanding Look,
And smoak-dried all with equalizing smoak;
Yet Kneller's Wigs still curl'd, a comely Sight,
And Lely's Bosoms, tho' in clouded White;
These, with the taper Hand and naked Arms,
In Time's dark veil hid once obtrusive Charms.
The last Esquire, who liv'd himself to please,
Felt through his Life this family disease;
Foe to his Church, it pleas'd him to the heart,
When he could Anger to her friends impart;
And by his own, or by a borrow'd, Jest
See the sad Vicar troubled and distress'd—
The modest Vicar, who with meek good Sense
Fear'd the vain laugh of heartless Insolence.
No Student he; yet, what our Squire had read
Cool'd his Affections and disturb'd his head;
Made him his Neighbours and his friends dispise,
And class himself among the learnt and wise.
To his Dependents he was pleas'd to say:
“Go where you will to hearken or to pray;
“Choose your own Guide, or Guideless take your Way!
“I rest in Church, 'tis decent, what the State
“In Life requires from every Magistrate;
“While you, my friends, unheeded as you pass,
“May sleep at Church, at Meeting, or at Mass;
“Or, placed at Ease beneath the Summer Sky,
“In his own Temple serve the Deity.”

None comprehend, but all are pleas'd to find
That each may act as he is most inclin'd;
That, as so little it concerns us where
We pray, of what Importance is our Prayer?
Maxims like these, that lead to free Discourse,
The Master furnish'd and the Grooms enforce.
He wed a Cousin, to the worthy End
That none should spoil a breed that none could mend;
For his Opinions she had not a Care,
Nor meant his fancies or his faith to share;
Him she would wed, but was not so refin'd
Or so romantic as to wed his Mind.
She had been told, that her admiring Swain
Had impious notions she could not restrain,

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And that he spoke with Insult and Delight
What only sin and Satan could indite.
To this she answer'd, that her husband's Soul
Was not design'd to be at her Controul;
That, if he kept the Vow between them made,
She should no Secrets of [his] Heart invade;
These points concern'd not a reflecting Wife,
Whose Contract ended with the present Life;
She could no Evil in such points discern,
And, if ['twere] there, it was his own Concern.

She in their Bargain took especial Care,
With prudent forsight of the Widow's Share;
Nor was she in her wedded State so fond
As not to look upon the State beyond.
So Swimmers, plunging in the river's tide,
Look to the Landing on the farther Side;
And some on purpose, doubtless, to command
An easy Station where again they land.
This Man and Wife had nature well allied;
For both were positive, and both had pride;
And all the Love that in the bosom glow'd
Was on the person tenderly bestow'd;
As weeds, cut down and burn'd upon the field,
To their own place their little value yield.
Both lov'd a Life expensive, but they still
A something found to counteract the Will:
He was by press of Indolence restrain'd,
And she from knowledge of the Cost refrain'd.
They were not wealthy, and they needed Care
To keep Affairs as buoyant as they were.
In this good Lady it was strange to see
How ignorant a knowing Wife can be.
Learning she held, if not a very Crime,
A needless burden and a Loss of Time.
Of all the world above and this below
She knew as much as she desir'd to know;
And that is more, with all their Search and Care,
Than Locke and Newton fairly could declare.
That the Moon shone on the Assembly night,
Was all she thought or car'd about her Light.
The Seasons came, and she explain'd with Ease
What was in Season both on Land and Seas;
She play'd at Whist with such surprising Skill,
That many censur'd her for playing ill;
But this was error; she disdain'd to cheat,
When she could lawfully and fairly beat;
Beside, she felt a Scruple to the Deed,
Except in Times of the extremest Need.

Rebells she scorn'd, and wish'd, with all her Soul,
That Ropes might choak whom Laws could not controul,
And a Staunch Patriot was to her a word
For factious wretches, impious and absurd.
Yet to the Cause she lov'd with so much Zeal

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She could no more than Approbation deal,
And had her Schemes to lessen or evade
The fairest Tax that could on Man be laid;
Thinking that one so loyal should requite
Her Self for shewing what was just and right.
She kept her Church, and often would exclaim
To her unwilling Partner, “What a Shame!
“Is it so much, a quiet hour to pass
“And give Example to the lower Class!”

She heard of Battles, where ten thousand fell,
And beg'd that none would on the Subject dwell:
“Such Wounds and Carnage, fire, blood, and Smoke!
“Good God! it poison'd every Meal she took!”

Active and able to contend, she still
Found in her Lord a Stubbornness of Will;
A dull resisting Strength, that baffled all her Skill;
A Vis inertiæ—and, in fact, no stone
Could be more stubborn to be wrought upon—
A Mind at rest, that she could neither please
By any Effort, nor by any teize;
A Soul envelop'd deep in intellectual Ease—
But this not always; favourite points to gain,
He would a Warfare valiantly maintain;
And then her Prudence taught the Dame to yield,
That she with double strength might take the field;
And, when victorious in some grand affair,
She [yielded] others as beneath her Care.

The first-born Child had every dawning Grace
And promis'd Beauty in her form and face.
“We'll call her Julie, if you please, my dear,”
The Mother cry'd, “I doat on Julie Vere.”—
“What! no Remembrance of her Aunt! for shame!
“You doat indeed! be Barbara her name!”—
“Oh! never, never”—and a storm began
That quite o'erpower'd the Spirit of the Man.
The Babe was Julie, nor a Word was heard
That spoke his Wishes to have interfer'd.

Succeeding Daughters came with feeble Cry
Who caus'd few Cares, and only liv'd to die;
But ten years past, when, to the Father's Joy
And Mother's Glory, she produc'd a Boy.
Now said the Lady, “If you would consent
“To call him Frederick, I should be content.”
“Be [sure],” he answer'd with a Sneer, “my Love,
“I'll give the Boy a Name you must approve:
“He shall be Julian!” “An heroic Name
“Of some old fool!” said the indignant Dame.
“Fool!” said the Husband; “nay, a glorious Prince;
“Nor have Mankind beheld his equal since.
“He the whole World from Superstition free'd,
“A[nd] left the Bigots neither Cross nor Creed.”
“Well,” said the Wife, with infinite Disdain,
“Could not the Bigots get a Creed again?

456

“And 'tis your Maxim that all Crimes are bred
“By Men with new Opinions in their Head;
“Was it not foolish in your Prince to force
“These quiet Bigots from their antient Course?”—
“Nay, you mistake; he wanted to restore
“Things as they had been in the Times of yore.”
“What!” quoth the Lady; “both a foe and friend
“To Superstition! this can you defend?
“I knew him not; but I suppose, if known,
“He wish'd his people's folly like his own;
“He whom he could of his Religion made,
“And punish'd those whom he could not persuade.—
“But let your favourite Prince his name afford;
“I will not quarrel with you for a Word.”
The Name she thought would not ungraceful be,
And nothing knew of the Apostacy.
The Priest objected, but the Squire maintain'd
The Point with Vigor, and his purpose gain'd.

Thus liv'd the Couple, daily to contend,
And never wish'd their Quarrels at an End.
They felt no fondness, and no more of hate
Than gave an Edge and pleasure to debate.
Contentions sprang from themes of every kind
And wak'd from Sloth to Energy the Mind;
Quarrels they took, like Bitters, to excite
And give Exertion to the Appetite.

For twice ten years the sprightly Course they try'd;
When the Strife ended, and the Husband died.
But first he thought that she who had been long
A Plague to him would lead his Julian wrong;
Nor would she fail to soothe and to decoy
To her own Will th' affection of the boy.
Therefore a Friend and Neighbour he besought
That no such Evil on the Child be wrought;
And, tho' the friend was Christian, all was well.
This rather pleas'd the dying Infidel;
For he confess'd he had among them seen,
As spake their Actions, some with Conscience clean;
And not Philosophers themselves were found
Above all seeming and within all sound.
Julian was thus in purest knowledge train'd,
In all the Father slighted or disdain'd:
Honour to value at the noblest price;
To hold no parly with a pleading Vice;
And true Religion to defend in Times
When Truth and faith were heresies and Crimes.

The Man whom Vere judg'd fittest to protect
His Boy, when young, and into Life direct
Was one who made of Talents no display:
A mild good Man, of whom his friends could say
That Foes in vain might blame the Lord of Etheringay—
The “virtuous Boyle,” a Name that he sustain'd,
And well preserv'd the fame that others gain'd.

457

He with a widow'd Father past his Time
In aiding Merit and suppressing Crime;
Nor till his fortieth year had found the fair
For whom he sigh'd, and sigh'd not in Despair.
Happy with her he seem'd as Man could be—
Still happier with the Infant Emely.
In her fifth year, she saw with childish Joy,
Then in his tenth, her Sire's adopted boy.
Tall, handsome, unabash'd, in Spirit gay
She found a friend in study and in play.
But brief the happy Season; Summons stern
Call'd Julian hence in other place to learn,
For other Studies of severer kind,
And by harsh Contest form the manly Mind.
But, in the time when youthful bosoms beat
Twice in each year for the paternal Seat,
A few Dull Days he with his Mother past,
But gave to Emely the best and last.
Young as he was, he found himself too old
This youthful beauty coolly to behold.
Domestics idly talk'd of future Tyes,
And Julian's Mother of her new Allies.
She pleas'd her boy by praises of his choice,
Before he chose, and gave, unask'd, her voice;
Bade him by Care assiduous to retain
The Influence that his Sex and age must gain;
He was no Child, and, if he were, 'twas just
For him to look to what he had to trust.
His Father left him with involv'd Affairs,
Who had no Mercy on his Wife and Heirs;
He must take heed to what he was about,
Nor fill a Parent's mind with foolish Doubt.
His Person, Mind, Connection, and Degree
Might win a wealthier Maid than Emely;
But still, as providence had seem'd to knit
The destin'd knot, she deem'd it right and fit,
And charg'd him, on her blessing, well to play
His Cards, and never throw his Luck away!

Young as he was, the Boy was not at ease.
He now had Motives [and] designs to please;
They hurt his feelings, and he seem'd to trace
Something unpleasant in his Guardian's face.
He now had thoughts that he could not express,
And fear'd that Guardian more and lov'd him less.
But still, to please his Emely, he strove
With all the eager Haste of boyish Love.
She, pure and thoughtless, of all meaning void,
Their walks, their Sports, their Liberty enjoy'd,
But was at times offended by the Care
And strange politeness she disdain'd to share.
When with his Mother Tracy chanc'd to come,
Who had no Care, no Manhood, to assume,
The happy Damsel join'd the laughing boy,

458

And all was careless Ecstacy and Joy.
He had no Love, no Hate, nor Fear nor Hope,
But gave [his] Humour and his passions Scope;
And oft, when Julian warn'd the nymph to shun
The Rain and Cold, the Shadow and the Sun,
Her favourite Cecil to the roughest Play
Would call, and quarrel if she dar'd delay.
Yet she perversely from the Kindness fled,
And follow'd Cecil wheresoe'er he led;
Nor had the Garden or the Lawn a spot
Where they could venture and they ventur'd not.

Now from domestic Joy and Youthful Love
To woes domestic we awhile remove.
[Ere] the Good Man his fiftieth year had seen,
With those he number'd who had living been.
Slight was the Warning, and as slight the Need,
When the pure Soul was from the Body freed;
When the griev'd Wife and antient Parent shed
Their Tears of envying Anguish o'er the Dead.
They saw before them but a length of Woes,
And long'd for Death, and languish'd for repose.
But the fair Child, their pity and their pride,
Their sad affections to the World allied,
And on their natures' Tenderness she wrought;
Till they some transient fits of Pleasure caught
And, first forbidding, next receiv'd them sought.

Seldom the Boys their fairy Mistress met;
The Mother sigh'd and lov'd retirement yet;
Nor could she part with the consoling Aid,
But purchas'd Help to teach the willing Maid.
Joy of her House, the Child sustain'd her part,
And won from woe severe the wounded Heart.

The good old Man, to Heav'n's will resign'd,
With Faith and Hope sustain'd his modest Mind.
Time and Reflection had their sure Success,
And soft'ned Sorrow rose from deep distress.
To this Religion added thoughts that force
The keenest Anguish from its wasteful Course.

Oft would the Widow, oft the Sire, relate
Their lofty Hopes of an eternal State;
Of Souls that meet in regions where they dwell
In bliss untold and indescribable.
Then, when unceasing Love had brought in View
A Form so graceful and an Heart so true,
And every Action painted to the Life
For the fond father and deserted wife,
Hope stronger still before the Image cast
A veil oblivious, to conceal the past;
Then on the future threw so bright a ray
That Sorrow smil'd in Tears and softly died away.
So, when the heavy Rain[s] more gentle grow
O'er the soft Shower bright gleams the colour'd bow,
That never shines abroad till first the Waters flow;

459

But on the Eye no cheerful Colours fall,
When not a Cloud appears, or when 'tis cloudy all.

Now for the World their Emely they train'd,
Who in that World their only good remain'd;
For her they read, and, to enlarge her Views,
Gave Books t' instruct her, to inform, amuse,
And [chose] the best of each; and well they knew to choose.

Some were forbid, and these they laid aside
Nor [raised] a Wish that was not gratified;
Nor were these Parents so extremely nice
That their fair Charge must not be told of Vice.
They better knew the texture of the Mind;
Nor kept a lively Lass, and curious, blind;
But of the useful and the good supplied
A copious Store, and she was satisfied.

The kind old Student, to oblige the Maid,
The Tricks of Science with its pride display'd:
The Captive Mouse, half-dead for want of Air,
Had Freedom granted at the Virgin's prayer,
Who had no pleasure in th' exhausted House
To view the panting of the captive Mouse.
[For her] Electric fire illum'd the Gloom,
And mimic Lightning flash'd along the room;
Maidens and men, the nymph to entertain,
With rueful Wonder felt the numbing pain;
Amaz'd to think what Creature could bestow
Strokes without force and pain without a blow.
All on a Stool, high rais'd on feet of Glass,
She saw the fiery Sparks her fingers pass;
All who approached the pungent Spark sustain'd;
They felt alike who gave it and who gain'd;
No Arrows Cupid sent from Heart to Heart
Were so alike or gave such equal Smart.

A Pleasant Sight it was the Sire to view,
In loose, long gown, that brush'd the morning Dew,
With feeble Call the lively Girl delay,
And his light Learning mid her flowers display;
Then show the Species, Genus, Order, Class
To the half-wond'ring and half-laughing Lass.

With Care parental he the learned Swede
From all his folly and Allusion freed;
And, when they spake of Stamina and threads,
Nor Wives nor Husbands floated in their Heads;
And flowers were flowers alone, and were not bridal beds.
Polygamy in all its various kind
Was never suffer'd to disturb the Mind;
Nor could she in a simple Daisy see
(Ah, Crime!) superfluous polygamy;
In a bright Sunflower she had not the pain
To find this same polygamy again;
Nor could a Marigold the more approve
To find it there was necessary Love.

As up the hill and o'er the heath they stray'd,

460

A curious form beside the hawthorn laid.
A silvery white its outer surface shone;
Its bottom ended in a pointed Cone,
One inch in length; and in the broader Space
Was the faint picture of an human face—
Dead to the Eye, but in the hand a Strife
Of waking Nature shew'd the latent Life.
“Now tell me, Maiden, from that silver shape,
“What prison'd Beauty shall from hence escape?
“Shall a slow Moth the silvery Prison leave,
“That, when a Worm, she left her food to weave,
“And slowly flutter in the dying day—
“The Schoolboy's Pleasure and the Swallow's prey?
“Or shall, with broader Wing and brighter dyes,
“A soaring Creature from her Coffin rise,
“Spread to the Morning Sun her glowing Hue
“Hang o'er the honey'd flower and drink the nectar dew?”

Young Emely the pencil'd figure view'd,
And knew the Image that would soon [protrude],
That she with rapture o'er the Hills pursu'd.
“I know her well,” the infant Beauty cried:
“The Woodland Glory and the Garden's pride;
“I see the Colours o'er her form bespread,
“The softned brown, faint green and dusky red,
“And [glowing] eye of [a] bright azure blue
“On either [angle] of the Wings I view.
“Beneath, her shading puts all art to Shame;
“Queen of her race she reigns, and Io is her Name.”

Sometimes the Rock within the Quarry gave
The Shell that roll'd beneath the Ocean's wave—
Shell now no more: a gradual Change came on,
And the thin Shell became the Solid Stone.
Yet Shape and Size and Hue and Hinge remain'd,
And a Stone-fish the rocky Valves contain'd.
This led to Questions from the curious Mind;
But who shall Answers to these Questions find?
“Such Wonders are,” replied the Sire; “no more
“I know, my Child; be silent and adore!”

Oft would the Lass with either Parent go
And hear the wonted Tales of village woe.
She saw their bounteous Hand the bliss impart,
And they the Gladness of her feeling Heart;
Yet Prudence here the various Tale explain'd,
The Signs of Grief sincere and Sorrow feign'd.
Yet here they own'd how much our rules deceive,
And, e'en when wrong, 'tis Kindness to believe.

By Preachers guided, by her Parents train'd
The favour'd Beauty Grace and Knowledge gain'd;
A happy Temper and a Soul sincere,
A lively Spirit and a Conscience clear,
A Taste that seem'd instinctively to fly
The base and mean, were found in Emely.
Hers was a Beauty every Eye approv'd,

461

Hers the meek sweetness that all tempers mov'd.
The Grave esteem'd her, and the gay and light
Affected Prudence in the Virgin's sight.

Thus Good and happy, of her Friends the pride,
No Wishes hidden and no Wants denied,
She liv'd serenely, honour'd and belov'd,
Meek tho' indulg'd, and modest tho' approv'd,

The Sick, the Poor, the suffering and oppress'd
Could all the Grandsire's liberal Soul attest;
While the more griev'd, disturb['d] and doubtful sought
The Widow's Aid, a Mind with Wisdom fraught,
And from the Sister-Spirit found relief
In all the various pangs of mental Grief.
All this the Virgin saw, and she became
Kind as the father, prudent as the dame;
Pleas'd with the Life she liv'd, the Joy she felt,
The Love she shar'd, and the Delight she dealt.

Such were the three by liberal fortune plac'd
Mid all the Good of Life they wish'd to taste;
And, guarded well by Grief's correcting touch,
They tasted not too often or too much.

His Guardian lost, young Julian and his friend
Their rural Sports for graver tasks forsook,
Pleas'd the same Years in the same place to spend,
In the same Seat the Students of one book.
Their tastes alike, like Pleasures they partook;
For some Events had Julian's studies stay'd
And of his younger friend an Equal made.

There was no bitter Rivalship at heart,
No Emulation that like Envy burns;
But what they gain'd they hasten'd to impart,
The Pupil and the Teacher each in turns;
And each a Wish for selfish Pleasure spurns.
A bond so strong the youthful friendship tied
That all but Death to break it they defied.

When ceas'd the gentle bondage of the Schools,
To the same College the Companions went;
Theirs was no Friendship that Experience cools;
But still together was the Season spent;
Whether on Study or on Sports intent,
Each on the other happy to attend,
He found an Home where'er he found his friend.

Cecil was happy in a taste refin'd,
Julian in points abstruse his knowledge sought;
Cecil to classic beauty most inclin'd,
The Mind of Julian was with Science fraught;
But each so much from his Companion caught
That none could here a want of taste detect,
Nor there of points abstruse appear'd Neglect.

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