The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Crabbe with his letters and journals, and his life, by his son. In eight volumes |
 | I. |
| II. |
| III, IV, V. |
 | VI, VII. | VOL. VI., VOL. VII. |
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| VIII. |
 | The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Crabbe |  |
VI, VII. VOL. VI., VOL. VII.
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TALES OF THE HALL.
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TO HER GRACE THE DUCHESS OF RUTLAND.
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BOOK I. THE HALL.
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The Meeting of the Brothers, George and Richard—The Retirement of the elder to his native Village—Objects and Persons whom he found there—The Brother described in various Particulars—The Invitation and Journey of the younger—His Soliloquy and Arrival.
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The Brothers met, who many a year had past
Since their last meeting, and that seem'd their last;
They had no parent then or common friend
Who might their hearts to mutual kindness bend:
Who, touching both in their divided state,
Might generous thoughts and warm desires create;
For there are minds whom we must first excite
And urge to feeling, ere they can unite:
As we may hard and stubborn metals beat
And blend together, if we duly heat.
Since their last meeting, and that seem'd their last;
They had no parent then or common friend
Who might their hearts to mutual kindness bend:
Who, touching both in their divided state,
Might generous thoughts and warm desires create;
For there are minds whom we must first excite
And urge to feeling, ere they can unite:
As we may hard and stubborn metals beat
And blend together, if we duly heat.
The elder, George, had past his threescore years,
A busy actor, sway'd by hopes and fears
Of powerful kind: and he had fill'd the parts
That try our strength and agitate our hearts.
He married not, and yet he well approved
The social state; but then he rashly loved;
Gave to a strong delusion all his youth,
Led by a vision till alarm'd by truth:
That vision past, and of that truth possest,
His passions wearied and disposed to rest,
George yet had will and power a place to choose,
Where Hope might sleep, and terminate her views.
A busy actor, sway'd by hopes and fears
Of powerful kind: and he had fill'd the parts
That try our strength and agitate our hearts.
He married not, and yet he well approved
The social state; but then he rashly loved;
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Led by a vision till alarm'd by truth:
That vision past, and of that truth possest,
His passions wearied and disposed to rest,
George yet had will and power a place to choose,
Where Hope might sleep, and terminate her views.
He chose his native village, and the hill
He climb'd a boy had its attraction still;
With that small brook beneath, where he would stand
And stooping fill the hollow of his hand
To quench th' impatient thirst—then stop awhile
To see the sun upon the waters smile,
In that sweet weariness, when, long denied,
We drink and view the fountain that supplied
The sparkling bliss—and feel, if not express,
Our perfect ease in that sweet weariness.
He climb'd a boy had its attraction still;
With that small brook beneath, where he would stand
And stooping fill the hollow of his hand
To quench th' impatient thirst—then stop awhile
To see the sun upon the waters smile,
In that sweet weariness, when, long denied,
We drink and view the fountain that supplied
The sparkling bliss—and feel, if not express,
Our perfect ease in that sweet weariness.
The oaks yet flourish'd in that fertile ground,
Where still the church with lofty tower was found;
And still that Hall, a first, a favourite view,
But not the elms that form'd its avenue;
They fell ere George arrived, or yet had stood,
For he in reverence held the living wood,
That widely spreads in earth the deepening root,
And lifts to heaven the still aspiring shoot;
From age to age they fill'd a growing space,
But hid the mansion they were meant to grace.
Where still the church with lofty tower was found;
And still that Hall, a first, a favourite view,
But not the elms that form'd its avenue;
They fell ere George arrived, or yet had stood,
For he in reverence held the living wood,
That widely spreads in earth the deepening root,
And lifts to heaven the still aspiring shoot;
From age to age they fill'd a growing space,
But hid the mansion they were meant to grace.
It was an ancient, venerable Hall,
And once surrounded by a moat and wall;
A part was added by a squire of taste,
Who, while unvalued acres ran to waste,
Made spacious rooms, whence he could look about,
And mark improvements as they rose without:
He fill'd the moat, he took the wall away,
He thinn'd the park, and bade the view be gay,
The scene was rich, but he who should behold
Its worth was poor, and so the whole was sold.
And once surrounded by a moat and wall;
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Who, while unvalued acres ran to waste,
Made spacious rooms, whence he could look about,
And mark improvements as they rose without:
He fill'd the moat, he took the wall away,
He thinn'd the park, and bade the view be gay,
The scene was rich, but he who should behold
Its worth was poor, and so the whole was sold.
Just then the Merchant from his desk retired,
And made the purchase that his heart desired;
The Hall of Binning, his delight a boy,
That gave his fancy in her flight employ;
Here, from his father's modest home, he gazed,
Its grandeur charm'd him, and its height amazed:
Work of past ages; and the brick-built place
Where he resided was in much disgrace;
But never in his fancy's proudest dream
Did he the master of that mansion seem:
Young was he then, and little did he know
What years on care and diligence bestow;
Now young no more, retired to views well known,
He finds that object of his awe his own:
The Hall at Binning!—how he loves the gloom
That sun-excluding window gives the room;
Those broad brown stairs on which he loves to tread;
Those beams within; without, that length of lead,
On which the names of wanton boys appear,
Who died old men, and left memorials here,
Carvings of feet and hands, and knots and flowers,
The fruits of busy minds in idle hours!
Here, while our squire the modern part possess'd,
His partial eye upon the old would rest;
That best his comforts gave—this sooth'd his feelings best.
And made the purchase that his heart desired;
The Hall of Binning, his delight a boy,
That gave his fancy in her flight employ;
Here, from his father's modest home, he gazed,
Its grandeur charm'd him, and its height amazed:
Work of past ages; and the brick-built place
Where he resided was in much disgrace;
But never in his fancy's proudest dream
Did he the master of that mansion seem:
Young was he then, and little did he know
What years on care and diligence bestow;
Now young no more, retired to views well known,
He finds that object of his awe his own:
The Hall at Binning!—how he loves the gloom
That sun-excluding window gives the room;
Those broad brown stairs on which he loves to tread;
Those beams within; without, that length of lead,
On which the names of wanton boys appear,
Who died old men, and left memorials here,
Carvings of feet and hands, and knots and flowers,
The fruits of busy minds in idle hours!
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His partial eye upon the old would rest;
That best his comforts gave—this sooth'd his feelings best.
Here day by day, withdrawn from busy life,
No child t' awake him, to engage no wife,
When friends were absent, not to books inclined,
He found a sadness steal upon his mind;
Sighing, the works of former lords to see,
“I follow them,” he cried, “but who will follow me?”
No child t' awake him, to engage no wife,
When friends were absent, not to books inclined,
He found a sadness steal upon his mind;
Sighing, the works of former lords to see,
“I follow them,” he cried, “but who will follow me?”
Some ancient men whom he a boy had known
He knew again, their changes were his own;
Comparing now he view'd them, and he felt
That time with him in lenient mood had dealt:
While some the half-distinguish'd features bore
That he was doubtful if he saw before,
And some in memory lived, whom he must see no more.
He knew again, their changes were his own;
Comparing now he view'd them, and he felt
That time with him in lenient mood had dealt:
While some the half-distinguish'd features bore
That he was doubtful if he saw before,
And some in memory lived, whom he must see no more.
Here George had found, yet scarcely hoped to find,
Companions meet, minds fitted to his mind;
Here, late and loth, the worthy Rector came,
From College dinners and a Fellow's fame;
Yet, here when fix'd, was happy to behold
So near a neighbour in a friend so old:
Boys on one form they parted, now to meet
In equal state, their Worships on one seat.
Companions meet, minds fitted to his mind;
Here, late and loth, the worthy Rector came,
From College dinners and a Fellow's fame;
Yet, here when fix'd, was happy to behold
So near a neighbour in a friend so old:
Boys on one form they parted, now to meet
In equal state, their Worships on one seat.
Here were a Sister-pair, who seem'd to live
With more respect than affluence can give;
Although not affluent, they, by nature graced,
Had sense and virtue, dignity and taste;
Their minds by sorrows, by misfortunes tried,
Were vex'd and heal'd, were pain'd and purified.
With more respect than affluence can give;
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Had sense and virtue, dignity and taste;
Their minds by sorrows, by misfortunes tried,
Were vex'd and heal'd, were pain'd and purified.
Hither a sage Physician came, and plann'd,
With books his guides, improvements on his land;
Nor less to mind than matter would he give
His noble thoughts, to know how spirits live,
And what is spirit; him his friends advised
To think with fear, but caution he despised,
And hints of fear provoked him till he dared
Beyond himself, nor bold assertion spared,
But fiercely spoke, like those who strongly feel,
“Priests and their craft, enthusiasts and their zeal.”
With books his guides, improvements on his land;
Nor less to mind than matter would he give
His noble thoughts, to know how spirits live,
And what is spirit; him his friends advised
To think with fear, but caution he despised,
And hints of fear provoked him till he dared
Beyond himself, nor bold assertion spared,
But fiercely spoke, like those who strongly feel,
“Priests and their craft, enthusiasts and their zeal.”
More yet appear'd, of whom as we proceed—
Ah! yield not yet to languor—you shall read.
Ah! yield not yet to languor—you shall read.
But ere the events that from this meeting rose,
Be they of pain or pleasure, we disclose,
It is of custom, doubtless is of use,
That we our heroes first should introduce.
Be they of pain or pleasure, we disclose,
It is of custom, doubtless is of use,
That we our heroes first should introduce.
Come, then, fair Truth! and let me clearly see
The minds I paint, as they are seen in thee;
To me their merits and their faults impart;
Give me to say, “frail being! such thou art,”
And closely let me view the naked human heart.
The minds I paint, as they are seen in thee;
To me their merits and their faults impart;
Give me to say, “frail being! such thou art,”
And closely let me view the naked human heart.
George loved to think; but as he late began
To muse on all the grander thoughts of man,
He took a solemn and a serious view
Of his religion, and he found it true;
Firmly, yet meekly, he his mind applied
To this great subject, and was satisfied.
To muse on all the grander thoughts of man,
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Of his religion, and he found it true;
Firmly, yet meekly, he his mind applied
To this great subject, and was satisfied.
He then proceeded, not so much intent,
But still in earnest, and to church he went:
Although they found some difference in their creed,
He and his pastor cordially agreed;
Convinced that they who would the truth obtain
By disputation, find their efforts vain;
The church he view'd as liberal minds will view,
And there he fix'd his principles and pew.
But still in earnest, and to church he went:
Although they found some difference in their creed,
He and his pastor cordially agreed;
Convinced that they who would the truth obtain
By disputation, find their efforts vain;
The church he view'd as liberal minds will view,
And there he fix'd his principles and pew.
He saw, he thought he saw, how Weakness, Pride,
And Habit, draw seceding crowds aside:
Weakness that loves on trifling points to dwell,
Pride that at first from Heaven's own worship fell,
And Habit, going where it went before,
Or to the meeting or the tavern door.
And Habit, draw seceding crowds aside:
Weakness that loves on trifling points to dwell,
Pride that at first from Heaven's own worship fell,
And Habit, going where it went before,
Or to the meeting or the tavern door.
George loved the cause of freedom, but reproved
All who with wild and boyish ardour loved;
Those who believed they never could be free,
Except when fighting for their liberty;
Who by their very clamour and complaint
Invite coercion or enforce restraint:
He thought a trust so great, so good a cause,
Was only to be kept by guarding laws;
For public blessings firmly to secure,
We must a lessening of the good endure.
The public waters are to none denied—
All drink the stream, but only few must guide;
There must be reservoirs to hold supply,
And channels form'd to send the blessing by;
The public good must be a private care,
None all they would may have, but all a share:
So we must freedom with restraint enjoy,
What crowds possess they will, uncheck'd, destroy;
And hence, that freedom may to all be dealt,
Guards must be fix'd, and safety must be felt.
So thought our squire, nor wished the guards t'appear
So strong, that safety might be bought too dear;
The Constitution was the ark that he
Join'd to support with zeal and sanctity,
Nor would expose it, as th' accursed son
His father's weakness, to be gazed upon.
All who with wild and boyish ardour loved;
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Except when fighting for their liberty;
Who by their very clamour and complaint
Invite coercion or enforce restraint:
He thought a trust so great, so good a cause,
Was only to be kept by guarding laws;
For public blessings firmly to secure,
We must a lessening of the good endure.
The public waters are to none denied—
All drink the stream, but only few must guide;
There must be reservoirs to hold supply,
And channels form'd to send the blessing by;
The public good must be a private care,
None all they would may have, but all a share:
So we must freedom with restraint enjoy,
What crowds possess they will, uncheck'd, destroy;
And hence, that freedom may to all be dealt,
Guards must be fix'd, and safety must be felt.
So thought our squire, nor wished the guards t'appear
So strong, that safety might be bought too dear;
The Constitution was the ark that he
Join'd to support with zeal and sanctity,
Nor would expose it, as th' accursed son
His father's weakness, to be gazed upon.
I for that Freedom make, said he, my prayer,
That suits with all, like atmospheric air;
That is to mortal man by heaven assign'd,
Who cannot bear a pure and perfect kind:
The lighter gas, that, taken in the frame,
The spirit heats, and sets the blood in flame,
Such is the freedom which when men approve,
They know not what a dangerous thing they love.
That suits with all, like atmospheric air;
That is to mortal man by heaven assign'd,
Who cannot bear a pure and perfect kind:
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The spirit heats, and sets the blood in flame,
Such is the freedom which when men approve,
They know not what a dangerous thing they love.
George chose the company of men of sense,
But could with wit in moderate share dispense;
He wish'd in social ease his friends to meet,
When still he thought the female accent sweet;
Well from the ancient, better from the young,
He loved the lispings of the mother tongue.
But could with wit in moderate share dispense;
He wish'd in social ease his friends to meet,
When still he thought the female accent sweet;
Well from the ancient, better from the young,
He loved the lispings of the mother tongue.
He ate and drank, as much as men who think
Of life's best pleasures, ought to eat or drink;
Men purely temperate might have taken less,
But still he loved indulgence, not excess;
Nor would alone the grants of Fortune taste,
But shared the wealth he judged it crime to waste,
And thus obtain'd the sure reward of care;
For none can spend like him who learns to spare.
Of life's best pleasures, ought to eat or drink;
Men purely temperate might have taken less,
But still he loved indulgence, not excess;
Nor would alone the grants of Fortune taste,
But shared the wealth he judged it crime to waste,
And thus obtain'd the sure reward of care;
For none can spend like him who learns to spare.
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Time, thought, and trouble made the man appear—
By nature shrewd—sarcastic and severe;
Still he was one whom those who fully knew
Esteem'd and trusted, one correct and true;
All on his word with surety might depend,
Kind as a man, and faithful as a friend:
But him the many know not, knew not cause
In their new squire for censure or applause;
Ask them, “Who dwelt within that lofty wall?”
And they would say, “the gentleman was tall;
“Look'd old when follow'd, but alert when met,
“And had some vigour in his movements yet;
“He stoops, but not as one infirm; and wears
“Dress that becomes his station and his years.’
By nature shrewd—sarcastic and severe;
Still he was one whom those who fully knew
Esteem'd and trusted, one correct and true;
All on his word with surety might depend,
Kind as a man, and faithful as a friend:
But him the many know not, knew not cause
In their new squire for censure or applause;
Ask them, “Who dwelt within that lofty wall?”
And they would say, “the gentleman was tall;
“Look'd old when follow'd, but alert when met,
“And had some vigour in his movements yet;
“He stoops, but not as one infirm; and wears
“Dress that becomes his station and his years.’
Such was the man who from the world return'd,
Nor friend nor foe; he prized it not, nor spurn'd;
But came and sat him in his village down,
Safe from its smile, and careless of its frown:
He, fairly looking into life's account,
Saw frowns and favours were of like amount;
And viewing all—his perils, prospects, purse,
He said, “Content! 'tis well it is no worse.”
Nor friend nor foe; he prized it not, nor spurn'd;
But came and sat him in his village down,
Safe from its smile, and careless of its frown:
He, fairly looking into life's account,
Saw frowns and favours were of like amount;
And viewing all—his perils, prospects, purse,
He said, “Content! 'tis well it is no worse.”
Through ways more rough had fortune Richard led,
The world he traversed was the book he read;
Hence clashing notions and opinions strange
Lodged in his mind; all liable to change.
By nature generous, open, daring, free,
The vice he hated was hypocrisy;
Religious notions, in her latter years,
His mother gave, admonish'd by her fears;
To these he added, as he chanced to read
A pious work or learn a Christian creed:
He heard the preacher by the highway side,
The church's teacher and the meeting's guide;
And mixing all their matters in his brain,
Distill'd a something he could ill explain;
But still it served him for his daily use,
And kept his lively passions from abuse;
For he believed, and held in reverence high,
The truth so dear to man—“not all shall die.”
The minor portions of his creed hung loose,
For time to shapen and a whole produce:
This Love effected, and a favourite maid,
With clearer views, his honest flame repaid;
Hers was the thought correct, the hope sublime,
She shaped his creed, and did the work of time.
The world he traversed was the book he read;
Hence clashing notions and opinions strange
Lodged in his mind; all liable to change.
By nature generous, open, daring, free,
The vice he hated was hypocrisy;
Religious notions, in her latter years,
His mother gave, admonish'd by her fears;
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A pious work or learn a Christian creed:
He heard the preacher by the highway side,
The church's teacher and the meeting's guide;
And mixing all their matters in his brain,
Distill'd a something he could ill explain;
But still it served him for his daily use,
And kept his lively passions from abuse;
For he believed, and held in reverence high,
The truth so dear to man—“not all shall die.”
The minor portions of his creed hung loose,
For time to shapen and a whole produce:
This Love effected, and a favourite maid,
With clearer views, his honest flame repaid;
Hers was the thought correct, the hope sublime,
She shaped his creed, and did the work of time.
He spake of freedom as a nation's cause,
And loved, like George, our liberty and laws;
But had more youthful ardour to be free,
And stronger fears for injured liberty:
With him, on various questions that arose,
The monarch's servants were the people's foes;
And though he fought with all a Briton's zeal,
He felt for France as Freedom's children feel;
Went far with her in what she thought reform,
And hail'd the revolutionary storm;
Yet would not here, where there was least to win,
And most to lose, the doubtful work begin;
But look'd on change with some religious fear,
And cried, with filial dread, “Ah! come not here.”
And loved, like George, our liberty and laws;
But had more youthful ardour to be free,
And stronger fears for injured liberty:
With him, on various questions that arose,
The monarch's servants were the people's foes;
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He felt for France as Freedom's children feel;
Went far with her in what she thought reform,
And hail'd the revolutionary storm;
Yet would not here, where there was least to win,
And most to lose, the doubtful work begin;
But look'd on change with some religious fear,
And cried, with filial dread, “Ah! come not here.”
His friends he did not as the thoughtful choose,
Long to deliberate was, he judged, to lose:
Frankly he join'd the free, nor suffer'd pride
Or doubt to part them, whom their fate allied;
Men with such minds at once each other aid,
“Frankness,” they cry, “with frankness is repaid;
“If honest, why suspect? if poor, of what afraid?
“Wealth's timid votaries may with caution move,
“Be it our wisdom to confide and love.”
Long to deliberate was, he judged, to lose:
Frankly he join'd the free, nor suffer'd pride
Or doubt to part them, whom their fate allied;
Men with such minds at once each other aid,
“Frankness,” they cry, “with frankness is repaid;
“If honest, why suspect? if poor, of what afraid?
“Wealth's timid votaries may with caution move,
“Be it our wisdom to confide and love.”
So pleasures came, (not purchased first or plann'd)
But the chance pleasures that the poor command;
They came but seldom, they remain'd not long,
Nor gave him time to question “are they wrong?”
These he enjoy'd, and left to after time
To judge the folly or decide the crime;
Sure had he been, he had perhaps been pure
From this reproach—but Richard was not sure—
Yet from the sordid vice, the mean, the base,
He stood aloof—death frown'd not like disgrace.
But the chance pleasures that the poor command;
They came but seldom, they remain'd not long,
Nor gave him time to question “are they wrong?”
These he enjoy'd, and left to after time
To judge the folly or decide the crime;
Sure had he been, he had perhaps been pure
From this reproach—but Richard was not sure—
Yet from the sordid vice, the mean, the base,
He stood aloof—death frown'd not like disgrace.
With handsome figure, and with manly air,
He pleased the sex, who all to him were fair;
With filial love he look'd on forms decay'd,
And Admiration's debt to Beauty paid;
On sea or land, wherever Richard went,
He felt affection, and he found content;
There was in him a strong presiding hope
In Fortune's tempests, and it bore him up:
But when that mystic vine his mansion graced,
When numerous branches round his board were placed,
When sighs of apprehensive love were heard,
Then first the spirit of the hero fear'd;
Then he reflected on the father's part,
And all a husband's sorrow touch'd his heart;
Then thought he, “Who will their assistance lend?
“And be the children's guide, the parent's friend?
“Who shall their guardian, their protector be?
“I have a brother—Well!—and so has he.”
He pleased the sex, who all to him were fair;
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And Admiration's debt to Beauty paid;
On sea or land, wherever Richard went,
He felt affection, and he found content;
There was in him a strong presiding hope
In Fortune's tempests, and it bore him up:
But when that mystic vine his mansion graced,
When numerous branches round his board were placed,
When sighs of apprehensive love were heard,
Then first the spirit of the hero fear'd;
Then he reflected on the father's part,
And all a husband's sorrow touch'd his heart;
Then thought he, “Who will their assistance lend?
“And be the children's guide, the parent's friend?
“Who shall their guardian, their protector be?
“I have a brother—Well!—and so has he.”
And now they met: a message—kind, 'tis true,
But verbal only—ask'd an interview;
And many a mile, perplex'd by doubt and fear,
Had Richard past, unwilling to appear—
“How shall I now my unknown way explore,
“He proud and rich—I very proud and poor?
“Perhaps my friend a dubious speech mistook,
“And George may meet me with a stranger's look;
“Then to my home when I return again,
“How shall I bear this business to explain,
“And tell of hopes raised high, and feelings hurt, in vain?
But verbal only—ask'd an interview;
And many a mile, perplex'd by doubt and fear,
Had Richard past, unwilling to appear—
“How shall I now my unknown way explore,
“He proud and rich—I very proud and poor?
“Perhaps my friend a dubious speech mistook,
“And George may meet me with a stranger's look;
“Then to my home when I return again,
“How shall I bear this business to explain,
“And tell of hopes raised high, and feelings hurt, in vain?
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“How stands the case? My brother's friend and mine
“Met at an inn, and sat them down to dine:
“When having settled all their own affairs,
“And kindly canvass'd such as were not theirs,
“Just as my friend was going to retire,
“‘Stay!—you will see the brother of our squire,’
“Said his companion; ‘be his friend, and tell
“‘The captain that his brother loves him well,
“‘And when he has no better thing in view,
“‘Will be rejoiced to see him—Now, adieu!’
“Met at an inn, and sat them down to dine:
“When having settled all their own affairs,
“And kindly canvass'd such as were not theirs,
“Just as my friend was going to retire,
“‘Stay!—you will see the brother of our squire,’
“Said his companion; ‘be his friend, and tell
“‘The captain that his brother loves him well,
“‘And when he has no better thing in view,
“‘Will be rejoiced to see him—Now, adieu!’
“Well! here I am; and, Brother, take you heed,
“I am not come to flatter you and feed;
“You shall no soother, fawner, hearer find,
“I will not brush your coat, nor smooth your mind;
“I will not hear your tales the whole day long,
“Nor swear you're right if I believe you wrong:
“Nor be a witness of the facts you state,
“Nor as my own adopt your love or hate:
“I will not earn my dinner when I dine,
“By taking all your sentiments for mine;
“Nor watch the guiding motions of your eye,
“Before I venture question or reply;
“Nor when you speak affect an awe profound,
“Sinking my voice, as if I fear'd the sound;
“Nor to your looks obediently attend,
“The poor, the humble, the dependant friend:
“Yet son of that dear mother could I meet—
“But lo! the mansion—'tis a fine old seat!”
The Brothers met, with both too much at heart
To be observant of each other's part;
“Brother, I'm glad,” was all that George could say,
Then stretch'd his hand, and turn'd his head away;
For he in tender tears had no delight,
But scorn'd the thought, and ridiculed the sight;
Yet now with pleasure, though with some surprise,
He felt his heart o'erflowing at his eyes.
“I am not come to flatter you and feed;
“You shall no soother, fawner, hearer find,
“I will not brush your coat, nor smooth your mind;
“I will not hear your tales the whole day long,
“Nor swear you're right if I believe you wrong:
“Nor be a witness of the facts you state,
“Nor as my own adopt your love or hate:
“I will not earn my dinner when I dine,
“By taking all your sentiments for mine;
“Nor watch the guiding motions of your eye,
“Before I venture question or reply;
“Nor when you speak affect an awe profound,
“Sinking my voice, as if I fear'd the sound;
“Nor to your looks obediently attend,
“The poor, the humble, the dependant friend:
“Yet son of that dear mother could I meet—
“But lo! the mansion—'tis a fine old seat!”
32
To be observant of each other's part;
“Brother, I'm glad,” was all that George could say,
Then stretch'd his hand, and turn'd his head away;
For he in tender tears had no delight,
But scorn'd the thought, and ridiculed the sight;
Yet now with pleasure, though with some surprise,
He felt his heart o'erflowing at his eyes.
Richard, mean time, made some attempts to speak,
Strong in his purpose, in his trial weak;
We cannot nature by our wishes rule,
Nor at our will her warm emotions cool:—
At length affection, like a risen tide,
Stood still, and then seem'd slowly to subside;
Each on the other's looks had power to dwell,
And Brother Brother greeted passing well.
Strong in his purpose, in his trial weak;
We cannot nature by our wishes rule,
Nor at our will her warm emotions cool:—
At length affection, like a risen tide,
Stood still, and then seem'd slowly to subside;
Each on the other's looks had power to dwell,
And Brother Brother greeted passing well.
33
BOOK II. THE BROTHERS.
34
Further Account of the Meeting—Of the Men—The Mother—The Uncle—The private Tutor—The second Husband—Dinner Conversation—School of the Rector and Squire—The Master.
35
At length the Brothers met, no longer tried
By those strong feelings that in time subside;
Not fluent yet their language, but the eye
And action spoke both question and reply;
Till the heart rested, and could calmly feel,
Till the shook compass felt the settling steel;
Till playful smiles on graver converse broke,
And either speaker less abruptly spoke:
Still was there ofttimes silence, silence blest,
Expressive, thoughtful—their emotions' rest;
Pauses that came not from a want of thought,
But want of ease, by wearied passion sought;
For souls, when hurried by such powerful force,
Rest, and retrace the pleasure of the course,
They differ'd much; yet might observers trace
Likeness of features both in mind and face;
Pride they possess'd, that neither strove to hide,
But not offensive, not obtrusive pride:
Unlike had been their life, unlike the fruits,
Of different tempers, studies, and pursuits;
Nay, in such varying scenes the men had moved,
'T was passing strange that aught alike they loved:
But all distinction now was thrown apart,
While these strong feelings ruled in either heart.
By those strong feelings that in time subside;
Not fluent yet their language, but the eye
And action spoke both question and reply;
Till the heart rested, and could calmly feel,
Till the shook compass felt the settling steel;
Till playful smiles on graver converse broke,
And either speaker less abruptly spoke:
Still was there ofttimes silence, silence blest,
Expressive, thoughtful—their emotions' rest;
Pauses that came not from a want of thought,
But want of ease, by wearied passion sought;
For souls, when hurried by such powerful force,
Rest, and retrace the pleasure of the course,
36
Likeness of features both in mind and face;
Pride they possess'd, that neither strove to hide,
But not offensive, not obtrusive pride:
Unlike had been their life, unlike the fruits,
Of different tempers, studies, and pursuits;
Nay, in such varying scenes the men had moved,
'T was passing strange that aught alike they loved:
But all distinction now was thrown apart,
While these strong feelings ruled in either heart.
As various colours in a painted ball,
While it has rest, are seen distinctly all;
Till, whirl'd around by some exterior force,
They all are blended in the rapid course:
So in repose, and not by passion sway'd,
We saw the difference by their habits made;
But, tried by strong emotions, they became
Fill'd with one love, and were in heart the same;
Joy to the face its own expression sent,
And gave a likeness in the looks it lent.
While it has rest, are seen distinctly all;
Till, whirl'd around by some exterior force,
They all are blended in the rapid course:
So in repose, and not by passion sway'd,
We saw the difference by their habits made;
But, tried by strong emotions, they became
Fill'd with one love, and were in heart the same;
Joy to the face its own expression sent,
And gave a likeness in the looks it lent.
37
All now was sober certainty; the joy
That no strong passions swell till they destroy:
For they, like wine, our pleasures raise so high,
That they subdue our strength, and then they die.
George in his brother felt a growing pride,
He wonder'd who that fertile mind supplied—
“Where could the wanderer gather on his road
“Knowledge so various? how the mind this food?
“No college train'd him, guideless through his life,
“Without a friend—not so! he has a wife.
“Ah! had I married, I might now have seen
“My—No! it never, never could have been:
“That long enchantment, that pernicious state!—
“True, I recover'd, but alas! too late—
“And here is Richard, poor indeed—but—nay!
“This is self-torment—foolish thoughts, away!”
That no strong passions swell till they destroy:
For they, like wine, our pleasures raise so high,
That they subdue our strength, and then they die.
George in his brother felt a growing pride,
He wonder'd who that fertile mind supplied—
“Where could the wanderer gather on his road
“Knowledge so various? how the mind this food?
“No college train'd him, guideless through his life,
“Without a friend—not so! he has a wife.
“Ah! had I married, I might now have seen
“My—No! it never, never could have been:
“That long enchantment, that pernicious state!—
“True, I recover'd, but alas! too late—
“And here is Richard, poor indeed—but—nay!
“This is self-torment—foolish thoughts, away!”
Ease leads to habit, as success to ease,
He lives by rule who lives himself to please;
For change is trouble, and a man of wealth
Consults his quiet as he guards his health;
And habit now on George had sovereign power,
His actions all had their accustom'd hour:
At the fix'd time he slept, he walk'd, he read,
Or sought his grounds, his gruel, and his bed;
For every season he with caution dress'd,
And morn and eve had the appropriate vest;
He talk'd of early mists, and night's cold air,
And in one spot was fix'd his worship's chair.
But not a custom yet on Richard's mind
Had force, or him to certain modes confined;
To him no joy such frequent visits paid,
That habit by its beaten track was made:
He was not one who at his ease could say,
“We'll live to-morrow as we lived to-day;”
But he and his were as the ravens fed,
As the day came it brought the daily bread.
He lives by rule who lives himself to please;
For change is trouble, and a man of wealth
Consults his quiet as he guards his health;
And habit now on George had sovereign power,
His actions all had their accustom'd hour:
At the fix'd time he slept, he walk'd, he read,
Or sought his grounds, his gruel, and his bed;
For every season he with caution dress'd,
And morn and eve had the appropriate vest;
He talk'd of early mists, and night's cold air,
And in one spot was fix'd his worship's chair.
But not a custom yet on Richard's mind
Had force, or him to certain modes confined;
38
That habit by its beaten track was made:
He was not one who at his ease could say,
“We'll live to-morrow as we lived to-day;”
But he and his were as the ravens fed,
As the day came it brought the daily bread.
George, born to fortune, though of moderate kind,
Was not in haste his road through life to find:
His father early lost, his mother tried
To live without him, liked it not, and—sigh'd,
When, for her widow'd hand, an amorous youth applied:
She still was young, and felt that she could share
A lover's passion, and a husband's care;
Yet past twelve years before her son was told,
To his surprise, “Your father you behold.”
But he beheld not with his mother's eye
The new relation, and would not comply;
But all obedience, all connexion spurn'd,
And fled their home, where he no more return'd.
Was not in haste his road through life to find:
His father early lost, his mother tried
To live without him, liked it not, and—sigh'd,
When, for her widow'd hand, an amorous youth applied:
She still was young, and felt that she could share
A lover's passion, and a husband's care;
Yet past twelve years before her son was told,
To his surprise, “Your father you behold.”
But he beheld not with his mother's eye
The new relation, and would not comply;
But all obedience, all connexion spurn'd,
And fled their home, where he no more return'd.
His father's brother was a man whose mind
Was to his business and his bank confined;
His guardian care the captious nephew sought,
And was received, caress'd, advised, and taught.
Was to his business and his bank confined;
His guardian care the captious nephew sought,
And was received, caress'd, advised, and taught.
39
“That Irish beggar, whom your mother took,
“Does you this good, he sends you to your book;
“Yet love not books beyond their proper worth,
“But when they fit you for the world, go forth:
“They are like beauties, and may blessings prove,
“When we with caution study them, or love;
“But when to either we our souls devote,
“We grow unfitted for that world, and dote.”
“Does you this good, he sends you to your book;
“Yet love not books beyond their proper worth,
“But when they fit you for the world, go forth:
“They are like beauties, and may blessings prove,
“When we with caution study them, or love;
“But when to either we our souls devote,
“We grow unfitted for that world, and dote.”
George to a school of higher class was sent,
But he was ever grieving that he went:
A still, retiring, musing, dreaming boy,
He relish'd not their sudden bursts of joy;
Nor the tumultuous pleasures of a rude,
A noisy, careless, fearless multitude:
He had his own delights, as one who flies
From every pleasure that a crowd supplies:
Thrice he return'd, but then was weary grown,
And was indulged with studies of his own.
Still could the Rector and his Friend relate
The small adventures of that distant date;
And Richard listen'd as they spake of time
Past in that world of misery and crime.
But he was ever grieving that he went:
A still, retiring, musing, dreaming boy,
He relish'd not their sudden bursts of joy;
Nor the tumultuous pleasures of a rude,
A noisy, careless, fearless multitude:
He had his own delights, as one who flies
From every pleasure that a crowd supplies:
Thrice he return'd, but then was weary grown,
And was indulged with studies of his own.
Still could the Rector and his Friend relate
The small adventures of that distant date;
And Richard listen'd as they spake of time
Past in that world of misery and crime.
Freed from his school, a priest of gentle kind
The uncle found to guide the nephew's mind;
Pleased with his teacher, George so long remain'd,
The mind was weaken'd by the store it gain'd.
The uncle found to guide the nephew's mind;
Pleased with his teacher, George so long remain'd,
The mind was weaken'd by the store it gain'd.
His guardian uncle, then on foreign ground,
No time to think of his improvements found;
Nor had the nephew, now to manhood grown,
Talents or taste for trade or commerce shown,
But shunn'd a world of which he little knew,
Nor of that little did he like the view.
No time to think of his improvements found;
40
Talents or taste for trade or commerce shown,
But shunn'd a world of which he little knew,
Nor of that little did he like the view.
His mother chose, nor I the choice upbraid,
An Irish soldier of a house decay'd,
And passing poor, but precious in her eyes
As she in his; they both obtain'd a prize.
To do the captain justice, she might share
What of her jointure his affairs could spare:
Irish he was in his profusion—true,
But he was Irish in affection too;
And though he spent her wealth and made her grieve,
He always said “my dear,” and “with your leave.”
Him she survived: she saw his boy possess'd
Of manly spirit, and then sank to rest.
An Irish soldier of a house decay'd,
And passing poor, but precious in her eyes
As she in his; they both obtain'd a prize.
To do the captain justice, she might share
What of her jointure his affairs could spare:
Irish he was in his profusion—true,
But he was Irish in affection too;
And though he spent her wealth and made her grieve,
He always said “my dear,” and “with your leave.”
Him she survived: she saw his boy possess'd
Of manly spirit, and then sank to rest.
Her sons thus left, some legal cause required
That they should meet, but neither this desired:
George, a recluse, with mind engaged, was one
Who did no business, with whom none was done;
Whose heart, engross'd by its peculiar care,
Shared no one's counsel—no one his might share
That they should meet, but neither this desired:
George, a recluse, with mind engaged, was one
Who did no business, with whom none was done;
Whose heart, engross'd by its peculiar care,
Shared no one's counsel—no one his might share
Richard, a boy, a lively boy, was told
Of his half-brother, haughty, stern, and cold;
And his boy folly, or his manly pride,
Made him on measures cool and harsh decide:
So, when they met, a distant cold salute
Was of a long-expected day the fruit;
The rest by proxies managed, each withdrew,
Vex'd by the business and the brother too:
But now they met when time had calm'd the mind,
Both wish'd for kindness, and it made them kind:
George had no wife or child, and was disposed
To love the man on whom his hope reposed:
Richard had both; and those so well beloved,
Husband and father were to kindness moved;
And thus th' affections check'd, subdued, restrain'd,
Rose in their force, and in their fulness reign'd.
Of his half-brother, haughty, stern, and cold;
And his boy folly, or his manly pride,
Made him on measures cool and harsh decide:
So, when they met, a distant cold salute
Was of a long-expected day the fruit;
41
Vex'd by the business and the brother too:
But now they met when time had calm'd the mind,
Both wish'd for kindness, and it made them kind:
George had no wife or child, and was disposed
To love the man on whom his hope reposed:
Richard had both; and those so well beloved,
Husband and father were to kindness moved;
And thus th' affections check'd, subdued, restrain'd,
Rose in their force, and in their fulness reign'd.
The bell now bids to dine: the friendly priest,
Social and shrewd, the day's delight increased:
Brief and abrupt their speeches while they dined,
Nor were their themes of intellectual kind;
Nor, dinner past, did they to these advance,
But left the subjects they discuss'd to chance.
Social and shrewd, the day's delight increased:
Brief and abrupt their speeches while they dined,
Nor were their themes of intellectual kind;
Nor, dinner past, did they to these advance,
But left the subjects they discuss'd to chance.
Richard, whose boyhood in the place was spent,
Profound attention to the speakers lent,
Who spake of men; and, as he heard a name,
Actors and actions to his memory came;
Then, too, the scenes he could distinctly trace,
Here he had fought, and there had gain'd a race;
In that church-walk he had affrighted been,
In that old tower he had a something seen;
What time, dismiss'd from school, he upward cast
A fearful look, and trembled as he past.
Profound attention to the speakers lent,
Who spake of men; and, as he heard a name,
Actors and actions to his memory came;
Then, too, the scenes he could distinctly trace,
Here he had fought, and there had gain'd a race;
In that church-walk he had affrighted been,
In that old tower he had a something seen;
42
A fearful look, and trembled as he past.
No private tutor Richard's parents sought,
Made keen by hardship, and by trouble taught:
They might have sent him—some the counsel gave—
Seven gloomy winters of the North to brave,
Where a few pounds would pay for board and bed,
While the poor frozen boy was taught and fed;
When, say he lives, fair freckled, lank and lean,
The lad returns shrewd, subtle, close and keen;
With all the northern virtues, and the rules
Taught to the thrifty in these thriving schools:
There had he gone, and borne this trying part,
But Richard's mother had a mother's heart.
Made keen by hardship, and by trouble taught:
They might have sent him—some the counsel gave—
Seven gloomy winters of the North to brave,
Where a few pounds would pay for board and bed,
While the poor frozen boy was taught and fed;
When, say he lives, fair freckled, lank and lean,
The lad returns shrewd, subtle, close and keen;
With all the northern virtues, and the rules
Taught to the thrifty in these thriving schools:
There had he gone, and borne this trying part,
But Richard's mother had a mother's heart.
Now squire and rector were return'd to school,
And spoke of him who there had sovereign rule:
He was, it seem'd, a tyrant of the sort
Who make the cries of tortured boys his sport;
One of a race, if not extinguish'd, tamed,
The flogger now is of the act ashamed;
But this great mind all mercy's calls withstood,
This Holofernes was a man of blood.
And spoke of him who there had sovereign rule:
He was, it seem'd, a tyrant of the sort
Who make the cries of tortured boys his sport;
One of a race, if not extinguish'd, tamed,
The flogger now is of the act ashamed;
But this great mind all mercy's calls withstood,
This Holofernes was a man of blood.
“Students,” he said, “like horses on the road,
“Must well be lash'd before they take the load;
“They may be willing for a time to run,
“But you must whip them ere the work be done:
“To tell a boy, that, if he will improve,
“His friends will praise him, and his parents love,
“Is doing nothing—he has not a doubt
“But they will love him, nay applaud, without:
“Let no fond sire a boy's ambition trust,
“To make him study, let him see he must.”
Such his opinion; and to prove it true,
At least sincere, it was his practice too:
Pluto they call'd him, and they named him well,
'T was not a heaven where he was pleased to dwell:
From him a smile was like the Greenland sun,
Surprising, nay portentous, when it shone;
Or like the lightning, for the sudden flash
Prepared the children for the thunder's crash.
“Must well be lash'd before they take the load;
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“But you must whip them ere the work be done:
“To tell a boy, that, if he will improve,
“His friends will praise him, and his parents love,
“Is doing nothing—he has not a doubt
“But they will love him, nay applaud, without:
“Let no fond sire a boy's ambition trust,
“To make him study, let him see he must.”
Such his opinion; and to prove it true,
At least sincere, it was his practice too:
Pluto they call'd him, and they named him well,
'T was not a heaven where he was pleased to dwell:
From him a smile was like the Greenland sun,
Surprising, nay portentous, when it shone;
Or like the lightning, for the sudden flash
Prepared the children for the thunder's crash.
O! had Narcissa, when she fondly kiss'd
The weeping boy whom she to school dismiss'd,
Had she beheld him shrinking from the arm
Uplifted high to do the greater harm,
Then seen her darling stript, and that pure white,
And—O! her soul had fainted at the sight;
And with those looks that love could not withstand,
She would have cried, “Barbarian, hold thy hand!”
In vain! no grief to this stern soul could speak,
No iron-tear roll down this Pluto's cheek.
The weeping boy whom she to school dismiss'd,
Had she beheld him shrinking from the arm
Uplifted high to do the greater harm,
Then seen her darling stript, and that pure white,
And—O! her soul had fainted at the sight;
And with those looks that love could not withstand,
She would have cried, “Barbarian, hold thy hand!”
In vain! no grief to this stern soul could speak,
No iron-tear roll down this Pluto's cheek.
Thus far they went, half earnest, half in jest,
Then turn'd to themes of deeper interest;
While Richard's mind, that for awhile had stray'd,
Call'd home its powers, and due attention paid.
Then turn'd to themes of deeper interest;
While Richard's mind, that for awhile had stray'd,
Call'd home its powers, and due attention paid.
45
BOOK III. BOYS AT SCHOOL.
46
The School—Schoolboys—The Boy Tyrant—Sir Hector Blane—Schoolboys in after Life how changed—how the same—The patronised Boy, his Life and Death—Reflections —Story of Harry Bland.
47
We name the world a school, for day by day
We something learn, till we are call'd away;
The school we name a world,—for vice and pain,
Fraud and contention, there begin to reign;
And much, in fact, this lesser world can show
Of grief and crime that in the greater grow.
“You saw,” said George, “in that still-hated school
“How the meek suffer, how the haughty rule;
“There soft, ingenuous, gentle minds endure
“Ills that ease, time, and friendship fail to cure:
“There the best hearts, and those who shrink from sin,
“Find some seducing imp to draw them in;
“Who takes infernal pleasure to impart
“The strongest poison to the purest heart.
“Call to your mind this scene—Yon boy behold:
“How hot the vengeance of a heart so cold!
“See how he beats, whom he had just reviled
“And made rebellious—that imploring child:
“How fierce his eye, how merciless his blows,
“And how his anger on his insult grows;
“You saw this Hector and his patient slave,
“Th' insulting speech, the cruel blows he gave.
We something learn, till we are call'd away;
The school we name a world,—for vice and pain,
Fraud and contention, there begin to reign;
And much, in fact, this lesser world can show
Of grief and crime that in the greater grow.
“You saw,” said George, “in that still-hated school
“How the meek suffer, how the haughty rule;
“There soft, ingenuous, gentle minds endure
“Ills that ease, time, and friendship fail to cure:
“There the best hearts, and those who shrink from sin,
“Find some seducing imp to draw them in;
48
“The strongest poison to the purest heart.
“Call to your mind this scene—Yon boy behold:
“How hot the vengeance of a heart so cold!
“See how he beats, whom he had just reviled
“And made rebellious—that imploring child:
“How fierce his eye, how merciless his blows,
“And how his anger on his insult grows;
“You saw this Hector and his patient slave,
“Th' insulting speech, the cruel blows he gave.
“Mix'd with mankind, his interest in his sight,
“We found this Nimrod civil and polite,
“There was no triumph in his manner seen,
“He was so humble you might think him mean
“Those angry passions slept till he attain'd
“His purposed wealth, and waked when that was gain'd;
“He then resumed the native wrath and pride,
“The more indulged, as longer laid aside;
“Wife, children, servants, all obedience pay,
“The slaves at school no greater slaves than they.
“No more dependent, he resumes the rein,
“And shows the school-boy turbulence again.
“Were I a poet, I would say, he brings
“To recollection some impetuous springs:
“See! one that issues from its humble source,
“To gain new powers, and run its noisy course;
“Frothy and fierce among the rocks it goes,
“And threatens all that bound it or oppose:
“Till wider grown, and finding large increase,
“Though bounded still, it moves along in peace;
“And as its waters to the ocean glide,
“They bear a busy people on its tide;
“But there arrived, and from its channel free,
“Those swelling waters meet the mighty sea;
“With threat'ning force the new-form'd billows swell,
“And now affright the crowd they bore so well.”
“We found this Nimrod civil and polite,
“There was no triumph in his manner seen,
“He was so humble you might think him mean
“Those angry passions slept till he attain'd
“His purposed wealth, and waked when that was gain'd;
“He then resumed the native wrath and pride,
“The more indulged, as longer laid aside;
“Wife, children, servants, all obedience pay,
“The slaves at school no greater slaves than they.
49
“And shows the school-boy turbulence again.
“Were I a poet, I would say, he brings
“To recollection some impetuous springs:
“See! one that issues from its humble source,
“To gain new powers, and run its noisy course;
“Frothy and fierce among the rocks it goes,
“And threatens all that bound it or oppose:
“Till wider grown, and finding large increase,
“Though bounded still, it moves along in peace;
“And as its waters to the ocean glide,
“They bear a busy people on its tide;
“But there arrived, and from its channel free,
“Those swelling waters meet the mighty sea;
“With threat'ning force the new-form'd billows swell,
“And now affright the crowd they bore so well.”
“Yet,” said the Rector, “all these early signs
“Of vice are lost, and vice itself declines;
“Religion counsels; troubles—sorrows—rise,
“And the vile spirit in the conflict dies.
“Of vice are lost, and vice itself declines;
“Religion counsels; troubles—sorrows—rise,
“And the vile spirit in the conflict dies.
“Sir Hector Blane, the champion of the school,
“Was very blockhead, but was form'd for rule:
“Learn he could not; he said he could not learn,
“But he profess'd it gave him no concern:
“Books were his horror, dinner his delight,
“And his amusement to shake hands and fight;
“Argue he could not, but in case of doubt,
“Or disputation, fairly box'd it out:
“This was his logic, and his arm so strong,
“His cause prevail'd, and he was never wrong:
“But so obtuse—you must have seen his look,
“Desponding, angry, puzzled o'er his book.
“Was very blockhead, but was form'd for rule:
“Learn he could not; he said he could not learn,
“But he profess'd it gave him no concern:
“Books were his horror, dinner his delight,
“And his amusement to shake hands and fight;
“Argue he could not, but in case of doubt,
“Or disputation, fairly box'd it out:
50
“His cause prevail'd, and he was never wrong:
“But so obtuse—you must have seen his look,
“Desponding, angry, puzzled o'er his book.
“Can you not see him on the morn that proved
“His skill in figures? Pluto's self was moved—
“‘Come, six times five?’ th' impatient teacher cried;
“In vain, the pupil shut his eyes, and sigh'd.
“‘Try, six times count your fingers; how he stands!—
“‘Your fingers, idiot!’—‘What, of both my hands?’
“His skill in figures? Pluto's self was moved—
“‘Come, six times five?’ th' impatient teacher cried;
“In vain, the pupil shut his eyes, and sigh'd.
“‘Try, six times count your fingers; how he stands!—
“‘Your fingers, idiot!’—‘What, of both my hands?’
“With parts like these, his father felt assured,
“In busy times, a ship might be procured;
“He too was pleased to be so early freed,
“He now could fight, and he in time might read.
“So he has fought, and in his country's cause
“Has gain'd him glory, and our hearts' applause.
“No more the blustering boy a school defies,
“We see the hero from the tyrant rise,
“And in the captain's worth the student's dulness dies.”
“In busy times, a ship might be procured;
“He too was pleased to be so early freed,
“He now could fight, and he in time might read.
“So he has fought, and in his country's cause
“Has gain'd him glory, and our hearts' applause.
“No more the blustering boy a school defies,
“We see the hero from the tyrant rise,
“And in the captain's worth the student's dulness dies.”
“Be all allow'd,” replied the Squire; “I give
“Praise to his actions; may their glory live!
“Nay, I will hear him in his riper age
“Fight his good ship, and with the foe engage:
“Nor will I quit him when the cowards fly,
“Although, like them, I dread his energy.
“Praise to his actions; may their glory live!
“Nay, I will hear him in his riper age
“Fight his good ship, and with the foe engage:
“Nor will I quit him when the cowards fly,
“Although, like them, I dread his energy.
“But still, my friend, that ancient spirit reigns,
“His powers support the credit of his brains,
“Insisting ever that he must be right,
“And for his reasons still prepared to fight.
“Let him a judge of England's prowess be,
“And all her floating terrors on the sea;
“But this contents not, this is not denied,
“He claims a right on all things to decide;
“A kind of patent-wisdom, and he cries,
“‘'Tis so!’ and bold the hero that denies.
“Thus the boy-spirit still the bosom rules,
“And the world's maxims were at first the school's.”
“His powers support the credit of his brains,
51
“And for his reasons still prepared to fight.
“Let him a judge of England's prowess be,
“And all her floating terrors on the sea;
“But this contents not, this is not denied,
“He claims a right on all things to decide;
“A kind of patent-wisdom, and he cries,
“‘'Tis so!’ and bold the hero that denies.
“Thus the boy-spirit still the bosom rules,
“And the world's maxims were at first the school's.”
“No doubt,” said Jacques, “there are in minds the seeds
“Of good and ill, the virtues and the weeds;
“But is it not of study the intent
“This growth of evil nature to prevent?
“To check the progress of each idle shoot
“That might retard the ripening of the fruit?
“Of good and ill, the virtues and the weeds;
“But is it not of study the intent
“This growth of evil nature to prevent?
“To check the progress of each idle shoot
“That might retard the ripening of the fruit?
“Our purpose certain! and we much effect,
“We something cure, and something we correct;
“But do your utmost, when the man you see,
“You find him what you saw the boy would be—
“Disguised a little—but we still behold
“What pleased and what offended us of old.
“Years from the mind no native stain remove,
“But lay the varnish of the world above.
“Still, when he can, he loves to step aside,
“And be the boy without a check or guide;
“In the old wanderings he with pleasure strays,
“And reassumes the bliss of earlier days.
“We something cure, and something we correct;
“But do your utmost, when the man you see,
“You find him what you saw the boy would be—
“Disguised a little—but we still behold
“What pleased and what offended us of old.
52
“But lay the varnish of the world above.
“Still, when he can, he loves to step aside,
“And be the boy without a check or guide;
“In the old wanderings he with pleasure strays,
“And reassumes the bliss of earlier days.
“I left at school the boy with pensive look,
“Whom some great patron order'd to his book,
“Who from his mother's cot reluctant came,
“And gave my lord, for this compassion, fame;
“Who, told of all his patron's merit, sigh'd,
“I know not why, in sorrow or in pride;
“And would, with vex'd and troubled spirit, cry,
“‘I am not happy; let your envy die.”
“Him left I with you; who, perhaps, can tell
“If Fortune blest him, or what fate befell:
“I yet remember how the idlers ran
“To see the carriage of the godlike man,
“When pride restrain'd me; yet I thought the deed
“Was noble, too,—and how did it succeed?”
“Whom some great patron order'd to his book,
“Who from his mother's cot reluctant came,
“And gave my lord, for this compassion, fame;
“Who, told of all his patron's merit, sigh'd,
“I know not why, in sorrow or in pride;
“And would, with vex'd and troubled spirit, cry,
“‘I am not happy; let your envy die.”
“Him left I with you; who, perhaps, can tell
“If Fortune blest him, or what fate befell:
“I yet remember how the idlers ran
“To see the carriage of the godlike man,
“When pride restrain'd me; yet I thought the deed
“Was noble, too,—and how did it succeed?”
Jacques answer'd not till he had backward cast
His view, and dwelt upon the evil past;
Then, as he sigh'd, he smiled;—from folly rise
Such smiles, and misery will create such sighs.
And Richard now from his abstraction broke,
Listening attentive as the Rector spoke.
His view, and dwelt upon the evil past;
Then, as he sigh'd, he smiled;—from folly rise
Such smiles, and misery will create such sighs.
And Richard now from his abstraction broke,
Listening attentive as the Rector spoke.
53
“This noble lord was one disposed to try
“And weigh the worth of each new luxury;
“Now, at a certain time, in pleasant mood,
“He tried the luxury of doing good;
“For this he chose a widow's handsome boy,
“Whom he would first improve, and then employ.
“The boy was gentle, modest, civil, kind,
“But not for bustling through the world design'd;
“Reserved in manner, with a little gloom,
“Apt to retire, but never to assume;
“Possess'd of pride that he could not subdue,
“Although he kept his origin in view.
“Him sent my Lord to school, and this became
“A theme for praise, and gave his Lordship fame;
“But when the boy was told how great his debt,
“He proudly ask'd, ‘Is it contracted yet?’
“With care he studied, and with some success;
“His patience great, but his acquirements less:
“Yet when he heard that Charles would not excel,
“His Lordship answer'd, with a smile, ‘'T is well;
“‘Let him proceed, and do the best he can;
“‘I want no pedant, but a useful man.’
“And weigh the worth of each new luxury;
“Now, at a certain time, in pleasant mood,
“He tried the luxury of doing good;
“For this he chose a widow's handsome boy,
“Whom he would first improve, and then employ.
“The boy was gentle, modest, civil, kind,
“But not for bustling through the world design'd;
“Reserved in manner, with a little gloom,
“Apt to retire, but never to assume;
“Possess'd of pride that he could not subdue,
“Although he kept his origin in view.
“Him sent my Lord to school, and this became
“A theme for praise, and gave his Lordship fame;
“But when the boy was told how great his debt,
“He proudly ask'd, ‘Is it contracted yet?’
“With care he studied, and with some success;
“His patience great, but his acquirements less:
“Yet when he heard that Charles would not excel,
“His Lordship answer'd, with a smile, ‘'T is well;
54
“‘I want no pedant, but a useful man.’
“The speech was heard, and praise was amply dealt;
“His Lordship felt it, and he said he felt—
“‘It is delightful,’ he observed, ‘to raise
“‘And foster merit,—it is more than praise.’
“His Lordship felt it, and he said he felt—
“‘It is delightful,’ he observed, ‘to raise
“‘And foster merit,—it is more than praise.’
“Five years at school th' industrious boy had pass'd,
“‘And what,’ was whisper'd, ‘will be done at last?’
“My Lord was troubled, for he did not mean
“To have his bounty watch'd and overseen;
“Bounty that sleeps when men applaud no more
“The generous act that waked their praise before;
“The deed was pleasant while the praise was new,
“But none the progress would with wonder view:
“It was a debt contracted; he who pays
“A debt is just, but must not look for praise:
“The deed that once had fame must still proceed,
“Though fame no more proclaims ‘how great the deed!’
“The boy is taken from his mother's side,
“And he who took him must be now his guide.
“But this, alas! instead of bringing fame,
“A tax, a trouble, to my Lord became.
“‘And what,’ was whisper'd, ‘will be done at last?’
“My Lord was troubled, for he did not mean
“To have his bounty watch'd and overseen;
“Bounty that sleeps when men applaud no more
“The generous act that waked their praise before;
“The deed was pleasant while the praise was new,
“But none the progress would with wonder view:
“It was a debt contracted; he who pays
“A debt is just, but must not look for praise:
“The deed that once had fame must still proceed,
“Though fame no more proclaims ‘how great the deed!’
“The boy is taken from his mother's side,
“And he who took him must be now his guide.
“But this, alas! instead of bringing fame,
“A tax, a trouble, to my Lord became.
“‘The boy is dull, you say,—why then by trade,
“‘By law, by physic, nothing can be made;
“‘If a small living—mine are both too large,
“‘And then the College is a cursed charge:
“‘The sea is open; should he there display
“‘Signs of dislike, he cannot run away.’
“‘By law, by physic, nothing can be made;
“‘If a small living—mine are both too large,
“‘And then the College is a cursed charge:
“‘The sea is open; should he there display
“‘Signs of dislike, he cannot run away.’
55
“Now Charles, who acted no heroic part,
“And felt no seaman's glory warm his heart,
“Refused the offer—anger touch'd my Lord.—
“‘He does not like it—Good, upon my word—
“‘If I at College place him, he will need
“‘Supplies for ever, and will not succeed;
“‘Doubtless in me 'tis duty to provide
“‘Not for his comfort only, but his pride—
“‘Let him to sea!’—He heard the words again,
“With promise join'd—with threat'ning; all in vain:
“Charles had his own pursuits; for aid to these
“He had been thankful, and had tried to please;
“But urged again, as meekly as a saint,
“He humbly begg'd to stay at home and paint.
“‘Yes, pay some dauber, that this stubborn fool
“‘May grind his colours, and may boast his school.
“And felt no seaman's glory warm his heart,
“Refused the offer—anger touch'd my Lord.—
“‘He does not like it—Good, upon my word—
“‘If I at College place him, he will need
“‘Supplies for ever, and will not succeed;
“‘Doubtless in me 'tis duty to provide
“‘Not for his comfort only, but his pride—
“‘Let him to sea!’—He heard the words again,
“With promise join'd—with threat'ning; all in vain:
“Charles had his own pursuits; for aid to these
“He had been thankful, and had tried to please;
“But urged again, as meekly as a saint,
“He humbly begg'd to stay at home and paint.
“‘Yes, pay some dauber, that this stubborn fool
“‘May grind his colours, and may boast his school.
“As both persisted, ‘Choose, good sir, your way,
“The peer exclaim'd, ‘I have no more to say;
“‘I seek your good, but I have no command
“‘Upon your will, nor your desire withstand.’
“The peer exclaim'd, ‘I have no more to say;
“‘I seek your good, but I have no command
“‘Upon your will, nor your desire withstand.’
Resolved and firm, yet dreading to offend,
“Charles pleaded genius with his noble friend:
“‘Genius!’ he cried, ‘the name that triflers give
“‘To their strong wishes without pains to live;
“‘Genius! the plea of all who feel desire
“‘Of fame, yet grudge the labours that acquire:
“‘But say 'tis true; how poor, how late the gain,
“‘And certain ruin if the hope be vain!’
“Then to the world appeal'd my Lord, and cried,
“‘Whatever happens, I am justified.’
“Nay, it was trouble to his soul to find
“There was such hardness in the human mind:
“He wash'd his hands before the world, and swore
“That he such minds would patronise no more.
“Charles pleaded genius with his noble friend:
“‘Genius!’ he cried, ‘the name that triflers give
“‘To their strong wishes without pains to live;
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“‘Of fame, yet grudge the labours that acquire:
“‘But say 'tis true; how poor, how late the gain,
“‘And certain ruin if the hope be vain!’
“Then to the world appeal'd my Lord, and cried,
“‘Whatever happens, I am justified.’
“Nay, it was trouble to his soul to find
“There was such hardness in the human mind:
“He wash'd his hands before the world, and swore
“That he such minds would patronise no more.
“Now Charles his bread by daily labours sought,
“And this his solace, ‘so Correggio wrought.’
“Alas, poor youth! however great his name,
“And humble thine, thy fortune was the same:
“Charles drew and painted, and some praise obtain'd
“For care and pains; but little more was gain'd:
“Fame was his hope, and he contempt display'd
“For approbation, when 'twas coolly paid:
“His daily tasks he call'd a waste of mind,
“Vex'd at his fate, and angry with mankind:
“‘Thus have the blind to merit ever done,
“‘And Genius mourn'd for each neglected son.’
“And this his solace, ‘so Correggio wrought.’
“Alas, poor youth! however great his name,
“And humble thine, thy fortune was the same:
“Charles drew and painted, and some praise obtain'd
“For care and pains; but little more was gain'd:
“Fame was his hope, and he contempt display'd
“For approbation, when 'twas coolly paid:
“His daily tasks he call'd a waste of mind,
“Vex'd at his fate, and angry with mankind:
“‘Thus have the blind to merit ever done,
“‘And Genius mourn'd for each neglected son.’
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“Charles murmur'd thus, and angry and alone
“Half breathed the curse, and half suppress'd the groan;
“Then still more sullen grew, and still more proud,
“Fame so refused he to himself allow'd,
“Crowds in contempt he held, and all to him was crowd.
“Half breathed the curse, and half suppress'd the groan;
“Then still more sullen grew, and still more proud,
“Fame so refused he to himself allow'd,
“Crowds in contempt he held, and all to him was crowd.
“If aught on earth, the youth his mother loved,
“And at her death to distant scenes removed.
“And at her death to distant scenes removed.
“Years past away, and where he lived, and how,
“Was then unknown—indeed we know not now;
“But once at twilight walking up and down,
“In a poor alley of the mighty town,
“Where, in her narrow courts and garrets, hide
“The grieving sons of Genius, Want, and Pride,
“I met him musing: sadness I could trace,
“And conquer'd hope's meek anguish in his face.
“See him I must: but I with ease address'd,
“And neither pity nor surprise express'd;
“I strove both grief and pleasure to restrain,
“But yet I saw that I was giving pain.
“He said, with quick'ning pace, as loth to hold
“A longer converse, that ‘the day was cold,
“‘That he was well, that I had scarcely light
“‘To aid my steps,’ and bade me then good night!
“Was then unknown—indeed we know not now;
“But once at twilight walking up and down,
“In a poor alley of the mighty town,
“Where, in her narrow courts and garrets, hide
“The grieving sons of Genius, Want, and Pride,
“I met him musing: sadness I could trace,
“And conquer'd hope's meek anguish in his face.
“See him I must: but I with ease address'd,
“And neither pity nor surprise express'd;
“I strove both grief and pleasure to restrain,
“But yet I saw that I was giving pain.
“He said, with quick'ning pace, as loth to hold
“A longer converse, that ‘the day was cold,
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“‘To aid my steps,’ and bade me then good night!
“I saw him next where he had lately come,
“A silent pauper in a crowded room;
“I heard his name, but he conceal'd his face,
“To his sad mind his misery was disgrace:
“In vain I strove to combat his disdain
“Of my compassion—‘Sir, I pray refrain;’
“For I had left my friends, and stepp'd aside,
“Because I fear'd his unrelenting pride.
“A silent pauper in a crowded room;
“I heard his name, but he conceal'd his face,
“To his sad mind his misery was disgrace:
“In vain I strove to combat his disdain
“Of my compassion—‘Sir, I pray refrain;’
“For I had left my friends, and stepp'd aside,
“Because I fear'd his unrelenting pride.
“He then was sitting on a workhouse-bed,
“And on the naked boards reclined his head,
“Around were children with incessant cry,
“And near was one, like him, about to die;
“A broken chair's deal bottom held the store
“That he required—he soon would need no more;
“A yellow tea-pot, standing at his side,
“From its half spout the cold black tea supplied.
“And on the naked boards reclined his head,
“Around were children with incessant cry,
“And near was one, like him, about to die;
“A broken chair's deal bottom held the store
“That he required—he soon would need no more;
“A yellow tea-pot, standing at his side,
“From its half spout the cold black tea supplied.
“Hither, it seem'd, the fainting man was brought,
“Found without food,—it was no longer sought:
“For his employers knew not whom they paid,
“Nor where to seek him whom they wish'd to aid:
“Here brought, some kind attendant he address'd,
“And sought some trifles which he yet possess'd;
“Then named a lightless closet, in a room
“Hired at small rate, a garret's deepest gloom:
“They sought the region, and they brought him all
“That he his own, his proper wealth, could call:
“A better coat, less pieced; some linen neat,
“Not whole; and papers, many a valued sheet;
“Designs and drawings; these, at his desire,
“Were placed before him at the chamber fire,
“And while th' admiring people stood to gaze,
“He, one by one, committed to the blaze,
“Smiling in spleen; but one he held awhile,
“And gave it to the flames, and could not smile.
“Found without food,—it was no longer sought:
“For his employers knew not whom they paid,
“Nor where to seek him whom they wish'd to aid:
59
“And sought some trifles which he yet possess'd;
“Then named a lightless closet, in a room
“Hired at small rate, a garret's deepest gloom:
“They sought the region, and they brought him all
“That he his own, his proper wealth, could call:
“A better coat, less pieced; some linen neat,
“Not whole; and papers, many a valued sheet;
“Designs and drawings; these, at his desire,
“Were placed before him at the chamber fire,
“And while th' admiring people stood to gaze,
“He, one by one, committed to the blaze,
“Smiling in spleen; but one he held awhile,
“And gave it to the flames, and could not smile.
“The sickening man—for such appear'd the fact
“Just in his need, would not a debt contract;
“But left his poor apartment for the bed
“That earth might yield him, or some way-side shed;
“Here he was found, and to this place convey'd,
“Where he might rest, and his last debt be paid:
“Fame was his wish, but he so far from fame,
“That no one knew his kindred, or his name,
“Or by what means he lived, or from what place he came.
“Just in his need, would not a debt contract;
“But left his poor apartment for the bed
“That earth might yield him, or some way-side shed;
“Here he was found, and to this place convey'd,
“Where he might rest, and his last debt be paid:
“Fame was his wish, but he so far from fame,
“That no one knew his kindred, or his name,
“Or by what means he lived, or from what place he came.
“Poor Charles! unnoticed by thy titled friend,
“Thy days had calmly past, in peace thine end:
“Led by thy patron's vanity astray,
“Thy own misled thee in thy trackless way,
“Urging thee on by hope absurd and vain,
“Where never peace or comfort smiled again!
“Once more I saw him, when his spirits fail'd,
“And my desire to aid him then prevail'd;
“He show'd a softer feeling in his eye,
“And watch'd my looks, and own'd the sympathy:
“'Twas now the calm of wearied pride; so long
“As he had strength was his resentment strong,
“But in such place, with strangers all around,
“And they such strangers, to have something found
“Allied to his own heart, an early friend,
“One, only one, who would on him attend,
“To give and take a look! at this his journey's end;
“One link, however slender, of the chain
“That held him where he could not long remain;
“The one sole interest! No, he could not now
“Retain his anger; Nature knew not how;
“And so there came a softness to his mind,
“And he forgave the usage of mankind.
“His cold long fingers now were press'd to mine,
“And his faint smile of kinder thoughts gave sign;
“His lips moved often as he tried to lend
“His words their sound, and softly whisper'd ‘friend!’
“Not without comfort in the thought express'd
“By that calm look with which he sank to rest.
“Thy days had calmly past, in peace thine end:
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“Thy own misled thee in thy trackless way,
“Urging thee on by hope absurd and vain,
“Where never peace or comfort smiled again!
“Once more I saw him, when his spirits fail'd,
“And my desire to aid him then prevail'd;
“He show'd a softer feeling in his eye,
“And watch'd my looks, and own'd the sympathy:
“'Twas now the calm of wearied pride; so long
“As he had strength was his resentment strong,
“But in such place, with strangers all around,
“And they such strangers, to have something found
“Allied to his own heart, an early friend,
“One, only one, who would on him attend,
“To give and take a look! at this his journey's end;
“One link, however slender, of the chain
“That held him where he could not long remain;
“The one sole interest! No, he could not now
“Retain his anger; Nature knew not how;
“And so there came a softness to his mind,
“And he forgave the usage of mankind.
“His cold long fingers now were press'd to mine,
“And his faint smile of kinder thoughts gave sign;
“His lips moved often as he tried to lend
“His words their sound, and softly whisper'd ‘friend!’
“Not without comfort in the thought express'd
“By that calm look with which he sank to rest.
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“The man,” said George, “you see, through life retain'd
“The boy's defects; his virtues too remain'd.
“The boy's defects; his virtues too remain'd.
“But where are now those minds so light and gay,
“So forced on study, so intent on play,
“Swept, by the world's rude blasts, from hope's dear views away?
“Some grieved for long neglect in earlier times,
“Some sad from frailties, some lamenting crimes;
“Thinking, with sorrow, on the season lent
“For noble purpose, and in trifling spent;
“And now, at last, when they in earnest view
“The nothings done—what work they find to do!
“Where is that virtue that the generous boy
“Felt, and resolved that nothing should destroy?
“He who with noble indignation glow'd
“When vice had triumph? who his tear bestow'd
“On injured merit? he who would possess
“Power but to aid the children of distress!
“Who has such joy in generous actions shown,
“And so sincere, they might be call'd his own;
“Knight, hero, patriot, martyr! on whose tongue,
“And potent arm, a nation's welfare hung;
“He who to public misery brought relief,
“And sooth'd the anguish of domestic grief.
“Where now this virtue's fervour, spirit, zeal?
“Who felt so warmly, has he ceased to feel?
“The boy's emotions of that noble kind,
“Ah! sure th' experienced man has not resign'd;
“Or are these feelings varied? has the knight,
“Virtue's own champion, now refused to fight?
“Is the deliverer turn'd th' oppressor now?
“Has the reformer dropt the dangerous vow?
“Or has the patriot's bosom lost its heat,
“And forced him, shivering, to a snug retreat?
“Is such the grievous lapse of human pride?
“Is such the victory of the worth untried?
“So forced on study, so intent on play,
“Swept, by the world's rude blasts, from hope's dear views away?
“Some grieved for long neglect in earlier times,
“Some sad from frailties, some lamenting crimes;
“Thinking, with sorrow, on the season lent
“For noble purpose, and in trifling spent;
“And now, at last, when they in earnest view
“The nothings done—what work they find to do!
“Where is that virtue that the generous boy
“Felt, and resolved that nothing should destroy?
“He who with noble indignation glow'd
“When vice had triumph? who his tear bestow'd
“On injured merit? he who would possess
“Power but to aid the children of distress!
“Who has such joy in generous actions shown,
“And so sincere, they might be call'd his own;
“Knight, hero, patriot, martyr! on whose tongue,
“And potent arm, a nation's welfare hung;
“He who to public misery brought relief,
“And sooth'd the anguish of domestic grief.
“Where now this virtue's fervour, spirit, zeal?
“Who felt so warmly, has he ceased to feel?
“The boy's emotions of that noble kind,
“Ah! sure th' experienced man has not resign'd;
“Or are these feelings varied? has the knight,
“Virtue's own champion, now refused to fight?
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“Has the reformer dropt the dangerous vow?
“Or has the patriot's bosom lost its heat,
“And forced him, shivering, to a snug retreat?
“Is such the grievous lapse of human pride?
“Is such the victory of the worth untried?
“Here will I pause, and then review the shame
“Of Harry Bland, to hear his parent's name;
“That mild, that modest boy, whom well we knew
“In him long time the secret sorrow grew;
“He wept alone; then to his friend confess'd
“The grievous fears that his pure mind oppress'd;
“And thus, when terror o'er his shame obtain'd
“A painful conquest, he his case explain'd:
“And first his favourite question'd—‘Willie, tell,
“‘Do all the wicked people go to Hell?’
“Of Harry Bland, to hear his parent's name;
“That mild, that modest boy, whom well we knew
“In him long time the secret sorrow grew;
“He wept alone; then to his friend confess'd
“The grievous fears that his pure mind oppress'd;
“And thus, when terror o'er his shame obtain'd
“A painful conquest, he his case explain'd:
“And first his favourite question'd—‘Willie, tell,
“‘Do all the wicked people go to Hell?’
“Willie with caution answer'd, ‘Yes, they do,
“‘Or else repent; but what is this to you?’
“‘O! yes, dear friend:’ he then his tale began—
“He fear'd his father was a wicked man,
“Nor had repented of his naughty life;
“The wife he had indeed was not a wife,
“‘Not as my mother was; the servants all
“‘Call her a name—I'll whisper what they call.
“‘She saw me weep, and ask'd, in high disdain,
“‘If tears could bring my mother back again?
“‘This I could bear, but not when she pretends
“‘Such fond regard, and what I speak commends;
“‘Talks of my learning, fawning wretch! and tries
“‘To make me love her,—love! when I despise.
“‘Indeed I had it in my heart to say
“‘Words of reproach, before I came away;
“‘And then my father's look is not the same,
“‘He puts his anger on to hide his shame.’
“‘Or else repent; but what is this to you?’
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“He fear'd his father was a wicked man,
“Nor had repented of his naughty life;
“The wife he had indeed was not a wife,
“‘Not as my mother was; the servants all
“‘Call her a name—I'll whisper what they call.
“‘She saw me weep, and ask'd, in high disdain,
“‘If tears could bring my mother back again?
“‘This I could bear, but not when she pretends
“‘Such fond regard, and what I speak commends;
“‘Talks of my learning, fawning wretch! and tries
“‘To make me love her,—love! when I despise.
“‘Indeed I had it in my heart to say
“‘Words of reproach, before I came away;
“‘And then my father's look is not the same,
“‘He puts his anger on to hide his shame.’
“With all these feelings delicate and nice,
“This dread of infamy, this scorn of vice,
“He left the school, accepting, though with pride,
“His father's aid—but there would not reside;
“He married then a lovely maid, approved
“Of every heart as worthy to be loved;
“Mild as the morn in summer, firm as truth,
“And graced with wisdom in the bloom of youth.
“This dread of infamy, this scorn of vice,
“He left the school, accepting, though with pride,
“His father's aid—but there would not reside;
“He married then a lovely maid, approved
“Of every heart as worthy to be loved;
“Mild as the morn in summer, firm as truth,
“And graced with wisdom in the bloom of youth.
“How is it, men, when they in judgment sit
“On the same fault, now censure, now acquit?
“Is it not thus, that here we view the sin,
“And there the powerful cause that drew us in?
“'Tis not that men are to the evil blind,
“But that a different object fills the mind.
“In judging others we can see too well
“Their grievous fall, but not how grieved they fell;
“Judging ourselves, we to our minds recall,
“Not how we fell, but how we grieved to fall
“Or could this man, so vex'd in early time,
“By this strong feeling for his father's crime,
“Who to the parent's sin was barely just,
“And mix'd with filial fear the man's disgust;
“Could he, without some strong delusion, quit
“The path of duty, and to shame submit?
“Cast off the virtue he so highly prized,
“‘And be the very creature he despised?
“On the same fault, now censure, now acquit?
“Is it not thus, that here we view the sin,
“And there the powerful cause that drew us in?
“'Tis not that men are to the evil blind,
“But that a different object fills the mind.
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“Their grievous fall, but not how grieved they fell;
“Judging ourselves, we to our minds recall,
“Not how we fell, but how we grieved to fall
“Or could this man, so vex'd in early time,
“By this strong feeling for his father's crime,
“Who to the parent's sin was barely just,
“And mix'd with filial fear the man's disgust;
“Could he, without some strong delusion, quit
“The path of duty, and to shame submit?
“Cast off the virtue he so highly prized,
“‘And be the very creature he despised?
“A tenant's wife, half forward, half afraid,
“Features, it seem'd, of powerful cast display'd,
“That bore down faith and duty; common fame
“Speaks of a contract that augments the shame.
“Features, it seem'd, of powerful cast display'd,
“That bore down faith and duty; common fame
“Speaks of a contract that augments the shame.
“There goes he, not unseen, so strong the will,
“And blind the wish, that bear him to the mill;
“There he degraded sits, and strives to please
“The miller's children, laughing at his knees;
“And little Dorcas, now familiar grown,
“Talks of her rich papa, and of her own.
“He woos the mother's now precarious smile
“By costly gifts, that tempers reconcile;
“While the rough husband, yielding to the pay
“That buys his absence, growling stalks away.
“'Tis said the offending man will sometimes sigh,
“And say, ‘My God, in what a dream am I?
“‘I will awake:’ but as the day proceeds,
“The weaken'd mind the day's indulgence needs;
“Hating himself at every step he takes,
“His mind approves the virtue he forsakes,
“And yet forsakes her. O! how sharp the pain,
“Our vice, ourselves, our habits to disdain;
“To go where never yet in peace we went,
“To feel our hearts can bleed, yet not relent;
“To sigh, yet not recede; to grieve, yet not repent!”
“And blind the wish, that bear him to the mill;
“There he degraded sits, and strives to please
“The miller's children, laughing at his knees;
“And little Dorcas, now familiar grown,
“Talks of her rich papa, and of her own.
“He woos the mother's now precarious smile
“By costly gifts, that tempers reconcile;
“While the rough husband, yielding to the pay
“That buys his absence, growling stalks away.
“'Tis said the offending man will sometimes sigh,
“And say, ‘My God, in what a dream am I?
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“The weaken'd mind the day's indulgence needs;
“Hating himself at every step he takes,
“His mind approves the virtue he forsakes,
“And yet forsakes her. O! how sharp the pain,
“Our vice, ourselves, our habits to disdain;
“To go where never yet in peace we went,
“To feel our hearts can bleed, yet not relent;
“To sigh, yet not recede; to grieve, yet not repent!”
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BOOK IV. ADVENTURES OF RICHARD.
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Meeting of the Brothers in the Morning—Pictures, Music, Books—The Autumnal Walk—The Farm—The Flock —Effect of Retirement upon the Mind—Dinner— Richard's Adventure at Sea—George enquires into the Education of his Brother—Richard's Account of his Occupations in his early Life; his Pursuits, Associations, Partialities, Affections and Feelings—His Love of Freedom —The Society he chose—The Friendships he engaged in—and the Habits he contracted.
69
Eight days had past: the Brothers now could meet
With ease, and take the customary seat.
With ease, and take the customary seat.
“These,” said the host, for he perceived where stray'd
His brother's eye, and what he now survey'd;
“These are the costly trifles that we buy,
“Urged by the strong demands of vanity,
“The thirst and hunger of a mind diseased,
“That must with purchased flattery be appeased;
“But yet, 't is true, the things that you behold
“Serve to amuse us as we're getting old:
“These Pictures, as I heard our artists say,
“Are genuine all, and I believe they may;
“They cost the genuine sums, and I should grieve
“If, being willing, I could not believe.
“And there is Music; when the ladies come,
“With their keen looks they scrutinize the room
“To see what pleases, and I must expect
“To yield them pleasure, or to find neglect:
“For, as attractions from our person fly,
“Our purses, Richard, must the want supply;
“Yet would it vex me could the triflers know
“That they can shut out comfort or bestow.
His brother's eye, and what he now survey'd;
“These are the costly trifles that we buy,
“Urged by the strong demands of vanity,
“The thirst and hunger of a mind diseased,
“That must with purchased flattery be appeased;
“But yet, 't is true, the things that you behold
“Serve to amuse us as we're getting old:
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“Are genuine all, and I believe they may;
“They cost the genuine sums, and I should grieve
“If, being willing, I could not believe.
“And there is Music; when the ladies come,
“With their keen looks they scrutinize the room
“To see what pleases, and I must expect
“To yield them pleasure, or to find neglect:
“For, as attractions from our person fly,
“Our purses, Richard, must the want supply;
“Yet would it vex me could the triflers know
“That they can shut out comfort or bestow.
“But see this room: here, Richard, you will find
“Books for all palates, food for every mind;
“This readers term the ever-new delight,
“And so it is, if minds have appetite:
“Mine once was craving; great my joy, indeed,
“Had I possess'd such food when I could feed;
“When at the call of every new-born wish
“I could have keenly relish'd every dish—
“Now, Richard, now I stalk around and look
“Upon the dress and title of a book,
“Try half a page, and then can taste no more,
“But the dull volume to its place restore:
“Begin a second slowly to peruse,
“Then cast it by, and look about for news;
“The news itself grows dull in long debates,—
“I skip, and see what the conclusion states;
“And many a speech, with zeal and study made
“Cold and resisting spirits to persuade,
“Is lost on mine; alone, we cease to feel
“What crowds admire, and wonder at their zeal.
“Books for all palates, food for every mind;
“This readers term the ever-new delight,
“And so it is, if minds have appetite:
“Mine once was craving; great my joy, indeed,
“Had I possess'd such food when I could feed;
“When at the call of every new-born wish
“I could have keenly relish'd every dish—
“Now, Richard, now I stalk around and look
“Upon the dress and title of a book,
“Try half a page, and then can taste no more,
“But the dull volume to its place restore:
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“Then cast it by, and look about for news;
“The news itself grows dull in long debates,—
“I skip, and see what the conclusion states;
“And many a speech, with zeal and study made
“Cold and resisting spirits to persuade,
“Is lost on mine; alone, we cease to feel
“What crowds admire, and wonder at their zeal.
“But how the day? No fairer will it be?
“Walk you? Alas! 't is requisite for me—
“Nay, let me not prescribe—my friends and guests are free.”
“Walk you? Alas! 't is requisite for me—
“Nay, let me not prescribe—my friends and guests are free.”
It was a fair and mild autumnal sky,
And earth's ripe treasures met th' admiring eye,
As a rich beauty, when her bloom is lost,
Appears with more magnificence and cost:
The wet and heavy grass, where feet had stray'd,
Not yet erect, the wanderer's way betray'd;
Showers of the night had swell'd the deep'ning rill,
The morning breeze had urged the quick'ning mill;
Assembled rooks had wing'd their sea-ward flight,
By the same passage to return at night,
While proudly o'er them hung the steady kite,
Then turn'd him back, and left the noisy throng,
Nor deign'd to know them as he sail'd along.
Long yellow leaves, from oziers, strew'd around,
Choked the small stream, and hush'd the feeble sound;
While the dead foliage dropt from loftier trees,
Our Squire beheld not with his wonted ease;
But to his own reflections made reply,
And said aloud, “Yes! doubtless we must die.”
And earth's ripe treasures met th' admiring eye,
As a rich beauty, when her bloom is lost,
Appears with more magnificence and cost:
The wet and heavy grass, where feet had stray'd,
Not yet erect, the wanderer's way betray'd;
Showers of the night had swell'd the deep'ning rill,
The morning breeze had urged the quick'ning mill;
Assembled rooks had wing'd their sea-ward flight,
By the same passage to return at night,
While proudly o'er them hung the steady kite,
Then turn'd him back, and left the noisy throng,
Nor deign'd to know them as he sail'd along.
Long yellow leaves, from oziers, strew'd around,
Choked the small stream, and hush'd the feeble sound;
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Our Squire beheld not with his wonted ease;
But to his own reflections made reply,
And said aloud, “Yes! doubtless we must die.”
“We must,” said Richard; “and we would not live
“To feel what dotage and decay will give;
“But we yet taste whatever we behold,
“The morn is lovely, though the air is cold:
“There is delicious quiet in this scene,
“At once so rich, so varied, so serene;
“Sounds too delight us,—each discordant tone
“Thus mingled please, that fail to please alone;
“This hollow wind, this rustling of the brook,
“The farm-yard noise, the woodman at yon oak—
“See, the axe falls!—now listen to the stroke!
“That gun itself, that murders all this peace,
“Adds to the charm, because it soon must cease.”
“To feel what dotage and decay will give;
“But we yet taste whatever we behold,
“The morn is lovely, though the air is cold:
“There is delicious quiet in this scene,
“At once so rich, so varied, so serene;
“Sounds too delight us,—each discordant tone
“Thus mingled please, that fail to please alone;
“This hollow wind, this rustling of the brook,
“The farm-yard noise, the woodman at yon oak—
“See, the axe falls!—now listen to the stroke!
“That gun itself, that murders all this peace,
“Adds to the charm, because it soon must cease.”
“No doubt,” said George, “the country has its charms.
“My farm behold! the model for all farms!
“Look at that land—you find not there a weed,
“We grub the roots, and suffer none to seed.
“To land like this no botanist will come,
“To seek the precious ware he hides at home;
“Pressing the leaves and flowers with effort nice,
“As if they came from herbs in Paradise;
“Let them their favourites with my neighbours see,
“They have no—what?—no habitat with me.
“My farm behold! the model for all farms!
“Look at that land—you find not there a weed,
“We grub the roots, and suffer none to seed.
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“To seek the precious ware he hides at home;
“Pressing the leaves and flowers with effort nice,
“As if they came from herbs in Paradise;
“Let them their favourites with my neighbours see,
“They have no—what?—no habitat with me.
“Now see my flock, and hear its glory;—none
“Have that vast body and that slender bone;
“They are the village boast, the dealer's theme,
“Fleece of such staple! flesh in such esteem!”
“Have that vast body and that slender bone;
“They are the village boast, the dealer's theme,
“Fleece of such staple! flesh in such esteem!”
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“Brother,” said Richard, “do I hear aright?
“Does the land truly give so much delight?”
“Does the land truly give so much delight?”
“So says my bailiff: sometimes I have tried
“To catch the joy, but nature has denied;
“It will not be—the mind has had a store
“Laid up for life, and will admit no more:
“Worn out in trials, and about to die,
“In vain to these we for amusement fly;
“We farm, we garden, we our poor employ,
“And much command, though little we enjoy;
“Or, if ambitious, we employ our pen,
“We plant a desert, or we drain a fen;
“And—here, behold my medal!—this will show
“What men may merit when they nothing know.”
“To catch the joy, but nature has denied;
“It will not be—the mind has had a store
“Laid up for life, and will admit no more:
“Worn out in trials, and about to die,
“In vain to these we for amusement fly;
“We farm, we garden, we our poor employ,
“And much command, though little we enjoy;
“Or, if ambitious, we employ our pen,
“We plant a desert, or we drain a fen;
“And—here, behold my medal!—this will show
“What men may merit when they nothing know.”
“Yet reason here,” said Richard, “joins with pride:—”
“I did not ask th' alliance,” George replied—
“I grant it true, such trifles may induce
“A dull, proud man to wake and be of use;
“And there are purer pleasures, that a mind
“Calm and uninjured may in villas find;
“But where th' affections have been deeply tried,
“With other food that mind must be supplied:
“'T is not in trees or medals to impart
“The powerful medicine for an aching heart;
“The agitation dies, but there is still
“The backward spirit, the resisting will.
“Man takes his body to a country seat,
“But minds, dear Richard, have their own retreat;
“Oft when the feet are pacing o'er the green
“The mind is gone where never grass was seen,
“And never thinks of hill, or vale, or plain,
“Till want of rest creates a sense of pain,
“That calls that wandering mind, and brings it home again.
“No more of farms: but here I boast of minds
“That make a friend the richer when he finds;
“These shalt thou see;—but, Richard, be it known,
“Who thinks to see must in his turn be shown:—
“But now farewell! to thee will I resign
“Woods, walks, and valleys! take them till we dine.”
“I did not ask th' alliance,” George replied—
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“A dull, proud man to wake and be of use;
“And there are purer pleasures, that a mind
“Calm and uninjured may in villas find;
“But where th' affections have been deeply tried,
“With other food that mind must be supplied:
“'T is not in trees or medals to impart
“The powerful medicine for an aching heart;
“The agitation dies, but there is still
“The backward spirit, the resisting will.
“Man takes his body to a country seat,
“But minds, dear Richard, have their own retreat;
“Oft when the feet are pacing o'er the green
“The mind is gone where never grass was seen,
“And never thinks of hill, or vale, or plain,
“Till want of rest creates a sense of pain,
“That calls that wandering mind, and brings it home again.
“No more of farms: but here I boast of minds
“That make a friend the richer when he finds;
“These shalt thou see;—but, Richard, be it known,
“Who thinks to see must in his turn be shown:—
“But now farewell! to thee will I resign
“Woods, walks, and valleys! take them till we dine.”
The Brothers dined, and with that plenteous fare
That seldom fails to dissipate our care,
At least the lighter kind; and oft prevails
When reason, duty, nay, when kindness fails.
Yet food and wine, and all that mortals bless,
Lead them to think of peril and distress;
Cold, hunger, danger, solitude, and pain,
That men in life's adventurous ways sustain.
That seldom fails to dissipate our care,
At least the lighter kind; and oft prevails
When reason, duty, nay, when kindness fails.
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Lead them to think of peril and distress;
Cold, hunger, danger, solitude, and pain,
That men in life's adventurous ways sustain.
“Thou hast sail'd far, dear Brother,” said the Squire—
“Permit me of these unknown lands t' enquire,
“Lands never till'd, where thou hast wondering been,
“And all the marvels thou hast heard and seen:
“Do tell me something of the miseries felt
“In climes where travellers freeze, and where they melt;
“And be not nice,—we know 't is not in men,
“Who travel far, to hold a steady pen:
“Some will, 't is true, a bolder freedom take,
“And keep our wonder always wide awake;
“We know of those whose dangers far exceed
“Our frail belief, that trembles as we read;
“Such as in deserts burn, and thirst, and die,
“Save a last gasp that they recover by:
“Then, too, their hazard from a tyrant's arms,
“A tiger's fury, or a lady's charms;
“Beside th' accumulated evils borne
“From the bold outset to the safe return.
“These men abuse; but thou hast fair pretence
“To modest dealing, and to mild good sense;
“Then let me hear thy struggles and escapes
“In the far lands of crocodiles and apes:
“Say, hast thou, Bruce-like, knelt upon the bed
“Where the young Nile uplifts his branchy head?
“Or been partaker of th' unhallow'd feast,
“Where beast-like man devours his fellow beast,
“And churn'd the bleeding life? while each great dame
“And sovereign beauty bade adieu to shame?
“Or did the storm, that thy wreck'd pinnace bore,
“Impel thee gasping on some unknown shore;
“Where, when thy beard and nails were savage grown,
“Some swarthy princess took thee for her own,
“Some danger-dreading Yarico, who, kind,
“Sent thee away, and, prudent, staid behind?
“Permit me of these unknown lands t' enquire,
“Lands never till'd, where thou hast wondering been,
“And all the marvels thou hast heard and seen:
“Do tell me something of the miseries felt
“In climes where travellers freeze, and where they melt;
“And be not nice,—we know 't is not in men,
“Who travel far, to hold a steady pen:
“Some will, 't is true, a bolder freedom take,
“And keep our wonder always wide awake;
“We know of those whose dangers far exceed
“Our frail belief, that trembles as we read;
“Such as in deserts burn, and thirst, and die,
“Save a last gasp that they recover by:
“Then, too, their hazard from a tyrant's arms,
“A tiger's fury, or a lady's charms;
“Beside th' accumulated evils borne
“From the bold outset to the safe return.
“These men abuse; but thou hast fair pretence
“To modest dealing, and to mild good sense;
“Then let me hear thy struggles and escapes
“In the far lands of crocodiles and apes:
“Say, hast thou, Bruce-like, knelt upon the bed
“Where the young Nile uplifts his branchy head?
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“Where beast-like man devours his fellow beast,
“And churn'd the bleeding life? while each great dame
“And sovereign beauty bade adieu to shame?
“Or did the storm, that thy wreck'd pinnace bore,
“Impel thee gasping on some unknown shore;
“Where, when thy beard and nails were savage grown,
“Some swarthy princess took thee for her own,
“Some danger-dreading Yarico, who, kind,
“Sent thee away, and, prudent, staid behind?
“Come—I am ready wonders to receive,
“Prone to assent, and willing to believe.”
“Prone to assent, and willing to believe.”
Richard replied: “It must be known to you,
“That tales improbable may yet be true;
“And yet it is a foolish thing to tell
“A tale that shall be judged improbable;
“While some impossibilities appear
“So like the truth, that we assenting hear:
“Yet, with your leave, I venture to relate
“A chance-affair, and fact alone will state;
“Though, I confess, it may suspicion breed,
“And you may cry, ‘improbable, indeed!’
“That tales improbable may yet be true;
“And yet it is a foolish thing to tell
“A tale that shall be judged improbable;
“While some impossibilities appear
“So like the truth, that we assenting hear:
“Yet, with your leave, I venture to relate
“A chance-affair, and fact alone will state;
“Though, I confess, it may suspicion breed,
“And you may cry, ‘improbable, indeed!’
“When first I tried the sea, I took a trip,
“But duty none, in a relation's ship;
“Thus, unengaged, I felt my spirits light,
“Kept care at distance, and put fear to flight;
“Oft this same spirit in my friends prevail'd,
“Buoyant in dangers, rising when assail'd;
“When, as the gale at evening died away,
“And die it will with the retiring day,
“Impatient then, and sick of very ease,
“We loudly whistled for the slumbering breeze.
“But duty none, in a relation's ship;
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“Kept care at distance, and put fear to flight;
“Oft this same spirit in my friends prevail'd,
“Buoyant in dangers, rising when assail'd;
“When, as the gale at evening died away,
“And die it will with the retiring day,
“Impatient then, and sick of very ease,
“We loudly whistled for the slumbering breeze.
“One eve it came; and, frantic in my joy,
“I rose and danced, as idle as a boy:
“The cabin-lights were down, that we might learn
“A trifling something from the ship astern;
“The stiffening gale bore up the growing wave,
“And wilder motion to my madness gave:
“Oft have I since, when thoughtful and at rest,
“Believed some maddening power my mind possess'd;
“For, in an instant, as the stern sank low,
“(How moved I knew not—What can madness know?)
“Chance that direction to my motion gave,
“And plunged me headlong in the roaring wave:
“Swift flew the parting ship,—the fainter light
“Withdrew,—or horror took them from my sight.
“I rose and danced, as idle as a boy:
“The cabin-lights were down, that we might learn
“A trifling something from the ship astern;
“The stiffening gale bore up the growing wave,
“And wilder motion to my madness gave:
“Oft have I since, when thoughtful and at rest,
“Believed some maddening power my mind possess'd;
“For, in an instant, as the stern sank low,
“(How moved I knew not—What can madness know?)
“Chance that direction to my motion gave,
“And plunged me headlong in the roaring wave:
“Swift flew the parting ship,—the fainter light
“Withdrew,—or horror took them from my sight.
“All was confused above, beneath, around;
“All sounds of terror; no distinguish'd sound
“Could reach me, now on sweeping surges tost,
“And then between the rising billows lost;
“An undefined sensation stopt my breath;
“Disorder'd views and threat'ning signs of death
“Met in one moment, and a terror gave—
“I cannot paint it—to the moving-grave.
“My thoughts were all distressing, hurried, mix'd
“On all things fixing, not a moment fix'd:
“Vague thoughts of instant danger brought their pain,
“New hopes of safety banish'd them again;
“Then the swoln billow all these hopes destroy'd,
“And left me sinking in the mighty void:
“Weaker I grew, and grew the more dismay'd,
“Of aid all hopeless, yet in search of aid;
“Struggling awhile upon the wave to keep,
“Then, languid, sinking in the yawning deep:
“So tost, so lost, so sinking in despair,
“I pray'd in heart an indirected prayer,
“And then once more I gave my eyes to view
“The ship now lost, and bade the light adieu!
“From my chill'd frame the enfeebled spirit fled,
“Rose the tall billows round my deep'ning bed,
“Cold seized my heart, thought ceased, and I was dead.
“All sounds of terror; no distinguish'd sound
“Could reach me, now on sweeping surges tost,
“And then between the rising billows lost;
“An undefined sensation stopt my breath;
“Disorder'd views and threat'ning signs of death
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“I cannot paint it—to the moving-grave.
“My thoughts were all distressing, hurried, mix'd
“On all things fixing, not a moment fix'd:
“Vague thoughts of instant danger brought their pain,
“New hopes of safety banish'd them again;
“Then the swoln billow all these hopes destroy'd,
“And left me sinking in the mighty void:
“Weaker I grew, and grew the more dismay'd,
“Of aid all hopeless, yet in search of aid;
“Struggling awhile upon the wave to keep,
“Then, languid, sinking in the yawning deep:
“So tost, so lost, so sinking in despair,
“I pray'd in heart an indirected prayer,
“And then once more I gave my eyes to view
“The ship now lost, and bade the light adieu!
“From my chill'd frame the enfeebled spirit fled,
“Rose the tall billows round my deep'ning bed,
“Cold seized my heart, thought ceased, and I was dead.
“Brother, I have not,—man has not the power
“To paint the horrors of that life-long hour;
“Hour!—but of time I knew not—when I found
“Hope, youth, life, love, and all they promised, drown'd;
“When all so indistinct, so undefined,
“So dark and dreadful, overcame the mind;
“When such confusion on the spirit dwelt,
“That, feeling much, it knew not what it felt.
“To paint the horrors of that life-long hour;
“Hour!—but of time I knew not—when I found
“Hope, youth, life, love, and all they promised, drown'd;
“When all so indistinct, so undefined,
“So dark and dreadful, overcame the mind;
“When such confusion on the spirit dwelt,
“That, feeling much, it knew not what it felt.
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“Can I, my Brother—ought I to forget
“That night of terror? No! it threatens yet.
“Shall I days, months—nay, years, indeed, neglect,
“Who then could feel what moments must effect,
“Were aught effected? who, in that wild storm,
“Found there was nothing I could well perform;
“For what to us are moments, what are hours,
“If lost our judgment, and confused our powers?
“That night of terror? No! it threatens yet.
“Shall I days, months—nay, years, indeed, neglect,
“Who then could feel what moments must effect,
“Were aught effected? who, in that wild storm,
“Found there was nothing I could well perform;
“For what to us are moments, what are hours,
“If lost our judgment, and confused our powers?
“Oft in the times when passion strives to reign,
“When duty feebly holds the slacken'd chain,
“When reason slumbers, then remembrance draws
“This view of death, and folly makes a pause—
“The view o'ercomes the vice, the fear the frenzy awes.
“I know there wants not this to make it true,
“What danger bids be done, in safety do;
“Yet such escapes may make our purpose sure,
“Who slights such warning may be too secure.”
“When duty feebly holds the slacken'd chain,
“When reason slumbers, then remembrance draws
“This view of death, and folly makes a pause—
“The view o'ercomes the vice, the fear the frenzy awes.
“I know there wants not this to make it true,
“What danger bids be done, in safety do;
“Yet such escapes may make our purpose sure,
“Who slights such warning may be too secure.”
“But the escape!”—“Whate'er they judged might save
“Their sinking friend they cast upon the wave;
“Something of these my heaven-directed arm
“Unconscious seized, and held as by a charm;
“The crew astern beheld me as I swam,
“And I am saved—O! let me say I am.”
“Their sinking friend they cast upon the wave;
“Something of these my heaven-directed arm
“Unconscious seized, and held as by a charm;
“The crew astern beheld me as I swam,
“And I am saved—O! let me say I am.”
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“Brother,” said George, “I have neglected long
“To think of all thy perils:—it was wrong;
“But do forgive me; for I could not be
“Than of myself more negligent of thee.
“Now tell me, Richard, from the boyish years
“Of thy young mind, that now so rich appears,
“How was it stored? 'twas told me, thou wert wild,
“A truant urchin,—a neglected child.
“I heard of this escape, and sat supine
“Amid the danger that exceeded thine;
“Thou couldst but die—the waves could but infold
“Thy warm gay heart, and make that bosom cold—
“While I—but no! Proceed, and give me truth;
“How pass'd the years of thy unguided youth?
“Thy father left thee to the care of one
“Who could not teach, could ill support a son;
“Yet time and trouble feeble minds have stay'd,
“And fit for long-neglected duties made:
“I see thee struggling in the world, as late
“Within the waves, and with an equal fate,
“By Heaven preserved—but tell me, whence and how
“Thy gleaning came?—a dexterous gleaner thou!”
“To think of all thy perils:—it was wrong;
“But do forgive me; for I could not be
“Than of myself more negligent of thee.
“Now tell me, Richard, from the boyish years
“Of thy young mind, that now so rich appears,
“How was it stored? 'twas told me, thou wert wild,
“A truant urchin,—a neglected child.
“I heard of this escape, and sat supine
“Amid the danger that exceeded thine;
“Thou couldst but die—the waves could but infold
“Thy warm gay heart, and make that bosom cold—
“While I—but no! Proceed, and give me truth;
“How pass'd the years of thy unguided youth?
“Thy father left thee to the care of one
“Who could not teach, could ill support a son;
“Yet time and trouble feeble minds have stay'd,
“And fit for long-neglected duties made:
“I see thee struggling in the world, as late
“Within the waves, and with an equal fate,
“By Heaven preserved—but tell me, whence and how
“Thy gleaning came?—a dexterous gleaner thou!”
“Left by that father, who was known to few,
“And to that mother, who has not her due
“Of honest fame,” said Richard, “our retreat
“Was a small cottage, for our station meet,
“On Barford Downs: that mother, fond and poor,
“There taught some truths, and bade me seek for more,
“Such as our village-school and books a few
“Supplied; but such I cared not to pursue;
“I sought the town, and to the ocean gave
“My mind and thoughts, as restless as the wave:
“Where crowds assembled, I was sure to run,
“Heard what was said, and mused on what was done;
“Attentive listening in the moving scene,
“And often wondering what the men could mean.
“When ships at sea made signals of their need,
“I watch'd on shore the sailors, and their speed:
“Mix'd in their act, nor rested till I knew
“Why they were call'd, and what they were to do.
“And to that mother, who has not her due
“Of honest fame,” said Richard, “our retreat
“Was a small cottage, for our station meet,
“On Barford Downs: that mother, fond and poor,
“There taught some truths, and bade me seek for more,
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“Supplied; but such I cared not to pursue;
“I sought the town, and to the ocean gave
“My mind and thoughts, as restless as the wave:
“Where crowds assembled, I was sure to run,
“Heard what was said, and mused on what was done;
“Attentive listening in the moving scene,
“And often wondering what the men could mean.
“When ships at sea made signals of their need,
“I watch'd on shore the sailors, and their speed:
“Mix'd in their act, nor rested till I knew
“Why they were call'd, and what they were to do.
“Whatever business in the port was done,
“I, without call, was with the busy one;
“Not daring question, but with open ear
“And greedy spirit, ever bent to hear.
“I, without call, was with the busy one;
“Not daring question, but with open ear
“And greedy spirit, ever bent to hear.
“To me the wives of seamen loved to tell
“What storms endanger'd men esteem'd so well;
“What wond'rous things in foreign parts they saw,
“Lands without bounds, and people without law.
“No ships were wreck'd upon that fatal beach,
“But I could give the luckless tale of each;
“Eager I look'd, till I beheld a face
“Of one disposed to paint their dismal case;
“Who gave the sad survivors' doleful tale,
“From the first brushing of the mighty gale
“Until they struck; and, suffering in their fate,
“I long'd the more they should its horrors state;
“While some, the fond of pity, would enjoy
“The earnest sorrows of the feeling boy.
“What storms endanger'd men esteem'd so well;
“What wond'rous things in foreign parts they saw,
“Lands without bounds, and people without law.
“No ships were wreck'd upon that fatal beach,
“But I could give the luckless tale of each;
“Eager I look'd, till I beheld a face
“Of one disposed to paint their dismal case;
“Who gave the sad survivors' doleful tale,
“From the first brushing of the mighty gale
“Until they struck; and, suffering in their fate,
“I long'd the more they should its horrors state;
“While some, the fond of pity, would enjoy
“The earnest sorrows of the feeling boy.
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“I sought the men return'd from regions cold,
“The frozen straits, where icy mountains roll'd;
“Some I could win to tell me serious tales
“Of boats uplifted by enormous whales,
“Or, when harpoon'd, how swiftly through the sea
“The wounded monsters with the cordage flee;
“Yet some uneasy thoughts assail'd me then,
“The monsters warr'd not with, nor wounded men:
“The smaller fry we take, with scales and fins,
“Who gasp and die—this adds not to our sins;
“But so much blood! warm life, and frames so large
“To strike, to murder—seem'd a heavy charge.
“The frozen straits, where icy mountains roll'd;
“Some I could win to tell me serious tales
“Of boats uplifted by enormous whales,
“Or, when harpoon'd, how swiftly through the sea
“The wounded monsters with the cordage flee;
“Yet some uneasy thoughts assail'd me then,
“The monsters warr'd not with, nor wounded men:
“The smaller fry we take, with scales and fins,
“Who gasp and die—this adds not to our sins;
“But so much blood! warm life, and frames so large
“To strike, to murder—seem'd a heavy charge.
“They told of days, where many goes to one—
“Such days as ours; and how a larger sun,
“Red, but not flaming, roll'd, with motion slow,
“On the world's edge, but never dropp'd below.
“There were fond girls, who took me to their side
“To tell the story how their lovers died;
“They praised my tender heart, and bade me prove
“Both kind and constant when I came to love.
“In fact, I lived for many an idle year
“In fond pursuit of agitations dear;
“For ever seeking, ever pleased to find,
“The food I loved, I thought not of its kind;
“It gave affliction while it brought delight,
“And joy and anguish could at once excite.
“Such days as ours; and how a larger sun,
“Red, but not flaming, roll'd, with motion slow,
“On the world's edge, but never dropp'd below.
“There were fond girls, who took me to their side
“To tell the story how their lovers died;
“They praised my tender heart, and bade me prove
“Both kind and constant when I came to love.
“In fact, I lived for many an idle year
“In fond pursuit of agitations dear;
“For ever seeking, ever pleased to find,
“The food I loved, I thought not of its kind;
“It gave affliction while it brought delight,
“And joy and anguish could at once excite.
“One gusty day, now stormy and now still,
“I stood apart upon the western hill,
“And saw a race at sea: a gun was heard,
“And two contending boats in sail appear'd:
“Equal awhile; then one was left behind,
“And for a moment had her chance resign'd,
“When, in that moment, up a sail they drew—
“Not used before—their rivals to pursue.
“Strong was the gale! in hurry now there came
“Men from the town, their thoughts, their fears the same;
“And women too! affrighted maids and wives,
“All deeply feeling for their sailors' lives.
“The strife continued; in a glass we saw
“The desperate efforts, and we stood in awe,
“When the last boat shot suddenly before,
“Then fill'd, and sank—and could be seen no more!
“I stood apart upon the western hill,
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“And two contending boats in sail appear'd:
“Equal awhile; then one was left behind,
“And for a moment had her chance resign'd,
“When, in that moment, up a sail they drew—
“Not used before—their rivals to pursue.
“Strong was the gale! in hurry now there came
“Men from the town, their thoughts, their fears the same;
“And women too! affrighted maids and wives,
“All deeply feeling for their sailors' lives.
“The strife continued; in a glass we saw
“The desperate efforts, and we stood in awe,
“When the last boat shot suddenly before,
“Then fill'd, and sank—and could be seen no more!
“Then were those piercing shrieks, that frantic flight,
“All hurried! all in tumult and affright!
“A gathering crowd from different streets drew near,
“All ask, all answer—none attend, none hear!
“All hurried! all in tumult and affright!
“A gathering crowd from different streets drew near,
“All ask, all answer—none attend, none hear!
“One boat is safe; and see! she backs her sail
“To save the sinking.—Will her care avail?
“To save the sinking.—Will her care avail?
“O! how impatient on the sands we tread,
“And the winds roaring, and the women led,
“As up and down they pace with frantic air,
“And scorn a comforter, and will despair;
“They know not who in either boat is gone,
“But think the father, husband, lover, one.
“And the winds roaring, and the women led,
“As up and down they pace with frantic air,
“And scorn a comforter, and will despair;
“They know not who in either boat is gone,
“But think the father, husband, lover, one.
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“And who is she apart? She dares not come
“To join the crowd, yet cannot rest at home:
“With what strong interest looks she at the waves,
“Meeting and clashing o'er the seamen's graves:
“'Tis a poor girl betroth'd—a few hours more,
“And he will lie a corpse upon the shore.
“Strange, that a boy could love these scenes, and cry
“In very pity—but that boy was I.
“With pain my mother would my tales receive,
“And say, ‘My Richard, do not learn to grieve.’
“One wretched hour had past before we knew
“Whom they had saved! Alas! they were but two,
“An orphan'd lad and widow'd man—no more!
“And they unnoticed stood upon the shore,
“With scarce a friend to greet them—widows view'd
“This man and boy, and then their cries renew'd:—
“'Twas long before the signs of woe gave place
“To joy again; grief sat on every face.
“To join the crowd, yet cannot rest at home:
“With what strong interest looks she at the waves,
“Meeting and clashing o'er the seamen's graves:
“'Tis a poor girl betroth'd—a few hours more,
“And he will lie a corpse upon the shore.
“Strange, that a boy could love these scenes, and cry
“In very pity—but that boy was I.
“With pain my mother would my tales receive,
“And say, ‘My Richard, do not learn to grieve.’
“One wretched hour had past before we knew
“Whom they had saved! Alas! they were but two,
“An orphan'd lad and widow'd man—no more!
“And they unnoticed stood upon the shore,
“With scarce a friend to greet them—widows view'd
“This man and boy, and then their cries renew'd:—
“'Twas long before the signs of woe gave place
“To joy again; grief sat on every face.
“Sure of my mother's kindness, and the joy
“She felt in meeting her rebellious boy,
“I at my pleasure our new seat forsook,
“And, undirected, these excursions took:
“I often rambled to the noisy quay,
“Strange sounds to hear, and business strange to me;
“Seamen and carmen, and I know not who,
“A lewd, amphibious, rude, contentious crew—
“Confused as bees appear about their hive,
“Yet all alert to keep their work alive.
“She felt in meeting her rebellious boy,
“I at my pleasure our new seat forsook,
“And, undirected, these excursions took:
“I often rambled to the noisy quay,
“Strange sounds to hear, and business strange to me;
“Seamen and carmen, and I know not who,
“A lewd, amphibious, rude, contentious crew—
“Confused as bees appear about their hive,
“Yet all alert to keep their work alive.
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“Here, unobserved as weed upon the wave,
“My whole attention to the scene I gave;
“I saw their tasks, their toil, their care, their skill,
“Led by their own and by a master-will;
“And though contending, toiling, tugging on,
“The purposed business of the day was done.
“My whole attention to the scene I gave;
“I saw their tasks, their toil, their care, their skill,
“Led by their own and by a master-will;
“And though contending, toiling, tugging on,
“The purposed business of the day was done.
“The open shops of craftsmen caught my eye,
“And there my questions met the kind reply:
“Men, when alone, will teach; but, in a crowd,
“The child is silent, or the man is proud;
“But, by themselves, there is attention paid
“To a mild boy, so forward, yet afraid.
“And there my questions met the kind reply:
“Men, when alone, will teach; but, in a crowd,
“The child is silent, or the man is proud;
“But, by themselves, there is attention paid
“To a mild boy, so forward, yet afraid.
“I made me interest at the inn's fire-side,
“Amid the scenes to bolder boys denied;
“For I had patrons there, and I was one,
“They judged, who noticed nothing that was done.
“‘A quiet lad!’ would my protector say;
“‘To him, now, this is better than his play:
“‘Boys are as men; some active, shrewd, and keen,
“‘They look about if aught is to be seen;
“‘And some, like Richard here, have not a mind
“‘That takes a notice—but the lad is kind.’
“Amid the scenes to bolder boys denied;
“For I had patrons there, and I was one,
“They judged, who noticed nothing that was done.
“‘A quiet lad!’ would my protector say;
“‘To him, now, this is better than his play:
“‘Boys are as men; some active, shrewd, and keen,
“‘They look about if aught is to be seen;
“‘And some, like Richard here, have not a mind
“‘That takes a notice—but the lad is kind.’
“I loved in summer on the heath to walk,
“And seek the shepherd—shepherds love to talk:
“His superstition was of ranker kind,
“And he with tales of wonder stored my mind;
“Wonders that he in many a lonely eve
“Had seen, himself, and therefore must believe.
“His boy, his Joe, he said, from duty ran,
“Took to the sea, and grew a fearless man:
“‘On yonder knoll—the sheep were in the fold—
“‘His spirit pass'd me, shivering-like and cold!
“‘I felt a fluttering, but I knew not how,
“‘And heard him utter, like a whisper, ‘Now!’
“‘Soon came a letter from a friend—to tell
“‘That he had fallen, and the time he fell.’
“And seek the shepherd—shepherds love to talk:
“His superstition was of ranker kind,
“And he with tales of wonder stored my mind;
“Wonders that he in many a lonely eve
“Had seen, himself, and therefore must believe.
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“Took to the sea, and grew a fearless man:
“‘On yonder knoll—the sheep were in the fold—
“‘His spirit pass'd me, shivering-like and cold!
“‘I felt a fluttering, but I knew not how,
“‘And heard him utter, like a whisper, ‘Now!’
“‘Soon came a letter from a friend—to tell
“‘That he had fallen, and the time he fell.’
“Even to the smugglers' hut the rocks between,
“I have, adventurous in my wandering, been:
“Poor, pious Martha served the lawless tribe,
“And could their merits and their faults describe;
“Adding her thoughts; ‘I talk, my child, to you,
“‘Who little think of what such wretches do.’
“I have, adventurous in my wandering, been:
“Poor, pious Martha served the lawless tribe,
“And could their merits and their faults describe;
“Adding her thoughts; ‘I talk, my child, to you,
“‘Who little think of what such wretches do.’
“I loved to walk where none had walk'd before,
“About the rocks that ran along the shore;
“Or far beyond the sight of men to stray,
“And take my pleasure when I lost my way;
“For then 'twas mine to trace the hilly heath,
“And all the mossy moor that lies beneath:
“Here had I favourite stations, where I stood
“And heard the murmurs of the ocean-flood,
“With not a sound beside, except when flew
“Aloft the lapwing, or the gray curlew,
“Who with wild notes my fancied power defied,
“And mock'd the dreams of solitary pride.
“About the rocks that ran along the shore;
“Or far beyond the sight of men to stray,
“And take my pleasure when I lost my way;
“For then 'twas mine to trace the hilly heath,
“And all the mossy moor that lies beneath:
“Here had I favourite stations, where I stood
“And heard the murmurs of the ocean-flood,
“With not a sound beside, except when flew
“Aloft the lapwing, or the gray curlew,
“Who with wild notes my fancied power defied,
“And mock'd the dreams of solitary pride.
“I loved to stop at every creek and bay
“Made by the river in its winding way,
“And call to memory—not by marks they bare,
“But by the thoughts that were created there.
“Made by the river in its winding way,
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“But by the thoughts that were created there.
“Pleasant it was to view the sea-gulls strive
“Against the storm, or in the ocean dive,
“With eager scream, or when they dropping gave
“Their closing wings to sail upon the wave:
“Then as the winds and waters raged around,
“And breaking billows mix'd their deafening sound,
“They on the rolling deep securely hung,
“And calmly rode the restless waves among.
“Nor pleased it less around me to behold,
“Far up the beach, the yesty sea-foam roll'd;
“Or from the shore upborne, to see on high,
“Its frothy flakes in wild confusion fly:
“While the salt spray that clashing billows form,
“Gave to the taste a feeling of the storm.
“Against the storm, or in the ocean dive,
“With eager scream, or when they dropping gave
“Their closing wings to sail upon the wave:
“Then as the winds and waters raged around,
“And breaking billows mix'd their deafening sound,
“They on the rolling deep securely hung,
“And calmly rode the restless waves among.
“Nor pleased it less around me to behold,
“Far up the beach, the yesty sea-foam roll'd;
“Or from the shore upborne, to see on high,
“Its frothy flakes in wild confusion fly:
“While the salt spray that clashing billows form,
“Gave to the taste a feeling of the storm.
“Thus, with my favourite views, for many an hour
“Have I indulged the dreams of princely power;
“When the mind, wearied by excursions bold,
“The fancy jaded, and the bosom cold,
“Or when those wants, that will on kings intrude,
“Or evening-fears, broke in on solitude;
“When I no more my fancy could employ,
“I left in haste what I could not enjoy,
“And was my gentle mother's welcome boy.
“Have I indulged the dreams of princely power;
“When the mind, wearied by excursions bold,
“The fancy jaded, and the bosom cold,
“Or when those wants, that will on kings intrude,
“Or evening-fears, broke in on solitude;
“When I no more my fancy could employ,
“I left in haste what I could not enjoy,
“And was my gentle mother's welcome boy.
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“But now thy walk,—this soft autumnal gloom
“Bids no delay—at night I will resume
“My subject, showing, not how I improved
“In my strange school, but what the things I loved,
“My first-born friendships, ties by forms uncheck'd,
“And all that boys acquire whom men neglect.”
“Bids no delay—at night I will resume
“My subject, showing, not how I improved
“In my strange school, but what the things I loved,
“My first-born friendships, ties by forms uncheck'd,
“And all that boys acquire whom men neglect.”
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BOOK V. RUTH
92
Richard resumes his Narrative—Visits a Family in a Seaport —The Man and his Wife—Their Dwelling—Books, Number and Kind—The Friendship contracted—Employment there—Hannah, the Wife, her Manner; open Mirth and latent Grief—She gives the Story of Ruth, her Daughter—Of Thomas, a Sailor—Their Affection—A Press-gang—Reflections—Ruth disturbed in Mind—A Teacher sent to comfort her—His Fondness—Her Reception of him—Her Supplication—Is refused—She deliberates—Is decided.
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Richard would wait till George the tale should ask,
Nor waited long—He then resumed the task.
Nor waited long—He then resumed the task.
“South in the port, and eastward in the street,
“Rose a small dwelling, my beloved retreat,
“Where lived a pair, then old; the sons had fled
“The home they fill'd: a part of them were dead;
“Married a part; while some at sea remain'd,
“And stillness in the seaman's mansion reign'd;
“Lord of some petty craft, by night and day,
“The man had fish'd each fathom of the bay.
“Rose a small dwelling, my beloved retreat,
“Where lived a pair, then old; the sons had fled
“The home they fill'd: a part of them were dead;
“Married a part; while some at sea remain'd,
“And stillness in the seaman's mansion reign'd;
“Lord of some petty craft, by night and day,
“The man had fish'd each fathom of the bay.
“My friend the matron woo'd me, quickly won,
“To fill the station of an absent son;
“(Him whom at school I knew, and Peter known,
“I took his home and mother for my own):
“I read, and doubly was I paid to hear
“Events that fell upon no listless ear:
“She grieved to say her parents could neglect
“Her education!—'twas a sore defect;
“She, who had ever such a vast delight
“To learn, and now could neither read nor write:
“But hear she could, and from our stores I took,
“Librarian meet! at her desire, our book.
“To fill the station of an absent son;
“(Him whom at school I knew, and Peter known,
“I took his home and mother for my own):
“I read, and doubly was I paid to hear
“Events that fell upon no listless ear:
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“Her education!—'twas a sore defect;
“She, who had ever such a vast delight
“To learn, and now could neither read nor write:
“But hear she could, and from our stores I took,
“Librarian meet! at her desire, our book.
“Full twenty volumes—I would not exceed
“The modest truth—were there for me to read;
“These a long shelf contain'd, and they were found
“Books truly speaking, volumes fairly bound;
“The rest,—for some of other kinds remain'd,
“And these a board beneath the shelf contain'd—
“Had their deficiencies in part; they lack'd
“One side or both, or were no longer back'd;
“But now became degraded from their place,
“And were but pamphlets of a bulkier race.
“Yet had we pamphlets, an inviting store,
“From sixpence downwards—nay, a part were more;
“Learning abundance, and the various kinds
“For relaxation—food for different minds;
“A piece of Wingate—thanks for all we have—
“What we of figures needed, fully gave;
“Culpepper, new in numbers, cost but thrice
“The ancient volume's unassuming price,
“But told what planet o'er each herb had power,
“And how to take it in the lucky hour.
“The modest truth—were there for me to read;
“These a long shelf contain'd, and they were found
“Books truly speaking, volumes fairly bound;
“The rest,—for some of other kinds remain'd,
“And these a board beneath the shelf contain'd—
“Had their deficiencies in part; they lack'd
“One side or both, or were no longer back'd;
“But now became degraded from their place,
“And were but pamphlets of a bulkier race.
“Yet had we pamphlets, an inviting store,
“From sixpence downwards—nay, a part were more;
“Learning abundance, and the various kinds
“For relaxation—food for different minds;
“A piece of Wingate—thanks for all we have—
“What we of figures needed, fully gave;
“Culpepper, new in numbers, cost but thrice
“The ancient volume's unassuming price,
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“And how to take it in the lucky hour.
“History we had—wars, treasons, treaties, crimes,
“From Julius Cæsar to the present times;
“Questions and answers, teaching what to ask
“And what reply,—a kind, laborious task:
“A scholar's book it was, who, giving, swore
“It held the whole he wish'd to know, and more.
“And we had poets, hymns and songs divine;
“The most we read not, but allow'd them fine.
“From Julius Cæsar to the present times;
“Questions and answers, teaching what to ask
“And what reply,—a kind, laborious task:
“A scholar's book it was, who, giving, swore
“It held the whole he wish'd to know, and more.
“And we had poets, hymns and songs divine;
“The most we read not, but allow'd them fine.
“Our tracts were many, on the boldest themes—
“We had our metaphysics, spirits, dreams,
“Visions and warnings, and portentous sights
“Seen, though but dimly, in the doleful nights,
“When the good wife her wint'ry vigil keeps,
“And thinks alone of him at sea, and weeps.
“We had our metaphysics, spirits, dreams,
“Visions and warnings, and portentous sights
“Seen, though but dimly, in the doleful nights,
“When the good wife her wint'ry vigil keeps,
“And thinks alone of him at sea, and weeps.
“Add to all these our works in single sheets,
“That our Cassandras sing about the streets:
“These, as I read, the grave good man would say,
“‘Nay, Hannah!’ and she answer'd, ‘What is Nay?
“‘What is there, pray, so hurtful in a song?
“‘It is our fancy only makes it wrong;
“‘His purer mind no evil thoughts alarm,
“‘And innocence protects him like a charm.’
“Then would the matron, when the song had past,
“And her laugh over, ask a hymn at last;
“To the coarse jest she would attention lend,
“And to the pious psalm in reverence bend:
“She gave her every power and all her mind,
“As chance directed, or as taste inclined.
“That our Cassandras sing about the streets:
“These, as I read, the grave good man would say,
“‘Nay, Hannah!’ and she answer'd, ‘What is Nay?
“‘What is there, pray, so hurtful in a song?
“‘It is our fancy only makes it wrong;
“‘His purer mind no evil thoughts alarm,
“‘And innocence protects him like a charm.’
“Then would the matron, when the song had past,
“And her laugh over, ask a hymn at last;
“To the coarse jest she would attention lend,
“And to the pious psalm in reverence bend:
“She gave her every power and all her mind,
“As chance directed, or as taste inclined.
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“More of our learning I will now omit,
“We had our Cyclopædias of Wit,
“And all our works, rare fate, were to our genius fit.
“We had our Cyclopædias of Wit,
“And all our works, rare fate, were to our genius fit.
“When I had read, and we were weary grown
“Of other minds, the dame disclosed her own;
“And long have I in pleasing terror stay'd
“To hear of boys trepann'd, and girls betray'd;
“Ashamed so long to stay, and yet to go afraid.
“I could perceive, though Hannah bore full well
“The ills of life, that few with her would dwell,
“But pass away, like shadows o'er the plain
“From flying clouds, and leave it fair again;
“Still every evil, be it great or small,
“Would one past sorrow to the mind recal,
“The grand disease of life, to which she turns,
“And common cares and lighter suffering spurns.
“‘O! these are nothing,—they will never heed
“‘Such idle contests, who have fought indeed,
“‘And have the wounds unclosed.’—I understood
“My hint to speak, and my design pursued,
“Curious the secret of that heart to find,
“To mirth, to song, to laughter loud inclined,
“And yet to bear and feel a weight of grief behind:
“How does she thus her little sunshine throw
“Always before her?—I should like to know.
“My friend perceived, and would no longer hide
“The bosom's sorrow—Could she not confide
“In one who wept, unhurt—in one who felt, untried?
“Of other minds, the dame disclosed her own;
“And long have I in pleasing terror stay'd
“To hear of boys trepann'd, and girls betray'd;
“Ashamed so long to stay, and yet to go afraid.
“I could perceive, though Hannah bore full well
“The ills of life, that few with her would dwell,
“But pass away, like shadows o'er the plain
“From flying clouds, and leave it fair again;
“Still every evil, be it great or small,
“Would one past sorrow to the mind recal,
“The grand disease of life, to which she turns,
“And common cares and lighter suffering spurns.
“‘O! these are nothing,—they will never heed
“‘Such idle contests, who have fought indeed,
“‘And have the wounds unclosed.’—I understood
“My hint to speak, and my design pursued,
“Curious the secret of that heart to find,
“To mirth, to song, to laughter loud inclined,
“And yet to bear and feel a weight of grief behind:
“How does she thus her little sunshine throw
“Always before her?—I should like to know.
“My friend perceived, and would no longer hide
“The bosom's sorrow—Could she not confide
“In one who wept, unhurt—in one who felt, untried?
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“‘Dear child, I show you sins and sufferings strange,
“‘But you, like Adam, must for knowledge change
“‘That blissful ignorance: remember, then,
“‘What now you feel should be a check on men;
“‘For then your passions no debate allow,
“‘And therefore lay up resolution now.
“‘'Tis not enough, that when you can persuade
“‘A maid to love, you know there's promise made;
“‘'Tis not enough, that you design to keep
“‘That promise made, nor leave your lass to weep
“‘But you must guard yourself against the sin,
“‘And think it such to draw the party in;
“‘Nay, the more weak and easy to be won,
“‘The viler you who have the mischief done.
“‘But you, like Adam, must for knowledge change
“‘That blissful ignorance: remember, then,
“‘What now you feel should be a check on men;
“‘For then your passions no debate allow,
“‘And therefore lay up resolution now.
“‘'Tis not enough, that when you can persuade
“‘A maid to love, you know there's promise made;
“‘'Tis not enough, that you design to keep
“‘That promise made, nor leave your lass to weep
“‘But you must guard yourself against the sin,
“‘And think it such to draw the party in;
“‘Nay, the more weak and easy to be won,
“‘The viler you who have the mischief done.
“‘I am not angry, love; but men should know
“‘They cannot always pay the debt they owe
“‘Their plighted honour; they may cause the ill
“‘They cannot lessen, though they feel a will;
“‘For he had truth with love, but love in youth
“‘Does wrong, that cannot be repair'd by truth.
“‘They cannot always pay the debt they owe
“‘Their plighted honour; they may cause the ill
“‘They cannot lessen, though they feel a will;
“‘For he had truth with love, but love in youth
“‘Does wrong, that cannot be repair'd by truth.
“‘Ruth—I may tell, too oft had she been told—
“‘Was tall and fair, and comely to behold,
“‘Gentle and simple, in her native place
“‘Not one compared with her in form or face;
“‘She was not merry, but she gave our hearth
“‘A cheerful spirit that was more than mirth.
“‘Was tall and fair, and comely to behold,
“‘Gentle and simple, in her native place
“‘Not one compared with her in form or face;
“‘She was not merry, but she gave our hearth
“‘A cheerful spirit that was more than mirth.
“‘There was a sailor boy, and people said
“‘He was, as man, a likeness of the maid;
“‘But not in this—for he was ever glad,
“‘While Ruth was apprehensive, mild, and sad;
“‘A quiet spirit hers, and peace would seek
“‘In meditation: tender, mild, and meek!
“‘Her loved the lad most truly; and, in truth,
“‘She took an early liking to the youth:
“‘To her alone were his attentions paid,
“‘And they became the bachelor and maid.
“‘He wish'd to marry, but so prudent we
“‘And worldly wise, we said it could not be:
“‘They took the counsel,—may be they approved,—
“‘But still they grieved and waited, hoped and loved.
“‘He was, as man, a likeness of the maid;
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“‘While Ruth was apprehensive, mild, and sad;
“‘A quiet spirit hers, and peace would seek
“‘In meditation: tender, mild, and meek!
“‘Her loved the lad most truly; and, in truth,
“‘She took an early liking to the youth:
“‘To her alone were his attentions paid,
“‘And they became the bachelor and maid.
“‘He wish'd to marry, but so prudent we
“‘And worldly wise, we said it could not be:
“‘They took the counsel,—may be they approved,—
“‘But still they grieved and waited, hoped and loved.
“‘Now, my young friend, when of such state I speak
“‘As one of danger, you will be to seek;
“‘You know not, Richard, where the danger lies
“‘In loving hearts, kind words, and speaking eyes;
“‘For lovers speak their wishes with their looks
“‘As plainly, love, as you can read your books.
“‘Then, too, the meetings and the partings, all
“‘The playful quarrels in which lovers fall,
“‘Serve to one end—each lover is a child,
“‘Quick to resent and to be reconciled;
“‘And then their peace brings kindness that remains,
“‘And so the lover from the quarrel gains:
“‘When he has fault that she reproves, his fear
“‘And grief assure her she was too severe,
“‘And that brings kindness—when he bears an ill,
“‘Or disappointment, and is calm and still,
“‘She feels his own obedient to her will,
“‘And that brings kindness—and what kindness brings
“‘I cannot tell you:—these were trying things.
“‘They were as children, and they fell at length;
“‘The trial, doubtless, is beyond their strength
“‘Whom grace supports not; and will grace support
“‘The too confiding, who their danger court?
“‘Then they would marry,—but were now too late,—
“‘All could their fault in sport or malice state;
“‘And though the day was fix'd, and now drew on;
“‘I could perceive my daughter's peace was gone;
“‘She could not bear the bold and laughing eye
“‘That gazed on her—reproach she could not fly;
“‘Her grief she would not show, her shame could not deny:
“‘For some with many virtues come to shame,
“‘And some that lose them all preserve their name.
“‘As one of danger, you will be to seek;
“‘You know not, Richard, where the danger lies
“‘In loving hearts, kind words, and speaking eyes;
“‘For lovers speak their wishes with their looks
“‘As plainly, love, as you can read your books.
“‘Then, too, the meetings and the partings, all
“‘The playful quarrels in which lovers fall,
“‘Serve to one end—each lover is a child,
“‘Quick to resent and to be reconciled;
“‘And then their peace brings kindness that remains,
“‘And so the lover from the quarrel gains:
“‘When he has fault that she reproves, his fear
“‘And grief assure her she was too severe,
“‘And that brings kindness—when he bears an ill,
“‘Or disappointment, and is calm and still,
“‘She feels his own obedient to her will,
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“‘I cannot tell you:—these were trying things.
“‘They were as children, and they fell at length;
“‘The trial, doubtless, is beyond their strength
“‘Whom grace supports not; and will grace support
“‘The too confiding, who their danger court?
“‘Then they would marry,—but were now too late,—
“‘All could their fault in sport or malice state;
“‘And though the day was fix'd, and now drew on;
“‘I could perceive my daughter's peace was gone;
“‘She could not bear the bold and laughing eye
“‘That gazed on her—reproach she could not fly;
“‘Her grief she would not show, her shame could not deny:
“‘For some with many virtues come to shame,
“‘And some that lose them all preserve their name.
“‘Fix'd was the day; but ere that day appear'd,
“‘A frightful rumour through the place was heard;
“‘War, who had slept awhile, awaked once more,
“‘And gangs came pressing till they swept the shore:
“‘Our youth was seized and quickly sent away,
“‘Nor would the wretches for his marriage stay,
“‘But bore him off, in barbarous triumph bore,
“‘And left us all our miseries to deplore:
“‘There were wives, maids, and mothers on the beach,
“‘And some sad story appertain'd to each;
“‘Most sad to Ruth—to neither could she go!
“‘But sat apart, and suffer'd matchless woe!
“‘On the vile ship they turn'd their earnest view,
“‘Not one last look allow'd,—not one adieu!
“‘They saw the men on deck, but none distinctly knew.
“‘And there she stay'd, regardless of each eye,
“‘With but one hope, a fervent hope to die:
“‘Nor cared she now for kindness—all beheld
“‘Her, who invited none, and none repell'd;
“‘For there are griefs, my child, that sufferers hide,
“‘And there are griefs that men display with pride;
“‘But there are other griefs that, so we feel,
“‘We care not to display them nor conceal:
“‘Such were our sorrows on that fatal day,
“‘More than our lives the spoilers tore away;
“‘Nor did we heed their insult—some distress
“‘No form or manner can make more or less,
“‘And this is of that kind—this misery of a Press!
“‘They say such things must be—perhaps they must;
“‘But, sure, they need not fright us and disgust;
“‘They need not soul-less crews of ruffians send
“‘At once the ties of humble love to rend:
“‘A single day had Thomas stay'd on shore
“‘He might have wedded, and we ask'd no more;
“‘And that stern man, who forced the lad away,
“‘Might have attended, and have graced the day
“‘His pride and honour might have been at rest,
“‘It is no stain to make a couple blest!
“‘Blest!—no, alas! it was to ease the heart
“‘Of one sore pang, and then to weep and part!
“‘But this he would not.—English seamen fight
“‘For England's gain and glory—it is right:
“‘But will that public spirit be so strong,
“‘Fill'd, as it must be, with their private wrong?
“‘Forbid it, honour! one in all the fleet
“‘Should hide in war, or from the foe retreat;
“‘But is it just, that he who so defends
“‘His country's cause, should hide him from her friends?
“‘Sure, if they must upon our children seize,
“‘They might prevent such injuries as these;
“‘Might hours—nay, days—in many a case allow,
“‘And soften all the griefs we suffer now.
“‘Some laws, some orders, might in part redress
“‘The licensed insults of a British Press,
“‘That keeps the honest and the brave in awe,
“‘Where might is right, and violence is law.
“‘Be not alarm'd, my child; there's none regard
“‘What you and I conceive so cruel-hard:
“‘There is compassion, I believe; but still
“‘One wants the power to help, and one the will,
“‘And so from war to war the wrongs remain,
“‘While Reason pleads, and Misery sighs in vain.
“‘A frightful rumour through the place was heard;
“‘War, who had slept awhile, awaked once more,
“‘And gangs came pressing till they swept the shore:
“‘Our youth was seized and quickly sent away,
“‘Nor would the wretches for his marriage stay,
“‘But bore him off, in barbarous triumph bore,
“‘And left us all our miseries to deplore:
“‘There were wives, maids, and mothers on the beach,
“‘And some sad story appertain'd to each;
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“‘But sat apart, and suffer'd matchless woe!
“‘On the vile ship they turn'd their earnest view,
“‘Not one last look allow'd,—not one adieu!
“‘They saw the men on deck, but none distinctly knew.
“‘And there she stay'd, regardless of each eye,
“‘With but one hope, a fervent hope to die:
“‘Nor cared she now for kindness—all beheld
“‘Her, who invited none, and none repell'd;
“‘For there are griefs, my child, that sufferers hide,
“‘And there are griefs that men display with pride;
“‘But there are other griefs that, so we feel,
“‘We care not to display them nor conceal:
“‘Such were our sorrows on that fatal day,
“‘More than our lives the spoilers tore away;
“‘Nor did we heed their insult—some distress
“‘No form or manner can make more or less,
“‘And this is of that kind—this misery of a Press!
“‘They say such things must be—perhaps they must;
“‘But, sure, they need not fright us and disgust;
“‘They need not soul-less crews of ruffians send
“‘At once the ties of humble love to rend:
“‘A single day had Thomas stay'd on shore
“‘He might have wedded, and we ask'd no more;
“‘And that stern man, who forced the lad away,
“‘Might have attended, and have graced the day
“‘His pride and honour might have been at rest,
“‘It is no stain to make a couple blest!
“‘Blest!—no, alas! it was to ease the heart
“‘Of one sore pang, and then to weep and part!
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“‘For England's gain and glory—it is right:
“‘But will that public spirit be so strong,
“‘Fill'd, as it must be, with their private wrong?
“‘Forbid it, honour! one in all the fleet
“‘Should hide in war, or from the foe retreat;
“‘But is it just, that he who so defends
“‘His country's cause, should hide him from her friends?
“‘Sure, if they must upon our children seize,
“‘They might prevent such injuries as these;
“‘Might hours—nay, days—in many a case allow,
“‘And soften all the griefs we suffer now.
“‘Some laws, some orders, might in part redress
“‘The licensed insults of a British Press,
“‘That keeps the honest and the brave in awe,
“‘Where might is right, and violence is law.
“‘Be not alarm'd, my child; there's none regard
“‘What you and I conceive so cruel-hard:
“‘There is compassion, I believe; but still
“‘One wants the power to help, and one the will,
“‘And so from war to war the wrongs remain,
“‘While Reason pleads, and Misery sighs in vain.
“‘Thus my poor Ruth was wretched and undone,
“‘Nor had a husband for her only son,
“‘Nor had he father; hope she did awhile,
“‘And would not weep, although she could not smile;
“‘Till news was brought us that the youth was slain,
“‘And then, I think, she never smiled again;
“‘Or if she did it was but to express
“‘A feeling far, indeed, from happiness!
“‘Something that her bewilder'd mind conceived:
“‘When she inform'd us that she never grieved,
“‘But was right merry, then her head was wild,
“‘And grief had gain'd possession of my child:
“‘Yet, though bewilder'd for a time, and prone
“‘To ramble much and speak aloud, alone;
“‘Yet did she all that duty ever ask'd,
“‘And more, her will self-govern'd and untask'd:
“‘With meekness bearing all reproach, all joy
“‘To her was lost; she wept upon her boy,
“‘Wish'd for his death, in fear that he might live
“‘New sorrow to a burden'd heart to give.
“‘Nor had a husband for her only son,
“‘Nor had he father; hope she did awhile,
“‘And would not weep, although she could not smile;
“‘Till news was brought us that the youth was slain,
“‘And then, I think, she never smiled again;
“‘Or if she did it was but to express
“‘A feeling far, indeed, from happiness!
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“‘When she inform'd us that she never grieved,
“‘But was right merry, then her head was wild,
“‘And grief had gain'd possession of my child:
“‘Yet, though bewilder'd for a time, and prone
“‘To ramble much and speak aloud, alone;
“‘Yet did she all that duty ever ask'd,
“‘And more, her will self-govern'd and untask'd:
“‘With meekness bearing all reproach, all joy
“‘To her was lost; she wept upon her boy,
“‘Wish'd for his death, in fear that he might live
“‘New sorrow to a burden'd heart to give.
“‘There was a Teacher, where my husband went—
“‘Sent, as he told the people—what he meant
“‘You cannot understand, but—he was sent:
“‘This man from meeting came, and strove to win
“‘Her mind to peace by drawing off the sin,
“‘Or what it was, that, working in her breast,
“‘Robb'd it of comfort, confidence, and rest:
“‘He came and reason'd, and she seem'd to feel
“‘The pains he took—her griefs began to heal;
“‘She ever answer'd kindly when he spoke,
“‘And always thank'd him for the pains he took;
“‘So, after three long years, and all the while
“‘Wrapt up in grief, she bless'd us with a smile,
“‘And spoke in comfort; but she mix'd no more
“‘With younger persons, as she did before.
“‘Sent, as he told the people—what he meant
“‘You cannot understand, but—he was sent:
“‘This man from meeting came, and strove to win
“‘Her mind to peace by drawing off the sin,
“‘Or what it was, that, working in her breast,
“‘Robb'd it of comfort, confidence, and rest:
“‘He came and reason'd, and she seem'd to feel
“‘The pains he took—her griefs began to heal;
“‘She ever answer'd kindly when he spoke,
“‘And always thank'd him for the pains he took;
“‘So, after three long years, and all the while
“‘Wrapt up in grief, she bless'd us with a smile,
“‘And spoke in comfort; but she mix'd no more
“‘With younger persons, as she did before.
“‘Still Ruth was pretty; in her person neat;
“‘So thought the Teacher, when they chanced to meet:
“‘He was a weaver by his worldly trade
“‘But powerful work in the assemblies made;
“‘People came leagues to town to hear him sift
“‘The holy text,—he had the grace and gift;
“‘Widows and maidens flock'd to hear his voice;
“‘Of either kind he might have had his choice;—
“‘But he had chosen—we had seen how shy
“‘The girl was getting, my good man and I:
“‘That when the weaver came, she kept with us,
“‘Where he his points and doctrines might discuss:
“‘But in our bit of garden, or the room
“‘We call our parlour, there he must not come:
“‘She loved him not, and though she could attend
“‘To his discourses, as her guide and friend,
“‘Yet now to these she gave a listless ear,
“‘As if a friend she would no longer hear;
“‘This might he take for woman's art, and cried,
“‘‘Spouse of my heart, I must not be denied!’—
“‘Fearless he spoke, and I had hope to see
“‘My girl a wife—but this was not to be.
“‘So thought the Teacher, when they chanced to meet:
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“‘But powerful work in the assemblies made;
“‘People came leagues to town to hear him sift
“‘The holy text,—he had the grace and gift;
“‘Widows and maidens flock'd to hear his voice;
“‘Of either kind he might have had his choice;—
“‘But he had chosen—we had seen how shy
“‘The girl was getting, my good man and I:
“‘That when the weaver came, she kept with us,
“‘Where he his points and doctrines might discuss:
“‘But in our bit of garden, or the room
“‘We call our parlour, there he must not come:
“‘She loved him not, and though she could attend
“‘To his discourses, as her guide and friend,
“‘Yet now to these she gave a listless ear,
“‘As if a friend she would no longer hear;
“‘This might he take for woman's art, and cried,
“‘‘Spouse of my heart, I must not be denied!’—
“‘Fearless he spoke, and I had hope to see
“‘My girl a wife—but this was not to be.
“‘My husband, thinking of his worldly store,
“‘And not, frail man, enduring to be poor,
“‘Seeing his friend would for his child provide
“‘And hers, he grieved to have the man denied;
“‘For Ruth, when press'd, rejected him, and grew
“‘To her old sorrow, as if that were new.
“‘‘Who shall support her?’ said her father, ‘how
“‘Can I, infirm and weak as I am now?
“‘And here a loving fool’—this gave her pain,
“‘Severe, indeed, but she would not complain:
“‘Nor would consent, although the weaver grew
“‘More fond, and would the frighten'd girl pursue.
“‘And not, frail man, enduring to be poor,
“‘Seeing his friend would for his child provide
“‘And hers, he grieved to have the man denied;
“‘For Ruth, when press'd, rejected him, and grew
“‘To her old sorrow, as if that were new.
“‘‘Who shall support her?’ said her father, ‘how
“‘Can I, infirm and weak as I am now?
“‘And here a loving fool’—this gave her pain,
“‘Severe, indeed, but she would not complain:
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“‘More fond, and would the frighten'd girl pursue.
“‘Oh! much she begg'd him to forbear, to stand
“‘Her soul's kind friend, and not to ask her hand:
“‘She could not love him.—‘Love me!’ he replied,
“‘The love you mean is love unsanctified,
“‘An earthly, wicked, sensual, sinful kind,
“‘A creature-love, the passion of the blind.
“‘He did not court her, he would have her know,
“‘For that poor love that will on beauty grow;
“‘No! he would take her as the Prophet took
“‘One of the harlots in the holy book;
“‘And then he look'd so ugly and severe!
“‘And yet so fond—she could not hide her fear.
“‘Her soul's kind friend, and not to ask her hand:
“‘She could not love him.—‘Love me!’ he replied,
“‘The love you mean is love unsanctified,
“‘An earthly, wicked, sensual, sinful kind,
“‘A creature-love, the passion of the blind.
“‘He did not court her, he would have her know,
“‘For that poor love that will on beauty grow;
“‘No! he would take her as the Prophet took
“‘One of the harlots in the holy book;
“‘And then he look'd so ugly and severe!
“‘And yet so fond—she could not hide her fear.
“‘This fondness grew her torment; she would fly,
“‘In woman's terror, if he came but nigh;
“‘Nor could I wonder he should odious prove,
“‘So like a ghost that left a grave for love.
“‘In woman's terror, if he came but nigh;
“‘Nor could I wonder he should odious prove,
“‘So like a ghost that left a grave for love.
“‘But still her father lent his cruel aid
“‘To the man's hope, and she was more afraid:
“‘He said no more she should his table share,
“‘But be the parish or the Teacher's care.
“‘‘Three days I give you: see that all be right
“‘On Monday-morning—this is Thursday-night—
“‘Fulfil my wishes, girl! or else forsake my sight!’
“‘To the man's hope, and she was more afraid:
“‘He said no more she should his table share,
“‘But be the parish or the Teacher's care.
“‘‘Three days I give you: see that all be right
“‘On Monday-morning—this is Thursday-night—
“‘Fulfil my wishes, girl! or else forsake my sight!’
“‘I see her now; and, she that was so meek,
“‘It was a chance that she had power to speak,
“‘Now spoke in earnest—‘Father! I obey,
“‘And will remember the appointed day!’
“‘It was a chance that she had power to speak,
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“‘And will remember the appointed day!’
“‘Then came the man: she talk'd with him apart,
“‘And, I believe, laid open all her heart;
“‘But all in vain—she said to me, in tears,
“‘‘Mother! that man is not what he appears:
“‘He talks of heaven, and let him, if he will,
“‘But he has earthly purpose to fulfil;
“‘Upon my knees I begg'd him to resign
“‘The hand he asks—he said, ‘It shall be mine:
“‘What! did the holy men of Scripture deign
“‘To hear a woman when she said ‘refrain?’
“‘Of whom they chose they took them wives, and these
“‘Made it their study and their wish to please;
“‘The women then were faithful and afraid,
“‘As Sarah Abraham, they their lords obey'd,
“‘And so she styled him; 't is in later days
“‘Of foolish love that we our women praise,
“‘Fall on the knee, and raise the suppliant hand,
“‘And court the favour that we might command.’
“‘And, I believe, laid open all her heart;
“‘But all in vain—she said to me, in tears,
“‘‘Mother! that man is not what he appears:
“‘He talks of heaven, and let him, if he will,
“‘But he has earthly purpose to fulfil;
“‘Upon my knees I begg'd him to resign
“‘The hand he asks—he said, ‘It shall be mine:
“‘What! did the holy men of Scripture deign
“‘To hear a woman when she said ‘refrain?’
“‘Of whom they chose they took them wives, and these
“‘Made it their study and their wish to please;
“‘The women then were faithful and afraid,
“‘As Sarah Abraham, they their lords obey'd,
“‘And so she styled him; 't is in later days
“‘Of foolish love that we our women praise,
“‘Fall on the knee, and raise the suppliant hand,
“‘And court the favour that we might command.’
“‘O! my dear mother, when this man has power,
“‘How will he treat me—first may beasts devour!
“‘Or death in every form that I could prove,
“‘Except this selfish being's hateful love.’
“‘How will he treat me—first may beasts devour!
“‘Or death in every form that I could prove,
“‘Except this selfish being's hateful love.’
“‘I gently blamed her, for I knew how hard
“‘It is to force affection and regard.
“‘It is to force affection and regard.
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“‘Ah! my dear lad, I talk to you as one
“‘Who know the misery of a heart undone:
“‘You know it not; but, dearest boy, when man,
“‘Do not an ill because you find you can:
“‘Where is the triumph? when such things men seek,
“‘They only drive to wickedness the weak.
“‘Who know the misery of a heart undone:
“‘You know it not; but, dearest boy, when man,
“‘Do not an ill because you find you can:
“‘Where is the triumph? when such things men seek,
“‘They only drive to wickedness the weak.
“‘Weak was poor Ruth, and this good man so hard,
“‘That to her weakness he had no regard:
“‘But we had two days' peace; he came, and then,
“‘My daughter whisper'd, ‘Would there were no men!
“‘None to admire or scorn us, none to vex
“‘A simple, trusting, fond, believing sex;
“‘Who truly love the worth that men profess,
“‘And think too kindly for their happiness.’”
“‘That to her weakness he had no regard:
“‘But we had two days' peace; he came, and then,
“‘My daughter whisper'd, ‘Would there were no men!
“‘None to admire or scorn us, none to vex
“‘A simple, trusting, fond, believing sex;
“‘Who truly love the worth that men profess,
“‘And think too kindly for their happiness.’”
“Poor Ruth! few heroines in the tragic page
“Felt more than thee in thy contracted stage;
“Fair, fond, and virtuous, they our pity move,
“Impell'd by duty, agonized by love:
“But no Mandane, who in dread has knelt
“On the bare boards, has greater terrors felt,
“Nor been by warring passions more subdued,
“Than thou, by this man's groveling wish pursued.
“Doom'd to a parent's judgment, all unjust,
“Doom'd the chance mercy of the world to trust,
“Or to wed grossness and conceal disgust.
“Felt more than thee in thy contracted stage;
“Fair, fond, and virtuous, they our pity move,
“Impell'd by duty, agonized by love:
“But no Mandane, who in dread has knelt
“On the bare boards, has greater terrors felt,
“Nor been by warring passions more subdued,
“Than thou, by this man's groveling wish pursued.
“Doom'd to a parent's judgment, all unjust,
“Doom'd the chance mercy of the world to trust,
“Or to wed grossness and conceal disgust.
“‘If Ruth was frail, she had a mind too nice
“‘To wed with that which she beheld as vice:
“‘To take a reptile, who, beneath a show
“‘Of peevish zeal, let carnal wishes grow;
“‘Proud and yet mean, forbidding and yet full
“‘Of eager appetites, devout and dull,
“‘Waiting a legal right that he might seize
“‘His own, and his impatient spirit ease,
“‘Who would at once his pride and love indulge,
“‘His temper humour, and his spite divulge.
“‘This the poor victim saw—a second time,
“‘Sighing, she said, ‘Shall I commit the crime,
“‘And now untempted? Can the form or rite
“‘Make me a wife in my Creator's sight?
“‘Can I the words without a meaning say?
“‘Can I pronounce love, honour, or obey?
“‘And if I cannot, shall I dare to wed,
“‘And go a harlot to a loathed bed?
“‘Never, dear mother! my poor boy and I
“‘Will at the mercy of a parish lie;
“‘Reproved for wants that vices would remove,
“‘Reproach'd for vice that I could never love,
“‘Mix'd with a crew long wedded to disgrace,
“‘A vulgar, forward, equalizing race,—
“‘And am I doom'd to beg a dwelling in that place?
“‘To wed with that which she beheld as vice:
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“‘Of peevish zeal, let carnal wishes grow;
“‘Proud and yet mean, forbidding and yet full
“‘Of eager appetites, devout and dull,
“‘Waiting a legal right that he might seize
“‘His own, and his impatient spirit ease,
“‘Who would at once his pride and love indulge,
“‘His temper humour, and his spite divulge.
“‘This the poor victim saw—a second time,
“‘Sighing, she said, ‘Shall I commit the crime,
“‘And now untempted? Can the form or rite
“‘Make me a wife in my Creator's sight?
“‘Can I the words without a meaning say?
“‘Can I pronounce love, honour, or obey?
“‘And if I cannot, shall I dare to wed,
“‘And go a harlot to a loathed bed?
“‘Never, dear mother! my poor boy and I
“‘Will at the mercy of a parish lie;
“‘Reproved for wants that vices would remove,
“‘Reproach'd for vice that I could never love,
“‘Mix'd with a crew long wedded to disgrace,
“‘A vulgar, forward, equalizing race,—
“‘And am I doom'd to beg a dwelling in that place?
“‘Such was her reasoning: many times she weigh'd
“‘The evils all, and was of each afraid;
“‘She loathed the common board, the vulgar seat,
“‘Where shame, and want, and vice, and sorrow meet,
“‘Where frailty finds allies, where guilt insures retreat.
“‘But peace again is fled: the Teacher comes,
“‘And new importance, haughtier air assumes.
“‘The evils all, and was of each afraid;
“‘She loathed the common board, the vulgar seat,
“‘Where shame, and want, and vice, and sorrow meet,
“‘Where frailty finds allies, where guilt insures retreat.
“‘But peace again is fled: the Teacher comes,
“‘And new importance, haughtier air assumes.
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“‘No hapless victim of a tyrant's love
“‘More keenly felt, or more resisting strove
“‘Against her fate; she look'd on every side,
“‘But there were none to help her, none to guide;—
“‘And he, the man who should have taught the soul,
“‘Wish'd but the body in his base control.
“‘More keenly felt, or more resisting strove
“‘Against her fate; she look'd on every side,
“‘But there were none to help her, none to guide;—
“‘And he, the man who should have taught the soul,
“‘Wish'd but the body in his base control.
“‘She left her infant on the Sunday morn,
“‘A creature doom'd to shame! in sorrow born:
“‘A thing that languish'd, nor arrived at age
“‘When the man's thoughts with sin and pain engage—
“‘She came not home to share our humble meal,
“‘Her father thinking what his child would feel
“‘From his hard sentence—still she came not home.
“‘The night grew dark, and yet she was not come;
“‘The east-wind roar'd, the sea return'd the sound,
“‘And the rain fell as if the world were drown'd:
“‘There were no lights without, and my good man,
“‘To kindness frighten'd, with a groan began
“‘To talk of Ruth, and pray; and then he took
“‘The Bible down, and read the holy book;
“‘For he had learning: and when that was done
“‘We sat in silence—whither could we run?
“‘We said, and then rush'd frighten'd from the door,
“‘For we could bear our own conceit no more:
“‘We call'd on neighbours—there she had not been;
“‘We met some wanderers—ours they had not seen;
“‘We hurried o'er the beach, both north and south,
“‘Then join'd, and wander'd to our haven's mouth:
“‘Where rush'd the falling waters wildly out,
“‘I scarcely heard the good man's fearful shout,
“‘Who saw a something on the billow ride,
“‘And—‘Heaven have mercy on our sins!’ he cried,
“‘It is my child!’—and to the present hour
“‘So he believes—and spirits have the power.
“‘A creature doom'd to shame! in sorrow born:
“‘A thing that languish'd, nor arrived at age
“‘When the man's thoughts with sin and pain engage—
“‘She came not home to share our humble meal,
“‘Her father thinking what his child would feel
“‘From his hard sentence—still she came not home.
“‘The night grew dark, and yet she was not come;
“‘The east-wind roar'd, the sea return'd the sound,
“‘And the rain fell as if the world were drown'd:
“‘There were no lights without, and my good man,
“‘To kindness frighten'd, with a groan began
“‘To talk of Ruth, and pray; and then he took
“‘The Bible down, and read the holy book;
“‘For he had learning: and when that was done
“‘We sat in silence—whither could we run?
“‘We said, and then rush'd frighten'd from the door,
“‘For we could bear our own conceit no more:
“‘We call'd on neighbours—there she had not been;
“‘We met some wanderers—ours they had not seen;
“‘We hurried o'er the beach, both north and south,
“‘Then join'd, and wander'd to our haven's mouth:
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“‘I scarcely heard the good man's fearful shout,
“‘Who saw a something on the billow ride,
“‘And—‘Heaven have mercy on our sins!’ he cried,
“‘It is my child!’—and to the present hour
“‘So he believes—and spirits have the power.
“‘And she was gone! the waters wide and deep
“‘Roll'd o'er her body as she lay asleep.
“‘She heard no more the angry waves and wind,
“‘She heard no more the threat'ning of mankind;
“‘Wrapt in dark weeds, the refuse of the storm,
“‘To the hard rock was borne her comely form!
“‘Roll'd o'er her body as she lay asleep.
“‘She heard no more the angry waves and wind,
“‘She heard no more the threat'ning of mankind;
“‘Wrapt in dark weeds, the refuse of the storm,
“‘To the hard rock was borne her comely form!
“‘But oh! what storm was in that mind! what strife,
“‘That could compel her to lay down her life!
“‘For she was seen within the sea to wade,
“‘By one at distance, when she first had pray'd;
“‘Then to a rock within the hither shoal
“‘Softly and with a fearful step she stole;
“‘Then, when she gain'd it, on the top she stood
“‘A moment still—and dropp'd into the flood!
“‘The man cried loudly, but he cried in vain,—
“‘She heard not then—she never heard again!
“‘She had—pray, Heav'n!—she had that world in sight,
“‘Where frailty mercy finds, and wrong has right;
“‘But, sure, in this her portion such has been,
“‘Well had it still remain'd a world unseen!’
“‘That could compel her to lay down her life!
“‘For she was seen within the sea to wade,
“‘By one at distance, when she first had pray'd;
“‘Then to a rock within the hither shoal
“‘Softly and with a fearful step she stole;
“‘Then, when she gain'd it, on the top she stood
“‘A moment still—and dropp'd into the flood!
“‘The man cried loudly, but he cried in vain,—
“‘She heard not then—she never heard again!
“‘She had—pray, Heav'n!—she had that world in sight,
“‘Where frailty mercy finds, and wrong has right;
“‘But, sure, in this her portion such has been,
“‘Well had it still remain'd a world unseen!’
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“Thus far the dame: the passions will dispense
“To such a wild and rapid eloquence—
“Will to the weakest mind their strength impart,
“And give the tongue the language of the heart.”
“To such a wild and rapid eloquence—
“Will to the weakest mind their strength impart,
“And give the tongue the language of the heart.”
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BOOK VI. ADVENTURES OF RICHARD CONCLUDED.
112
Richard relates his Illness and Retirement—A Village Priest and his two Daughters—His peculiar Studies—His Simplicity of Character—Arrival of a third Daughter—Her Zeal in his Conversion—Their Friendship—How terminated —A happy Day—Its Commencement and Progress —A Journey along the Coast—Arrival as a Guest— Company—A Lover's Jealousy—it increases—dies away —An Evening Walk—Suspense—Apprehension—Resolution —Certainty.
113
“This then, dear Richard, was the way you took
“To gain instruction—thine a curious book,
“Containing much of both the false and true;
“But thou hast read it, and with profit too.
“To gain instruction—thine a curious book,
114
“But thou hast read it, and with profit too.
“Come, then, my Brother, now thy tale complete—
“I know thy first embarking in the fleet,
“Thy entrance in the army, and thy gain
“Of plenteous laurels in the wars of Spain,
“And what then follow'd; but I wish to know
“When thou that heart hadst courage to bestow,
“When to declare it gain'd, and when to stand
“Before the priest, and give the plighted hand;
“So shall I boldness from thy frankness gain
“To paint the frenzy that possess'd my brain;
“For rather there than in my heart I found
“Was my disease; a poison, not a wound,
“A madness, Richard—but, I pray thee, tell
“Whom hast thou loved so dearly and so well?”
“I know thy first embarking in the fleet,
“Thy entrance in the army, and thy gain
“Of plenteous laurels in the wars of Spain,
“And what then follow'd; but I wish to know
“When thou that heart hadst courage to bestow,
“When to declare it gain'd, and when to stand
“Before the priest, and give the plighted hand;
“So shall I boldness from thy frankness gain
“To paint the frenzy that possess'd my brain;
115
“Was my disease; a poison, not a wound,
“A madness, Richard—but, I pray thee, tell
“Whom hast thou loved so dearly and so well?”
116
The younger man his gentle host obey'd,
For some respect, though not required, was paid,
Perhaps with all that independent pride
Their different states would to the memory glide;
Yet was his manner unconstrain'd and free,
And nothing in it like servility.
For some respect, though not required, was paid,
Perhaps with all that independent pride
Their different states would to the memory glide;
Yet was his manner unconstrain'd and free,
And nothing in it like servility.
Then he began:—“When first I reach'd the land,
“I was so ill that death appear'd at hand;
“And though the fever left me, yet I grew
“So weak 'twas judged that life would leave me too.
“I sought a village-priest, my mother's friend,
“And I believed with him my days would end:
“The man was kind, intelligent, and mild,
“Careless and shrewd, yet simple as the child;
“For of the wisdom of the world his share
“And mine were equal—neither had to spare;
“Else—with his daughters, beautiful and poor—
“He would have kept a sailor from his door:
“Two then were present, who adorn'd his home,
“But ever speaking of a third to come;
“Cheerful they were, not too reserved or free,
“I loved them both, and never wish'd them three.
“I was so ill that death appear'd at hand;
“And though the fever left me, yet I grew
“So weak 'twas judged that life would leave me too.
“I sought a village-priest, my mother's friend,
“And I believed with him my days would end:
“The man was kind, intelligent, and mild,
“Careless and shrewd, yet simple as the child;
“For of the wisdom of the world his share
“And mine were equal—neither had to spare;
“Else—with his daughters, beautiful and poor—
“He would have kept a sailor from his door:
“Two then were present, who adorn'd his home,
“But ever speaking of a third to come;
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“I loved them both, and never wish'd them three.
“The Vicar's self, still further to describe,
“Was of a simple, but a studious tribe;
“He from the world was distant, not retired,
“Nor of it much possess'd, nor much desired:
“Grave in his purpose, cheerful in his eye,
“And with a look of frank benignity.
“He lost his wife when they together past
“Years of calm love, that triumph'd to the last.
“He much of nature, not of man had seen,
“Yet his remarks were often shrewd and keen;
“Taught not by books t' approve or to condemn,
“He gain'd but little that he knew from them;
“He read with reverence and respect the few,
“Whence he his rules and consolations drew;
“But men and beasts, and all that lived or moved,
“Were books to him; he studied them and loved.
“Was of a simple, but a studious tribe;
“He from the world was distant, not retired,
“Nor of it much possess'd, nor much desired:
“Grave in his purpose, cheerful in his eye,
“And with a look of frank benignity.
“He lost his wife when they together past
“Years of calm love, that triumph'd to the last.
“He much of nature, not of man had seen,
“Yet his remarks were often shrewd and keen;
“Taught not by books t' approve or to condemn,
“He gain'd but little that he knew from them;
“He read with reverence and respect the few,
“Whence he his rules and consolations drew;
“But men and beasts, and all that lived or moved,
“Were books to him; he studied them and loved.
“He knew the plants in mountain, wood, or mead;
“He knew the worms that on the foliage feed;
“Knew the small tribes that 'scape the careless eye,
“The plant's disease that breeds the embryo-fly;
“And the small creatures who on bark or bough
“Enjoy their changes, changed we know not how;
“But now th' imperfect being scarcely moves,
“And now takes wing and seeks the sky it loves.
“He knew the worms that on the foliage feed;
“Knew the small tribes that 'scape the careless eye,
“The plant's disease that breeds the embryo-fly;
“And the small creatures who on bark or bough
“Enjoy their changes, changed we know not how;
“But now th' imperfect being scarcely moves,
“And now takes wing and seeks the sky it loves.
“He had no system, and forbore to read
“The learned labours of th' immortal Swede;
“But smiled to hear the creatures he had known
“So long, were now in class and order shown,
“Genus and species—‘Is it meet,’ said he,
“‘This creature's name should one so sounding be?
“‘'Tis but a fly, though first-born of the spring—
“‘Bombylius majus, dost thou call the thing?
“‘Majus,indeed! and yet, in fact, 'tis true,
“‘We all are majors, all are minors too,
“‘Except the first and last,—th' immensely distant two.
“‘And here again,—what call the learned this?
“‘Both Hippobosca and Hirundinis?
“‘Methinks the creature should be proud to find
“‘That he employs the talents of mankind;
“‘And that his sovereign master shrewdly looks,
“‘Counts all his parts, and puts them in his books.
“‘Well! go thy way, for I do feel it shame
“‘To stay a being with so proud a name.’
“The learned labours of th' immortal Swede;
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“So long, were now in class and order shown,
“Genus and species—‘Is it meet,’ said he,
“‘This creature's name should one so sounding be?
“‘'Tis but a fly, though first-born of the spring—
“‘Bombylius majus, dost thou call the thing?
“‘Majus,indeed! and yet, in fact, 'tis true,
“‘We all are majors, all are minors too,
“‘Except the first and last,—th' immensely distant two.
“‘And here again,—what call the learned this?
“‘Both Hippobosca and Hirundinis?
“‘Methinks the creature should be proud to find
“‘That he employs the talents of mankind;
“‘And that his sovereign master shrewdly looks,
“‘Counts all his parts, and puts them in his books.
“‘Well! go thy way, for I do feel it shame
“‘To stay a being with so proud a name.’
“Such were his daughters, such my quiet friend,
“And pleasant was it thus my days to spend;
“But when Matilda at her home I saw,
“Whom I beheld with anxiousness and awe,
“The ease and quiet that I found before
“At once departed, and return'd no more.
“No more their music soothed me as they play'd,
“But soon her words a strong impression made;
“The sweet Enthusiast, so I deem'd her, took
“My mind, and fix'd it to her speech and look;
“My soul, dear girl! she made her constant care,
“But never whisper'd to my heart ‘beware!’
“In love no dangers rise till we are in the snare
“And pleasant was it thus my days to spend;
“But when Matilda at her home I saw,
“Whom I beheld with anxiousness and awe,
“The ease and quiet that I found before
“At once departed, and return'd no more.
“No more their music soothed me as they play'd,
“But soon her words a strong impression made;
“The sweet Enthusiast, so I deem'd her, took
“My mind, and fix'd it to her speech and look;
119
“But never whisper'd to my heart ‘beware!’
“In love no dangers rise till we are in the snare
“Her father sometimes question'd of my creed,
“And seem'd to think it might amendment need;
“But great the difference when the pious maid
“To the same errors her attention paid;
“Her sole design that I should think aright,
“And my conversion her supreme delight:
“Pure was her mind, and simple her intent,
“Good all she sought, and kindness all she meant.
“Next to religion, friendship was our theme,
“Related souls and their refined esteem:
“We talk'd of scenes where this is real found,
“And love subsists without a dart or wound;
“But there intruded thoughts not all serene,
“And wishes not so calm would intervene.”
“And seem'd to think it might amendment need;
“But great the difference when the pious maid
“To the same errors her attention paid;
“Her sole design that I should think aright,
“And my conversion her supreme delight:
“Pure was her mind, and simple her intent,
“Good all she sought, and kindness all she meant.
“Next to religion, friendship was our theme,
“Related souls and their refined esteem:
“We talk'd of scenes where this is real found,
“And love subsists without a dart or wound;
“But there intruded thoughts not all serene,
“And wishes not so calm would intervene.”
“Saw not her father?”
120
“Yes; but saw no more
“Than he had seen without a fear before:
“He had subsisted by the church and plough,
“And saw no cause for apprehension now.
“We, too, could live: he thought not passion wrong,
“But only wonder'd we delay'd so long.
“More had he wonder'd had he known esteem
“Was all we mention'd, friendship was our theme.—
“Than he had seen without a fear before:
“He had subsisted by the church and plough,
“And saw no cause for apprehension now.
“We, too, could live: he thought not passion wrong,
“But only wonder'd we delay'd so long.
“More had he wonder'd had he known esteem
“Was all we mention'd, friendship was our theme.—
“Laugh, if you please, I must my tale pursue—
“This sacred friendship thus in secret grew
“An intellectual love, most tender, chaste, and true:
“Unstain'd, we said, nor knew we how it chanced
“To gain some earthly soil as it advanced;
“But yet my friend, and she alone, could prove
“How much it differ'd from romantic love—
“But this and more I pass—No doubt, at length,
“We could perceive the weakness of our strength
“This sacred friendship thus in secret grew
“An intellectual love, most tender, chaste, and true:
“Unstain'd, we said, nor knew we how it chanced
“To gain some earthly soil as it advanced;
“But yet my friend, and she alone, could prove
“How much it differ'd from romantic love—
“But this and more I pass—No doubt, at length,
“We could perceive the weakness of our strength
“O! days remember'd well! remember'd all!
“The bitter-sweet, the honey and the gall;
“Those garden rambles in the silent night,
“Those trees so shady, and that moon so bright;
“That thickset alley by the arbour closed,
“That woodbine seat where we at last reposed;
“And then the hopes that came and then were gone,
“Quick as the clouds beneath the moon pass'd on:
“Now, in this instant, shall my love be shown,
“I said—O! no, the happy time is flown!
“The bitter-sweet, the honey and the gall;
“Those garden rambles in the silent night,
“Those trees so shady, and that moon so bright;
“That thickset alley by the arbour closed,
“That woodbine seat where we at last reposed;
“And then the hopes that came and then were gone,
“Quick as the clouds beneath the moon pass'd on:
“Now, in this instant, shall my love be shown,
“I said—O! no, the happy time is flown!
“You smile: remember, I was weak and low,
“And fear'd the passion as I felt it grow:
“Will she, I said, to one so poor attend,
“Without a prospect, and without a friend?
“I dared not ask her—till a rival came—
“But hid the secret, slow-consuming flame.
“And fear'd the passion as I felt it grow:
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“Without a prospect, and without a friend?
“I dared not ask her—till a rival came—
“But hid the secret, slow-consuming flame.
“I once had seen him; then familiar, free,
“More than became a common guest to be;
“And sure, I said, he has a look of pride
“And inward joy,—a lover satisfied.
“More than became a common guest to be;
“And sure, I said, he has a look of pride
“And inward joy,—a lover satisfied.
“Can you not, Brother, on adventures past,
“A thought, as on a lively prospect, cast?
“On days of dear remembrance! days that seem,
“When past—nay, even when present, like a dream—
“These white and blessed days, that softly shine
“On few, nor oft on them—have they been thine?”
“A thought, as on a lively prospect, cast?
“On days of dear remembrance! days that seem,
“When past—nay, even when present, like a dream—
“These white and blessed days, that softly shine
“On few, nor oft on them—have they been thine?”
George answer'd, “Yes! dear Richard, through the years
“Long past, a day so white and mark'd appears:
“As in the storm that pours destruction round,
“Is here and there a ship in safety found;
“So in the storms of life some days appear
“More blest and bright for the preceding fear;
“These times of pleasure that in life arise,
“Like spots in deserts, that delight, surprise,
“And to our wearied senses give the more,
“For all the waste behind us and before;
“And thou, dear Richard, hast then had thy share
“Of those enchanting times that baffle care?”
“Long past, a day so white and mark'd appears:
“As in the storm that pours destruction round,
“Is here and there a ship in safety found;
“So in the storms of life some days appear
“More blest and bright for the preceding fear;
“These times of pleasure that in life arise,
“Like spots in deserts, that delight, surprise,
“And to our wearied senses give the more,
“For all the waste behind us and before;
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“Of those enchanting times that baffle care?”
“Yes, I have felt this life-refreshing gale
“That bears us onward when our spirits fail;
“That gives those spirits vigour and delight—
“I would describe it, could I do it right.
“That bears us onward when our spirits fail;
“That gives those spirits vigour and delight—
“I would describe it, could I do it right.
“Such days have been—a day of days was one
“When, rising gaily with the rising sun,
“I took my way to join a happy few,
“Known not to me, but whom Matilda knew,
“To whom she went a guest, and message sent,
“‘Come thou to us,’ and as a guest I went.
“When, rising gaily with the rising sun,
“I took my way to join a happy few,
“Known not to me, but whom Matilda knew,
“To whom she went a guest, and message sent,
“‘Come thou to us,’ and as a guest I went.
“There are two ways to Brandon—by the heath
“Above the cliff, or on the sand beneath,
“Where the small pebbles, wetted by the wave,
“To the new day reflected lustre gave:
“At first above the rocks I made my way,
“Delighted looking at the spacious bay,
“And the large fleet that to the northward steer'd
“Full sail, that glorious in my view appear'd;
“For where does man evince his full control
“O'er subject matter, where displays the soul
“Its mighty energies with more effect,
“Than when her powers that moving mass direct?
“Than when man guides the ship man's art has made,
“And makes the winds and waters yield him aid?
“Above the cliff, or on the sand beneath,
“Where the small pebbles, wetted by the wave,
“To the new day reflected lustre gave:
“At first above the rocks I made my way,
“Delighted looking at the spacious bay,
“And the large fleet that to the northward steer'd
“Full sail, that glorious in my view appear'd;
“For where does man evince his full control
“O'er subject matter, where displays the soul
“Its mighty energies with more effect,
“Than when her powers that moving mass direct?
“Than when man guides the ship man's art has made,
“And makes the winds and waters yield him aid?
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“Much as I long'd to see the maid I loved,
“Through scenes so glorious I at leisure moved;
“For there are times when we do not obey
“The master-passion—when we yet delay—
“When absence, soon to end, we yet prolong,
“And dally with our wish although so strong.
“Through scenes so glorious I at leisure moved;
“For there are times when we do not obey
“The master-passion—when we yet delay—
“When absence, soon to end, we yet prolong,
“And dally with our wish although so strong.
“High were my joys, but they were sober too,
“Nor reason spoil'd the pictures fancy drew;
“I felt—rare feeling in a world like this—
“The sober certainty of waking bliss;
“Add too the smaller aids to happy men,
“Convenient helps—these too were present then.
“But what are spirits? light indeed and gay
“They are, like winter flowers, nor last a day;
“Comes a rude icy wind,—they feel, and fade away.
“Nor reason spoil'd the pictures fancy drew;
“I felt—rare feeling in a world like this—
“The sober certainty of waking bliss;
“Add too the smaller aids to happy men,
“Convenient helps—these too were present then.
“But what are spirits? light indeed and gay
“They are, like winter flowers, nor last a day;
“Comes a rude icy wind,—they feel, and fade away.
“High beat my heart when to the house I came,
“And when the ready servant gave my name;
“But when I enter'd that pernicious room,
“Gloomy it look'd, and painful was the gloom;
“And jealous was the pain, and deep the sigh
“Caused by this gloom, and pain, and jealousy:
“For there Matilda sat, and her beside
“That rival soldier, with a soldier's pride;
“With self-approval in his laughing face,
“His seem'd the leading spirit of the place:
“She was all coldness—yet I thought a look,
“But that corrected, tender welcome spoke:
“It was as lightning which you think you see,
“But doubt, and ask if lightning it could be.
“And when the ready servant gave my name;
“But when I enter'd that pernicious room,
“Gloomy it look'd, and painful was the gloom;
“And jealous was the pain, and deep the sigh
“Caused by this gloom, and pain, and jealousy:
“For there Matilda sat, and her beside
“That rival soldier, with a soldier's pride;
“With self-approval in his laughing face,
“His seem'd the leading spirit of the place:
“She was all coldness—yet I thought a look,
“But that corrected, tender welcome spoke:
“It was as lightning which you think you see,
“But doubt, and ask if lightning it could be.
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“Confused and quick my introduction pass'd,
“When I, a stranger and on strangers cast,
“Beheld the gallant man as he display'd
“Uncheck'd attention to the guilty maid;
“O! how it grieved me that she dared t' excite
“Those looks in him that show'd so much delight;
“Egregious coxcomb! there—he smiled again,
“As if he sought to aggravate my pain:
“Still she attends—I must approach—and find,
“Or make, a quarrel, to relieve my mind.
“When I, a stranger and on strangers cast,
“Beheld the gallant man as he display'd
“Uncheck'd attention to the guilty maid;
“O! how it grieved me that she dared t' excite
“Those looks in him that show'd so much delight;
“Egregious coxcomb! there—he smiled again,
“As if he sought to aggravate my pain:
“Still she attends—I must approach—and find,
“Or make, a quarrel, to relieve my mind.
“In vain I try—politeness as a shield
“The angry strokes of my contempt repell'd;
“Nor must I violate the social law
“That keeps the rash and insolent in awe.
“Once I observed, on hearing my replies,
“The woman's terror fix'd on me the eyes
“That look'd entreaty; but the guideless rage
“Of jealous minds no softness can assuage.
“But, lo! they rise, and all prepare to take
“The promised pleasure on the neighbouring lake.
“The angry strokes of my contempt repell'd;
“Nor must I violate the social law
“That keeps the rash and insolent in awe.
“Once I observed, on hearing my replies,
“The woman's terror fix'd on me the eyes
“That look'd entreaty; but the guideless rage
“Of jealous minds no softness can assuage.
“But, lo! they rise, and all prepare to take
“The promised pleasure on the neighbouring lake.
“Good Heaven! they whisper! Is it come to this?
“Already!—then may I my doubt dismiss:
“Could he so soon a timid girl persuade?
“What rapid progress has the coxcomb made!
“And yet how cool her looks, and how demure!
“The falling snow nor lily's flower so pure:
“What can I do? I must the pair attend,
“And watch this horrid business to its end.
“There, forth they go! He leads her to the shore—
“Nay, I must follow,—I can bear no more:
“What can the handsome gipsy have in view
“In trifling thus, as she appears to do?
“I, who for months have labour'd to succeed,
“Have only lived her vanity to feed.
“Already!—then may I my doubt dismiss:
“Could he so soon a timid girl persuade?
“What rapid progress has the coxcomb made!
“And yet how cool her looks, and how demure!
“The falling snow nor lily's flower so pure:
“What can I do? I must the pair attend,
“And watch this horrid business to its end.
“There, forth they go! He leads her to the shore—
“Nay, I must follow,—I can bear no more:
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“In trifling thus, as she appears to do?
“I, who for months have labour'd to succeed,
“Have only lived her vanity to feed.
“O! you will make me room—'tis very kind,
“And meant for him—it tells him he must mind;
“Must not be careless:—I can serve to draw
“The soldier on, and keep the man in awe.
“O! I did think she had a guileless heart,
“Without deceit, capriciousness, or art;
“And yet a stranger, with a coat of red,
“Has, by an hour's attention, turn'd her head.
“And meant for him—it tells him he must mind;
“Must not be careless:—I can serve to draw
“The soldier on, and keep the man in awe.
“O! I did think she had a guileless heart,
“Without deceit, capriciousness, or art;
“And yet a stranger, with a coat of red,
“Has, by an hour's attention, turn'd her head.
“Ah! how delicious was the morning-drive,
“The soul awaken'd, and its hopes alive:
“How dull this scene by trifling minds enjoy'd,
“The heart in trouble and its hope destroy'd.
“The soul awaken'd, and its hopes alive:
“How dull this scene by trifling minds enjoy'd,
“The heart in trouble and its hope destroy'd.
“Well, now we land—And will he yet support
“This part? What favour has he now to court?
“Favour! O, no! He means to quit the fair;
“How strange! how cruel! Will she not despair?
“Well! take her hand—no further if you please,
“I cannot suffer fooleries like these:—
“How? ‘Love to Julia!’ to his wife?—O! dear
“And injured creature, how must I appear,
“Thus haughty in my looks, and in my words severe?
“Her love to Julia, to the school-day friend
“To whom those letters she has lately penn'd!
“Can she forgive? And now I think again,
“The man was neither insolent nor vain;
“Good humour chiefly would a stranger trace,
“Were he impartial, in the air or face;
“And I so splenetic the whole way long,
“And she so patient—it was very wrong.
“This part? What favour has he now to court?
“Favour! O, no! He means to quit the fair;
“How strange! how cruel! Will she not despair?
“Well! take her hand—no further if you please,
“I cannot suffer fooleries like these:—
“How? ‘Love to Julia!’ to his wife?—O! dear
“And injured creature, how must I appear,
“Thus haughty in my looks, and in my words severe?
“Her love to Julia, to the school-day friend
“To whom those letters she has lately penn'd!
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“The man was neither insolent nor vain;
“Good humour chiefly would a stranger trace,
“Were he impartial, in the air or face;
“And I so splenetic the whole way long,
“And she so patient—it was very wrong.
“The boat had landed in a shady scene;
“The grove was in its glory, fresh and green;
“The showers of late had swell'd the branch and bough,
“And the sun's fervour made them pleasant now.
“Hard by an oak arose in all its pride,
“And threw its arms along the water's side;
“Its leafy limbs, that on the glassy lake
“Stretch far, and all those dancing shadows make.
“The grove was in its glory, fresh and green;
“The showers of late had swell'd the branch and bough,
“And the sun's fervour made them pleasant now.
“Hard by an oak arose in all its pride,
“And threw its arms along the water's side;
“Its leafy limbs, that on the glassy lake
“Stretch far, and all those dancing shadows make.
“And now we walk—now smaller parties seek
“Or sun or shade as pleases—Shall I speak?
“Shall I forgiveness ask, and then apply
“For—O! that vile and intercepting cry.
“Alas! what mighty ills can trifles make,—
“A hat! the idiot's—fallen in the lake!
“What serious mischief can such idlers do?
“I almost wish the head had fallen too.
“Or sun or shade as pleases—Shall I speak?
“Shall I forgiveness ask, and then apply
“For—O! that vile and intercepting cry.
“Alas! what mighty ills can trifles make,—
“A hat! the idiot's—fallen in the lake!
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“I almost wish the head had fallen too.
“No more they leave us, but will hover round,
“As if amusement at our cost they found;
“Vex'd and unhappy I indeed had been,
“Had I not something in my charmer seen
“Like discontent, that, though corrected, dwelt
“On that dear face, and told me what she felt.
“As if amusement at our cost they found;
“Vex'd and unhappy I indeed had been,
“Had I not something in my charmer seen
“Like discontent, that, though corrected, dwelt
“On that dear face, and told me what she felt.
“Now must we cross the lake, and as we cross'd
“Was my whole soul in sweet emotion lost;
“Clouds in white volumes roll'd beneath the moon,
“Softening her light that on the waters shone:
“This was such bliss! even then it seem'd relief
“To veil the gladness in a show of grief:
“We sigh'd as we conversed, and said, how deep
“This lake on which those broad dark shadows sleep;
“There is between us and a watery grave
“But a thin plank, and yet our fate we brave.
“‘What if it burst?’ Matilda, then my care
“Would be for thee: all danger I would dare,
“And, should my efforts fail, thy fortune would I share.
“‘The love of life,’ she said, ‘would powerful prove!’
“O! not so powerful as the strength of love:—
“A look of kindness gave the grateful maid,
“That had the real effort more than paid.
“Was my whole soul in sweet emotion lost;
“Clouds in white volumes roll'd beneath the moon,
“Softening her light that on the waters shone:
“This was such bliss! even then it seem'd relief
“To veil the gladness in a show of grief:
“We sigh'd as we conversed, and said, how deep
“This lake on which those broad dark shadows sleep;
“There is between us and a watery grave
“But a thin plank, and yet our fate we brave.
“‘What if it burst?’ Matilda, then my care
“Would be for thee: all danger I would dare,
“And, should my efforts fail, thy fortune would I share.
“‘The love of life,’ she said, ‘would powerful prove!’
“O! not so powerful as the strength of love:—
“A look of kindness gave the grateful maid,
“That had the real effort more than paid.
“But here we land, and haply now may choose
“Companions home—our way, too, we may lose:
“In these drear, dark, inosculating lanes,
“The very native of his doubt complains;
“No wonder then that in such lonely ways
“A stranger, heedless of the country, strays;
“A stranger, too, whose many thoughts all meet
“In one design, and none regard his feet.
“Companions home—our way, too, we may lose:
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“The very native of his doubt complains;
“No wonder then that in such lonely ways
“A stranger, heedless of the country, strays;
“A stranger, too, whose many thoughts all meet
“In one design, and none regard his feet.
“‘Is this the path?’—the cautious fair one cries,
“I answer, Yes!—‘We shall our friends surprise,’
“She added, sighing—I return the sighs.
“I answer, Yes!—‘We shall our friends surprise,’
“She added, sighing—I return the sighs.
“‘Will they not wonder?’ O! they would, indeed,
“Could they the secrets of this bosom read,
“These chilling doubts, these trembling hopes I feel!
“The faint, fond hopes I can no more conceal—
“I love thee, dear Matilda!—to confess
“The fact is dangerous, fatal to suppress.
“Could they the secrets of this bosom read,
“These chilling doubts, these trembling hopes I feel!
“The faint, fond hopes I can no more conceal—
“I love thee, dear Matilda!—to confess
“The fact is dangerous, fatal to suppress.
“And now in terror I approach the home
“Where I may wretched but not doubtful come,
“Where I must be all ecstasy, or all—
“O! what will you a wretch rejected call?
“Not man, for I shall lose myself, and be
“A creature lost to reason, losing thee.
“Where I may wretched but not doubtful come,
“Where I must be all ecstasy, or all—
“O! what will you a wretch rejected call?
“Not man, for I shall lose myself, and be
“A creature lost to reason, losing thee.
“Speak, my Matilda! on the rack of fear
“Suspend me not—I would my sentence hear,
“Would learn my fate—Good Heaven! and what portend
“These tears?—and fall they for thy wretched friend?
“Or—but I cease; I cannot paint the bliss,
“From a confession soft and kind as this;
“Nor where we walk'd, nor how our friends we met,
“Or what their wonder—I am wondering yet;
“For he who nothing heeds has nothing to forget.
“Suspend me not—I would my sentence hear,
“Would learn my fate—Good Heaven! and what portend
“These tears?—and fall they for thy wretched friend?
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“From a confession soft and kind as this;
“Nor where we walk'd, nor how our friends we met,
“Or what their wonder—I am wondering yet;
“For he who nothing heeds has nothing to forget.
“All thought, yet thinking nothing—all delight
“In every thing, but nothing in my sight!
“Nothing I mark or learn, but am possess'd
“Of joys I cannot paint, and I am bless'd
“In all that I conceive—whatever is, is best.
“Ready to aid all beings, I would go
“The world around to succour human woe;
“Yet am so largely happy, that it seems
“There are no woes, and sorrows are but dreams.
“In every thing, but nothing in my sight!
“Nothing I mark or learn, but am possess'd
“Of joys I cannot paint, and I am bless'd
“In all that I conceive—whatever is, is best.
“Ready to aid all beings, I would go
“The world around to succour human woe;
“Yet am so largely happy, that it seems
“There are no woes, and sorrows are but dreams.
“There is a college joy, to scholars known,
“When the first honours are proclaim'd their own;
“There is ambition's joy, when in their race
“A man surpassing rivals gains his place;
“There is a beauty's joy, amid a crowd
“To have that beauty her first fame allow'd;
“And there's the conqueror's joy, when, dubious held
“And long the fight, he sees the foe repell'd.
“When the first honours are proclaim'd their own;
“There is ambition's joy, when in their race
“A man surpassing rivals gains his place;
“There is a beauty's joy, amid a crowd
“To have that beauty her first fame allow'd;
“And there's the conqueror's joy, when, dubious held
“And long the fight, he sees the foe repell'd.
“But what are these, or what are other joys,
“That charm kings, conquerors, beauteous nymphs and boys,
“Or greater yet, if greater yet be found,
“To that delight when love's dear hope is crown'd?
“To the first beating of a lover's heart,
“When the loved maid endeavours to impart,
“Frankly yet faintly, fondly yet in fear,
“The kind confession that he holds so dear.
“Now in the morn of our return how strange
“Was this new feeling, this delicious change;
“That sweet delirium, when I gazed in fear,
“That all would yet be lost and disappear.
“That charm kings, conquerors, beauteous nymphs and boys,
“Or greater yet, if greater yet be found,
“To that delight when love's dear hope is crown'd?
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“When the loved maid endeavours to impart,
“Frankly yet faintly, fondly yet in fear,
“The kind confession that he holds so dear.
“Now in the morn of our return how strange
“Was this new feeling, this delicious change;
“That sweet delirium, when I gazed in fear,
“That all would yet be lost and disappear.
“Such was the blessing that I sought for pain,
“In some degree to be myself again;
“And when we met a shepherd old and lame,
“Cold and diseased, it seem'd my blood to tame;
“And I was thankful for the moral sight,
“That soberised the vast and wild delight.”
“In some degree to be myself again;
“And when we met a shepherd old and lame,
“Cold and diseased, it seem'd my blood to tame;
“And I was thankful for the moral sight,
“That soberised the vast and wild delight.”
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BOOK VII. THE ELDER BROTHER.
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Conversation—Story of the elder Brother—His romantic Views and Habits—The Scene of his Meditations—Their Nature—Interrupted by an Adventure—The Consequences of it—A strong and permanent Passion—Search of its Object—Long ineffectual—How found—The first Interview —The second—End of the Adventure—Retirement.
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“Thanks, my dear Richard; and, I pray thee, deign
“To speak the truth—does all this love remain,
“And all this joy? for views and flights sublime,
“Ardent and tender, are subdued by time.
“Speak'st thou of her to whom thou madest thy vows,
“Of my fair sister, of thy lawful spouse?
“Or art thou talking some frail love about,
“The rambling fit, before th' abiding gout?
“To speak the truth—does all this love remain,
“And all this joy? for views and flights sublime,
“Ardent and tender, are subdued by time.
“Speak'st thou of her to whom thou madest thy vows,
“Of my fair sister, of thy lawful spouse?
“Or art thou talking some frail love about,
“The rambling fit, before th' abiding gout?
“Nay, spare me, Brother, an adorer spare:
“Love and the gout! thou wouldst not these compare?”
“Love and the gout! thou wouldst not these compare?”
“Yea, and correctly; teasing ere they come,
“They then confine their victim to his home:
“In both are previous feints and false attacks,
“Both place the grieving patient on their racks;
“They both are ours, with all they bring, for life,
“'T is not in us t' expel or gout or wife;
“On man a kind of dignity they shed,
“A sort of gloomy pomp about his bed:
“Then if he leaves them, go where'er he will,
“They have a claim upon his body still;
“Nay, when they quit him, as they sometimes do,
“What is there left t' enjoy or to pursue?—
“But dost thou love this woman?”
“They then confine their victim to his home:
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“Both place the grieving patient on their racks;
“They both are ours, with all they bring, for life,
“'T is not in us t' expel or gout or wife;
“On man a kind of dignity they shed,
“A sort of gloomy pomp about his bed:
“Then if he leaves them, go where'er he will,
“They have a claim upon his body still;
“Nay, when they quit him, as they sometimes do,
“What is there left t' enjoy or to pursue?—
“But dost thou love this woman?”
“O! beyond
“What I can tell thee of the true and fond:
“Hath she not soothed me, sick, enrich'd me, poor,
“And banish'd death and misery from my door?
“Has she not cherish'd every moment's bliss,
“And made an Eden of a world like this?
“When Care would strive with us his watch to keep,
“Has she not sung the snarling fiend to sleep?
“And when Distress has look'd us in the face,
“Has she not told him, ‘Thou art not Disgrace?’”
“What I can tell thee of the true and fond:
“Hath she not soothed me, sick, enrich'd me, poor,
“And banish'd death and misery from my door?
“Has she not cherish'd every moment's bliss,
“And made an Eden of a world like this?
“When Care would strive with us his watch to keep,
“Has she not sung the snarling fiend to sleep?
“And when Distress has look'd us in the face,
“Has she not told him, ‘Thou art not Disgrace?’”
“I must behold her, Richard; I must see
“This patient spouse who sweetens misery—
“But didst thou need, and wouldst thou not apply?—
“Nay thou wert right—but then how wrong was I!”
“This patient spouse who sweetens misery—
“But didst thou need, and wouldst thou not apply?—
“Nay thou wert right—but then how wrong was I!”
“My indiscretion was”—
“No more repeat;
“Would I were nothing worse than indiscreet;—
“But still there is a plea that I could bring,
“Had I the courage to describe the thing.”
“Would I were nothing worse than indiscreet;—
“But still there is a plea that I could bring,
“Had I the courage to describe the thing.”
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“Then thou, too, Brother, couldst of weakness tell;
“Thou, too, hast found the wishes that rebel
“Against the sovereign reason; at some time
“Thou hast been fond, heroic, and sublime;
“Wrote verse, it may be, and for one dear maid
“The sober purposes of life delay'd;
“From year to year the fruitless chase pursued,
“And hung enamour'd o'er the flying good:
“Then be thy weakness to a Brother shown,
“And give him comfort who displays his own.”
“Thou, too, hast found the wishes that rebel
“Against the sovereign reason; at some time
“Thou hast been fond, heroic, and sublime;
“Wrote verse, it may be, and for one dear maid
“The sober purposes of life delay'd;
“From year to year the fruitless chase pursued,
“And hung enamour'd o'er the flying good:
“Then be thy weakness to a Brother shown,
“And give him comfort who displays his own.”
“Ungenerous youth! dost thou presuming ask
“A man so grave his failings to unmask?
“What if I tell thee of a waste of time,
“That on my spirit presses as a crime,
“Wilt thou despise me?—I, who, soaring, fell
“So late to rise—Hear then the tale I tell;
“Who tells what thou shalt hear, esteems his hearer well.
“A man so grave his failings to unmask?
“What if I tell thee of a waste of time,
“That on my spirit presses as a crime,
“Wilt thou despise me?—I, who, soaring, fell
“So late to rise—Hear then the tale I tell;
“Who tells what thou shalt hear, esteems his hearer well.
“Yes, my dear Richard, thou shalt hear me own
“Follies and frailties thou hast never known;
“Thine was a frailty,—folly, if you please,—
“But mine a flight, a madness, a disease.
“Follies and frailties thou hast never known;
“Thine was a frailty,—folly, if you please,—
“But mine a flight, a madness, a disease.
“Turn with me to my twentieth year, for then
“The lover's frenzy ruled the poet's pen;
“When virgin reams were soil'd with lays of love,
“The flinty hearts of fancied nymphs to move:
“Then was I pleased in lonely ways to tread,
“And muse on tragic tales of lovers dead;
“For all the merit I could then descry
“In man or woman was for love to die.
“The lover's frenzy ruled the poet's pen;
“When virgin reams were soil'd with lays of love,
“The flinty hearts of fancied nymphs to move:
“Then was I pleased in lonely ways to tread,
“And muse on tragic tales of lovers dead;
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“In man or woman was for love to die.
“I mused on charmers chaste, who pledged their truth,
“And left no more the once-accepted youth;
“Though he disloyal, lost, diseased, became,
“The widow'd turtle's was a deathless flame;
“This faith, this feeling, gave my soul delight,
“Truth in the lady, ardour in the knight.
“And left no more the once-accepted youth;
“Though he disloyal, lost, diseased, became,
“The widow'd turtle's was a deathless flame;
“This faith, this feeling, gave my soul delight,
“Truth in the lady, ardour in the knight.
“I built me castles wondrous rich and rare,
“Few castle-builders could with me compare;
“The hall, the palace, rose at my command,
“And these I fill'd with objects great and grand.
“Virtues sublime, that nowhere else would live,
“Glory and pomp, that I alone could give;
“Trophies and thrones by matchless valour gain'd,
“Faith unreproved, and chastity unstain'd;
“With all that soothes the sense and charms the soul,
“Came at my call, and were in my control.
“Few castle-builders could with me compare;
“The hall, the palace, rose at my command,
“And these I fill'd with objects great and grand.
“Virtues sublime, that nowhere else would live,
“Glory and pomp, that I alone could give;
“Trophies and thrones by matchless valour gain'd,
“Faith unreproved, and chastity unstain'd;
“With all that soothes the sense and charms the soul,
“Came at my call, and were in my control.
“And who was I? a slender youth and tall,
“In manner awkward, and with fortune small;
“With visage pale, my motions quick and slow,
“That fall and rising in the spirits show;
“For none could more by outward signs express
“What wise men lock within the mind's recess;
“Had I a mirror set before my view,
“I might have seen what such a form could do;
“Had I within the mirror truth beheld,
“I should have such presuming thoughts repell'd
“But awkward as I was, without the grace
“That gives new beauty to a form or face,
“Still I expected friends most true to prove,
“And grateful, tender, warm, assiduous love.
“In manner awkward, and with fortune small;
“With visage pale, my motions quick and slow,
“That fall and rising in the spirits show;
“For none could more by outward signs express
“What wise men lock within the mind's recess;
“Had I a mirror set before my view,
“I might have seen what such a form could do;
“Had I within the mirror truth beheld,
“I should have such presuming thoughts repell'd
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“That gives new beauty to a form or face,
“Still I expected friends most true to prove,
“And grateful, tender, warm, assiduous love.
“Assured of this, that love's delicious bond
“Would hold me ever faithful, ever fond;
“It seem'd but just that I in love should find
“A kindred heart as constant and as kind.
“Give me, I cried, a beauty; none on earth
“Of higher rank or nobler in her birth;
“Pride of her race, her father's hope and care,
“Yet meek as children of the cottage are;
“Nursed in the court, and there by love pursued,
“But fond of peace, and blest in solitude;
“By rivals honour'd, and by beauties praised,
“Yet all unconscious of the envy raised;
“Suppose her this, and from attendants freed,
“To want my prowess in a time of need,
“When safe and grateful she desires to show
“She feels the debt that she delights to owe,
“And loves the man who saved her in distress—
“So Fancy will'd, nor would compound for less.
“Would hold me ever faithful, ever fond;
“It seem'd but just that I in love should find
“A kindred heart as constant and as kind.
“Give me, I cried, a beauty; none on earth
“Of higher rank or nobler in her birth;
“Pride of her race, her father's hope and care,
“Yet meek as children of the cottage are;
“Nursed in the court, and there by love pursued,
“But fond of peace, and blest in solitude;
“By rivals honour'd, and by beauties praised,
“Yet all unconscious of the envy raised;
“Suppose her this, and from attendants freed,
“To want my prowess in a time of need,
“When safe and grateful she desires to show
“She feels the debt that she delights to owe,
“And loves the man who saved her in distress—
“So Fancy will'd, nor would compound for less.
“This was my dream.—In some auspicious hour,
“In some sweet solitude, in some green bower,
“Whither my fate should lead me, there, unseen,
“I should behold my fancy's gracious queen,
“Singing sweet song! that I should hear awhile,
“Then catch the transient glory of a smile;
“Then at her feet with trembling hope should kneel,
“Such as rapt saints and raptured lovers feel;
“To watch the chaste unfoldings of her heart,
“In joy to meet, in agony to part,
“And then in tender song to soothe my grief,
“And hail, in glorious rhyme, my Lady of the Leaf.
“In some sweet solitude, in some green bower,
“Whither my fate should lead me, there, unseen,
“I should behold my fancy's gracious queen,
“Singing sweet song! that I should hear awhile,
“Then catch the transient glory of a smile;
“Then at her feet with trembling hope should kneel,
“Such as rapt saints and raptured lovers feel;
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“In joy to meet, in agony to part,
“And then in tender song to soothe my grief,
“And hail, in glorious rhyme, my Lady of the Leaf.
“To dream these dreams I chose a woody scene,
“My guardian-shade, the world and me between;
“A green inclosure, where beside its bound
“A thorny fence beset its beauties round,
“Save where some creature's force had made a way
“For me to pass, and in my kingdom stray:
“Here then I stray'd, then sat me down to call,
“Just as I will'd, my shadowy subjects all!
“Fruits of all minds conceived on every coast,
“Fay, witch, enchanter, devil, demon, ghost;
“And thus with knights and nymphs, in halls and bowers,
“In war and love, I pass'd unnumber'd hours:
“Gross and substantial beings all forgot,
“Ideal glories beam'd around the spot,
“And all that was, with me, of this poor world was not.
“My guardian-shade, the world and me between;
“A green inclosure, where beside its bound
“A thorny fence beset its beauties round,
“Save where some creature's force had made a way
“For me to pass, and in my kingdom stray:
“Here then I stray'd, then sat me down to call,
“Just as I will'd, my shadowy subjects all!
“Fruits of all minds conceived on every coast,
“Fay, witch, enchanter, devil, demon, ghost;
“And thus with knights and nymphs, in halls and bowers,
“In war and love, I pass'd unnumber'd hours:
“Gross and substantial beings all forgot,
“Ideal glories beam'd around the spot,
“And all that was, with me, of this poor world was not.
“Yet in this world there was a single scene,
“That I allow'd with mine to intervene;
“This house, where never yet my feet had stray'd,
“I with respect and timid awe survey'd;
“With pleasing wonder I have oft-times stood,
“To view these turrets rising o'er the wood;
“When Fancy to the halls and chambers flew,
“Large, solemn, silent, that I must not view;
“The moat was then, and then o'er all the ground
“Tall elms and ancient oaks stretch'd far around;
“And where the soil forbad the nobler race,
“Dwarf trees and humbler shrubs had found their place,
“Forbidding man in their close hold to go,
“Haw, gatter, holm, the service and the sloe;
“With tangling weeds that at the bottom grew,
“And climbers all above their feathery branches threw.
“Nor path of man or beast was there espied,
“But there the birds of darkness loved to hide,
“The loathed toad to lodge, and speckled snake to glide.
“That I allow'd with mine to intervene;
“This house, where never yet my feet had stray'd,
“I with respect and timid awe survey'd;
“With pleasing wonder I have oft-times stood,
“To view these turrets rising o'er the wood;
“When Fancy to the halls and chambers flew,
“Large, solemn, silent, that I must not view;
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“Tall elms and ancient oaks stretch'd far around;
“And where the soil forbad the nobler race,
“Dwarf trees and humbler shrubs had found their place,
“Forbidding man in their close hold to go,
“Haw, gatter, holm, the service and the sloe;
“With tangling weeds that at the bottom grew,
“And climbers all above their feathery branches threw.
“Nor path of man or beast was there espied,
“But there the birds of darkness loved to hide,
“The loathed toad to lodge, and speckled snake to glide.
“To me this hall, thus view'd in part, appear'd
“A mansion vast; I wonder'd, and I fear'd:
“There as I wander'd, Fancy's forming eye
“Could gloomy cells and dungeons dark espy;
“Winding through these, I caught the appalling sound
“Of troubled souls, that guilty minds confound,
“Where Murder made its way, and Mischief stalk'd around.
“Above the roof were raised the midnight storms,
“And the wild lights betray'd the shadowy forms.
“With all these flights and fancies, then so dear,
“I reach'd the birthday of my twentieth year;
“And in the evening of a day in June
“Was singing—as I sang—some heavenly tune;
“My native tone, indeed, was harsh and hoarse,
“But he who feels such powers can sing of course—
“Is there a good on earth, or gift divine,
“That Fancy cannot say, Behold! 'tis mine?
“A mansion vast; I wonder'd, and I fear'd:
“There as I wander'd, Fancy's forming eye
“Could gloomy cells and dungeons dark espy;
“Winding through these, I caught the appalling sound
“Of troubled souls, that guilty minds confound,
“Where Murder made its way, and Mischief stalk'd around.
“Above the roof were raised the midnight storms,
“And the wild lights betray'd the shadowy forms.
“With all these flights and fancies, then so dear,
“I reach'd the birthday of my twentieth year;
“And in the evening of a day in June
“Was singing—as I sang—some heavenly tune;
“My native tone, indeed, was harsh and hoarse,
“But he who feels such powers can sing of course—
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“That Fancy cannot say, Behold! 'tis mine?
“So was I singing, when I saw descend,
“From this old seat a lady and her friend;
“Downward they came with steady pace and slow,
“Arm link'd in arm, to bless my world below.
“I knew not yet if they escaped, or chose
“Their own free way,—if they had friends or foes,—
“But near to my dominion drew the pair,
“Link'd arm in arm, and walk'd conversing, there.
“From this old seat a lady and her friend;
“Downward they came with steady pace and slow,
“Arm link'd in arm, to bless my world below.
“I knew not yet if they escaped, or chose
“Their own free way,—if they had friends or foes,—
“But near to my dominion drew the pair,
“Link'd arm in arm, and walk'd conversing, there.
“I saw them ere they came, myself unseen,
“My lofty fence and thorny bound between—
“And one alone, one matchless face I saw,
“And, though at distance, felt delight and awe:
“Fancy and truth adorn'd her; fancy gave
“Much, but not all; truth help'd to make their slave;
“For she was lovely,—all was not the vain
“Or sickly homage of a fever'd brain;
“No! she had beauty, such as they admire
“Whose hope is earthly, and whose love desire;
“Imagination might her aid bestow,
“But she had charms that only truth could show.
“My lofty fence and thorny bound between—
“And one alone, one matchless face I saw,
“And, though at distance, felt delight and awe:
“Fancy and truth adorn'd her; fancy gave
“Much, but not all; truth help'd to make their slave;
“For she was lovely,—all was not the vain
“Or sickly homage of a fever'd brain;
“No! she had beauty, such as they admire
“Whose hope is earthly, and whose love desire;
“Imagination might her aid bestow,
“But she had charms that only truth could show.
“Their dress was such as well became the place
“But One superior; hers the air, the grace,
“The condescending looks, that spoke the nobler race.
“Slender she was and tall: her fairy-feet
“Bore her right onward to my shady seat;
“And Oh! I sigh'd that she would nobly dare
“To come, nor let her friend the adventure share;
“But see how I in my dominion reign,
“And never wish to view the world again.
“But One superior; hers the air, the grace,
“The condescending looks, that spoke the nobler race.
“Slender she was and tall: her fairy-feet
“Bore her right onward to my shady seat;
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“To come, nor let her friend the adventure share;
“But see how I in my dominion reign,
“And never wish to view the world again.
“Thus was I musing, seeing with my eyes
“These objects, with my mind her fantasies,
“And chiefly thinking—Is this maid, divine
“As she appears, to be this queen of mine?
“Have I from henceforth beauty in my view,
“Not airy all, but tangible and true?
“Here then I fix, here bound my vagrant views,
“And here devote my heart, my time, my Muse.
“These objects, with my mind her fantasies,
“And chiefly thinking—Is this maid, divine
“As she appears, to be this queen of mine?
“Have I from henceforth beauty in my view,
“Not airy all, but tangible and true?
“Here then I fix, here bound my vagrant views,
“And here devote my heart, my time, my Muse.
“She saw not this, though ladies early trace
“Their beauty's power, the glories of their face;
“Yet knew not this fair creature—could not know—
“That new-born love! that I too soon must show:
“And I was musing—How shall I begin?
“How make approach my unknown way to win,
“And to that heart, as yet untouch'd, make known
“The wound, the wish, the weakness of my own?
“Such is my part, but—Mercy! what alarm?
“Dare aught on earth that sovereign beauty harm?
“Again—the shrieking charmers—how they rend
“The gentle air—The shriekers lack a friend—
“They are my princess and the attendant maid
“In so much danger, and so much afraid!—
“But whence the terror?—Let me haste and see
“What has befallen them who cannot flee—
“Whence can the peril rise? What can that peril be?
“Their beauty's power, the glories of their face;
“Yet knew not this fair creature—could not know—
“That new-born love! that I too soon must show:
“And I was musing—How shall I begin?
“How make approach my unknown way to win,
“And to that heart, as yet untouch'd, make known
“The wound, the wish, the weakness of my own?
“Such is my part, but—Mercy! what alarm?
“Dare aught on earth that sovereign beauty harm?
“Again—the shrieking charmers—how they rend
“The gentle air—The shriekers lack a friend—
“They are my princess and the attendant maid
“In so much danger, and so much afraid!—
“But whence the terror?—Let me haste and see
“What has befallen them who cannot flee—
“Whence can the peril rise? What can that peril be?
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“It soon appear'd, that while this nymph divine
“Moved on, there met her rude uncivil kine,
“Who knew her not—the damsel was not there
“Who kept them—all obedient—in her care;
“Strangers they thus defied and held in scorn,
“And stood in threat'ning posture, hoof and horn;
“While Susan—pail in hand—could stand the while
“And prate with Daniel at a distant stile.
“Moved on, there met her rude uncivil kine,
“Who knew her not—the damsel was not there
“Who kept them—all obedient—in her care;
“Strangers they thus defied and held in scorn,
“And stood in threat'ning posture, hoof and horn;
“While Susan—pail in hand—could stand the while
“And prate with Daniel at a distant stile.
“As feeling prompted, to the place I ran,
“Resolved to save the maids and show the man:
“Was each a cow like that which challenged Guy,
“I had resolved to attack it, and defy
“In mortal combat! to repel or die.
“That was no time to parley—or to say
“I will protect you—fly in peace away!
“Lo! yonder stile—but with an air of grace,
“As I supposed, I pointed to the place
“Resolved to save the maids and show the man:
“Was each a cow like that which challenged Guy,
“I had resolved to attack it, and defy
“In mortal combat! to repel or die.
“That was no time to parley—or to say
“I will protect you—fly in peace away!
“Lo! yonder stile—but with an air of grace,
“As I supposed, I pointed to the place
“The fair ones took me at my sign, and flew,
“Each like a dove, and to the stile withdrew,
“Where safe, at distance, and from terrors free,
“They turn'd to view my beastly foes and me.
“Each like a dove, and to the stile withdrew,
“Where safe, at distance, and from terrors free,
“They turn'd to view my beastly foes and me.
“I now had time my business to behold,
“And did not like it—let the truth be told:
“The cows, though cowards, yet in numbers strong,
“Like other mobs, by might defended wrong;
“In man's own pathway fix'd, they seem'd disposed
“For hostile measure, and in order closed,
“Then halted near me, as I judged, to treat,
“Before we came to triumph or defeat.
“And did not like it—let the truth be told:
“The cows, though cowards, yet in numbers strong,
“Like other mobs, by might defended wrong;
“In man's own pathway fix'd, they seem'd disposed
“For hostile measure, and in order closed,
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“Before we came to triumph or defeat.
“I was in doubt: 't was sore disgrace, I knew,
“To turn my back, and let the cows pursue;
“And should I rashly mortal strife begin,
“'Twas all unknown who might the battle win;
“And yet to wait, and neither fight nor fly,
“Would mirth create,—I could not that deny;
“It look'd as if for safety I would treat,
“Nay, sue for peace—No! rather come defeat!
“‘Look to me, loveliest of thy sex! and give
“‘One cheering glance, and not a cow shall live;
“‘For, lo! this iron bar, this strenuous arm,
“‘And those dear eyes to aid me as a charm.’
“To turn my back, and let the cows pursue;
“And should I rashly mortal strife begin,
“'Twas all unknown who might the battle win;
“And yet to wait, and neither fight nor fly,
“Would mirth create,—I could not that deny;
“It look'd as if for safety I would treat,
“Nay, sue for peace—No! rather come defeat!
“‘Look to me, loveliest of thy sex! and give
“‘One cheering glance, and not a cow shall live;
“‘For, lo! this iron bar, this strenuous arm,
“‘And those dear eyes to aid me as a charm.’
“Say, goddess! Victory! say, on man or cow
“Meanest thou now to perch—On neither now—
“For, as I ponder'd, on their way appear'd
“The Amazonian milker of the herd;
“These, at the wonted signals, made a stand,
“And woo'd the nymph of the relieving hand;
“Nor heeded now the man, who felt relief
“Of other kind, and not unmix'd with grief;
“For now he neither should his courage prove,
“Nor in his dying moments boast his love.
“Meanest thou now to perch—On neither now—
“For, as I ponder'd, on their way appear'd
“The Amazonian milker of the herd;
“These, at the wonted signals, made a stand,
“And woo'd the nymph of the relieving hand;
“Nor heeded now the man, who felt relief
“Of other kind, and not unmix'd with grief;
“For now he neither should his courage prove,
“Nor in his dying moments boast his love.
“My sovereign beauty with amazement saw—
“So she declared—the horrid things in awe;
“Well pleased, she witness'd what respect was paid
“By such brute natures—Every cow afraid,
“And kept at distance by the powers of one,
“Who had to her a dangerous service done,
“That prudence had declined, that valour's self might shun.
“So she declared—the horrid things in awe;
“Well pleased, she witness'd what respect was paid
“By such brute natures—Every cow afraid,
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“Who had to her a dangerous service done,
“That prudence had declined, that valour's self might shun.
“So thought the maid, who now, beyond the stile,
“Received her champion with a gracious smile;
“Who now had leisure on those charms to dwell,
“That he could never from his thoughts expel;
“There are, I know, to whom a lover seems,
“Praising his mistress, to relate his dreams;
“But, Richard, looks like those, that angel-face
“Could I no more in sister-angel trace;
“Oh! it was more than fancy! it was more
“Than in my darling views I saw before,
“When I my idol made, and my allegiance swore.
“Received her champion with a gracious smile;
“Who now had leisure on those charms to dwell,
“That he could never from his thoughts expel;
“There are, I know, to whom a lover seems,
“Praising his mistress, to relate his dreams;
“But, Richard, looks like those, that angel-face
“Could I no more in sister-angel trace;
“Oh! it was more than fancy! it was more
“Than in my darling views I saw before,
“When I my idol made, and my allegiance swore.
“Henceforth 'twas bliss upon that face to dwell,
“Till every trace became indelible;
“I blest the cause of that alarm, her fright,
“And all that gave me favour in her sight,
“Who then was kind and grateful, till my mind,
“Pleased and exulting, awe awhile resign'd.
“For in the moment when she feels afraid,
“How kindly speaks the condescending maid:
“She sees her danger near, she wants her lover's aid;
“As fire electric, when discharged, will strike
“All who receive it, and they feel alike,
“So in the shock of danger and surprise
“Our minds are struck, and mix, and sympathise.
“Till every trace became indelible;
“I blest the cause of that alarm, her fright,
“And all that gave me favour in her sight,
“Who then was kind and grateful, till my mind,
“Pleased and exulting, awe awhile resign'd.
“For in the moment when she feels afraid,
“How kindly speaks the condescending maid:
“She sees her danger near, she wants her lover's aid;
“As fire electric, when discharged, will strike
“All who receive it, and they feel alike,
“So in the shock of danger and surprise
“Our minds are struck, and mix, and sympathise.
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“But danger dies, and distance comes between
“My state and that of my all glorious queen;
“Yet much was done—upon my mind a chain
“Was strongly fix'd, and likely to remain;
“Listening, I grew enamour'd of the sound,
“And felt to her my very being bound;
“I blest the scene, nor felt a power to move,
“Lost in the ecstasies of infant love.
“My state and that of my all glorious queen;
“Yet much was done—upon my mind a chain
“Was strongly fix'd, and likely to remain;
“Listening, I grew enamour'd of the sound,
“And felt to her my very being bound;
“I blest the scene, nor felt a power to move,
“Lost in the ecstasies of infant love.
“She saw and smiled; the smile delight convey'd,
“My love encouraged, and my act repaid:
“In that same smile I read the charmer meant
“To give her hero chaste encouragement;
“It spoke, as plainly as a smile can speak,
“‘Seek whom you love, love freely whom you seek.
“My love encouraged, and my act repaid:
“In that same smile I read the charmer meant
“To give her hero chaste encouragement;
“It spoke, as plainly as a smile can speak,
“‘Seek whom you love, love freely whom you seek.
“Thus, when the lovely witch had wrought her charm,
“She took th' attendant maiden by the arm,
“And left me fondly gazing, till no more
“I could the shade of that dear form explore;
“Then to my secret haunt I turn'd again,
“Fire in my heart, and fever in my brain;
“That face of her for ever in my view,
“Whom I was henceforth fated to pursue,
“To hope I knew not what, small hope in what I knew.
“She took th' attendant maiden by the arm,
“And left me fondly gazing, till no more
“I could the shade of that dear form explore;
“Then to my secret haunt I turn'd again,
“Fire in my heart, and fever in my brain;
“That face of her for ever in my view,
“Whom I was henceforth fated to pursue,
“To hope I knew not what, small hope in what I knew.
“O! my dear Richard, what a waste of time
“Gave I not thus to lunacy sublime;
“What days, months, years, (to useful purpose lost)
“Has not this dire infatuation cost?
“To this fair vision I, a bounded slave,
“Time, duty, credit, honour, comfort, gave;
“Gave all—and waited for the glorious things
“That hope expects, but fortune never brings.
“Gave I not thus to lunacy sublime;
“What days, months, years, (to useful purpose lost)
“Has not this dire infatuation cost?
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“Time, duty, credit, honour, comfort, gave;
“Gave all—and waited for the glorious things
“That hope expects, but fortune never brings.
“Yet let me own, while I my fault reprove,
“There is one blessing still affix'd to love—
“To love like mine—for, as my soul it drew
“From Reason's path, it shunn'd Dishonour's too;
“It made my taste refined, my feelings nice,
“And placed an angel in the way of vice.
“There is one blessing still affix'd to love—
“To love like mine—for, as my soul it drew
“From Reason's path, it shunn'd Dishonour's too;
“It made my taste refined, my feelings nice,
“And placed an angel in the way of vice.
“This angel now, whom I no longer view'd,
“Far from this scene her destined way pursued;
“No more that mansion held a form so fair,
“She was away, and beauty was not there.
“Far from this scene her destined way pursued;
“No more that mansion held a form so fair,
“She was away, and beauty was not there.
“Such, my dear Richard, was my early flame,
“My youthful frenzy—give it either name;
“It was the withering bane of many a year,
“That pass'd away in causeless hope and fear;
“The hopes, the fears, that every dream could kill,
“Or make alive, and lead my passive will.
“My youthful frenzy—give it either name;
“It was the withering bane of many a year,
“That pass'd away in causeless hope and fear;
“The hopes, the fears, that every dream could kill,
“Or make alive, and lead my passive will.
“At length I learnt one name my angel bore,
“And Rosabella I must now adore;
“Yet knew but this—and not the favour'd place
“That held the angel or th' angelic race;
“Nor where, admired, the sweet enchantress dwelt,
“But I had lost her—that, indeed, I felt.
“And Rosabella I must now adore;
“Yet knew but this—and not the favour'd place
“That held the angel or th' angelic race;
“Nor where, admired, the sweet enchantress dwelt,
“But I had lost her—that, indeed, I felt.
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“Yet, would I say, she will at length be mine!
“Did ever hero hope or love resign?
“Though men oppose, and fortune bids despair,
“She will in time her mischief well repair,
“And I, at last, shall wed this fairest of the fair!
“Did ever hero hope or love resign?
“Though men oppose, and fortune bids despair,
“She will in time her mischief well repair,
“And I, at last, shall wed this fairest of the fair!
“My thrifty uncle, now return'd, began
“To stir within me what remain'd of man;
“My powerful frenzy painted to the life,
“And ask'd me if I took a dream to wife?
“Debate ensued, and though not well content,
“Upon a visit to his house I went:
“He, the most saving of mankind, had still
“Some kindred feeling; he would guide my will,
“And teach me wisdom—so affection wrought,
“That he to save me from destruction sought:
“To him destruction, the most awful curse
“Of Misery's children, was—an empty purse!
“He his own books approved, and thought the pen
“A useful instrument for trading men;
“But judged a quill was never to be slit
“Except to make it for a merchant fit:
“He, when inform'd how men of taste could write,
“Look'd on his ledger with supreme delight;
“Then would he laugh, and, with insulting joy,
“Tell me aloud, ‘that's poetry, my boy;
“‘These are your golden numbers—them repeat,
“‘The more you have, the more you'll find them sweet—
“‘Their numbers move all hearts—no matter for their feet.
“‘Sir, when a man composes in this style,
“‘What is to him a critic's frown or smile?
“‘What is the puppy's censure or applause
“‘To the good man who on his banker draws,
“‘Buys an estate, and writes upon the grounds,
“‘‘Pay to A. B. a hundred thousand pounds?”
“‘Thus, my dear nephew, thus your talents prove;
“‘Leave verse to poets, and the poor to love.’
“To stir within me what remain'd of man;
“My powerful frenzy painted to the life,
“And ask'd me if I took a dream to wife?
“Debate ensued, and though not well content,
“Upon a visit to his house I went:
“He, the most saving of mankind, had still
“Some kindred feeling; he would guide my will,
“And teach me wisdom—so affection wrought,
“That he to save me from destruction sought:
“To him destruction, the most awful curse
“Of Misery's children, was—an empty purse!
“He his own books approved, and thought the pen
“A useful instrument for trading men;
“But judged a quill was never to be slit
“Except to make it for a merchant fit:
“He, when inform'd how men of taste could write,
“Look'd on his ledger with supreme delight;
“Then would he laugh, and, with insulting joy,
“Tell me aloud, ‘that's poetry, my boy;
“‘These are your golden numbers—them repeat,
“‘The more you have, the more you'll find them sweet—
“‘Their numbers move all hearts—no matter for their feet.
“‘Sir, when a man composes in this style,
“‘What is to him a critic's frown or smile?
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“‘To the good man who on his banker draws,
“‘Buys an estate, and writes upon the grounds,
“‘‘Pay to A. B. a hundred thousand pounds?”
“‘Thus, my dear nephew, thus your talents prove;
“‘Leave verse to poets, and the poor to love.’
“Some months I suffer'd thus, compell'd to sit
“And hear a wealthy kinsman aim at wit;
“Yet there was something in his nature good,
“And he had feeling for the tie of blood:
“So while I languish'd for my absent maid
“I some observance to my uncle paid.”
“And hear a wealthy kinsman aim at wit;
“Yet there was something in his nature good,
“And he had feeling for the tie of blood:
“So while I languish'd for my absent maid
“I some observance to my uncle paid.”
“Had you inquired?” said Richard.
“I had placed
“Inquirers round, but nothing could be traced;
“Of every reasoning creature at this Hall,
“And tenant near it, I applied to all—
“Tell me if she—and I described her well—
“Dwelt long a guest, or where retired to dwell?
“But no! such lady they remember'd not—
“They saw that face, strange beings! and forgot.
“Inquirers round, but nothing could be traced;
“Of every reasoning creature at this Hall,
“And tenant near it, I applied to all—
“Tell me if she—and I described her well—
“Dwelt long a guest, or where retired to dwell?
“But no! such lady they remember'd not—
“They saw that face, strange beings! and forgot.
“Nor was inquiry all; but I pursued
“My soul's first wish, with hope's vast strength endued:
“I cross'd the seas, I went where strangers go,
“And gazed on crowds as one who dreads a foe,
“Or seeks a friend; and, when I sought in vain,
“Fled to fresh crowds, and hoped, and gazed again.”
“My soul's first wish, with hope's vast strength endued:
“I cross'd the seas, I went where strangers go,
“And gazed on crowds as one who dreads a foe,
“Or seeks a friend; and, when I sought in vain,
“Fled to fresh crowds, and hoped, and gazed again.”
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“It was a strong possession”—“Strong and strange,
“I felt the evil, yet desired not change:
“Years now had flown, nor was the passion cured,
“But hope had life, and so was life endured;
“The mind's disease, with all its strength, stole on,
“Till youth, and health, and all but love were gone.
“And there were seasons, Richard, horrid hours
“Of mental suffering! they o'erthrew my powers,
“And made my mind unsteady—I have still,
“At times, a feeling of that nameless ill,
“That is not madness—I could always tell
“My mind was wandering—knew it was not well;
“Felt all my loss of time, the shameful waste
“Of talents perish'd, and of parts disgraced:
“But though my mind was sane, there was a void—
“My understanding seem'd in part destroy'd;
“I thought I was not of my species one,
“But unconnected! injured and undone.
“I felt the evil, yet desired not change:
“Years now had flown, nor was the passion cured,
“But hope had life, and so was life endured;
“The mind's disease, with all its strength, stole on,
“Till youth, and health, and all but love were gone.
“And there were seasons, Richard, horrid hours
“Of mental suffering! they o'erthrew my powers,
“And made my mind unsteady—I have still,
“At times, a feeling of that nameless ill,
“That is not madness—I could always tell
“My mind was wandering—knew it was not well;
“Felt all my loss of time, the shameful waste
“Of talents perish'd, and of parts disgraced:
“But though my mind was sane, there was a void—
“My understanding seem'd in part destroy'd;
“I thought I was not of my species one,
“But unconnected! injured and undone.
“While in this state, once more my uncle pray'd
“That I would hear—I heard, and I obey'd;
“For I was thankful that a being broke
“On this my sadness, or an interest took
“In my poor life—but, at his mansion, rest
“Came with its halcyon stillness to my breast:
“Slowly there enter'd in my mind concern
“For things about me—I would something learn,
“And to my uncle listen; who, with joy,
“Found that ev'n yet I could my powers employ
“Till I could feel new hopes my mind possess,
“Of ease at least, if not of happiness:
“Till, not contented, not in discontent,
“As my good uncle counsell'd, on I went;
“Conscious of youth's great error—nay, the crime
“Of manhood now—a dreary waste of time!
“Conscious of that account which I must give
“How life had passed with me—I strove to live.
“That I would hear—I heard, and I obey'd;
“For I was thankful that a being broke
“On this my sadness, or an interest took
“In my poor life—but, at his mansion, rest
“Came with its halcyon stillness to my breast:
“Slowly there enter'd in my mind concern
“For things about me—I would something learn,
“And to my uncle listen; who, with joy,
“Found that ev'n yet I could my powers employ
“Till I could feel new hopes my mind possess,
“Of ease at least, if not of happiness:
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“As my good uncle counsell'd, on I went;
“Conscious of youth's great error—nay, the crime
“Of manhood now—a dreary waste of time!
“Conscious of that account which I must give
“How life had passed with me—I strove to live.
“Had I, like others, my first hope attain'd,
“I must, at least, a certainty have gain'd;
“Had I, like others, lost the hope of youth,
“Another hope had promised greater truth;
“But I in baseless hopes, and groundless views,
“Was fated time, and peace, and health to lose,
“Impell'd to seek, for ever doom'd to fail,
“Is—I distress you—let me end my tale.
“I must, at least, a certainty have gain'd;
“Had I, like others, lost the hope of youth,
“Another hope had promised greater truth;
“But I in baseless hopes, and groundless views,
“Was fated time, and peace, and health to lose,
“Impell'd to seek, for ever doom'd to fail,
“Is—I distress you—let me end my tale.
“Something one day occurr'd about a bill
“That was not drawn with true mercantile skill,
“And I was ask'd and authorised to go
“To seek the firm of Clutterbuck and Co.;
“Their hour was past—but when I urged the case,
“There was a youth who named a second place;
“Where, on occasions of important kind,
“I might the man of occupation find
“In his retirement, where he found repose
“From the vexations that in business rose.
“I found, though not with ease, this private seat
“Of soothing quiet, Wisdom's still retreat.
“That was not drawn with true mercantile skill,
“And I was ask'd and authorised to go
“To seek the firm of Clutterbuck and Co.;
“Their hour was past—but when I urged the case,
“There was a youth who named a second place;
“Where, on occasions of important kind,
“I might the man of occupation find
“In his retirement, where he found repose
“From the vexations that in business rose.
“I found, though not with ease, this private seat
“Of soothing quiet, Wisdom's still retreat.
“The house was good, but not so pure and clean
“As I had houses of retirement seen;
“Yet men, I knew, of meditation deep,
“Love not their maidens should their studies sweep;
“His room I saw, and must acknowledge, there
“Were not the signs of cleanliness or care:
“A female servant, void of female grace,
“Loose in attire, proceeded to the place;
“She stared intrusive on my slender frame,
“And boldly ask'd my business and my name.
“As I had houses of retirement seen;
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“Love not their maidens should their studies sweep;
“His room I saw, and must acknowledge, there
“Were not the signs of cleanliness or care:
“A female servant, void of female grace,
“Loose in attire, proceeded to the place;
“She stared intrusive on my slender frame,
“And boldly ask'd my business and my name.
“I gave them both; and, left to be amused,
“Well as I might, the parlour I perused.
“The shutters half unclosed, the curtains fell
“Half down, and rested on the window-sill,
“And thus, confusedly, made the room half visible:
“Late as it was, the little parlour bore
“Some tell-tale tokens of the night before;
“There were strange sights and scents about the room,
“Of food high season'd, and of strong perfume;
“Two unmatch'd sofas ample rents display'd,
“Carpet and curtains were alike decay'd;
“A large old mirror, with once-gilded frame,
“Reflected prints that I forbear to name,
“Such as a youth might purchase—but, in truth,
“Not a sedate or sober-minded youth:
“The cinders yet were sleeping in the grate,
“Warm from the fire, continued large and late,
“As left by careless folk, in their neglected state;
“The chairs in haste seem'd whirl'd about the room,
“As when the sons of riot hurry home,
“And leave the troubled place to solitude and gloom.
“Well as I might, the parlour I perused.
“The shutters half unclosed, the curtains fell
“Half down, and rested on the window-sill,
“And thus, confusedly, made the room half visible:
“Late as it was, the little parlour bore
“Some tell-tale tokens of the night before;
“There were strange sights and scents about the room,
“Of food high season'd, and of strong perfume;
“Two unmatch'd sofas ample rents display'd,
“Carpet and curtains were alike decay'd;
“A large old mirror, with once-gilded frame,
“Reflected prints that I forbear to name,
“Such as a youth might purchase—but, in truth,
“Not a sedate or sober-minded youth:
“The cinders yet were sleeping in the grate,
“Warm from the fire, continued large and late,
“As left by careless folk, in their neglected state;
“The chairs in haste seem'd whirl'd about the room,
“As when the sons of riot hurry home,
“And leave the troubled place to solitude and gloom.
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“All this, for I had ample time, I saw,
“And prudence question'd—should we not withdraw?
“For he who makes me thus on business wait,
“Is not for business in a proper state;
“But man there was not, was not he for whom
“To this convenient lodging I was come;
“No! but a lady's voice was heard to call
“On my attention—and she had it all;
“For, lo! she enters, speaking ere in sight,
“‘Monsieur! I shall not want the chair to-night—
“‘Where shall I see him?’—This dear hour atones
“For all affection's hopeless sighs and groans—
“Then turning to me—‘Art thou come at last?
“‘A thousand welcomes—be forgot the past;
“‘Forgotten all the grief that absence brings,
“‘Fear that torments, and jealousy that stings—
“‘All that is cold, injurious, and unkind,
“‘Be it for ever banish'd from the mind;
“‘And in that mind, and in that heart be now
“‘The soft endearment, and the binding vow.’
“And prudence question'd—should we not withdraw?
“For he who makes me thus on business wait,
“Is not for business in a proper state;
“But man there was not, was not he for whom
“To this convenient lodging I was come;
“No! but a lady's voice was heard to call
“On my attention—and she had it all;
“For, lo! she enters, speaking ere in sight,
“‘Monsieur! I shall not want the chair to-night—
“‘Where shall I see him?’—This dear hour atones
“For all affection's hopeless sighs and groans—
“Then turning to me—‘Art thou come at last?
“‘A thousand welcomes—be forgot the past;
“‘Forgotten all the grief that absence brings,
“‘Fear that torments, and jealousy that stings—
“‘All that is cold, injurious, and unkind,
“‘Be it for ever banish'd from the mind;
“‘And in that mind, and in that heart be now
“‘The soft endearment, and the binding vow.’
“She spoke—and o'er the practised features threw
“The looks that reason charm, and strength subdue
“The looks that reason charm, and strength subdue
“Will you not ask, how I beheld that face,
“Or read that mind, and read it in that place?
“I have tried, Richard, oft-times, and in vain,
“To trace my thoughts, and to review their train—
“If train there were—that meadow, grove, and stile,
“The fright, th' escape, her sweetness and her smile;
“Years since elapsed, and hope, from year to year,
“To find her free—and then to find her here!
“Or read that mind, and read it in that place?
“I have tried, Richard, oft-times, and in vain,
“To trace my thoughts, and to review their train—
“If train there were—that meadow, grove, and stile,
“The fright, th' escape, her sweetness and her smile;
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“To find her free—and then to find her here!
“But is it she?—O! yes; the rose is dead,
‘All beauty, fragrance, freshness, glory fled:
“But yet 't is she—the same and not the same—
“Who to my bower a heavenly being came;
“Who waked my soul's first thought of real bliss,
“Whom long I sought, and now I find her—this.
‘All beauty, fragrance, freshness, glory fled:
“But yet 't is she—the same and not the same—
“Who to my bower a heavenly being came;
“Who waked my soul's first thought of real bliss,
“Whom long I sought, and now I find her—this.
“I cannot paint her—something I had seen
“So pale and slim, and tawdry and unclean;
“With haggard looks, of vice and woe the prey,
“Laughing in languor, miserably gay:
“Her face, where face appear'd, was amply spread,
“By art's coarse pencil, with ill-chosen red,
“The flower's fictitious bloom, the blushing of the dead:
“But still the features were the same, and strange
“My view of both—the sameness and the change,
“That fixed me gazing and my eye enchain'd,
“Although so little of herself remain'd;
“It is the creature whom I loved, and yet
“Is far unlike her—Would I could forget
“The angel or her fall; the once adored
“Or now despised! the worshipp'd or deplored!
“So pale and slim, and tawdry and unclean;
“With haggard looks, of vice and woe the prey,
“Laughing in languor, miserably gay:
“Her face, where face appear'd, was amply spread,
“By art's coarse pencil, with ill-chosen red,
“The flower's fictitious bloom, the blushing of the dead:
“But still the features were the same, and strange
“My view of both—the sameness and the change,
“That fixed me gazing and my eye enchain'd,
“Although so little of herself remain'd;
“It is the creature whom I loved, and yet
“Is far unlike her—Would I could forget
“The angel or her fall; the once adored
“Or now despised! the worshipp'd or deplored!
“‘O! Rosabella!’ I prepared to say,
“‘Whom I have loved,’ but prudence whisper'd nay.
“And folly grew ashamed—discretion had her day.
“She gave her hand; which, as I lightly press'd,
“The cold but ardent grasp my soul oppress'd;
“The ruin'd girl disturb'd me, and my eyes
“Look'd, I conceive, both sorrow and surprise.
“I spoke my business—‘He,’ she answer'd, ‘comes
“‘And lodges here—he has the backward rooms—
“‘He now is absent, and I chanced to hear
“‘Will not before to-morrow eve appear,
“‘And may be longer absent—O! the night
“‘When you preserved me in that horrid fright;
“‘A thousand, thousand times, asleep, awake,
“‘I thought of what you ventured for my sake—
“‘Now have you thought—yet tell me so—deceive
“‘Your Rosabella, willing to believe?
“‘O! there is something in love's first-born pain
“‘Sweeter than bliss—it never comes again—
“‘But has your heart been faithful?’—Here my pride
“To anger rising, her attempt defied—
“‘My faith must childish in your sight appear,
“‘Who have been faithful—to how many, dear?’
“‘Whom I have loved,’ but prudence whisper'd nay.
“And folly grew ashamed—discretion had her day.
“She gave her hand; which, as I lightly press'd,
“The cold but ardent grasp my soul oppress'd;
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“Look'd, I conceive, both sorrow and surprise.
“I spoke my business—‘He,’ she answer'd, ‘comes
“‘And lodges here—he has the backward rooms—
“‘He now is absent, and I chanced to hear
“‘Will not before to-morrow eve appear,
“‘And may be longer absent—O! the night
“‘When you preserved me in that horrid fright;
“‘A thousand, thousand times, asleep, awake,
“‘I thought of what you ventured for my sake—
“‘Now have you thought—yet tell me so—deceive
“‘Your Rosabella, willing to believe?
“‘O! there is something in love's first-born pain
“‘Sweeter than bliss—it never comes again—
“‘But has your heart been faithful?’—Here my pride
“To anger rising, her attempt defied—
“‘My faith must childish in your sight appear,
“‘Who have been faithful—to how many, dear?’
“If words had fail'd, a look explain'd their style,
“She could not blush assent, but she could smile:
“Good heaven! I thought, have I rejected fame,
“Credit, and wealth, for one who smiles at shame?
“She could not blush assent, but she could smile:
“Good heaven! I thought, have I rejected fame,
“Credit, and wealth, for one who smiles at shame?
“She saw me thoughtful—saw it, as I guess'd,
“With some concern, though nothing she express'd.
“‘Come, my dear friend, discard that look of care,
“‘All things were made to be, as all things are;
“‘All to seek pleasure as the end design'd,
“‘The only good in matter or in mind;
“‘So was I taught by one, who gave me all
“‘That my experienced heart can wisdom call.
“With some concern, though nothing she express'd.
“‘Come, my dear friend, discard that look of care,
“‘All things were made to be, as all things are;
“‘All to seek pleasure as the end design'd,
“‘The only good in matter or in mind;
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“‘That my experienced heart can wisdom call.
“‘I saw thee young, love's soft obedient slave,
“‘And many a sigh to my young lover gave;
“‘And I had, spite of cowardice or cow,
“‘Return'd thy passion, and exchanged my vow;
“‘But while I thought to bait the amorous hook,
“‘One set for me my eager fancy took;
“‘There was a crafty eye, that far could see,
“‘And through my failings fascinated me:
“‘Mine was a childish wish, to please my boy;
“‘His a design, his wishes to enjoy.
“‘O! we have both about the world been tost,
“‘Thy gain I know not—I, they cry, am lost;
“‘So let the wise ones talk; they talk in vain,
“‘And are mistaken both in loss and gain;
“‘'Tis gain to get whatever life affords,
“‘'Tis loss to spend our time in empty words.
“‘And many a sigh to my young lover gave;
“‘And I had, spite of cowardice or cow,
“‘Return'd thy passion, and exchanged my vow;
“‘But while I thought to bait the amorous hook,
“‘One set for me my eager fancy took;
“‘There was a crafty eye, that far could see,
“‘And through my failings fascinated me:
“‘Mine was a childish wish, to please my boy;
“‘His a design, his wishes to enjoy.
“‘O! we have both about the world been tost,
“‘Thy gain I know not—I, they cry, am lost;
“‘So let the wise ones talk; they talk in vain,
“‘And are mistaken both in loss and gain;
“‘'Tis gain to get whatever life affords,
“‘'Tis loss to spend our time in empty words.
“‘I was a girl, and thou a boy wert then,
“‘Nor aught of women knew, nor I of men;
“‘But I have traffick'd in the world, and thou,
“‘Doubtless, canst boast of thy experience now;
“‘Let us the knowledge we have gain'd produce,
“‘And kindly turn it to our common use.’
“‘Nor aught of women knew, nor I of men;
“‘But I have traffick'd in the world, and thou,
“‘Doubtless, canst boast of thy experience now;
“‘Let us the knowledge we have gain'd produce,
“‘And kindly turn it to our common use.’
“Thus spoke the siren in voluptuous style,
“While I stood gazing and perplex'd the while,
“Chain'd by that voice, confounded by that smile.
“And then she sang, and changed from grave to gay,
“Till all reproach and anger died away.
“While I stood gazing and perplex'd the while,
“Chain'd by that voice, confounded by that smile.
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“Till all reproach and anger died away.
“‘My Damon was the first to wake
“‘The gentle flame that cannot die;
“‘My Damon is the last to take
“‘The faithful bosom's softest sigh:
“‘The life between is nothing worth,
“‘O! cast it from thy thought away;
“‘Think of the day that gave it birth,
“‘And this its sweet returning day.
“‘The gentle flame that cannot die;
“‘My Damon is the last to take
“‘The faithful bosom's softest sigh:
“‘The life between is nothing worth,
“‘O! cast it from thy thought away;
“‘Think of the day that gave it birth,
“‘And this its sweet returning day.
“‘Buried be all that has been done,
“‘Or say that naught is done amiss;
“‘For who the dangerous path can shun
“‘In such bewildering world as this?
“‘But love can every fault forgive,
“‘Or with a tender look reprove;
“‘And now let naught in memory live,
“‘But that we meet, and that we love.’
“‘Or say that naught is done amiss;
“‘For who the dangerous path can shun
“‘In such bewildering world as this?
“‘But love can every fault forgive,
“‘Or with a tender look reprove;
“‘And now let naught in memory live,
“‘But that we meet, and that we love.’
“And then she moved my pity; for she wept,
“And told her miseries till resentment slept;
“For when she saw she could not reason blind,
“She pour'd her heart's whole sorrows on my mind,
“With features graven on my soul, with sighs
“Seen but not heard, with soft imploring eyes,
“And voice that needed not, but had the aid
“Of powerful words to soften and persuade.
“And told her miseries till resentment slept;
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“She pour'd her heart's whole sorrows on my mind,
“With features graven on my soul, with sighs
“Seen but not heard, with soft imploring eyes,
“And voice that needed not, but had the aid
“Of powerful words to soften and persuade.
“‘O! I repent me of the past; and sure
“‘Grief and repentance make the bosom pure;
“‘Yet meet thee not with clean and single heart,
“‘As on the day we met!—and but to part,
“‘Ere I had drank the cup that to my lip
“‘Was held, and press'd till I was forced to sip:
“‘I drank indeed, but never ceased to hate,—
“‘It poison'd, but could not intoxicate.
“‘T' excuse my fall I plead not love's excess,
“‘But a weak orphan's need and loneliness.
“‘I had no parent upon earth—no door
“‘Was oped to me—young, innocent, and poor,
“‘Vain, tender, and resentful—and my friend
“‘Jealous of one who must on her depend,
“‘Making life misery—You could witness then
“‘That I was precious in the eyes of men;
“‘So, made by them a goddess, and denied
“‘Respect and notice by the women's pride;
“‘Here scorn'd, there worshipp'd—will it strange appear,
“‘Allured and driven, that I settled here?
“‘Yet loved it not; and never have I pass'd
“‘One day, and wish'd another like the last.
“‘Grief and repentance make the bosom pure;
“‘Yet meet thee not with clean and single heart,
“‘As on the day we met!—and but to part,
“‘Ere I had drank the cup that to my lip
“‘Was held, and press'd till I was forced to sip:
“‘I drank indeed, but never ceased to hate,—
“‘It poison'd, but could not intoxicate.
“‘T' excuse my fall I plead not love's excess,
“‘But a weak orphan's need and loneliness.
“‘I had no parent upon earth—no door
“‘Was oped to me—young, innocent, and poor,
“‘Vain, tender, and resentful—and my friend
“‘Jealous of one who must on her depend,
“‘Making life misery—You could witness then
“‘That I was precious in the eyes of men;
“‘So, made by them a goddess, and denied
“‘Respect and notice by the women's pride;
“‘Here scorn'd, there worshipp'd—will it strange appear,
“‘Allured and driven, that I settled here?
“‘Yet loved it not; and never have I pass'd
“‘One day, and wish'd another like the last.
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“‘There was a fallen angel, I have read,
“‘For whom their tears the sister-angels shed,
“‘Because, although she ventured to rebel,
“‘She was not minded like a child of hell.—
“‘Such is my lot! and will it not be given
“‘To grief like mine, that I may think of heaven?
“‘Behold how there the glorious creatures shine,
“‘And all my soul to grief and hope resign?’
“‘For whom their tears the sister-angels shed,
“‘Because, although she ventured to rebel,
“‘She was not minded like a child of hell.—
“‘Such is my lot! and will it not be given
“‘To grief like mine, that I may think of heaven?
“‘Behold how there the glorious creatures shine,
“‘And all my soul to grief and hope resign?’
“I wonder'd, doubting—and is this a fact,
“I thought; or part thou art disposed to act?
“I thought; or part thou art disposed to act?
“‘Is it not written, He, who came to save
“‘Sinners, the sins of deepest dye forgave?
“‘That he his mercy to the sufferers dealt,
“‘And pardon'd error when the ill was felt?
“‘Yes! I would hope, there is an eye that reads
“‘What is within, and sees the heart that bleeds—
“‘But who on earth will one so lost deplore,
“‘And who will help that lost one to restore?
“‘Who will on trust the sigh of grief receive;
“‘And—all things warring with belief—believe?’
“‘Sinners, the sins of deepest dye forgave?
“‘That he his mercy to the sufferers dealt,
“‘And pardon'd error when the ill was felt?
“‘Yes! I would hope, there is an eye that reads
“‘What is within, and sees the heart that bleeds—
“‘But who on earth will one so lost deplore,
“‘And who will help that lost one to restore?
“‘Who will on trust the sigh of grief receive;
“‘And—all things warring with belief—believe?’
“Soften'd, I said—‘Be mine the hand and heart,
“‘If with your world you will consent to part.’
“She would—she tried—Alas! she did not know
“How deeply rooted evil habits grow:
“She felt the truth upon her spirits press,
“But wanted ease, indulgence, show, excess,
“Voluptuous banquets, pleasures—not refined,
“But such as soothe to sleep th' opposing mind—
“She look'd for idle vice, the time to kill,
“And subtle, strong apologies for ill:
“And thus her yielding, unresisting soul
“Sank, and let sin confuse her and control:
“Pleasures that brought disgust yet brought relief,
“And minds she hated help'd to war with grief.”
“‘If with your world you will consent to part.’
“She would—she tried—Alas! she did not know
“How deeply rooted evil habits grow:
“She felt the truth upon her spirits press,
“But wanted ease, indulgence, show, excess,
“Voluptuous banquets, pleasures—not refined,
“But such as soothe to sleep th' opposing mind—
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“And subtle, strong apologies for ill:
“And thus her yielding, unresisting soul
“Sank, and let sin confuse her and control:
“Pleasures that brought disgust yet brought relief,
“And minds she hated help'd to war with grief.”
“Thus then she perish'd?”—
“Nay—but thus she proved
“Slave to the vices that she never loved:
“But while she thus her better thoughts opposed,
“And woo'd the world, the world's deceptions closed:—
“I had long lost her; but I sought in vain
“To banish pity:—still she gave me pain,
“Still I desired to aid her—to direct,
“And wished the world, that won her, to reject:
“Nor wish'd in vain—there came, at length, request
“That I would see a wretch with grief opprest,
“By guilt affrighted—and I went to trace
“Once more the vice-worn features of that face,
“That sin-wreck'd being! and I saw her laid
“Where never worldly joy a visit paid:
“That world receding fast! the world to come
“Conceal'd in terror, ignorance, and gloom;
“Sins, sorrow, and neglect: with not a spark
“Of vital hope,—all horrible and dark—
“It frighten'd me!—I thought, and shall not I
“Thus feel? thus fear?—this danger can I fly?
“Do I so wisely live that I can calmly die?
“Slave to the vices that she never loved:
“But while she thus her better thoughts opposed,
“And woo'd the world, the world's deceptions closed:—
“I had long lost her; but I sought in vain
“To banish pity:—still she gave me pain,
“Still I desired to aid her—to direct,
“And wished the world, that won her, to reject:
“Nor wish'd in vain—there came, at length, request
“That I would see a wretch with grief opprest,
“By guilt affrighted—and I went to trace
“Once more the vice-worn features of that face,
“That sin-wreck'd being! and I saw her laid
“Where never worldly joy a visit paid:
“That world receding fast! the world to come
“Conceal'd in terror, ignorance, and gloom;
“Sins, sorrow, and neglect: with not a spark
“Of vital hope,—all horrible and dark—
“It frighten'd me!—I thought, and shall not I
“Thus feel? thus fear?—this danger can I fly?
“Do I so wisely live that I can calmly die?
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“The wants I saw I could supply with ease,
“But there were wants of other kind than these;
“Th' awakening thought, the hope-inspiring view—
“The doctrines awful, grand, alarming, true—
“Most painful to the soul, and yet most healing too:
“Still I could something offer, and could send
“For other aid—a more important friend,
“Whose duty call'd him, and his love no less,
“To help the grieving spirit in distress;
“To save in that sad hour the drooping prey,
“And from its victim drive despair away.
“But there were wants of other kind than these;
“Th' awakening thought, the hope-inspiring view—
“The doctrines awful, grand, alarming, true—
“Most painful to the soul, and yet most healing too:
“Still I could something offer, and could send
“For other aid—a more important friend,
“Whose duty call'd him, and his love no less,
“To help the grieving spirit in distress;
“To save in that sad hour the drooping prey,
“And from its victim drive despair away.
“All decent comfort round the sick were seen:
“The female helpers quiet, sober, clean;
“Her kind physician with a smile appear'd,
“And zealous love the pious friend endear'd:
“While I, with mix'd sensations, could inquire,
“Hast thou one wish, one unfulfill'd desire?
“Speak every thought, nor unindulged depart,
“If I can make thee happier than thou art.
“The female helpers quiet, sober, clean;
“Her kind physician with a smile appear'd,
“And zealous love the pious friend endear'd:
“While I, with mix'd sensations, could inquire,
“Hast thou one wish, one unfulfill'd desire?
“Speak every thought, nor unindulged depart,
“If I can make thee happier than thou art.
“Yes! there was yet a female friend, an old
“And grieving nurse! to whom it should be told—
“If I would tell—that she, her child, had fail'd,
“And turn'd from truth! yet truth at length prevail'd.
“And grieving nurse! to whom it should be told—
“If I would tell—that she, her child, had fail'd,
“And turn'd from truth! yet truth at length prevail'd.
“'Twas in that chamber, Richard, I began
“To think more deeply of the end of man:
“Was it to jostle all his fellows by,
“To run before them, and say, ‘Here am I,
“Fall down, and worship?’—Was it, life throughout,
“With circumspection keen to hunt about
“As spaniels for their game, where might be found
“Abundance more for coffers that abound?
“Or was it life's enjoyments to prefer,
“Like this poor girl, and then to die like her?
“No! He, who gave the faculties, design'd
“Another use for the immortal mind:
“There is a state in which it will appear
“With all the good and ill contracted here;
“With gain and loss, improvement and defect;
“And then, my soul! what hast thou to expect
“For talents laid aside, life's waste, and time's neglect?
“To think more deeply of the end of man:
“Was it to jostle all his fellows by,
“To run before them, and say, ‘Here am I,
“Fall down, and worship?’—Was it, life throughout,
“With circumspection keen to hunt about
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“Abundance more for coffers that abound?
“Or was it life's enjoyments to prefer,
“Like this poor girl, and then to die like her?
“No! He, who gave the faculties, design'd
“Another use for the immortal mind:
“There is a state in which it will appear
“With all the good and ill contracted here;
“With gain and loss, improvement and defect;
“And then, my soul! what hast thou to expect
“For talents laid aside, life's waste, and time's neglect?
“Still as I went came other change—the frame
“And features wasted, and yet slowly came
“The end; and so inaudible the breath,
“And still the breathing, we exclaim'd—'tis death!
“But death it was not: when, indeed, she died,
“I sat and his last gentle stroke espied:
“When—as it came—or did my fancy trace
“That lively, lovely flushing o'er the face?
“Bringing back all that my young heart impress'd!
“It came—and went!—She sigh'd, and was at rest!
“And features wasted, and yet slowly came
“The end; and so inaudible the breath,
“And still the breathing, we exclaim'd—'tis death!
“But death it was not: when, indeed, she died,
“I sat and his last gentle stroke espied:
“When—as it came—or did my fancy trace
“That lively, lovely flushing o'er the face?
“Bringing back all that my young heart impress'd!
“It came—and went!—She sigh'd, and was at rest!
“Adieu, I said, fair Frailty! dearly cost
“The love I bore thee!—time and treasure lost;
“And I have suffer'd many years in vain;
“Now let me something in my sorrows gain:
“Heaven would not all this woe for man intend
“If man's existence with his woe should end;
“Heaven would not pain, and grief, and anguish give,
“If man was not by discipline to live;
“And for that brighter, better world prepare,
“That souls with souls, when purified, shall share,
“Those stains all done away that must not enter there.
“The love I bore thee!—time and treasure lost;
“And I have suffer'd many years in vain;
“Now let me something in my sorrows gain:
“Heaven would not all this woe for man intend
“If man's existence with his woe should end;
“Heaven would not pain, and grief, and anguish give,
“If man was not by discipline to live;
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“That souls with souls, when purified, shall share,
“Those stains all done away that must not enter there.
“Home I return'd, with spirits in that state
“Of vacant woe, I strive not to relate,
“Nor how, deprived of all her hope and strength,
“My soul turn'd feebly to the world at length.
“I travell'd then till health again resumed
“Its former seat—I must not say re-bloom'd;
“And then I fill'd, not loth, that favourite place
“That has enrich'd some seniors of our race;
“Patient and dull I grew; my uncle's praise
“Was largely dealt me on my better days;
“A love of money—other love at rest—
“Came creeping on, and settled in my breast;
“The force of habit held me to the oar,
“Till I could relish what I scorn'd before:
“I now could talk and scheme with men of sense,
“Who deal for millions, and who sigh for pence;
“And grew so like them, that I heard with joy
“Old Blueskin said I was a pretty boy;
“For I possess'd the caution with the zeal,
“That all true lovers of their interest feel:
“Exalted praise! and to the creature due,
“Who loves that interest solely to pursue.
“Of vacant woe, I strive not to relate,
“Nor how, deprived of all her hope and strength,
“My soul turn'd feebly to the world at length.
“I travell'd then till health again resumed
“Its former seat—I must not say re-bloom'd;
“And then I fill'd, not loth, that favourite place
“That has enrich'd some seniors of our race;
“Patient and dull I grew; my uncle's praise
“Was largely dealt me on my better days;
“A love of money—other love at rest—
“Came creeping on, and settled in my breast;
“The force of habit held me to the oar,
“Till I could relish what I scorn'd before:
“I now could talk and scheme with men of sense,
“Who deal for millions, and who sigh for pence;
“And grew so like them, that I heard with joy
“Old Blueskin said I was a pretty boy;
“For I possess'd the caution with the zeal,
“That all true lovers of their interest feel:
“Exalted praise! and to the creature due,
“Who loves that interest solely to pursue.
“But I was sick, and sickness brought disgust;
“My peace I could not to my profits trust:
“Again some views of brighter kind appear'd,
“My heart was humbled, and my mind was clear'd;
“I felt those helps that souls diseased restore,
“And that cold frenzy, Avarice, raged no more.
“From dreams of boundless wealth I then arose;
“This place, the scene of infant bliss, I chose,
“And here I find relief, and here I seek repose.
“My peace I could not to my profits trust:
“Again some views of brighter kind appear'd,
“My heart was humbled, and my mind was clear'd;
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“And that cold frenzy, Avarice, raged no more.
“From dreams of boundless wealth I then arose;
“This place, the scene of infant bliss, I chose,
“And here I find relief, and here I seek repose.
“Yet much is lost, and not yet much is found,
“But what remains, I would believe, is sound;
“That first wild passion, that last mean desire,
“Are felt no more; but holier hopes require
“A mind prepared and steady—my reform
“Has fears like his, who, suffering in a storm,
“Is on a rich but unknown country cast,
“The future fearing, while he feels the past;
“But whose more cheerful mind, with hope imbued,
“Sees through receding clouds the rising good.”
“But what remains, I would believe, is sound;
“That first wild passion, that last mean desire,
“Are felt no more; but holier hopes require
“A mind prepared and steady—my reform
“Has fears like his, who, suffering in a storm,
“Is on a rich but unknown country cast,
“The future fearing, while he feels the past;
“But whose more cheerful mind, with hope imbued,
“Sees through receding clouds the rising good.”
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BOOK VIII. THE SISTERS.
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Morning Walk and Conversation—Visit at a cottage—Characters of the Sisters—Lucy and Jane—Their Lovers— Their Friend the Banker and his Lady—Their Intimacy— Its Consequence—Different Conduct of the Lovers—The Effect upon the Sisters—Their present State—The Influence of their Fortune upon the Minds of either.
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The morning shone in cloudless beauty bright;
Richard his letters read with much delight;
George from his pillow rose in happy tone,
His bosom's lord sat lightly on his throne:
They read the morning news—they saw the sky
Inviting call'd them, and the earth was dry.
Richard his letters read with much delight;
George from his pillow rose in happy tone,
His bosom's lord sat lightly on his throne:
They read the morning news—they saw the sky
Inviting call'd them, and the earth was dry.
“The day invites us, Brother,” said the Squire;
“Come, and I'll show thee something to admire:
“We still may beauty in our prospects trace;
“If not, we have them in both mind and face.
“Come, and I'll show thee something to admire:
“We still may beauty in our prospects trace;
“If not, we have them in both mind and face.
“'Tis but two miles—to let such women live
“Unseen of him, what reason can I give?
“Why should not Richard to the girls be known?
“Would I have all their friendship for my own?
“Unseen of him, what reason can I give?
“Why should not Richard to the girls be known?
“Would I have all their friendship for my own?
“Brother, there dwell, yon northern hill below,
“Two favourite maidens, whom 'tis good to know
“Young, but experienced; dwellers in a cot,
“Where they sustain and dignify their lot,
“The best good girls in all our world below—
“O! you must know them—Come! and you shall know.
“Two favourite maidens, whom 'tis good to know
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“Where they sustain and dignify their lot,
“The best good girls in all our world below—
“O! you must know them—Come! and you shall know.
“But, lo! the morning wastes—here, Jacob, stir—
“If Phœbe comes, do you attend to her;
“And let not Mary get a chattering press
“Of idle girls to hear of her distress:
“Ask her to wait till my return—and hide
“From her meek mind your plenty and your pride;
“Nor vex a creature, humble, sad, and still,
“By your coarse bounty, and your rude good-will.”
“If Phœbe comes, do you attend to her;
“And let not Mary get a chattering press
“Of idle girls to hear of her distress:
“Ask her to wait till my return—and hide
“From her meek mind your plenty and your pride;
“Nor vex a creature, humble, sad, and still,
“By your coarse bounty, and your rude good-will.”
This said, the Brothers hasten'd on their way,
With all the foretaste of a pleasant day.
The morning purpose in the mind had fix'd
The leading thought, and that with others mix'd.
With all the foretaste of a pleasant day.
The morning purpose in the mind had fix'd
The leading thought, and that with others mix'd.
“How well it is,” said George, “when we possess
“The strength that bears us up in our distress;
“And need not the resources of our pride,
“Our fall from greatness and our wants to hide;
“But have the spirit and the wish to show,
“We know our wants as well as others know.
“'Tis true, the rapid turns of fortune's wheel
“Make even the virtuous and the humble feel:
“They for a time must suffer, and but few
“Can bear their sorrows and our pity too.
“The strength that bears us up in our distress;
“And need not the resources of our pride,
“Our fall from greatness and our wants to hide;
“But have the spirit and the wish to show,
“We know our wants as well as others know.
“'Tis true, the rapid turns of fortune's wheel
“Make even the virtuous and the humble feel:
“They for a time must suffer, and but few
“Can bear their sorrows and our pity too.
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“Hence all these small expedients, day by day,
“Are used to hide the evils they betray:
“When, if our pity chances to be seen,
“The wounded pride retorts, with anger keen,
“And man's insulted grief takes refuge in his spleen.
“Are used to hide the evils they betray:
“When, if our pity chances to be seen,
“The wounded pride retorts, with anger keen,
“And man's insulted grief takes refuge in his spleen.
“When Timon's board contains a single dish,
“Timon talks much of market-men and fish,
“Forgetful servants, and th' infernal cook,
“Who always spoil'd whate'er she undertook.
“Timon talks much of market-men and fish,
“Forgetful servants, and th' infernal cook,
“Who always spoil'd whate'er she undertook.
“But say, it tries us from our height to fall,
“Yet is not life itself a trial all?
“And not a virtue in the bosom lives,
“That gives such ready pay as patience gives;
“That pure submission to the ruling mind,
“Fix'd, but not forced; obedient, but not blind;
“The will of heaven to make her own she tries,
“Or makes her own to heaven a sacrifice.
“Yet is not life itself a trial all?
“And not a virtue in the bosom lives,
“That gives such ready pay as patience gives;
“That pure submission to the ruling mind,
“Fix'd, but not forced; obedient, but not blind;
“The will of heaven to make her own she tries,
“Or makes her own to heaven a sacrifice.
“And is there aught on earth so rich or rare,
“Whose pleasures may with virtue's pains compare?
“This fruit of patience, this the pure delight,
“That 'tis a trial in her Judge's sight;
“Her part still striving duty to sustain,
“Not spurning pleasure, not defying pain;
“Never in triumph till her race be won,
“And never fainting till her work be done.”
“Whose pleasures may with virtue's pains compare?
“This fruit of patience, this the pure delight,
“That 'tis a trial in her Judge's sight;
“Her part still striving duty to sustain,
“Not spurning pleasure, not defying pain;
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“And never fainting till her work be done.”
With thoughts like these they reach'd the village brook,
And saw a lady sitting with her book;
And so engaged she heard not, till the men
Were at her side, nor was she frighten'd then;
But to her friend, the Squire, his smile return'd,
Through which the latent sadness he discern'd.
The stranger-brother at the cottage door
Was now admitted, and was strange no more:
Then of an absent sister he was told,
Whom they were not at present to behold;
Something was said of nerves, and that disease,
Whose varying powers on mind and body seize,
Enfeebling both!—Here chose they to remain
One hour in peace, and then return'd again.
“I know not why,” said Richard, “but I feel
“The warmest pity on my bosom steal
“For that dear maid! How well her looks express
“For this world's good a cherish'd hopelessness!
“A resignation that is so entire,
“It feels not now the stirrings of desire;
“What now to her is all the world esteems?
“She is awake, and cares not for its dreams;
“But moves while yet on earth, as one above
“Its hopes and fears—its loathing and its love.
And saw a lady sitting with her book;
And so engaged she heard not, till the men
Were at her side, nor was she frighten'd then;
But to her friend, the Squire, his smile return'd,
Through which the latent sadness he discern'd.
The stranger-brother at the cottage door
Was now admitted, and was strange no more:
Then of an absent sister he was told,
Whom they were not at present to behold;
Something was said of nerves, and that disease,
Whose varying powers on mind and body seize,
Enfeebling both!—Here chose they to remain
One hour in peace, and then return'd again.
“I know not why,” said Richard, “but I feel
“The warmest pity on my bosom steal
“For that dear maid! How well her looks express
“For this world's good a cherish'd hopelessness!
“A resignation that is so entire,
“It feels not now the stirrings of desire;
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“She is awake, and cares not for its dreams;
“But moves while yet on earth, as one above
“Its hopes and fears—its loathing and its love.
“But shall I learn,” said he, “these sisters' fate?”—
And found his Brother willing to relate.
And found his Brother willing to relate.
“The girls were orphans early; yet I saw,
“When young, their father—his profession law;
“He left them but a competence, a store
“That made his daughters neither rich nor poor;
“Not rich, compared with some who dwelt around;
“Not poor, for want they neither fear'd nor found;
“Their guardian uncle was both kind and just,
“One whom a parent might in dying trust;
“Who, in their youth, the trusted store improved,
“And, when he ceased to guide them, fondly loved.
“These sister beauties were in fact the grace
“Of yon small town,—it was their native place;
“Like Saul's famed daughters were the lovely twain,
“As Micah Lucy, and as Merab Jane:
“For this was tall, with free commanding air,
“And that was mild, and delicate, and fair.
“When young, their father—his profession law;
“He left them but a competence, a store
“That made his daughters neither rich nor poor;
“Not rich, compared with some who dwelt around;
“Not poor, for want they neither fear'd nor found;
“Their guardian uncle was both kind and just,
“One whom a parent might in dying trust;
“Who, in their youth, the trusted store improved,
“And, when he ceased to guide them, fondly loved.
“These sister beauties were in fact the grace
“Of yon small town,—it was their native place;
“Like Saul's famed daughters were the lovely twain,
“As Micah Lucy, and as Merab Jane:
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“And that was mild, and delicate, and fair.
“Jane had an arch delusive smile, that charm'd
“And threaten'd too; alluring, it alarm'd;
“The smile of Lucy her approval told,
“Cheerful, not changing; neither kind nor cold.
“And threaten'd too; alluring, it alarm'd;
“The smile of Lucy her approval told,
“Cheerful, not changing; neither kind nor cold.
“When children, Lucy love alone possess'd,
“Jane was more punish'd and was more caress'd;
“If told the childish wishes, one bespoke
“A lamb, a bird, a garden, and a brook;
“The other wish'd a joy unknown, a rout
“Or crowded ball, and to be first led out.
“Jane was more punish'd and was more caress'd;
“If told the childish wishes, one bespoke
“A lamb, a bird, a garden, and a brook;
“The other wish'd a joy unknown, a rout
“Or crowded ball, and to be first led out.
“Lucy loved all that grew upon the ground,
“And loveliness in all things living found;
“The gilded fly, the fern upon the wall,
“Were nature's works, and admirable all;
“Pleased with indulgence of so cheap a kind,
“Its cheapness never discomposed her mind.
“And loveliness in all things living found;
“The gilded fly, the fern upon the wall,
“Were nature's works, and admirable all;
“Pleased with indulgence of so cheap a kind,
“Its cheapness never discomposed her mind.
“Jane had no liking for such things as these,
“Things pleasing her must her superiors please;
“The costly flower was precious in her eyes,
“That skill can vary, or that money buys;
“Her taste was good, but she was still afraid,
“Till fashion sanction'd the remarks she made.
“Things pleasing her must her superiors please;
“The costly flower was precious in her eyes,
“That skill can vary, or that money buys;
“Her taste was good, but she was still afraid,
“Till fashion sanction'd the remarks she made.
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“The Sisters read, and Jane with some delight,
“The satires keen that fear or rage excite,
“That men in power attack, and ladies high,
“And give broad hints that we may know them by.
“She was amused when sent to haunted rooms,
“Or some dark passage where the spirit comes
“Of one once murder'd! then she laughing read,
“And felt at once the folly and the dread:
“As rustic girls to crafty gipsies fly,
“And trust the liar though they fear the lie,
“Or as a patient, urged by grievous pains,
“Will fee the daring quack whom he disdains,
“So Jane was pleased to see the beckoning hand,
“And trust the magic of the Ratcliffe-wand.
“The satires keen that fear or rage excite,
“That men in power attack, and ladies high,
“And give broad hints that we may know them by.
“She was amused when sent to haunted rooms,
“Or some dark passage where the spirit comes
“Of one once murder'd! then she laughing read,
“And felt at once the folly and the dread:
“As rustic girls to crafty gipsies fly,
“And trust the liar though they fear the lie,
“Or as a patient, urged by grievous pains,
“Will fee the daring quack whom he disdains,
“So Jane was pleased to see the beckoning hand,
“And trust the magic of the Ratcliffe-wand.
“In her religion—for her mind, though light,
“Was not disposed our better views to slight—
“Her favourite authors were a solemn kind,
“Who fill with dark mysterious thoughts the mind;
“And who with such conceits her fancy plied,
“Became her friend, philosopher, and guide.
“Was not disposed our better views to slight—
“Her favourite authors were a solemn kind,
“Who fill with dark mysterious thoughts the mind;
“And who with such conceits her fancy plied,
“Became her friend, philosopher, and guide.
“She made the Progress of the Pilgrim one
“To build a thousand pleasant views upon;
“All that connects us with a world above
“She loved to fancy, and she long'd to prove;
“Well would the poet please her, who could lead
“Her fancy forth, yet keep untouch'd her creed.
“To build a thousand pleasant views upon;
“All that connects us with a world above
“She loved to fancy, and she long'd to prove;
“Well would the poet please her, who could lead
“Her fancy forth, yet keep untouch'd her creed.
“Led by an early custom, Lucy spied,
“When she awaked, the Bible at her side;
“That, ere she ventured on a world of care,
“She might for trials, joys or pains prepare,
“For every dart a shield, a guard for every snare.
“When she awaked, the Bible at her side;
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“She might for trials, joys or pains prepare,
“For every dart a shield, a guard for every snare.
“She read not much of high heroic deeds,
“Where man the measure of man's power exceeds;
“But gave to luckless love and fate severe
“Her tenderest pity and her softest tear.
“She mix'd not faith with fable, but she trod
“Right onward, cautious in the ways of God;
“Nor did she dare to launch on seas unknown,
“In search of truths by some adventurers shown,
“But her own compass used, and kept a course her own.
“Where man the measure of man's power exceeds;
“But gave to luckless love and fate severe
“Her tenderest pity and her softest tear.
“She mix'd not faith with fable, but she trod
“Right onward, cautious in the ways of God;
“Nor did she dare to launch on seas unknown,
“In search of truths by some adventurers shown,
“But her own compass used, and kept a course her own.
“The maidens both their loyalty declared,
“And in the glory of their country shared;
“But Jane that glory felt with proud delight,
“When England's foes were vanquish'd in the fight;
“While Lucy's feelings for the brave who bled
“Put all such glorious triumphs from her head.
“And in the glory of their country shared;
“But Jane that glory felt with proud delight,
“When England's foes were vanquish'd in the fight;
“While Lucy's feelings for the brave who bled
“Put all such glorious triumphs from her head.
“They both were frugal; Lucy from the fear
“Of wasting that which want esteems so dear,
“But finds so scarce; her sister from the pain
“That springs from want, when treated with disdain.
“Of wasting that which want esteems so dear,
“But finds so scarce; her sister from the pain
“That springs from want, when treated with disdain.
“Jane borrow'd maxims from a doubting school,
“And took for truth the test of ridicule;
“Lucy saw no such virtue in a jest,
“Truth was with her of ridicule a test.
“And took for truth the test of ridicule;
“Lucy saw no such virtue in a jest,
“Truth was with her of ridicule a test.
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“They loved each other with the warmth of youth,
“With ardour, candour, tenderness, and truth;
“And though their pleasures were not just the same,
“Yet both were pleased whenever one became;
“Nay, each would rather in the act rejoice,
“That was th' adopted, not the native choice.
“With ardour, candour, tenderness, and truth;
“And though their pleasures were not just the same,
“Yet both were pleased whenever one became;
“Nay, each would rather in the act rejoice,
“That was th' adopted, not the native choice.
“Each had a friend, and friends to minds so fond
“And good are soon united in the bond;
“Each had a lover; but it seem'd that fate
“Decreed that these should not approximate.
“And good are soon united in the bond;
“Each had a lover; but it seem'd that fate
“Decreed that these should not approximate.
“Now Lucy's lover was a prudent swain,
“And thought, in all things, what would be his gain;
“The younger sister first engaged his view,
“But with her beauty he her spirit knew;
“Her face he much admired, ‘But, put the case,’
“Said he, ‘I marry, what is then a face?
“‘At first it pleases to have drawn the lot;
“‘He then forgets it, but his wife does not;
“‘Jane too,’ he judged, ‘would be reserved and nice,
“‘And many lovers had enhanced her price.’
“And thought, in all things, what would be his gain;
“The younger sister first engaged his view,
“But with her beauty he her spirit knew;
“Her face he much admired, ‘But, put the case,’
“Said he, ‘I marry, what is then a face?
“‘At first it pleases to have drawn the lot;
“‘He then forgets it, but his wife does not;
“‘Jane too,’ he judged, ‘would be reserved and nice,
“‘And many lovers had enhanced her price.’
“Thus, thinking much, but hiding what he thought,
“The prudent lover Lucy's favour sought,
“And he succeeded,—she was free from art;
“And his appear'd a gentle, guileless heart;
“Such she respected; true, her sister found
“His placid face too ruddy and too round,
“Too cold and inexpressive; such a face
“Where you could nothing mark'd or manly trace.
“The prudent lover Lucy's favour sought,
“And he succeeded,—she was free from art;
“And his appear'd a gentle, guileless heart;
“Such she respected; true, her sister found
“His placid face too ruddy and too round,
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“Where you could nothing mark'd or manly trace.
“But Lucy found him to his mother kind,
“And saw the Christian meekness of his mind;
“His voice was soft, his temper mild and sweet,
“His mind was easy, and his person neat.
“Jane said he wanted courage; Lucy drew
“No ill from that, though she believed it too;
“‘It is religious, Jane, be not severe;’
“‘Well, Lucy, then it is religious fear.’
“Nor could the sister, great as was her love,
“A man so lifeless and so cool approve.
“And saw the Christian meekness of his mind;
“His voice was soft, his temper mild and sweet,
“His mind was easy, and his person neat.
“Jane said he wanted courage; Lucy drew
“No ill from that, though she believed it too;
“‘It is religious, Jane, be not severe;’
“‘Well, Lucy, then it is religious fear.’
“Nor could the sister, great as was her love,
“A man so lifeless and so cool approve.
“Jane had a lover, whom a lady's pride
“Might wish to see attending at her side,
“Young, handsome, sprightly, and with good address,
“Not mark'd for folly, error, or excess;
“Yet not entirely from their censure free,
“Who judge our failings with severity;
“The very care he took to keep his name
“Stainless, with some was evidence of shame.
“Might wish to see attending at her side,
“Young, handsome, sprightly, and with good address,
“Not mark'd for folly, error, or excess;
“Yet not entirely from their censure free,
“Who judge our failings with severity;
“The very care he took to keep his name
“Stainless, with some was evidence of shame.
“Jane heard of this, and she replied, ‘Enough;
“‘Prove but the facts, and I resist not proof;
“‘Nor is my heart so easy as to love
“‘The man my judgment bids me not approve.’
“But yet that heart a secret joy confess'd,
“To find no slander on the youth would rest;
“His was, in fact, such conduct, that a maid
“Might think of marriage, and be not afraid;
“And she was pleased to find a spirit high,
“Free from all fear, that spurn'd hypocrisy.
“‘What fears my sister?’ said the partial fair,
“For Lucy fear'd,—‘Why tell me to beware?
“‘No smooth deceitful varnish can I find;
“‘His is a spirit generous, free, and kind;
“‘And all his flaws are seen, all floating in his mind.
“‘A little boldness in his speech. What then?
“‘It is the failing of these generous men.
“‘A little vanity, but—O! my dear,
“‘They all would show it, were they all sincere.
“‘Prove but the facts, and I resist not proof;
“‘Nor is my heart so easy as to love
“‘The man my judgment bids me not approve.’
“But yet that heart a secret joy confess'd,
“To find no slander on the youth would rest;
“His was, in fact, such conduct, that a maid
“Might think of marriage, and be not afraid;
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“Free from all fear, that spurn'd hypocrisy.
“‘What fears my sister?’ said the partial fair,
“For Lucy fear'd,—‘Why tell me to beware?
“‘No smooth deceitful varnish can I find;
“‘His is a spirit generous, free, and kind;
“‘And all his flaws are seen, all floating in his mind.
“‘A little boldness in his speech. What then?
“‘It is the failing of these generous men.
“‘A little vanity, but—O! my dear,
“‘They all would show it, were they all sincere.
“‘But come, agreed; we'll lend each other eyes
“‘To see our favourites, when they wear disguise;
“‘And all those errors that will then be shown
“‘Uninfluenced by the workings of our own.’
“‘To see our favourites, when they wear disguise;
“‘And all those errors that will then be shown
“‘Uninfluenced by the workings of our own.’
“Thus lived the Sisters, far from power removed,
“And far from need, both loving and beloved.
“Thus grew, as myrtles grow; I grieve at heart
“That I have pain and sorrow to impart.
“But so it is, the sweetest herbs that grow
“In the lone vale, where sweetest waters flow,
“Ere drops the blossom, or appears the fruit,
“Feel the vile grub, and perish at the root;
“And in a quick and premature decay,
“Breathe the pure fragrance of their life away.
“And far from need, both loving and beloved.
“Thus grew, as myrtles grow; I grieve at heart
“That I have pain and sorrow to impart.
“But so it is, the sweetest herbs that grow
“In the lone vale, where sweetest waters flow,
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“Feel the vile grub, and perish at the root;
“And in a quick and premature decay,
“Breathe the pure fragrance of their life away.
“A town was near, in which the buildings all
“Were large, but one pre-eminently tall—
“A huge high house. Without there was an air
“Of lavish cost; no littleness was there;
“But room for servants, horses, whiskies, gigs,
“And walls for pines and peaches, grapes and figs;
“Bright on the sloping glass the sunbeams shone,
“And brought the summer of all climates on.
“Were large, but one pre-eminently tall—
“A huge high house. Without there was an air
“Of lavish cost; no littleness was there;
“But room for servants, horses, whiskies, gigs,
“And walls for pines and peaches, grapes and figs;
“Bright on the sloping glass the sunbeams shone,
“And brought the summer of all climates on.
“Here wealth its prowess to the eye display'd,
“And here advanced the seasons, there delay'd;
“Bid the due heat each growing sweet refine,
“Made the sun's light with grosser fire combine,
“And to the Tropic gave the vigour of the Line.
“And here advanced the seasons, there delay'd;
“Bid the due heat each growing sweet refine,
“Made the sun's light with grosser fire combine,
“And to the Tropic gave the vigour of the Line.
“Yet, in the master of this wealth, behold
“A light vain coxcomb taken from his gold,
“Whose busy brain was weak, whose boasting heart was cold.
“A light vain coxcomb taken from his gold,
“Whose busy brain was weak, whose boasting heart was cold.
“O! how he talk'd to that believing town,
“That he would give it riches and renown;
“Cause a canal where treasures were to swim,
“And they should owe their opulence to him!
“In fact, of riches he insured a crop,
“So they would give him but a seed to drop.
“As used the alchymist his boasts to make,
“‘I give you millions for the mite I take;’
“The mite they never could again behold,
“The millions all were Eldorado gold.
“That he would give it riches and renown;
“Cause a canal where treasures were to swim,
“And they should owe their opulence to him!
“In fact, of riches he insured a crop,
“So they would give him but a seed to drop.
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“‘I give you millions for the mite I take;’
“The mite they never could again behold,
“The millions all were Eldorado gold.
“By this professing man, the country round
“Was search'd to see where money could be found.
“Was search'd to see where money could be found.
“The thriven farmer, who had lived to spare,
“Became an object of especial care;
“He took the frugal tradesman by the hand,
“And wish'd him joy of what he might command;
“And the industrious servant, who had laid
“His saving by, it was his joy to aid;
“Large talk, and hints of some productive plan,
“Half named, won all his hearers to a man;
“Uncertain projects drew them wondering on,
“And avarice listen'd till distrust was gone.
“Became an object of especial care;
“He took the frugal tradesman by the hand,
“And wish'd him joy of what he might command;
“And the industrious servant, who had laid
“His saving by, it was his joy to aid;
“Large talk, and hints of some productive plan,
“Half named, won all his hearers to a man;
“Uncertain projects drew them wondering on,
“And avarice listen'd till distrust was gone.
“But when to these dear girls he found his way
“All easy, artless, innocent were they;
“When he compell'd his foolish wife to be
“At once so great, so humble, and so free;
“Whom others sought, nor always with success!
“But they were both her pride and happiness;
“And she esteem'd them, but attended still
“To the vile purpose of her husband's will;
“And when she fix'd his snares about their mind,
“Respected those whom she essay'd to blind;
“Nay, with esteem she some compassion gave
“To the fair victims whom she would not save.
“The Banker's wealth and kindness were her themes,
“His generous plans, his patriotic schemes;
“What he had done for some, a favourite few,
“What for his favourites still he meant to do;
“Not that he always listened—which was hard—
“To her, when speaking of her great regard
“For certain friends—‘but you, as I may say,
“‘Are his own choice—I am not jealous—nay!’
“All easy, artless, innocent were they;
“When he compell'd his foolish wife to be
“At once so great, so humble, and so free;
“Whom others sought, nor always with success!
“But they were both her pride and happiness;
“And she esteem'd them, but attended still
“To the vile purpose of her husband's will;
“And when she fix'd his snares about their mind,
“Respected those whom she essay'd to blind;
“Nay, with esteem she some compassion gave
“To the fair victims whom she would not save.
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“His generous plans, his patriotic schemes;
“What he had done for some, a favourite few,
“What for his favourites still he meant to do;
“Not that he always listened—which was hard—
“To her, when speaking of her great regard
“For certain friends—‘but you, as I may say,
“‘Are his own choice—I am not jealous—nay!’
“Then came the Man himself, and came with speed,
“As just from business of importance freed;
“Or just escaping, came with looks of fire,
“As if he'd just attain'd his full desire;
“As if Prosperity and he for life
“Were wed, and he was showing off his wife;
“Pleased to display his influence, and to prove
“Himself the object of her partial love:
“Perhaps with this was join'd the latent fear,
“The time would come when he should not be dear.
“As just from business of importance freed;
“Or just escaping, came with looks of fire,
“As if he'd just attain'd his full desire;
“As if Prosperity and he for life
“Were wed, and he was showing off his wife;
“Pleased to display his influence, and to prove
“Himself the object of her partial love:
“Perhaps with this was join'd the latent fear,
“The time would come when he should not be dear.
“Jane laugh'd at all their visits and parade
“And call'd it friendship in a hot-house made;
“A style of friendship suited to his taste,
“Brought on and ripen'd, like his grapes, in haste;
“She saw the wants that wealth in vain would hide,
“And all the tricks and littleness of pride:
“On all the wealth would creep the vulgar stain,
“And grandeur strove to look itself in vain.
“And call'd it friendship in a hot-house made;
“A style of friendship suited to his taste,
“Brought on and ripen'd, like his grapes, in haste;
“She saw the wants that wealth in vain would hide,
“And all the tricks and littleness of pride:
“On all the wealth would creep the vulgar stain,
“And grandeur strove to look itself in vain.
“Lucy perceived—but she replied, ‘why heed
“Such small defects?—they're very kind indeed!’
“And kind they were, and ready to produce
“Their easy friendship, ever fit for use,
“Friendship that enters into all affairs,
“And daily wants, and daily gets, repairs.
“Such small defects?—they're very kind indeed!’
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“Their easy friendship, ever fit for use,
“Friendship that enters into all affairs,
“And daily wants, and daily gets, repairs.
“Hence at the cottage of the Sisters stood
“The Banker's steed—he was so very good;
“Oft through the roads, in weather foul or fair,
“Their friend's gay carriage bore the gentle pair;
“His grapes and nectarines woo'd the virgins' hand,
“His books and roses were at their command;
“And costly flowers,—he took upon him shame
“That he could purchase what he could not name.
“The Banker's steed—he was so very good;
“Oft through the roads, in weather foul or fair,
“Their friend's gay carriage bore the gentle pair;
“His grapes and nectarines woo'd the virgins' hand,
“His books and roses were at their command;
“And costly flowers,—he took upon him shame
“That he could purchase what he could not name.
“Lucy was vex'd to have such favours shown,
“And they returning nothing of their own;
“Jane smiled, and begg'd her sister to believe,—
“‘We give at least as much as we receive.’
“And they returning nothing of their own;
“Jane smiled, and begg'd her sister to believe,—
“‘We give at least as much as we receive.’
“Alas! and more: they gave their ears and eyes,
“His splendour oft-times took them by surprise;
“And if in Jane appear'd a meaning smile,
“She gazed, admired, and paid respect the while.
“Would she had rested there! deluded maid,
“She saw not yet the fatal price she paid;
“Saw not that wealth, though join'd with folly, grew
“In her regard; she smiled, but listen'd too;
“Nay would be grateful, she would trust her all,
“Her funded source,—to him a matter small;
“Taken for their sole use, and ever at their call.
“To be improved—he knew not how indeed,
“But he had methods—and they must succeed.
“His splendour oft-times took them by surprise;
“And if in Jane appear'd a meaning smile,
“She gazed, admired, and paid respect the while.
“Would she had rested there! deluded maid,
“She saw not yet the fatal price she paid;
“Saw not that wealth, though join'd with folly, grew
“In her regard; she smiled, but listen'd too;
“Nay would be grateful, she would trust her all,
“Her funded source,—to him a matter small;
“Taken for their sole use, and ever at their call.
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“But he had methods—and they must succeed.
“This was so good, that Jane, in very pride,
“To spare him trouble, for a while denied;
“And Lucy's prudence, though it was alarm'd,
“Was by the splendour of the Banker charm'd;
“What was her paltry thousand pounds to him,
“Who would expend five thousand on a whim?
“And then the portion of his wife was known;
“But not that she reserved it for her own.
“To spare him trouble, for a while denied;
“And Lucy's prudence, though it was alarm'd,
“Was by the splendour of the Banker charm'd;
“What was her paltry thousand pounds to him,
“Who would expend five thousand on a whim?
“And then the portion of his wife was known;
“But not that she reserved it for her own.
“Lucy her lover trusted with the fact,
“And frankly ask'd, ‘if he approved the act?’
“‘It promised well,’ he said; ‘he could not tell
“‘How it might end, but sure it promised well;
“‘He had himself a trifle in the Bank,
“‘And should be sore uneasy if it sank.’
“And frankly ask'd, ‘if he approved the act?’
“‘It promised well,’ he said; ‘he could not tell
“‘How it might end, but sure it promised well;
“‘He had himself a trifle in the Bank,
“‘And should be sore uneasy if it sank.’
“Jane from her lover had no wish to hide
“Her deed; but was withheld by maiden pride;
“To talk so early—as if one were sure
“Of being his; she could not that endure.
“But when the sisters were apart, and when
“They freely spoke of their affairs and men;
“They thought with pleasure of the sum improved,
“And so presented to the men they loved.
“Her deed; but was withheld by maiden pride;
“To talk so early—as if one were sure
“Of being his; she could not that endure.
“But when the sisters were apart, and when
“They freely spoke of their affairs and men;
“They thought with pleasure of the sum improved,
“And so presented to the men they loved.
“Things now proceeded in a quiet train;
“No cause appear'd to murmur or complain;
“The monied man, his ever smiling dame,
“And their young darlings, in their carriage came;
“Jane's sprightly lover smiled their pomp to see,
“And ate their grapes, with gratitude and glee,
“But with the freedom there was nothing mean,
“Humble, or forward, in his freedom seen;
“His was the frankness of a mind that shows
“It knows itself, nor fears for what it knows:
“But Lucy's ever humble friend was awed
“By the profusion he could not applaud;
“He seem'd indeed reluctant to partake
“Of the collation that he could not make;
“And this was pleasant in the maiden's view,—
“Was modesty—was moderation too;
“Though Jane esteem'd it meanness; and she saw
“Fear in that prudence, avarice in that awe.
“No cause appear'd to murmur or complain;
“The monied man, his ever smiling dame,
“And their young darlings, in their carriage came;
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“And ate their grapes, with gratitude and glee,
“But with the freedom there was nothing mean,
“Humble, or forward, in his freedom seen;
“His was the frankness of a mind that shows
“It knows itself, nor fears for what it knows:
“But Lucy's ever humble friend was awed
“By the profusion he could not applaud;
“He seem'd indeed reluctant to partake
“Of the collation that he could not make;
“And this was pleasant in the maiden's view,—
“Was modesty—was moderation too;
“Though Jane esteem'd it meanness; and she saw
“Fear in that prudence, avarice in that awe.
“But both the lovers now to town are gone,
“By business one is call'd, by duty one;
“While rumour rises,—whether false or true
“The ladies knew not—it was known to few—
“But fear there was, and on their guardian-friend
“They for advice and comfort would depend,
“When rose the day; meantime from Belmont-place
“Came vile report, predicting quick disgrace.
“By business one is call'd, by duty one;
“While rumour rises,—whether false or true
“The ladies knew not—it was known to few—
“But fear there was, and on their guardian-friend
“They for advice and comfort would depend,
“When rose the day; meantime from Belmont-place
“Came vile report, predicting quick disgrace.
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“'T was told—the servants, who had met to thank
“Their lord for placing money in his Bank—
“Their kind free master, who such wages gave,
“And then increased whatever they could save—
“They who had heard they should their savings lose,
“Were weeping, swearing, drinking at the news;
“And still the more they drank, the more they wept,
“And swore, and rail'd, and threaten'd, till they slept.
“Their lord for placing money in his Bank—
“Their kind free master, who such wages gave,
“And then increased whatever they could save—
“They who had heard they should their savings lose,
“Were weeping, swearing, drinking at the news;
“And still the more they drank, the more they wept,
“And swore, and rail'd, and threaten'd, till they slept.
“The morning truth confirm'd the evening dread;
“The Bank was broken, and the Banker fled;
“But left a promise, that his friends should have,
“To the last shilling—what his fortunes gave.
“The Bank was broken, and the Banker fled;
“But left a promise, that his friends should have,
“To the last shilling—what his fortunes gave.
“The evil tidings reach'd the sister-pair,
“And one like Sorrow look'd, and one Despair;
“They from each other turn'd th' afflicting look,
“And loth and late the painful silence broke.
“And one like Sorrow look'd, and one Despair;
“They from each other turn'd th' afflicting look,
“And loth and late the painful silence broke.
“‘The odious villain!’ Jane in wrath began;
“In pity Lucy, ‘the unhappy man!
“‘When time and reason our affliction heal,
“‘How will the author of our sufferings feel?’
“In pity Lucy, ‘the unhappy man!
“‘When time and reason our affliction heal,
“‘How will the author of our sufferings feel?’
“‘And let him feel, my sister,—let the woes
“‘That he creates be bane to his repose!
“‘Let them be felt in his expiring hour,
“‘When death brings all his dread, and sin its power:
“‘Then let the busy foe of mortal state
“‘The pangs he caused, his own to aggravate!
“‘Wretch! when our life was glad, our prospects gay,
“‘With savage hand to sweep them all away!
“‘And he must know it—know when he beguiled
“‘His easy victims—how the villain smiled!
“‘That he creates be bane to his repose!
“‘Let them be felt in his expiring hour,
“‘When death brings all his dread, and sin its power:
“‘Then let the busy foe of mortal state
“‘The pangs he caused, his own to aggravate!
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“‘With savage hand to sweep them all away!
“‘And he must know it—know when he beguiled
“‘His easy victims—how the villain smiled!
“‘Oh! my dear Lucy, could I see him crave
“‘The food denied, a beggar and a slave,
“‘To stony hearts he should with tears apply,
“‘And Pity's self withhold the struggling sigh;
“‘Or, if relenting weakness should extend
“‘Th' extorted scrap that justice would not lend,
“‘Let it be poison'd by the curses deep
“‘Of every wretch whom he compels to weep!’
“‘The food denied, a beggar and a slave,
“‘To stony hearts he should with tears apply,
“‘And Pity's self withhold the struggling sigh;
“‘Or, if relenting weakness should extend
“‘Th' extorted scrap that justice would not lend,
“‘Let it be poison'd by the curses deep
“‘Of every wretch whom he compels to weep!’
“‘Nay, my sweet sister, if you thought such pain
“‘Were his, your pity would awake again;
“‘Your generous heart the wretch's grief would feel,
“‘And you would soothe the pangs you could not heal.’
“‘Were his, your pity would awake again;
“‘Your generous heart the wretch's grief would feel,
“‘And you would soothe the pangs you could not heal.’
“‘Oh! never, never,—I would still contrive
“‘To keep the slave whom I abhorr'd alive;
“‘His tortured mind with horrid fears to fill,
“‘Disturb his reason, and misguide his will;
“‘Heap coals of fire, to lie like melted lead,
“‘Heavy and hot, on his accursed head;
“‘Not coals that mercy kindles hearts to melt,
“‘But he should feel them hot as fires are felt;
“‘Corroding ever, and through life the same,
“‘Strong self-contempt and ever burning shame;
“‘Let him so wretched live that he may fly
“‘To desperate thoughts, and be resolved to die—
“‘And then let death such frightful visions give,
“‘That he may dread th' attempt, and beg to live!’
“‘To keep the slave whom I abhorr'd alive;
“‘His tortured mind with horrid fears to fill,
“‘Disturb his reason, and misguide his will;
“‘Heap coals of fire, to lie like melted lead,
“‘Heavy and hot, on his accursed head;
“‘Not coals that mercy kindles hearts to melt,
“‘But he should feel them hot as fires are felt;
“‘Corroding ever, and through life the same,
“‘Strong self-contempt and ever burning shame;
“‘Let him so wretched live that he may fly
“‘To desperate thoughts, and be resolved to die—
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“‘That he may dread th' attempt, and beg to live!’
“So spake th' indignant maid, when Lucy sigh'd,
“And, waiting softer times, no more replied.
“And, waiting softer times, no more replied.
“Barlow was then in town; and there he thought
“Of bliss to come, and bargains to be bought;
“And was returning homeward—when he found
“The Bank was broken, and his venture drown'd.
“Of bliss to come, and bargains to be bought;
“And was returning homeward—when he found
“The Bank was broken, and his venture drown'd.
“‘Ah! foolish maid,’ he cried, ‘and what wilt thou
“‘Say for thy friends and their excesses now?
“‘All now is brought completely to an end;
“‘What can the spendthrift now afford to spend?
“‘Had my advice been—true, I gave consent,
“‘The thing was purposed; what could I prevent?
“‘Say for thy friends and their excesses now?
“‘All now is brought completely to an end;
“‘What can the spendthrift now afford to spend?
“‘Had my advice been—true, I gave consent,
“‘The thing was purposed; what could I prevent?
“‘Who will her idle taste for flowers supply?—
“‘Who send her grapes and peaches? let her try;—
“‘There's none will give her, and she cannot buy.
“‘Yet would she not be grateful if she knew
“‘What to my faith and generous love was due?
“‘Daily to see the man who took her hand,
“‘When she had not a sixpence at command;
“‘Could I be sure that such a quiet mind
“‘Would be for ever grateful, mild, and kind,
“‘I might comply—but how will Bloomer act,
“‘When he becomes acquainted with the fact?
“‘The loss to him is trifling—but the fall
“‘From independence, that to her is all;
“‘Now should he marry, 't will be shame to me
“‘To hold myself from my engagement free;
“‘And should he not, it will be double grace
“‘To stand alone in such a trying case.
“‘Who send her grapes and peaches? let her try;—
“‘There's none will give her, and she cannot buy.
“‘Yet would she not be grateful if she knew
“‘What to my faith and generous love was due?
“‘Daily to see the man who took her hand,
“‘When she had not a sixpence at command;
“‘Could I be sure that such a quiet mind
“‘Would be for ever grateful, mild, and kind,
“‘I might comply—but how will Bloomer act,
“‘When he becomes acquainted with the fact?
“‘The loss to him is trifling—but the fall
“‘From independence, that to her is all;
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“‘To hold myself from my engagement free;
“‘And should he not, it will be double grace
“‘To stand alone in such a trying case.
“‘Come then, my Lucy, to thy faithful heart
“‘And humble love I will my views impart;
“‘Will see the grateful tear that softly steals
“‘Down thy fair face, and all thy joy reveals;
“‘And when I say it is a blow severe,
“‘Then will I add—restrain, my love, the tear,
“‘And take this heart, so faithful and so fond,
“‘Still bound to thine; and fear not for that bond.’
“‘And humble love I will my views impart;
“‘Will see the grateful tear that softly steals
“‘Down thy fair face, and all thy joy reveals;
“‘And when I say it is a blow severe,
“‘Then will I add—restrain, my love, the tear,
“‘And take this heart, so faithful and so fond,
“‘Still bound to thine; and fear not for that bond.’
“He said; and went, with purpose he believed
“Of generous nature—so is man deceived.
“Lucy determined that her lover's eye
“Should not distress nor supplication spy;
“That in her manner he should nothing find,
“To indicate the weakness of her mind.
“Of generous nature—so is man deceived.
“Lucy determined that her lover's eye
“Should not distress nor supplication spy;
“That in her manner he should nothing find,
“To indicate the weakness of her mind.
“He saw no eye that wept, no frame that shook,
“No fond appeal was made by word or look;
“Kindness there was, but join'd with some restraint
“And traces of the late event were faint.
“No fond appeal was made by word or look;
“Kindness there was, but join'd with some restraint
“And traces of the late event were faint.
“He look'd for grief deploring, but perceives
“No outward token that she longer grieves;
“He had expected for his efforts praise,
“For he resolved the drooping mind to raise;
“She would, he judged, be humble, and afraid
“That he might blame her rashness and upbraid;
“And lo! he finds her in a quiet state,
“Her spirit easy and her air sedate;
“As if her loss was not a cause for pain,
“As if assured that he would make it gain.—
“No outward token that she longer grieves;
“He had expected for his efforts praise,
“For he resolved the drooping mind to raise;
“She would, he judged, be humble, and afraid
“That he might blame her rashness and upbraid;
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“Her spirit easy and her air sedate;
“As if her loss was not a cause for pain,
“As if assured that he would make it gain.—
“Silent awhile, he told the morning news,
“And what he judged they might expect to lose;
“He thought himself, whatever some might boast,
“The composition would be small at most;
“Some shabby matter, she would see no more
“The tithe of what she held in hand before
“And what he judged they might expect to lose;
“He thought himself, whatever some might boast,
“The composition would be small at most;
“Some shabby matter, she would see no more
“The tithe of what she held in hand before
“How did her sister feel? and did she think
“Bloomer was honest, and would never shrink?
“‘But why that smile? is loss like yours so light
“‘That it can aught like merriment excite?
“‘Well, he is rich, we know, and can afford
“‘To please his fancy, and to keep his word;
“‘To him 't is nothing; had he now a fear,
“‘He must the meanest of his sex appear;
“‘But the true honour, as I judge the case,
“‘Is, both to feel the evil, and embrace.’
“Bloomer was honest, and would never shrink?
“‘But why that smile? is loss like yours so light
“‘That it can aught like merriment excite?
“‘Well, he is rich, we know, and can afford
“‘To please his fancy, and to keep his word;
“‘To him 't is nothing; had he now a fear,
“‘He must the meanest of his sex appear;
“‘But the true honour, as I judge the case,
“‘Is, both to feel the evil, and embrace.’
“Here Barlow stopp'd, a little vex'd to see
“No fear or hope, no dread or ecstasy:
“Calmly she spoke—‘Your prospects, sir, and mine
“‘Are not the same,—their union I decline;
“‘Could I believe the hand for which you strove
“‘Had yet its value, did you truly love,
“‘I had with thanks address'd you, and replied,
“‘Wait till your feelings and my own subside,
“‘Watch your affections, and, if still they live,
“‘What pride denies, my gratitude shall give;
“‘Ev'n then, in yielding, I had first believed
“‘That I conferr'd the favour, not received.
“‘You I release—nay, hear me—I impart
“‘Joy to your soul,—I judge not of your heart.
“‘Think'st thou a being, to whom God has lent
“‘A feeling mind, will have her bosom rent
“‘By man's reproaches? Sorrow will be thine,
“‘For all thy pity prompts thee to resign!
“‘Think'st thou that meekness' self would condescend
“‘To take the husband when she scorns the friend?
“‘Forgive the frankness, and rejoice for life,
“‘Thou art not burthen'd with so poor a wife.
“No fear or hope, no dread or ecstasy:
“Calmly she spoke—‘Your prospects, sir, and mine
“‘Are not the same,—their union I decline;
“‘Could I believe the hand for which you strove
“‘Had yet its value, did you truly love,
“‘I had with thanks address'd you, and replied,
“‘Wait till your feelings and my own subside,
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“‘What pride denies, my gratitude shall give;
“‘Ev'n then, in yielding, I had first believed
“‘That I conferr'd the favour, not received.
“‘You I release—nay, hear me—I impart
“‘Joy to your soul,—I judge not of your heart.
“‘Think'st thou a being, to whom God has lent
“‘A feeling mind, will have her bosom rent
“‘By man's reproaches? Sorrow will be thine,
“‘For all thy pity prompts thee to resign!
“‘Think'st thou that meekness' self would condescend
“‘To take the husband when she scorns the friend?
“‘Forgive the frankness, and rejoice for life,
“‘Thou art not burthen'd with so poor a wife.
“‘Go! and be happy—tell, for the applause
“‘Of hearts like thine, we parted, and the cause
“‘Give, as it pleases.’ With a foolish look
“That a dull school-boy fixes on his book
“That he resigns, with mingled shame and joy;
“So Barlow went, confounded like the boy.
“‘Of hearts like thine, we parted, and the cause
“‘Give, as it pleases.’ With a foolish look
“That a dull school-boy fixes on his book
“That he resigns, with mingled shame and joy;
“So Barlow went, confounded like the boy.
“Jane, while she wept to think her sister's pain
“Was thus increased, felt infinite disdain;
“Bound as she was, and wedded by the ties
“Of love and hope, that care and craft despise;
“She could but wonder that a man, whose taste
“And zeal for money had a Jew disgraced,
“Should love her sister; yet with this surprise,
“She felt a little exultation rise;
“Hers was a lover who had always held
“This man as base, by generous scorn impell'd;
“And yet, as one, of whom for Lucy's sake
“He would a civil distant notice take.
“Was thus increased, felt infinite disdain;
“Bound as she was, and wedded by the ties
“Of love and hope, that care and craft despise;
“She could but wonder that a man, whose taste
“And zeal for money had a Jew disgraced,
“Should love her sister; yet with this surprise,
“She felt a little exultation rise;
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“This man as base, by generous scorn impell'd;
“And yet, as one, of whom for Lucy's sake
“He would a civil distant notice take.
“Lucy, with sadden'd heart and temper mild,
“Bow'd to correction, like an humbled child,
“Who feels the parent's kindness, and who knows
“Such the correction he, who loves, bestows.
“Bow'd to correction, like an humbled child,
“Who feels the parent's kindness, and who knows
“Such the correction he, who loves, bestows.
“Attending always, but attending more
“When sorrow ask'd his presence, than before,
“Tender and ardent, with the kindest air
“Came Bloomer, fortune's error to repair;
“Words sweetly soothing spoke the happy youth,
“With all the tender earnestness of truth.
“When sorrow ask'd his presence, than before,
“Tender and ardent, with the kindest air
“Came Bloomer, fortune's error to repair;
“Words sweetly soothing spoke the happy youth,
“With all the tender earnestness of truth.
“There was no doubt of his intention now—
“He will his purpose with his love avow:
“So judged the maid; yet, waiting, she admired
“His still delaying what he most desired;
“Till, from her spirit's agitation free,
“She might determine when the day should be.
“With such facility the partial mind
“Can the best motives for its favourites find.
“Of this he spake not, but he stay'd beyond
“His usual hour;—attentive still and fond;—
“The hand yet firmer to the hand he prest,
“And the eye rested where it loved to rest;
“Then took he certain freedoms, yet so small
“That it was prudish so the things to call;
“Things they were not—‘Describe’—that none can do,
“They had been nothing had they not been new;
“It was the manner and the look; a maid,
“Afraid of such, is foolishly afraid;
“For what could she explain? The piercing eye
“Of jealous fear could nought amiss descry.
“He will his purpose with his love avow:
“So judged the maid; yet, waiting, she admired
“His still delaying what he most desired;
“Till, from her spirit's agitation free,
“She might determine when the day should be.
“With such facility the partial mind
“Can the best motives for its favourites find.
“Of this he spake not, but he stay'd beyond
“His usual hour;—attentive still and fond;—
“The hand yet firmer to the hand he prest,
“And the eye rested where it loved to rest;
“Then took he certain freedoms, yet so small
“That it was prudish so the things to call;
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“They had been nothing had they not been new;
“It was the manner and the look; a maid,
“Afraid of such, is foolishly afraid;
“For what could she explain? The piercing eye
“Of jealous fear could nought amiss descry.
“But some concern now rose; the youth would seek
“Jane by herself, and then would nothing speak,
“Before not spoken; there was still delay,
“Vexatious, wearying, wasting, day by day.
“Jane by herself, and then would nothing speak,
“Before not spoken; there was still delay,
“Vexatious, wearying, wasting, day by day.
“‘He does not surely trifle!’ Heaven forbid!
“She now should doubly scorn him if he did.
“She now should doubly scorn him if he did.
“Ah! more than this, unlucky girl! is thine;
“Thou must the fondest views of life resign;
“And in the very time resign them too,
“When they were brightening on the eager view.
“I will be brief,—nor have I heart to dwell
“On crimes they almost share who paint them well.
“Thou must the fondest views of life resign;
“And in the very time resign them too,
“When they were brightening on the eager view.
“I will be brief,—nor have I heart to dwell
“On crimes they almost share who paint them well.
“There was a moment's softness, and it seem'd
“Discretion slept, or so the lover dream'd;
“And watching long the now confiding maid,
“He thought her guardless, and grew less afraid;
“Led to the theme that he had shunn'd before,
“He used a language he must use no more—
“For if it answers, there is no more need,
“And no more trial, should it not succeed.
“Discretion slept, or so the lover dream'd;
“And watching long the now confiding maid,
“He thought her guardless, and grew less afraid;
“Led to the theme that he had shunn'd before,
“He used a language he must use no more—
“For if it answers, there is no more need,
“And no more trial, should it not succeed.
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“Then made he that attempt, in which to fail
“Is shameful,—still more shameful to prevail.
“Is shameful,—still more shameful to prevail.
“Then was there lightning in that eye that shed
“Its beams upon him,—and his frenzy fled;
“Abject and trembling at her feet he laid,
“Despised and scorn'd by the indignant maid,
“Whose spirits in their agitation rose,
“Him, and her own weak pity, to oppose:
“As liquid silver in the tube mounts high,
“Then shakes and settles as the storm goes by.
“Its beams upon him,—and his frenzy fled;
“Abject and trembling at her feet he laid,
“Despised and scorn'd by the indignant maid,
“Whose spirits in their agitation rose,
“Him, and her own weak pity, to oppose:
“As liquid silver in the tube mounts high,
“Then shakes and settles as the storm goes by.
“While yet the lover stay'd, the maid was strong,
“But when he fled, she droop'd and felt the wrong—
“Felt the alarming chill, th' enfeebled breath,
“Closed the quick eye, and sank in transient death.
“So Lucy found her; and then first that breast
“Knew anger's power, and own'd the stranger guest.
“But when he fled, she droop'd and felt the wrong—
“Felt the alarming chill, th' enfeebled breath,
“Closed the quick eye, and sank in transient death.
“So Lucy found her; and then first that breast
“Knew anger's power, and own'd the stranger guest.
“‘And is this love? Ungenerous! Has he too
“‘Been mean and abject? Is no being true?’
“For Lucy judged that, like her prudent swain,
“Bloomer had talk'd of what a man might gain;
“She did not think a man on earth was found,
“A wounded bosom, while it bleeds, to wound;
“Thought not that mortal could be so unjust,
“As to deprive affliction of its trust;
“Thought not a lover could the hope enjoy,
“That must the peace, he should promote, destroy;
“Thought not, in fact, that in the world were those,
“Who, to their tenderest friends, are worse than foes,
“Who win the heart, deprive it of its care,
“Then plant remorse and desolation there.
“‘Been mean and abject? Is no being true?’
“For Lucy judged that, like her prudent swain,
“Bloomer had talk'd of what a man might gain;
“She did not think a man on earth was found,
“A wounded bosom, while it bleeds, to wound;
“Thought not that mortal could be so unjust,
“As to deprive affliction of its trust;
“Thought not a lover could the hope enjoy,
“That must the peace, he should promote, destroy;
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“Who, to their tenderest friends, are worse than foes,
“Who win the heart, deprive it of its care,
“Then plant remorse and desolation there.
“Ah! cruel he, who can that heart deprive
“Of all that keeps its energy alive;
“Can see consign'd to shame the trusting fair,
“And turn confiding fondness to despair;
“To watch that time—a name is not assign'd
“For crime so odious, nor shall learning find.
“Of all that keeps its energy alive;
“Can see consign'd to shame the trusting fair,
“And turn confiding fondness to despair;
“To watch that time—a name is not assign'd
“For crime so odious, nor shall learning find.
“Now, from that day has Lucy laid aside
“Her proper cares, to be her sister's guide,
“Guard, and protector. At their uncle's farm
“They pass'd the period of their first alarm,
“But soon retired, nor was he grieved to learn
“They made their own affairs their own concern.
“Her proper cares, to be her sister's guide,
“Guard, and protector. At their uncle's farm
“They pass'd the period of their first alarm,
“But soon retired, nor was he grieved to learn
“They made their own affairs their own concern.
“I knew not then their worth; and, had I known,
“Could not the kindness of a friend have shown;
“For men they dreaded:—they a dwelling sought,
“And there the children of the village taught;
“There, firm and patient, Lucy still depends
“Upon her efforts, not upon her friends;
“She is with persevering strength endued,
“And can be cheerful—for she will be good.
“Could not the kindness of a friend have shown;
“For men they dreaded:—they a dwelling sought,
“And there the children of the village taught;
“There, firm and patient, Lucy still depends
“Upon her efforts, not upon her friends;
“She is with persevering strength endued,
“And can be cheerful—for she will be good.
“Jane too will strive the daily tasks to share,
“That so employment may contend with care;
“Not power, but will, she shows, and looks about
“On her small people, who come in and out;
“And seems of what they need, or she can do, in doubt.
“That so employment may contend with care;
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“On her small people, who come in and out;
“And seems of what they need, or she can do, in doubt.
“There sits the chubby crew on seats around,
“While she, all rueful at the sight and sound,
“Shrinks from the free approaches of the tribe,
“Whom she attempts lamenting to describe,
“With stains the idlers gather'd in their way,
“The simple stains of mud, and mould, and clay,
“And compound of the streets, of what we dare not say;
“With hair uncomb'd, grimed face, and piteous look,
“Each heavy student takes the odious book,
“And on the lady casts a glance of fear,
“Who draws the garment close as he comes near;
“She then for Lucy's mild forbearance tries,
“And from her pupils turns her brilliant eyes,
“Making new efforts, and with some success
“To pay attention while the students guess;
“Who to the gentler mistress fain would glide,
“And dread their station at the lady's side.
“While she, all rueful at the sight and sound,
“Shrinks from the free approaches of the tribe,
“Whom she attempts lamenting to describe,
“With stains the idlers gather'd in their way,
“The simple stains of mud, and mould, and clay,
“And compound of the streets, of what we dare not say;
“With hair uncomb'd, grimed face, and piteous look,
“Each heavy student takes the odious book,
“And on the lady casts a glance of fear,
“Who draws the garment close as he comes near;
“She then for Lucy's mild forbearance tries,
“And from her pupils turns her brilliant eyes,
“Making new efforts, and with some success
“To pay attention while the students guess;
“Who to the gentler mistress fain would glide,
“And dread their station at the lady's side.
“Such is their fate:—there is a friendly few
“Whom they receive, and there is chance for you;
“Their school, and something gather'd from the wreck
“Of that bad Bank, keeps poverty in check;
“And true respect, and high regard, are theirs,
“The children's profit, and the parent's prayers.
“Whom they receive, and there is chance for you;
“Their school, and something gather'd from the wreck
“Of that bad Bank, keeps poverty in check;
“And true respect, and high regard, are theirs,
“The children's profit, and the parent's prayers.
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“With Lucy rests the one peculiar care,
“That few must see, and none with her may share;
“More dear than hope can be, more sweet than pleasures are.
“For her sad sister needs the care of love
“That will direct her, that will not reprove,
“But waits to warn: for Jane will walk alone,
“Will sing in low and melancholy tone;
“Will read or write, or to her plants will run
“To shun her friends,—alas! her thoughts to shun.
“That few must see, and none with her may share;
“More dear than hope can be, more sweet than pleasures are.
“For her sad sister needs the care of love
“That will direct her, that will not reprove,
“But waits to warn: for Jane will walk alone,
“Will sing in low and melancholy tone;
“Will read or write, or to her plants will run
“To shun her friends,—alas! her thoughts to shun.
“It is not love alone disturbs her rest,
“But loss of all that ever hope possess'd;
“Friends ever kind, life's lively pleasures, ease,
“When her enjoyments could no longer please;
“These were her comforts then! she has no more of these.
“But loss of all that ever hope possess'd;
“Friends ever kind, life's lively pleasures, ease,
“When her enjoyments could no longer please;
“These were her comforts then! she has no more of these.
“Wrapt in such thoughts, she feels her mind astray,
“But knows 'tis true, that she has lost her way;
“For Lucy's smile will check the sudden flight,
“And one kind look let in the wonted light.
“But knows 'tis true, that she has lost her way;
“For Lucy's smile will check the sudden flight,
“And one kind look let in the wonted light.
“Fits of long silence she endures, then talks
“Too much—with too much ardour, as she walks;
“But still the shrubs that she admires dispense
“Their balmy freshness to the hurried sense,
“And she will watch their progress, and attend
“Her flowering favourites as a guardian friend;
“To sun or shade she will her sweets remove,
“‘And here,’ she says, ‘I may with safety love.’
“Too much—with too much ardour, as she walks;
“But still the shrubs that she admires dispense
“Their balmy freshness to the hurried sense,
“And she will watch their progress, and attend
“Her flowering favourites as a guardian friend;
“To sun or shade she will her sweets remove,
“‘And here,’ she says, ‘I may with safety love.’
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“But there are hours when on that bosom steals
“A rising terror,—then indeed she feels;—
“Feels how she loved the promised good, and how
“She feels the failure of the promise now.
“A rising terror,—then indeed she feels;—
“Feels how she loved the promised good, and how
“She feels the failure of the promise now.
“‘That other spoiler did as robbers do,
“‘Made poor our state, but not disgraceful too.
“‘This spoiler shames me, and I look within
“‘To find some cause that drew him on to sin;
“‘He and the wretch who could thy worth forsake
“‘Are the fork'd adder and the loathsome snake;
“‘Thy snake could slip in villain-fear away,
“‘But had no fang to fasten on his prey.
“‘Made poor our state, but not disgraceful too.
“‘This spoiler shames me, and I look within
“‘To find some cause that drew him on to sin;
“‘He and the wretch who could thy worth forsake
“‘Are the fork'd adder and the loathsome snake;
“‘Thy snake could slip in villain-fear away,
“‘But had no fang to fasten on his prey.
“‘Oh! my dear Lucy, I had thought to live
“‘With all the comforts easy fortunes give;
“‘A wife caressing, and caress'd,—a friend,
“‘Whom he would guide, advise, consult, defend,
“‘And make his equal;—then I fondly thought
“‘Among superior creatures to be brought;
“‘And while with them, delighted to behold
“‘No eye averted, and no bosom cold;—
“‘Then at my home, a mother, to embrace
“‘My—Oh! my sister, it was surely base.
“‘I might forget the wrong; I cannot the disgrace.
“‘With all the comforts easy fortunes give;
“‘A wife caressing, and caress'd,—a friend,
“‘Whom he would guide, advise, consult, defend,
“‘And make his equal;—then I fondly thought
“‘Among superior creatures to be brought;
“‘And while with them, delighted to behold
“‘No eye averted, and no bosom cold;—
“‘Then at my home, a mother, to embrace
“‘My—Oh! my sister, it was surely base.
“‘I might forget the wrong; I cannot the disgrace.
“‘Oh! when I saw that triumph in his eyes,
“‘I felt my spirits with his own arise;
“‘I call'd it joy, and said, the generous youth
“‘Laughs at my loss—no trial for his truth;
“‘It is a trifle he can not lament,
“‘A sum but equal to his annual rent;
“‘And yet that loss, the cause of every ill,
“‘Has made me poor, and him’—
“‘I felt my spirits with his own arise;
“‘I call'd it joy, and said, the generous youth
“‘Laughs at my loss—no trial for his truth;
“‘It is a trifle he can not lament,
“‘A sum but equal to his annual rent;
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“‘Has made me poor, and him’—
“‘Oh! poorer still
“‘Poorer, my Jane, and far below thee now:
“‘The injurer he,—the injured sufferer thou;
“‘And shall such loss afflict thee?’—
“‘Poorer, my Jane, and far below thee now:
“‘The injurer he,—the injured sufferer thou;
“‘And shall such loss afflict thee?’—
“‘Lose I not
“‘With him what fortune could in life allot?
“‘Lose I not hope, life's cordial, and the views
“‘Of an aspiring spirit?—O! I lose
“‘Whate'er the happy feel, whate'er the sanguine choose.
“‘Would I could lose this bitter sense of wrong,
“‘And sleep in peace—but it will not be long!
“‘And here is something, Lucy, in my brain,
“‘I know not what—it is a cure for pain;
“‘But is not death!—no beckoning hand I see,
“‘No voice I hear that comes alone to me;
“‘It is not death, but change; I am not now
“‘As I was once,—nor can I tell you how;
“‘Nor is it madness—ask, and you shall find
“‘In my replies the soundness of my mind:
“‘O! I should be a trouble all day long;
“‘A very torment, if my head were wrong.’
“‘With him what fortune could in life allot?
“‘Lose I not hope, life's cordial, and the views
“‘Of an aspiring spirit?—O! I lose
“‘Whate'er the happy feel, whate'er the sanguine choose.
“‘Would I could lose this bitter sense of wrong,
“‘And sleep in peace—but it will not be long!
“‘And here is something, Lucy, in my brain,
“‘I know not what—it is a cure for pain;
“‘But is not death!—no beckoning hand I see,
“‘No voice I hear that comes alone to me;
“‘It is not death, but change; I am not now
“‘As I was once,—nor can I tell you how;
“‘Nor is it madness—ask, and you shall find
“‘In my replies the soundness of my mind:
“‘O! I should be a trouble all day long;
“‘A very torment, if my head were wrong.’
“At times there is upon her features seen,
“What moves suspicion—she is too serene.
“Such is the motion of a drunken man,
“Who steps sedately, just to show he can.
“Absent at times she will her mother call,
“And cry at mid-day, ‘Then good night to all.
“What moves suspicion—she is too serene.
“Such is the motion of a drunken man,
“Who steps sedately, just to show he can.
“Absent at times she will her mother call,
“And cry at mid-day, ‘Then good night to all.
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“But most she thinks there will some good ensue
“From something done, or what she is to do;
“Long wrapt in silence, she will then assume
“An air of business, and shake off her gloom;
“Then cry exulting, ‘O! it must succeed,
“‘There are ten thousand readers—all men read:
“‘There are my writings,—you shall never spend
“‘Your precious moments to so poor an end;
“‘Our peasants' children may be taught by those,
“‘Who have no powers such wonders to compose;
“‘So let me call them,—what the world allows,
“‘Surely a poet without shame avows;
“‘Come, let us count what numbers we believe
“‘Will buy our work—Ah! sister, do you grieve?
“‘You weep; there's something I have said amiss,
“‘And vex'd my sister—What a world is this!
“‘And how I wander!—Where has fancy run?
“‘Is there no poem? Have I nothing done?
“‘Forgive me, Lucy, I had fix'd my eye,
“‘And so my mind, on works that cannot die;
“‘Marmion and Lara yonder in the case,
“‘And so I put me in the poet's place.
“From something done, or what she is to do;
“Long wrapt in silence, she will then assume
“An air of business, and shake off her gloom;
“Then cry exulting, ‘O! it must succeed,
“‘There are ten thousand readers—all men read:
“‘There are my writings,—you shall never spend
“‘Your precious moments to so poor an end;
“‘Our peasants' children may be taught by those,
“‘Who have no powers such wonders to compose;
“‘So let me call them,—what the world allows,
“‘Surely a poet without shame avows;
“‘Come, let us count what numbers we believe
“‘Will buy our work—Ah! sister, do you grieve?
“‘You weep; there's something I have said amiss,
“‘And vex'd my sister—What a world is this!
“‘And how I wander!—Where has fancy run?
“‘Is there no poem? Have I nothing done?
“‘Forgive me, Lucy, I had fix'd my eye,
“‘And so my mind, on works that cannot die;
“‘Marmion and Lara yonder in the case,
“‘And so I put me in the poet's place.
“‘Still, be not frighten'd; it is but a dream;
“‘I am not lost, bewilder'd though I seem;
“‘I will obey thee—but suppress thy fear—
“‘I am at ease,—then why that silly tear?’
“‘I am not lost, bewilder'd though I seem;
“‘I will obey thee—but suppress thy fear—
“‘I am at ease,—then why that silly tear?’
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“Jane, as these melancholy fits invade
“The busy fancy, seeks the deepest shade;
“She walks in ceaseless hurry, till her mind
“Will short repose in verse and music find;
“Then her own songs to some soft tunes she sings,
“And laughs, and calls them melancholy things;
“Not frenzy all; in some her erring Muse
“Will sad, afflicting, tender strains infuse:
“Sometimes on death she will her lines compose,
“Or give her serious page of solemn prose;
“And still those favourite plants her fancy please,
“And give to care and anguish rest and ease.
“The busy fancy, seeks the deepest shade;
“She walks in ceaseless hurry, till her mind
“Will short repose in verse and music find;
“Then her own songs to some soft tunes she sings,
“And laughs, and calls them melancholy things;
“Not frenzy all; in some her erring Muse
“Will sad, afflicting, tender strains infuse:
“Sometimes on death she will her lines compose,
“Or give her serious page of solemn prose;
“And still those favourite plants her fancy please,
“And give to care and anguish rest and ease.
“‘Let me not have this gloomy view,
“‘About my room, around my bed;
“‘But morning roses, wet with dew,
“‘To cool my burning brows instead.
“‘As flow'rs that once in Eden grew,
“‘Let them their fragrant spirits shed,
“‘And every day the sweets renew,
“‘Till I, a fading flower, am dead.
“‘About my room, around my bed;
“‘But morning roses, wet with dew,
“‘To cool my burning brows instead.
“‘As flow'rs that once in Eden grew,
“‘Let them their fragrant spirits shed,
“‘And every day the sweets renew,
“‘Till I, a fading flower, am dead.
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“‘Oh! let the herbs I loved to rear
“‘Give to my sense their perfumed breath;
“‘Let them be placed about my bier,
“‘And grace the gloomy house of death.
“‘I'll have my grave beneath a hill,
“‘Where, only Lucy's self shall know;
“‘Where runs the pure pellucid rill
“‘Upon its gravelly bed below;
“‘There violets on the borders blow,
“‘And insects their soft light display,
“‘Till, as the morning sunbeams glow,
“‘The cold phosphoric fires decay.
“‘Give to my sense their perfumed breath;
“‘Let them be placed about my bier,
“‘And grace the gloomy house of death.
“‘I'll have my grave beneath a hill,
“‘Where, only Lucy's self shall know;
“‘Where runs the pure pellucid rill
“‘Upon its gravelly bed below;
“‘There violets on the borders blow,
“‘And insects their soft light display,
“‘Till, as the morning sunbeams glow,
“‘The cold phosphoric fires decay.
“‘That is the grave to Lucy shown,
“‘The soil a pure and silver sand,
“‘The green cold moss above it grown,
“‘Unpluck'd of all but maiden hand:
“‘In virgin earth, till then unturn'd,
“‘There let my maiden form be laid,
“‘Nor let my changed clay be spurn'd,
“‘Nor for new guest that bed be made.
“‘The soil a pure and silver sand,
“‘The green cold moss above it grown,
“‘Unpluck'd of all but maiden hand:
“‘In virgin earth, till then unturn'd,
“‘There let my maiden form be laid,
“‘Nor let my changed clay be spurn'd,
“‘Nor for new guest that bed be made.
“‘There will the lark,—the lamb, in sport,
“‘In air,—on earth,—securely play,
“‘And Lucy to my grave resort,
“‘As innocent, but not so gay.
“‘I will not have the churchyard ground,
“‘With bones all black and ugly grown,
“‘To press my shivering body round,
“‘Or on my wasted limbs be thrown.
“‘In air,—on earth,—securely play,
“‘And Lucy to my grave resort,
“‘As innocent, but not so gay.
“‘I will not have the churchyard ground,
“‘With bones all black and ugly grown,
“‘To press my shivering body round,
“‘Or on my wasted limbs be thrown.
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“‘With ribs and skulls I will not sleep,
“‘In clammy beds of cold blue clay,
“‘Through which the ringed earth-worms creep,
“‘And on the shrouded bosom prey;
“‘I will not have the bell proclaim
“‘When those sad marriage rites begin,
“‘And boys, without regard or shame,
“‘Press the vile mouldering masses in.
“‘In clammy beds of cold blue clay,
“‘Through which the ringed earth-worms creep,
“‘And on the shrouded bosom prey;
“‘I will not have the bell proclaim
“‘When those sad marriage rites begin,
“‘And boys, without regard or shame,
“‘Press the vile mouldering masses in.
“‘Say not, it is beneath my care;
“‘I cannot these cold truths allow;
“‘These thoughts may not afflict me there,
“‘But, O! they vex and tease me now.
“‘Raise not a turf, nor set a stone,
“‘That man a maiden's grave may trace,
“‘But thou, my Lucy, come alone,
“‘And let affection find the place.
“‘I cannot these cold truths allow;
“‘These thoughts may not afflict me there,
“‘But, O! they vex and tease me now.
“‘Raise not a turf, nor set a stone,
“‘That man a maiden's grave may trace,
“‘But thou, my Lucy, come alone,
“‘And let affection find the place.
“‘Oh! take me from a world I hate,
“‘Men cruel, selfish, sensual, cold;
“‘And, in some pure and blessed state,
“‘Let me my sister minds behold:
“‘From gross and sordid views refined,
“‘Our heaven of spotless love to share,
“‘For only generous souls design'd,
“‘And not a man to meet us there.’”
“‘Men cruel, selfish, sensual, cold;
“‘And, in some pure and blessed state,
“‘Let me my sister minds behold:
“‘From gross and sordid views refined,
“‘Our heaven of spotless love to share,
“‘For only generous souls design'd,
“‘And not a man to meet us there.’”
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BOOK IX. THE PRECEPTOR HUSBAND.
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The Morning Ride—Conversation—Character of one whom they meet—His early Habits and Mode of Thinking—The Wife whom he would choose—The one chosen—His Attempts to teach—In History—In Botany—The Lady's Proficiency—His Complaint—Her Defence and Triumph —The Trial ends.
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“Whom pass'd we musing near the woodman's shed,
“Whose horse not only carried him but led,
“That his grave rider might have slept the time,
“Or solved a problem, or composed a rhyme?
“A more abstracted man within my view
“Has never come—He recollected you.”
“Whose horse not only carried him but led,
“That his grave rider might have slept the time,
“Or solved a problem, or composed a rhyme?
“A more abstracted man within my view
“Has never come—He recollected you.”
“Yes,—he was thoughtful—thinks the whole day long,
“Deeply, and chiefly that he once thought wrong;
“He thought a strong and kindred mind to trace
“In the soft outlines of a trifler's face.
“Deeply, and chiefly that he once thought wrong;
“He thought a strong and kindred mind to trace
“In the soft outlines of a trifler's face.
“Poor Finch! I knew him when at school,—a boy
“Who might be said his labours to enjoy;
“So young a pedant that he always took
“The girl to dance who most admired her book;
“And would the butler and the cook surprise,
“Who listen'd to his Latin exercise;
“The matron's self the praise of Finch avow'd,
“He was so serious, and he read so loud;
“But yet, with all this folly and conceit,
“The lines he wrote were elegant and neat;
“And early promise in his mind appear'd
“Of noble efforts when by reason clear'd.
“Who might be said his labours to enjoy;
“So young a pedant that he always took
“The girl to dance who most admired her book;
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“Who listen'd to his Latin exercise;
“The matron's self the praise of Finch avow'd,
“He was so serious, and he read so loud;
“But yet, with all this folly and conceit,
“The lines he wrote were elegant and neat;
“And early promise in his mind appear'd
“Of noble efforts when by reason clear'd.
“And when he spoke of wives, the boy would say,
“His should be skill'd in Greek and algebra;
“For who would talk with one to whom his themes,
“And favourite studies, were no more than dreams?
“For this, though courteous, gentle, and humane,
“The boys contemn'd and hated him as vain,
“Stiff and pedantic.”—
“His should be skill'd in Greek and algebra;
“For who would talk with one to whom his themes,
“And favourite studies, were no more than dreams?
“For this, though courteous, gentle, and humane,
“The boys contemn'd and hated him as vain,
“Stiff and pedantic.”—
“Did the man enjoy,
“In after life, the visions of the boy?”
“In after life, the visions of the boy?”
“At least they form'd his wishes, they were yet
“The favourite views on which his mind was set:
“He quaintly said, how happy must they prove,
“Who, loving, study—or who, studious, love;
“Who feel their minds with sciences imbued,
“And their warm hearts by beauty's force subdued
“The favourite views on which his mind was set:
“He quaintly said, how happy must they prove,
“Who, loving, study—or who, studious, love;
“Who feel their minds with sciences imbued,
“And their warm hearts by beauty's force subdued
“His widow'd mother, who the world had seen,
“And better judge of either sex had been,
“Told him that just as their affairs were placed,
“In some respects, he must forego his taste;
“That every beauty, both of form and mind,
“Must be by him, if unendow'd, resign'd;
“That wealth was wanted for their joint affairs;
“His sisters' portions, and the Hall's repairs.
“And better judge of either sex had been,
“Told him that just as their affairs were placed,
“In some respects, he must forego his taste;
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“Must be by him, if unendow'd, resign'd;
“That wealth was wanted for their joint affairs;
“His sisters' portions, and the Hall's repairs.
“The son assented—and the wife must bring
“Wealth, learning, beauty, ere he gave the ring;
“But as these merits, when they all unite,
“Are not produced in every soil and site;
“And when produced are not the certain gain
“Of him who would these precious things obtain;
“Our patient student waited many a year,
“Nor saw this phœnix in his walks appear.
“But as views mended in the joint estate,
“He would a something in his points abate;
“Give him but learning, beauty, temper, sense,
“And he would then the happy state commence.
“The mother sigh'd, but she at last agreed,
“And now the son was likely to succeed;
“Wealth is substantial good the fates allot,
“We know we have it, or we have it not;
“But all those graces, which men highly rate,
“Their minds themselves imagine and create;
“And therefore Finch was in a way to find
“A good that much depended on his mind.
“Wealth, learning, beauty, ere he gave the ring;
“But as these merits, when they all unite,
“Are not produced in every soil and site;
“And when produced are not the certain gain
“Of him who would these precious things obtain;
“Our patient student waited many a year,
“Nor saw this phœnix in his walks appear.
“But as views mended in the joint estate,
“He would a something in his points abate;
“Give him but learning, beauty, temper, sense,
“And he would then the happy state commence.
“The mother sigh'd, but she at last agreed,
“And now the son was likely to succeed;
“Wealth is substantial good the fates allot,
“We know we have it, or we have it not;
“But all those graces, which men highly rate,
“Their minds themselves imagine and create;
“And therefore Finch was in a way to find
“A good that much depended on his mind.
“He look'd around, observing, till he saw
“Augusta Dallas! when he felt an awe
“Of so much beauty and commanding grace,
“That well became the honours of her race:
“Augusta Dallas! when he felt an awe
“Of so much beauty and commanding grace,
“That well became the honours of her race:
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“This lady never boasted of the trash
“That commerce brings: she never spoke of cash;
“The gentle blood that ran in every vein
“At all such notions blush'd in pure disdain.
“That commerce brings: she never spoke of cash;
“The gentle blood that ran in every vein
“At all such notions blush'd in pure disdain.
“Wealth once relinquish'd, there was all beside,
“As Finch believed, that could adorn a bride;
“He could not gaze upon the form and air,
“Without concluding all was right and fair;
“Her mild but dignified reserve supprest
“All free enquiry—but his mind could rest,
“Assured that all was well, and in that view was blest.
“As Finch believed, that could adorn a bride;
“He could not gaze upon the form and air,
“Without concluding all was right and fair;
“Her mild but dignified reserve supprest
“All free enquiry—but his mind could rest,
“Assured that all was well, and in that view was blest.
“And now he ask'd, ‘Am I the happy man
“‘Who can deserve her? is there one who can?
“His mother told him, he possess'd the land
“That puts a man in heart to ask a hand;
“All who possess it feel they bear about
“A spell that puts a speedy end to doubt;
“But Finch was modest—‘May it then be thought
“‘That she can so be gain'd?’—‘She may be sought:’
“‘Can love with land be won?’ ‘By land is beauty bought.
“‘Do not, dear Charles, with indignation glow,
“‘All value that the want of which they know;
“‘Nor do I blame her; none that worth denies:
“‘But can my son be sure of what he buys?
“‘Beauty she has, but with it can you find
“‘The enquiring spirit, or the studious mind?
“‘This wilt thou need who art to thinking prone,
“‘And minds unpair'd had better think alone;
“‘Then how unhappy will the husband be,
“‘Whose sole associate spoils his company?’
“‘Who can deserve her? is there one who can?
“His mother told him, he possess'd the land
“That puts a man in heart to ask a hand;
“All who possess it feel they bear about
“A spell that puts a speedy end to doubt;
“But Finch was modest—‘May it then be thought
“‘That she can so be gain'd?’—‘She may be sought:’
“‘Can love with land be won?’ ‘By land is beauty bought.
“‘Do not, dear Charles, with indignation glow,
“‘All value that the want of which they know;
“‘Nor do I blame her; none that worth denies:
“‘But can my son be sure of what he buys?
“‘Beauty she has, but with it can you find
“‘The enquiring spirit, or the studious mind?
“‘This wilt thou need who art to thinking prone,
“‘And minds unpair'd had better think alone;
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“‘Whose sole associate spoils his company?’
“This he would try; but all such trials prove
“Too mighty for a man disposed to love;
“He whom the magic of a face enchains,
“But little knowledge of the mind obtains;
“If by his tender heart the man is led,
“He finds how erring is the soundest head.
“Too mighty for a man disposed to love;
“He whom the magic of a face enchains,
“But little knowledge of the mind obtains;
“If by his tender heart the man is led,
“He finds how erring is the soundest head.
“The lady saw his purpose; she could meet
“The man's enquiry, and his aim defeat;
“She had a studied flattery in her look,
“She could be seen retiring with a book;
“She by attending to his speech could prove,
“That she for learning had a fervent love;
“Yet love alone, she modestly declared,
“She must be spared enquiry, and was spared;
“Of her poor studies she was not so weak,
“As in his presence, or at all, to speak;
“But to discourse with him—who, all agreed,
“Has read so much, would be absurd indeed;
“Ask what he might, she was so much a dunce
“She would confess her ignorance at once.
“The man's enquiry, and his aim defeat;
“She had a studied flattery in her look,
“She could be seen retiring with a book;
“She by attending to his speech could prove,
“That she for learning had a fervent love;
“Yet love alone, she modestly declared,
“She must be spared enquiry, and was spared;
“Of her poor studies she was not so weak,
“As in his presence, or at all, to speak;
“But to discourse with him—who, all agreed,
“Has read so much, would be absurd indeed;
“Ask what he might, she was so much a dunce
“She would confess her ignorance at once.
“All this the man believed not,—doom'd to grieve
“For his belief, he this would not believe:
“No! he was quite in raptures to discern
“That love, and that avidity to learn.
“‘Could she have found,’ she said, ‘a friend, a guide,
“‘Like him, to study had been all her pride;
“‘But, doom'd so long to frivolous employ,
“‘How could she those superior views enjoy?
“‘The day might come—a happy day for her,
“‘When she might choose the ways she should prefer.’
“For his belief, he this would not believe:
“No! he was quite in raptures to discern
“That love, and that avidity to learn.
“‘Could she have found,’ she said, ‘a friend, a guide,
“‘Like him, to study had been all her pride;
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“‘How could she those superior views enjoy?
“‘The day might come—a happy day for her,
“‘When she might choose the ways she should prefer.’
“Then too he learn'd, in accidental way,
“How much she grieved to lose the given day
“In dissipation wild, in visitation gay.
“Happy, most happy, must the woman prove
“Who proudly looks on him she vows to love;
“Who can her humble acquisitions state,
“That he will praise, at least will tolerate.
“How much she grieved to lose the given day
“In dissipation wild, in visitation gay.
“Happy, most happy, must the woman prove
“Who proudly looks on him she vows to love;
“Who can her humble acquisitions state,
“That he will praise, at least will tolerate.
“Still the cool mother sundry doubts express'd,—
“‘How! is Augusta graver than the rest?
“‘There are three others: they are not inclined
“‘To feed with precious food the empty mind:
“‘Whence this strong relish?’ ‘It is very strong,
“Replied the son, ‘and has possess'd her long.
“‘Increased indeed; I may presume, by views,—
“‘We may suppose—ah! may she not refuse?’
“‘How! is Augusta graver than the rest?
“‘There are three others: they are not inclined
“‘To feed with precious food the empty mind:
“‘Whence this strong relish?’ ‘It is very strong,
“Replied the son, ‘and has possess'd her long.
“‘Increased indeed; I may presume, by views,—
“‘We may suppose—ah! may she not refuse?’
“‘Fear not!—I see the question must be tried,
“‘Nay, is determined—let us to your Bride.
“‘Nay, is determined—let us to your Bride.
“They soon were wedded, and the Nymph appear'd
“By all her promised excellence endear'd:
“Her words were kind, were cautious, and were few,
“And she was proud—of what her husband knew.
“Weeks pass'd away, some five or six, before,
“Bless'd in the present, Finch could think of more:
“A month was next upon a journey spent,
“When to the Lakes the fond companions went;
“Then the gay town received them, and, at last,
“Home to their mansion, man and wife, they pass'd.
“By all her promised excellence endear'd:
“Her words were kind, were cautious, and were few,
“And she was proud—of what her husband knew.
“Weeks pass'd away, some five or six, before,
“Bless'd in the present, Finch could think of more:
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“When to the Lakes the fond companions went;
“Then the gay town received them, and, at last,
“Home to their mansion, man and wife, they pass'd.
“And now in quiet way they came to live
“On what their fortune, love, and hopes would give;
“The honied moon had nought but silver rays,
“And shone benignly on their early days;
“The second moon a light less vivid shed,
“And now the silver rays were tinged with lead.
“They now began to look beyond the Hall,
“And think what friends would make a morning call;
“Their former appetites return'd, and now
“Both could their wishes and their tastes avow;
“'Twas now no longer ‘Just what you approve,’
“But ‘Let the wild fowl be to-day, my love.’
“In fact the senses, drawn aside by force
“Of a strong passion, sought their usual course.
“On what their fortune, love, and hopes would give;
“The honied moon had nought but silver rays,
“And shone benignly on their early days;
“The second moon a light less vivid shed,
“And now the silver rays were tinged with lead.
“They now began to look beyond the Hall,
“And think what friends would make a morning call;
“Their former appetites return'd, and now
“Both could their wishes and their tastes avow;
“'Twas now no longer ‘Just what you approve,’
“But ‘Let the wild fowl be to-day, my love.’
“In fact the senses, drawn aside by force
“Of a strong passion, sought their usual course.
“Now to her music would the wife repair,
“To which he listen'd once with eager air;
“When there was so much harmony within,
“That any note was sure its way to win;
“But now the sweet melodious tones were sent
“From the struck chords, and none cared where they went.
“Full well we know that many a favourite air,
“That charms a party, fails to charm a pair;
“And as Augusta play'd she look'd around,
“To see if one was dying at the sound:
“But all were gone—a husband, wrapt in gloom,
“Stalk'd careless, listless, up and down the room.
“To which he listen'd once with eager air;
“When there was so much harmony within,
“That any note was sure its way to win;
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“From the struck chords, and none cared where they went.
“Full well we know that many a favourite air,
“That charms a party, fails to charm a pair;
“And as Augusta play'd she look'd around,
“To see if one was dying at the sound:
“But all were gone—a husband, wrapt in gloom,
“Stalk'd careless, listless, up and down the room.
“And now 't is time to fill that ductile mind
“With knowledge, from his stores of various kind:
“His mother, in a peevish mood, had ask'd,
“‘Does your Augusta profit? is she task'd?’
“With knowledge, from his stores of various kind:
“His mother, in a peevish mood, had ask'd,
“‘Does your Augusta profit? is she task'd?’
“‘Madam!’ he cried, offended with her looks,
“‘There's time for all things, and not all for books:
“‘Just on one's marriage to sit down, and prate
“‘On points of learning, is a thing I hate.’—
“‘There's time for all things, and not all for books:
“‘Just on one's marriage to sit down, and prate
“‘On points of learning, is a thing I hate.’—
“‘'T is right, my son, and it appears to me,
“‘If deep your hatred, you must well agree.’
“‘If deep your hatred, you must well agree.’
“Finch was too angry for a man so wise,
“And said, ‘Insinuation I despise!
“‘Nor do I wish to have a mind so full
“‘Of learned trash—it makes a woman dull:
“‘Let it suffice, that I in her discern
“‘An aptitude, and a desire to learn.’—
“And said, ‘Insinuation I despise!
“‘Nor do I wish to have a mind so full
“‘Of learned trash—it makes a woman dull:
“‘Let it suffice, that I in her discern
“‘An aptitude, and a desire to learn.’—
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“The matron smiled, but she observed a frown
“On her son's brow, and calmly sat her down;
“Leaving the truth to Time, who solves our doubt,
“By bringing his all-glorious daughter out—
“Truth! for whose beauty all their love profess,
“And yet how many think it ugliness!
“On her son's brow, and calmly sat her down;
“Leaving the truth to Time, who solves our doubt,
“By bringing his all-glorious daughter out—
“Truth! for whose beauty all their love profess,
“And yet how many think it ugliness!
“‘Augusta, love,’ said Finch, ‘while you engage
“‘In that embroidery, let me read a page;
“‘Suppose it Hume's; indeed he takes a side,
“‘But still an author need not be our guide;
“‘And as he writes with elegance and ease,
“‘Do now attend—he will be sure to please.
“‘Here at the Revolution we commence,—
“‘We date, you know, our liberties from hence.’
“‘In that embroidery, let me read a page;
“‘Suppose it Hume's; indeed he takes a side,
“‘But still an author need not be our guide;
“‘And as he writes with elegance and ease,
“‘Do now attend—he will be sure to please.
“‘Here at the Revolution we commence,—
“‘We date, you know, our liberties from hence.’
“‘Yes, sure,’ Augusta answer'd with a smile,
“‘Our teacher always talk'd about his style;
“‘When we about the Revolution read,
“‘And how the Martyrs to the flames were led;
“‘The good old Bishops, I forget their names,
“‘But they were all committed to the flames;
“‘Maidens and widows, bachelors and wives,—
“‘The very babes and sucklings lost their lives.
“‘I read it all in Guthrie at the school,—
“‘What now!—I know you took me for a fool;
“‘There were five Bishops taken from the stall,
“‘And twenty widows, I remember all;
“‘And by this token, that our teacher tried
“‘To cry for pity, till she howl'd and cried.’
“‘Our teacher always talk'd about his style;
“‘When we about the Revolution read,
“‘And how the Martyrs to the flames were led;
“‘The good old Bishops, I forget their names,
“‘But they were all committed to the flames;
“‘Maidens and widows, bachelors and wives,—
“‘The very babes and sucklings lost their lives.
“‘I read it all in Guthrie at the school,—
“‘What now!—I know you took me for a fool;
“‘There were five Bishops taken from the stall,
“‘And twenty widows, I remember all;
“‘And by this token, that our teacher tried
“‘To cry for pity, till she howl'd and cried.’
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“‘True, true, my love, but you mistake the thing,—
“‘The Revolution that made William king
“‘Is what I mean; the Reformation you,
“‘In Edward and Elizabeth.’—‘'T is true:
“‘But the nice reading is the love between
“‘The brave lord Essex and the cruel queen;
“‘And how he sent the ring to save his head,
“‘Which the false lady kept till he was dead.
“‘The Revolution that made William king
“‘Is what I mean; the Reformation you,
“‘In Edward and Elizabeth.’—‘'T is true:
“‘But the nice reading is the love between
“‘The brave lord Essex and the cruel queen;
“‘And how he sent the ring to save his head,
“‘Which the false lady kept till he was dead.
“‘That is all true: now read, and I'll attend:
“‘But was not she a most deceitful friend?
“‘It was a monstrous, vile, and treacherous thing,
“‘To show no pity, and to keep the ring;
“‘But the queen shook her in her dying bed,
“‘And ‘God forgive you!’ was the word she said;
“‘‘Not I for certain:’—Come, I will attend,
“‘So read the Revolutions to an end.’
“‘But was not she a most deceitful friend?
“‘It was a monstrous, vile, and treacherous thing,
“‘To show no pity, and to keep the ring;
“‘But the queen shook her in her dying bed,
“‘And ‘God forgive you!’ was the word she said;
“‘‘Not I for certain:’—Come, I will attend,
“‘So read the Revolutions to an end.’
“Finch, with a timid, strange, enquiring look,
“Softly and slowly laid aside the book
“With sigh inaudible—‘Come, never heed,
“Said he, recovering, ‘now I cannot read.’
“Softly and slowly laid aside the book
“With sigh inaudible—‘Come, never heed,
“Said he, recovering, ‘now I cannot read.’
“They walk'd at leisure through their wood and groves,
“In fields and lanes, and talk'd of plants and loves,
“And loves of plants.—Said Finch, ‘Augusta dear,
“‘You said you loved to learn,—were you sincere?
“‘Do you remember that you told me once
“‘How much you grieved, and said you were a dunce?
“‘That is, you wanted information. Say,
“‘What would you learn? I will direct your way.’
“In fields and lanes, and talk'd of plants and loves,
“And loves of plants.—Said Finch, ‘Augusta dear,
“‘You said you loved to learn,—were you sincere?
“‘Do you remember that you told me once
“‘How much you grieved, and said you were a dunce?
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“‘What would you learn? I will direct your way.’
“‘Goodness!’ said she, ‘what meanings you discern
“‘In a few words! I said I wish'd to learn,
“‘And so I think I did; and you replied,
“‘The wish was good: what would you now beside?
“‘Did not you say it show'd an ardent mind;
“‘And pray what more do you expect to find?’
“‘In a few words! I said I wish'd to learn,
“‘And so I think I did; and you replied,
“‘The wish was good: what would you now beside?
“‘Did not you say it show'd an ardent mind;
“‘And pray what more do you expect to find?’
“‘My dear Augusta, could you wish indeed
“‘For any knowledge, and not then proceed?
“‘That is not wishing—’
“‘For any knowledge, and not then proceed?
“‘That is not wishing—’
“‘Mercy! how you teaze!
“‘You knew I said it with a view to please;
“‘A compliment to you, and quite enough,—
“‘You would not kill me with that puzzling stuff!
“‘Sure I might say I wish'd; but that is still
“‘Far from a promise: it is not,—‘I will.’
“‘You knew I said it with a view to please;
“‘A compliment to you, and quite enough,—
“‘You would not kill me with that puzzling stuff!
“‘Sure I might say I wish'd; but that is still
“‘Far from a promise: it is not,—‘I will.’
“‘But come, to show you that I will not hide
“‘My proper talents, you shall be my guide;
“‘And Lady Boothby, when we meet, shall cry,
“‘She's quite as good a botanist as I.’
“‘My proper talents, you shall be my guide;
“‘And Lady Boothby, when we meet, shall cry,
“‘She's quite as good a botanist as I.’
“‘Right, my Augusta;’ and, in manner grave,
“Finch his first lecture on the science gave;
“An introduction,—and he said, ‘My dear,
“‘Your thought was happy,—let us persevere;
“‘And let no trifling cause our work retard:’—
“Agreed the lady, but she fear'd it hard.
“Finch his first lecture on the science gave;
“An introduction,—and he said, ‘My dear,
“‘Your thought was happy,—let us persevere;
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“Agreed the lady, but she fear'd it hard.
“Now o'er the grounds they rambled many a mile;
“He show'd the flowers, the stamina, the style,
“Calix and corol, pericarp and fruit,
“And all the plant produces, branch and root
“Of these he treated, every varying shape,
“Till poor Augusta panted to escape:
“He show'd the various foliage plants produce,
“Lunate and lyrate, runcinate, retuse;
“Long were the learned words, and urged with force,
Panduriform, pinnatifid, premorse,
“Latent, and patent, papulous, and plane,—
“‘Oh!’ said the pupil, ‘it will turn my brain.’
“‘Fear not,’ he answer'd, and again, intent
“To fill that mind, o'er class and order went;
“And stopping, ‘Now,’ said he, ‘my love, attend.’
“‘I do,’ said she, ‘but when will be an end?’
“‘When we have made some progress,—now begin,
“‘Which is the stigma, show me with the pin:
“‘Come, I have told you, dearest, let me see,
“‘Times very many,—tell it now to me.’
“He show'd the flowers, the stamina, the style,
“Calix and corol, pericarp and fruit,
“And all the plant produces, branch and root
“Of these he treated, every varying shape,
“Till poor Augusta panted to escape:
“He show'd the various foliage plants produce,
“Lunate and lyrate, runcinate, retuse;
“Long were the learned words, and urged with force,
Panduriform, pinnatifid, premorse,
“Latent, and patent, papulous, and plane,—
“‘Oh!’ said the pupil, ‘it will turn my brain.’
“‘Fear not,’ he answer'd, and again, intent
“To fill that mind, o'er class and order went;
“And stopping, ‘Now,’ said he, ‘my love, attend.’
“‘I do,’ said she, ‘but when will be an end?’
“‘When we have made some progress,—now begin,
“‘Which is the stigma, show me with the pin:
“‘Come, I have told you, dearest, let me see,
“‘Times very many,—tell it now to me.’
“‘Stigma! I know,—the things with yellow heads,
“‘That shed the dust, and grow upon the threads;
“‘You call them wives and husbands, but you know
“‘That is a joke—here, look, and I will show
“‘All I remember.’—Doleful was the look
“Of the preceptor, when he shut his book,
“(The system brought to aid them in their view,)
“And now with sighs return'd—‘It will not do.’
“‘That shed the dust, and grow upon the threads;
“‘You call them wives and husbands, but you know
“‘That is a joke—here, look, and I will show
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“Of the preceptor, when he shut his book,
“(The system brought to aid them in their view,)
“And now with sighs return'd—‘It will not do.’
“A handsome face first led him to suppose,
“There must be talent with such looks as those;
“The want of talent taught him now to find
“The face less handsome with so poor a mind;
“And half the beauty faded, when he found
“His cherish'd hopes were falling to the ground.
“There must be talent with such looks as those;
“The want of talent taught him now to find
“The face less handsome with so poor a mind;
“And half the beauty faded, when he found
“His cherish'd hopes were falling to the ground.
“Finch lost his spirit; but e'en then he sought
“For fancied powers: she might in time be taught.
“Sure there was nothing in that mind to fear;
“The favourite study did not yet appear.—
“For fancied powers: she might in time be taught.
“Sure there was nothing in that mind to fear;
“The favourite study did not yet appear.—
“Once he express'd a doubt if she could look
“For five succeeding minutes on a book;
“When, with awaken'd spirit, she replied,
“‘He was mistaken, and she would be tried.’
“For five succeeding minutes on a book;
“When, with awaken'd spirit, she replied,
“‘He was mistaken, and she would be tried.’
“With this delighted, he new hopes express'd,—
“‘How do I know?—She may abide the test?
“‘Men I have known, and famous in their day,
“‘Who were by chance directed in their way:
“‘I have been hasty.—Well, Augusta, well,
“‘What is your favourite reading? prithee tell;
“‘Our different tastes may different books require,—
“‘Yours I may not peruse, and yet admire:
“‘Do then explain’—‘Good Heaven!’ said she, in haste,
“‘How I do hate these lectures upon taste!’
“‘I lecture not, my love; but do declare,—
“‘You read you say—what your attainments are.’
“‘How do I know?—She may abide the test?
“‘Men I have known, and famous in their day,
“‘Who were by chance directed in their way:
“‘I have been hasty.—Well, Augusta, well,
“‘What is your favourite reading? prithee tell;
“‘Our different tastes may different books require,—
“‘Yours I may not peruse, and yet admire:
“‘Do then explain’—‘Good Heaven!’ said she, in haste,
“‘How I do hate these lectures upon taste!’
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“‘You read you say—what your attainments are.’
“‘Oh! you believe,’ said she, ‘that other things
“‘Are read as well as histories of kings,
“‘And loves of plants, with all that simple stuff
“‘About their sex, of which I know enough.
“‘Are read as well as histories of kings,
“‘And loves of plants, with all that simple stuff
“‘About their sex, of which I know enough.
“‘Well, if I must, I will my studies name,
“‘Blame if you please—I know you love to blame.
“‘When all our childish books were set apart,
“‘The first I read was ‘Wanderings of the Heart;
“‘It was a story, where was done a deed
“‘So dreadful, that alone I fear'd to read.
“‘Blame if you please—I know you love to blame.
“‘When all our childish books were set apart,
“‘The first I read was ‘Wanderings of the Heart;
“‘It was a story, where was done a deed
“‘So dreadful, that alone I fear'd to read.
“‘The next was ‘The Confessions of a Nun,’—
“‘'T was quite a shame such evil should be done;
“‘Nun of—no matter for the creature's name,
“‘For there are girls no nunnery can tame:
“‘Then was the story of the Haunted Hall,
“‘Where the huge picture nodded from the wall,
“‘When the old lord look'd up with trembling dread,
“‘And I grew pale, and shudder'd as I read:
“‘Then came the tales of Winters, Summers Springs,
“‘At Bath and Brighton,—they were pretty things!
“‘No ghosts nor spectres there were heard or seen,
“‘But all was love and flight to Gretna-green.
“‘Perhaps your greater learning may despise
“‘What others like, and there your wisdom lies,—
“‘Well! do not frown,—I read the tender tales
“‘Of lonely cots, retreats in silent vales
“‘For maids forsaken, and suspected wives,
“‘Against whose peace some foe his plot contrives
“‘With all the hidden schemes that none can clear
“‘Till the last book, and then the ghosts appear.
“‘'T was quite a shame such evil should be done;
“‘Nun of—no matter for the creature's name,
“‘For there are girls no nunnery can tame:
“‘Then was the story of the Haunted Hall,
“‘Where the huge picture nodded from the wall,
“‘When the old lord look'd up with trembling dread,
“‘And I grew pale, and shudder'd as I read:
“‘Then came the tales of Winters, Summers Springs,
“‘At Bath and Brighton,—they were pretty things!
“‘No ghosts nor spectres there were heard or seen,
“‘But all was love and flight to Gretna-green.
“‘Perhaps your greater learning may despise
“‘What others like, and there your wisdom lies,—
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“‘Of lonely cots, retreats in silent vales
“‘For maids forsaken, and suspected wives,
“‘Against whose peace some foe his plot contrives
“‘With all the hidden schemes that none can clear
“‘Till the last book, and then the ghosts appear.
“‘I read all plays that on the boards succeed,
“‘And all the works, that ladies ever read,—
“‘Shakspeare, and all the rest,—I did, indeed,—
“‘Ay! you may stare; but, sir, believe it true
“‘That we can read and learn, as well as you.
“‘And all the works, that ladies ever read,—
“‘Shakspeare, and all the rest,—I did, indeed,—
“‘Ay! you may stare; but, sir, believe it true
“‘That we can read and learn, as well as you.
“‘I would not boast,—but I could act a scene
“‘In any play, before I was fifteen.
“‘In any play, before I was fifteen.
“‘Nor is this all; for many are the times
“‘I read in Pope and Milton, prose and rhymes;
“‘They were our lessons, and, at ten years old,
“‘I could repeat—but now enough is told.
“‘Sir, I can tell you I my mind applied
“‘To all my studies, and was not denied
“‘Praise for my progress—Are you satisfied?’
“‘I read in Pope and Milton, prose and rhymes;
“‘They were our lessons, and, at ten years old,
“‘I could repeat—but now enough is told.
“‘Sir, I can tell you I my mind applied
“‘To all my studies, and was not denied
“‘Praise for my progress—Are you satisfied?’
“‘Entirely, madam! else were I possess'd
“‘By a strong spirit who could never rest.
“‘Yes! yes, no more I question,—here I close
“‘The theme for ever—let us to repose.’”
“‘By a strong spirit who could never rest.
“‘Yes! yes, no more I question,—here I close
“‘The theme for ever—let us to repose.’”
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BOOK X. THE OLD BACHELOR.
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A Friend arrives at the Hall—Old Bachelors and Maids— Relation of one—His Parents—The first Courtship—The second—The third—Long Interval—Travel—Decline of Life—The fourth Lady—Conclusion.
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Save their kind friend the Rector, Richard yet
Had not a favourite of his Brother met;
Now at the Hall that welcome guest appear'd,
By trust, by trials, and by time endear'd;
Of him the grateful 'Squire his love profess'd,
And full regard—he was of friends the best;
“Yet not to him alone this good I owe,
“This social pleasure that our friends bestow;
“The sex, that wrought in earlier life my woes,
“With loss of time, who murder'd my repose,
“They to my joys administer, nor vex
“Me more; and now I venerate the sex;
“And boast the friendship of a Spinster kind,
“Cheerful and pleasant, to her fate resign'd;
“Then by her side my Bachelor I place,
“And hold them honours to the human race.
“Yet these are they in tale and song display'd,
“The peevish man and the repining maid:
“Creatures made up of misery and spite,
“Who taste no pleasures, except those they blight:
“From whom the affrighten'd niece and nephew fly,—
“Fear'd while they live, and useless till they die.
Had not a favourite of his Brother met;
Now at the Hall that welcome guest appear'd,
By trust, by trials, and by time endear'd;
Of him the grateful 'Squire his love profess'd,
And full regard—he was of friends the best;
“Yet not to him alone this good I owe,
“This social pleasure that our friends bestow;
“The sex, that wrought in earlier life my woes,
“With loss of time, who murder'd my repose,
“They to my joys administer, nor vex
“Me more; and now I venerate the sex;
“And boast the friendship of a Spinster kind,
“Cheerful and pleasant, to her fate resign'd;
“Then by her side my Bachelor I place,
“And hold them honours to the human race.
“Yet these are they in tale and song display'd,
“The peevish man and the repining maid:
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“Who taste no pleasures, except those they blight:
“From whom the affrighten'd niece and nephew fly,—
“Fear'd while they live, and useless till they die.
“Not such these friends of mine; they never meant
“That youth should so be lost, or life be spent.
“They had warm passions, tender hopes, desires
“That youth indulges, and that love inspires:
“But fortune frown'd on their designs, displaced
“The views of hope, and love's gay dreams disgraced;
“Took from the soul her sunny views, and spread
“A cloud of dark but varying gloom instead:
“And shall we these with ridicule pursue,
“Because they did not what they could not do?
“If they their lot preferr'd, still why the jest
“On those who took the way they judged the best?
“But if they sought a change, and sought in vain,
“'T is worse than brutal to deride their pain—
“But you will see them; see the man I praise,
“The kind protector in my troubled days,
“Himself in trouble, you shall see him now,
“And learn his worth! and my applause allow.”
“That youth should so be lost, or life be spent.
“They had warm passions, tender hopes, desires
“That youth indulges, and that love inspires:
“But fortune frown'd on their designs, displaced
“The views of hope, and love's gay dreams disgraced;
“Took from the soul her sunny views, and spread
“A cloud of dark but varying gloom instead:
“And shall we these with ridicule pursue,
“Because they did not what they could not do?
“If they their lot preferr'd, still why the jest
“On those who took the way they judged the best?
“But if they sought a change, and sought in vain,
“'T is worse than brutal to deride their pain—
“But you will see them; see the man I praise,
“The kind protector in my troubled days,
“Himself in trouble, you shall see him now,
“And learn his worth! and my applause allow.”
This friend appear'd with talents form'd to please,
And with some looks of sprightliness and ease;
To him indeed the ills of life were known,
But misery had not made him all her own.
And with some looks of sprightliness and ease;
To him indeed the ills of life were known,
But misery had not made him all her own.
They spoke on various themes, and George design'd
To show his Brother this, the favourite mind;
To lead the friend, by subjects he could choose,
To paint himself, his life, and earlier views,
What he was bless'd to hope, what he was doom'd to lose.
To show his Brother this, the favourite mind;
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To paint himself, his life, and earlier views,
What he was bless'd to hope, what he was doom'd to lose.
They spoke of marriage, and he understood
Their call on him, and said, “It is not good
“To be alone, although alone to be
“Is freedom; so are men in deserts free;
“Men who unyoked and unattended groan,
“Condemn'd and grieved to walk their way alone:
“Whatever ills a married pair betide,
“Each feels a stay, a comfort, or a guide;
“‘Not always comfort,’ will our wits reply.—
“Wits are not judges, nor the cause shall try.
“Have I not seen, when grief his visits paid,
“That they were easier by communion made?
“True, with the quiet times and days serene,
“There have been flying clouds of care and spleen;
“But is not man, the solitary, sick
“Of his existence, sad and splenetic?
“And who will help him, when such evils come,
“To bear the pressure or to clear the gloom?
Their call on him, and said, “It is not good
“To be alone, although alone to be
“Is freedom; so are men in deserts free;
“Men who unyoked and unattended groan,
“Condemn'd and grieved to walk their way alone:
“Whatever ills a married pair betide,
“Each feels a stay, a comfort, or a guide;
“‘Not always comfort,’ will our wits reply.—
“Wits are not judges, nor the cause shall try.
“Have I not seen, when grief his visits paid,
“That they were easier by communion made?
“True, with the quiet times and days serene,
“There have been flying clouds of care and spleen;
“But is not man, the solitary, sick
“Of his existence, sad and splenetic?
“And who will help him, when such evils come,
“To bear the pressure or to clear the gloom?
“Do you not find, that joy within the breast
“Of the unwedded man is soon suppress'd;
“While, to the bosom of a wife convey'd,
“Increase is by participation made?—
“The lighted lamp that gives another light,
“Say, is it by th' imparted blaze less bright?
“Are not both gainers when the heart's distress
“Is so divided, that the pain is less?
“And when the tear has stood in either eye,
“Love's sun shines out, and they are quickly dry.”
“Of the unwedded man is soon suppress'd;
“While, to the bosom of a wife convey'd,
“Increase is by participation made?—
“The lighted lamp that gives another light,
“Say, is it by th' imparted blaze less bright?
“Are not both gainers when the heart's distress
“Is so divided, that the pain is less?
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“Love's sun shines out, and they are quickly dry.”
He ended here,—but would he not confess,
How came these feelings on his mind to press?
He would! nor fear'd his weakness to display
To men like them; their weakness too had they.
Bright shone the fire, wine sparkled, sordid care
Was banish'd far, at least appear'd not there:
A kind and social spirit each possess'd,
And thus began his tale the friendly guest.
How came these feelings on his mind to press?
He would! nor fear'd his weakness to display
To men like them; their weakness too had they.
Bright shone the fire, wine sparkled, sordid care
Was banish'd far, at least appear'd not there:
A kind and social spirit each possess'd,
And thus began his tale the friendly guest.
“Near to my father's mansion,—but apart,
“I must acknowledge, from my father's heart,—
“Dwelt a keen sportsman, in a pleasant seat;
“Nor met the neighbours as should neighbours meet:
“To them revenge appear'd a kind of right,
“A lawful pleasure, an avow'd delight;
“Their neighbours too blew up their passion's fire,
“And urged the anger of each rival-squire;
“More still their waspish tempers to inflame,
“A party-spirit, friend of anger, came:
“Oft would my father cry, ‘That tory-knave,
“‘That villain-placeman, would the land enslave.’
“Not that his neighbour had indeed a place,
“But would accept one—that was his disgrace;
“Who, in his turn, was sure my father plann'd
“To revolutionise his native land.
“He dared the most destructive things advance,
“And even pray'd for liberty to France;
“Had still good hope that Heaven would grant his prayer,
“That he might see a revolution there.
“At this the tory-squire was much perplex'd:
“‘Freedom in France!—what will he utter next?
“‘Sooner should I in Paris look to see
“‘An English army sent their guard to be.’
“I must acknowledge, from my father's heart,—
“Dwelt a keen sportsman, in a pleasant seat;
“Nor met the neighbours as should neighbours meet:
“To them revenge appear'd a kind of right,
“A lawful pleasure, an avow'd delight;
“Their neighbours too blew up their passion's fire,
“And urged the anger of each rival-squire;
“More still their waspish tempers to inflame,
“A party-spirit, friend of anger, came:
“Oft would my father cry, ‘That tory-knave,
“‘That villain-placeman, would the land enslave.’
“Not that his neighbour had indeed a place,
“But would accept one—that was his disgrace;
“Who, in his turn, was sure my father plann'd
“To revolutionise his native land.
“He dared the most destructive things advance,
“And even pray'd for liberty to France;
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“That he might see a revolution there.
“At this the tory-squire was much perplex'd:
“‘Freedom in France!—what will he utter next?
“‘Sooner should I in Paris look to see
“‘An English army sent their guard to be.’
“My poor mamma, who had her mind subdued
“By whig-control, and hated every feud,
“Would have her neighbour met with mind serene;
“But fiercer spirit fired the tory-queen:
“My parents both had given her high disgust,
“While she resenting said, ‘Revenge is just;’
“And till th' offending parties chose to stoop,
“She judged it right to keep resentment up;
“Could she in friendship with a woman live
“Who could the insult of a man forgive?
“Did not her husband in a crowded room
“Once call her idiot, and the thing was dumb?
“The man's attack was brutal to be sure,
“But she no less an idiot to endure.
“By whig-control, and hated every feud,
“Would have her neighbour met with mind serene;
“But fiercer spirit fired the tory-queen:
“My parents both had given her high disgust,
“While she resenting said, ‘Revenge is just;’
“And till th' offending parties chose to stoop,
“She judged it right to keep resentment up;
“Could she in friendship with a woman live
“Who could the insult of a man forgive?
“Did not her husband in a crowded room
“Once call her idiot, and the thing was dumb?
“The man's attack was brutal to be sure,
“But she no less an idiot to endure.
“This lofty dame, with unrelenting soul,
“Had a fair girl to govern and control;
“The dear Maria!—whom, when first I met,—
“Shame on this weakness! do I feel it yet?
“Had a fair girl to govern and control;
“The dear Maria!—whom, when first I met,—
“Shame on this weakness! do I feel it yet?
“The parent's anger, you will oft-times see,
“Prepares the children's minds for amity;
“Youth will not enter into such debate,
“'T is not in them to cherish groundless hate;
“Nor can they feel men's quarrels or their cares,
“Of whig or tory, partridges or hares.
“Prepares the children's minds for amity;
“Youth will not enter into such debate,
“'T is not in them to cherish groundless hate;
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“Of whig or tory, partridges or hares.
“Long ere we loved, this gentle girl and I
“Gave to our parents' discord many a sigh;
“It was not ours,—and when the meeting came
“It pleased us much to find our thoughts the same;
“But grief and trouble in our minds arose
“From the fierce spirits we could not compose;
“And much it vex'd us that the friends so dear
“To us should foes among themselves appear.
“Gave to our parents' discord many a sigh;
“It was not ours,—and when the meeting came
“It pleased us much to find our thoughts the same;
“But grief and trouble in our minds arose
“From the fierce spirits we could not compose;
“And much it vex'd us that the friends so dear
“To us should foes among themselves appear.
“Such was this maid, the angel of her race,
“Whom I had loved in any time and place,
“But in a time and place which chance assign'd,
“When it was almost treason to be kind;
“When we had vast impediments in view,
“Then wonder not that love in terror grew
“With double speed—we look'd, and strove to find
“A kindred spirit in the hostile mind;
“But is it hostile? there appears no sign
“In those dear looks of warfare—none have mine;
“At length I whisper'd—‘Would that war might cease
“‘Between our houses, and that all was peace!’
“A sweet confusion on her features rose,
“‘She could not bear to think of having foes,
“‘When we might all as friends and neighbours live,
“‘And for that blessing, Oh! what would she give?’—
“‘Then let us try and our endeavours blend,’
“I said, ‘to bring these quarrels to an end:’
“Thus, with one purpose in our hearts, we strove,
“And, if no more, increased our secret love;
“Love that with such impediments in view
“To meet the growing danger stronger grew:
“And from that time each heart, resolved and sure,
“Grew firm in hope, and patient to endure.
“Whom I had loved in any time and place,
“But in a time and place which chance assign'd,
“When it was almost treason to be kind;
“When we had vast impediments in view,
“Then wonder not that love in terror grew
“With double speed—we look'd, and strove to find
“A kindred spirit in the hostile mind;
“But is it hostile? there appears no sign
“In those dear looks of warfare—none have mine;
“At length I whisper'd—‘Would that war might cease
“‘Between our houses, and that all was peace!’
“A sweet confusion on her features rose,
“‘She could not bear to think of having foes,
“‘When we might all as friends and neighbours live,
“‘And for that blessing, Oh! what would she give?’—
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“I said, ‘to bring these quarrels to an end:’
“Thus, with one purpose in our hearts, we strove,
“And, if no more, increased our secret love;
“Love that with such impediments in view
“To meet the growing danger stronger grew:
“And from that time each heart, resolved and sure,
“Grew firm in hope, and patient to endure.
“To those who know this season of delight
“I need not strive their feelings to excite;
“To those who know not the delight or pain,
“The best description would be lent in vain;
“And to the grieving, who will no more find
“The bower of bliss, to paint it were unkind;
“I pass it by, to tell that long we tried
“To bring our fathers over to our side;
“'T was bootless on their wives our skill to try,
“For one would not, and one in vain comply.
“I need not strive their feelings to excite;
“To those who know not the delight or pain,
“The best description would be lent in vain;
“And to the grieving, who will no more find
“The bower of bliss, to paint it were unkind;
“I pass it by, to tell that long we tried
“To bring our fathers over to our side;
“'T was bootless on their wives our skill to try,
“For one would not, and one in vain comply.
“First I began my father's heart to move,
“By boldly saying, ‘We are born to love;’
“My father answer'd, with an air of ease,
“‘Well! very well! be loving if you please!
“‘Except a man insults us or offends,
“‘In my opinion we should all be friends.‘
“By boldly saying, ‘We are born to love;’
“My father answer'd, with an air of ease,
“‘Well! very well! be loving if you please!
“‘Except a man insults us or offends,
“‘In my opinion we should all be friends.‘
“This gain'd me nothing; little would accrue
“From clearing points so useless though so true;
“But with some pains I brought him to confess,
“That to forgive our wrongs is to redress:
“From clearing points so useless though so true;
“But with some pains I brought him to confess,
“That to forgive our wrongs is to redress:
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“‘It might be so,’ he answer'd, yet with doubt,
“That it might not, ‘but what is this about?’
“I dared not speak directly, but I strove
“To keep my subjects, harmony and love.
“That it might not, ‘but what is this about?’
“I dared not speak directly, but I strove
“To keep my subjects, harmony and love.
“Coolly my father look'd, and much enjoy'd
“The broken eloquence his eye destroy'd;
“Yet less confused, and more resolved at last,
“With bolder effort to my point I pass'd;
“And fondly speaking of my peerless maid,
“I call'd her worth and beauty to my aid,
“‘Then make her mine!’ I said, and for his favour pray'd.
“The broken eloquence his eye destroy'd;
“Yet less confused, and more resolved at last,
“With bolder effort to my point I pass'd;
“And fondly speaking of my peerless maid,
“I call'd her worth and beauty to my aid,
“‘Then make her mine!’ I said, and for his favour pray'd.
“My father's look was one I seldom saw,
“It gave no pleasure, nor created awe;
“It was the kind of cool contemptuous smile
“Of witty persons, overcharged with bile;
“At first he spoke not, nor at last to me—
“It gave no pleasure, nor created awe;
“It was the kind of cool contemptuous smile
“Of witty persons, overcharged with bile;
“At first he spoke not, nor at last to me—
“‘Well now, and what if such a thing could be?
“‘What, if the boy should his addresses pay
“‘To the tall girl, would that old tory say?
“‘I have no hatred to the dog,—but, still,
“‘It was some pleasure when I used him ill;
“‘This I must lose if we should brethren be,
“‘Yet may be not, for brethren disagree;
“‘The fool is right,—there is no bar in life
“‘Against their marriage,—let her be his wife.
“‘Well, sir, you hear me!’—Never man complied,
“And left a beggar so dissatisfied;
“Though all was granted, yet was grace refused;
“I felt as one indulged, and yet abused,
“And yet, although provoked, I was not unamused.
“In a reply like this appear'd to meet
“All that encourage hope, and that defeat;
“Consent, though cool, had been for me enough,
“But this consent had something of reproof;
“I had prepared my answer to his rage,
“With his contempt I thought not to engage:
“I, like a hero, would my castle storm,
“And meet the giant in his proper form;
“Then, conquering him, would set my princess free;
“This would a trial and a triumph be:
“When lo! a sneering menial brings the keys,
“And cries in scorn, ‘Come, enter, if you please;
“‘You'll find the lady sitting on her bed,
“‘And 't is expected that you woo and wed.’
“‘What, if the boy should his addresses pay
“‘To the tall girl, would that old tory say?
“‘I have no hatred to the dog,—but, still,
“‘It was some pleasure when I used him ill;
“‘This I must lose if we should brethren be,
“‘Yet may be not, for brethren disagree;
“‘The fool is right,—there is no bar in life
“‘Against their marriage,—let her be his wife.
“‘Well, sir, you hear me!’—Never man complied,
“And left a beggar so dissatisfied;
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“I felt as one indulged, and yet abused,
“And yet, although provoked, I was not unamused.
“In a reply like this appear'd to meet
“All that encourage hope, and that defeat;
“Consent, though cool, had been for me enough,
“But this consent had something of reproof;
“I had prepared my answer to his rage,
“With his contempt I thought not to engage:
“I, like a hero, would my castle storm,
“And meet the giant in his proper form;
“Then, conquering him, would set my princess free;
“This would a trial and a triumph be:
“When lo! a sneering menial brings the keys,
“And cries in scorn, ‘Come, enter, if you please;
“‘You'll find the lady sitting on her bed,
“‘And 't is expected that you woo and wed.’
“Yet not so easy was my conquest found;
“I met with trouble ere with triumph crown'd.
“Triumph, alas!—My father little thought,
“A king at home, how other minds are wrought;
“True, his meek neighbour was a gentle squire,
“And had a soul averse from wrath and ire;
“He answer'd frankly, when to him I went,
“‘I give you little, sir, in my consent:’
“He and my mother were to us inclined,
“The powerless party with the peaceful mind;
“But that meek man was destined to obey
“A sovereign lady's unremitted sway;
“Who bore no partial, no divided rule,—
“All were obedient pupils in her school.
“She had religious zeal, both strong and sour,
“That gave an active sternness to her power;
“But few could please her, she herself was one
“By whom that deed was very seldom done;
“With such a being, so disposed to feed
“Contempt and scorn—how was I to succeed?
“But love commanded, and I made my prayer
“To the stern lady, with an humble air;
“Said all that lovers hope, all measures tried
“That love suggested, and bow'd down to pride.
“I met with trouble ere with triumph crown'd.
“Triumph, alas!—My father little thought,
“A king at home, how other minds are wrought;
“True, his meek neighbour was a gentle squire,
“And had a soul averse from wrath and ire;
“He answer'd frankly, when to him I went,
“‘I give you little, sir, in my consent:’
“He and my mother were to us inclined,
“The powerless party with the peaceful mind;
“But that meek man was destined to obey
“A sovereign lady's unremitted sway;
“Who bore no partial, no divided rule,—
“All were obedient pupils in her school.
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“That gave an active sternness to her power;
“But few could please her, she herself was one
“By whom that deed was very seldom done;
“With such a being, so disposed to feed
“Contempt and scorn—how was I to succeed?
“But love commanded, and I made my prayer
“To the stern lady, with an humble air;
“Said all that lovers hope, all measures tried
“That love suggested, and bow'd down to pride.
“Yes! I have now the tigress in my eye—
“When I had ceased and waited her reply,
“A pause ensued, and then she slowly rose,
“With bitter smile predictive of my woes;
“A look she saw was plainly understood—
“When I had ceased and waited her reply,
“A pause ensued, and then she slowly rose,
“With bitter smile predictive of my woes;
“A look she saw was plainly understood—
“‘Admire my daughter! Sir, you're very good.
“‘The girl is decent, take her all in all,—
“‘Genteel we hope—perhaps a thought too tall;
“‘A daughter's portion hers—you'll think her fortune small.
“‘Perhaps her uncles, in a cause so good,
“‘Would do a little for their flesh and blood;
“‘We are not ill allied,—and say we make
“‘Her portion decent—whither would you take?
“‘Is there some cottage on your father's ground,
“‘Where may a dwelling for the girl be found?
“‘Or a small farm,—your mother understands
“‘How to make useful such a pair of hands.
“‘The girl is decent, take her all in all,—
“‘Genteel we hope—perhaps a thought too tall;
“‘A daughter's portion hers—you'll think her fortune small.
“‘Perhaps her uncles, in a cause so good,
“‘Would do a little for their flesh and blood;
“‘We are not ill allied,—and say we make
“‘Her portion decent—whither would you take?
“‘Is there some cottage on your father's ground,
“‘Where may a dwelling for the girl be found?
“‘Or a small farm,—your mother understands
“‘How to make useful such a pair of hands.
“‘But this we drop at present, if you please,
“‘We shall have leisure for such things as these;
“‘They will be proper ere you fix the day
“‘For the poor girl to honour and obey;
“‘At present therefore we may put an end
“‘To our discourse—Good morrow to you, friend!’
“‘We shall have leisure for such things as these;
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“‘For the poor girl to honour and obey;
“‘At present therefore we may put an end
“‘To our discourse—Good morrow to you, friend!’
“Then, with a solemn curtsey and profound,
“Her laughing eye she lifted from the ground,
“And left me lost in thought, and gazing idly round.
“Her laughing eye she lifted from the ground,
“And left me lost in thought, and gazing idly round.
“Still we had hope, and, growing bold in time,
“I would engage the father in our crime:
“But he refused; for though he wish'd us well,
“He said, ‘he must not make his house a hell;’—
“And sure the meaning look that I convey'd
“Did not inform him that the hell was made.
“Still hope existed that a mother's heart
“Would in a daughter's feelings take a part;
“Nor was it vain,—for there is found access
“To a hard heart, in time of its distress.
“I would engage the father in our crime:
“But he refused; for though he wish'd us well,
“He said, ‘he must not make his house a hell;’—
“And sure the meaning look that I convey'd
“Did not inform him that the hell was made.
“Still hope existed that a mother's heart
“Would in a daughter's feelings take a part;
“Nor was it vain,—for there is found access
“To a hard heart, in time of its distress.
“The mother sicken'd, and the daughter sigh'd,
“And we petition'd till our queen complied;
“She thought of dying, and if power must cease,
“Better to make, than cause, th' expected peace;
“And sure this kindness, mixing with the blood,
“Its balmy influence caused the body's good;
“For as a charm, it work'd upon the frame
“Of the reviving and relenting dame;
“For when recover'd, she no more opposed
“Her daughter's wishes.—Here contention closed.
“And we petition'd till our queen complied;
“She thought of dying, and if power must cease,
“Better to make, than cause, th' expected peace;
“And sure this kindness, mixing with the blood,
“Its balmy influence caused the body's good;
“For as a charm, it work'd upon the frame
“Of the reviving and relenting dame;
“For when recover'd, she no more opposed
“Her daughter's wishes.—Here contention closed.
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“Then bliss ensued, so exquisitely sweet,
“That with it once, once only, we can meet;
“For though we love again, and though once more
“We feel th' enlivening hope we felt before,
“Still the pure freshness of the joy that cast
“Its sweet around us is for ever past.
“Oh! time to memory precious,—ever dear,
“Though ever painful—this eventful year;
“What bliss is now in view! and now what woes appear!
“Sweet hours of expectation!—I was gone
“To the vile town to press our business on;
“To urge its formal instruments,—and lo!
“Comes with dire looks a messenger of woe,
“With tidings sad as death!—With all-my speed
“I reach'd her home!—but that pure soul was freed—
“She was no more—for ever shut that eye,
“That look'd all soul, as if it could not die;
“It could not see me—Oh! the strange distress
“Of these new feelings!—misery's excess;
“What can describe it? words will not express
“When I look back upon that dreadful scene,
“I feel renew'd the anguish that has been;
“And reason trembles—Yes! you bid me cease,
“Nor try to think; but I will think in peace.—
“That with it once, once only, we can meet;
“For though we love again, and though once more
“We feel th' enlivening hope we felt before,
“Still the pure freshness of the joy that cast
“Its sweet around us is for ever past.
“Oh! time to memory precious,—ever dear,
“Though ever painful—this eventful year;
“What bliss is now in view! and now what woes appear!
“Sweet hours of expectation!—I was gone
“To the vile town to press our business on;
“To urge its formal instruments,—and lo!
“Comes with dire looks a messenger of woe,
“With tidings sad as death!—With all-my speed
“I reach'd her home!—but that pure soul was freed—
“She was no more—for ever shut that eye,
“That look'd all soul, as if it could not die;
“It could not see me—Oh! the strange distress
“Of these new feelings!—misery's excess;
“What can describe it? words will not express
“When I look back upon that dreadful scene,
“I feel renew'd the anguish that has been;
“And reason trembles—Yes! you bid me cease,
“Nor try to think; but I will think in peace.—
“Unbid and unforbidden, to the room
“I went, a gloomy wretch amid that gloom;
“And there the lovely being on her bed
“Shrouded and cold was laid—Maria dead!
“There was I left,—and I have now no thought
“Remains with me, how fear or fancy wrought;
“I know I gazed upon the marble cheek,
“And pray'd the dear departed girl to speak—
“Further I know not, for, till years were fled,
“All was extinguish'd—all with her was dead.
“I had a general terror, dread of all
“That could a thinking, feeling man befall;
“I was desirous from myself to run,
“And something, but I knew not what, to shun:
“There was a blank from this I cannot fill,
“It is a puzzle and a terror still.
“Yet did I feel some intervals of bliss,
“Ev'n with the horrors of a fate like this;
“And dreams of wonderful construction paid
“For waking horror—dear angelic maid!
“I went, a gloomy wretch amid that gloom;
“And there the lovely being on her bed
“Shrouded and cold was laid—Maria dead!
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“Remains with me, how fear or fancy wrought;
“I know I gazed upon the marble cheek,
“And pray'd the dear departed girl to speak—
“Further I know not, for, till years were fled,
“All was extinguish'd—all with her was dead.
“I had a general terror, dread of all
“That could a thinking, feeling man befall;
“I was desirous from myself to run,
“And something, but I knew not what, to shun:
“There was a blank from this I cannot fill,
“It is a puzzle and a terror still.
“Yet did I feel some intervals of bliss,
“Ev'n with the horrors of a fate like this;
“And dreams of wonderful construction paid
“For waking horror—dear angelic maid!
“When peace return'd, unfelt for many a year,
“And Hope, discarded flatterer, dared t' appear;
“I heard of my estate, how free from debt,
“And of the comforts life afforded yet;
“Beside that best of comforts in a life
“So sad as mine—a fond and faithful wife.
“My gentle mother, now a widow, made
“These strong attempts to guide me or persuade.
“And Hope, discarded flatterer, dared t' appear;
“I heard of my estate, how free from debt,
“And of the comforts life afforded yet;
“Beside that best of comforts in a life
“So sad as mine—a fond and faithful wife.
“My gentle mother, now a widow, made
“These strong attempts to guide me or persuade.
“‘Much time is lost,’ she said, ‘but yet my son
“‘May, in the race of life, have much to run;
“‘When I am gone, thy life to thee will seem
“‘Lonely and sad, a melancholy dream;
“‘Get thee a wife—I will not say to love,
“‘But one, a friend in thy distress to prove;
“‘One who will kindly help thee to sustain
“‘Thy spirits burden in its hours of pain;
“‘Say, will you marry?’—I in haste replied,
“‘And who would be the self-devoted bride?
“‘There is a melancholy power that reigns
“‘Tyrant within me—who would bear his chains,
“‘And hear them clicking every wretched hour,
“‘With will to aid me, but without the power?
“‘But if such one were found with easy mind,
“‘Who would not ask for raptures—I'm resign'd.’
“‘May, in the race of life, have much to run;
“‘When I am gone, thy life to thee will seem
“‘Lonely and sad, a melancholy dream;
“‘Get thee a wife—I will not say to love,
“‘But one, a friend in thy distress to prove;
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“‘Thy spirits burden in its hours of pain;
“‘Say, will you marry?’—I in haste replied,
“‘And who would be the self-devoted bride?
“‘There is a melancholy power that reigns
“‘Tyrant within me—who would bear his chains,
“‘And hear them clicking every wretched hour,
“‘With will to aid me, but without the power?
“‘But if such one were found with easy mind,
“‘Who would not ask for raptures—I'm resign'd.’
“‘'Tis quite enough,’ my gentle mother cried;
“‘We leave the raptures, and will find the bride.’
“‘We leave the raptures, and will find the bride.’
“There was a lady near us, quite discreet,
“Whom in our visits 'twas our chance to meet,
“One grave and civil, who had no desire
“That men should praise her beauties or admire;
“She in our walks would sometimes take my arm,
“But had no foolish fluttering or alarm;
“She wish'd no heart to wound, no truth to prove,
“And seem'd, like me, as one estranged from love;
“My mother praised her, and with so much skill,
“She gave a certain bias to my will;
“But calm indeed our courtship; I profess'd
“A due regard—My mother did the rest;
“Who soon declared that we should love, and grow
“As fond a couple as the world could show;
“And talk'd of boys and girls with so much glee,
“That I began to wish the thing could be.
“Whom in our visits 'twas our chance to meet,
“One grave and civil, who had no desire
“That men should praise her beauties or admire;
“She in our walks would sometimes take my arm,
“But had no foolish fluttering or alarm;
“She wish'd no heart to wound, no truth to prove,
“And seem'd, like me, as one estranged from love;
“My mother praised her, and with so much skill,
“She gave a certain bias to my will;
“But calm indeed our courtship; I profess'd
“A due regard—My mother did the rest;
“Who soon declared that we should love, and grow
“As fond a couple as the world could show;
“And talk'd of boys and girls with so much glee,
“That I began to wish the thing could be.
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“Still when the day that soon would come was named
“I felt a cold fit, and was half ashamed;
“But we too far proceeded to revoke,
“And had been much too serious for a joke:
“I shook away the fear that man annoys,
“And thought a little of the girls and boys.
“I felt a cold fit, and was half ashamed;
“But we too far proceeded to revoke,
“And had been much too serious for a joke:
“I shook away the fear that man annoys,
“And thought a little of the girls and boys.
“A week remain'd,—for seven succeeding days
“Nor man nor woman might control my ways;
“For seven dear nights I might to rest retire
“At my own time, and none the cause require;
“For seven blest days I might go in and out,
“And none demand, ‘Sir, what are you about?’
“For one whole week I might at will discourse
“On any subject, with a freeman's force.
“Nor man nor woman might control my ways;
“For seven dear nights I might to rest retire
“At my own time, and none the cause require;
“For seven blest days I might go in and out,
“And none demand, ‘Sir, what are you about?’
“For one whole week I might at will discourse
“On any subject, with a freeman's force.
“Thus while I thought, I utter'd, as men sing
“In under-voice, reciting ‘With this ring,’
“That when the hour should come, I might not dread
“These, or the words that follow'd, ‘I thee wed.’
“Such was my state of mind, exulting now
“And then depress'd—I cannot tell you how—
“When a poor lady, whom her friends could send
“On any message, a convenient friend,
“Who had all feelings of her own o'ercome,
“And could pronounce to any man his doom;
“Whose heart indeed was marble, but whose face
“Assumed the look adapted to the case;
“Enter'd my room, commission'd to assuage
“What was foreseen, my sorrow and my rage.
“In under-voice, reciting ‘With this ring,’
“That when the hour should come, I might not dread
“These, or the words that follow'd, ‘I thee wed.’
“Such was my state of mind, exulting now
“And then depress'd—I cannot tell you how—
“When a poor lady, whom her friends could send
“On any message, a convenient friend,
“Who had all feelings of her own o'ercome,
“And could pronounce to any man his doom;
“Whose heart indeed was marble, but whose face
“Assumed the look adapted to the case;
“Enter'd my room, commission'd to assuage
“What was foreseen, my sorrow and my rage.
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“It seem'd the lady whom I could prefer,
“And could my much-loved freedom lose for her,
“Had bold attempts, but not successful, made,
“The heart of some rich cousin to invade;
“Who, half resisting, half complying, kept
“A cautious distance, and the business slept.
“And could my much-loved freedom lose for her,
“Had bold attempts, but not successful, made,
“The heart of some rich cousin to invade;
“Who, half resisting, half complying, kept
“A cautious distance, and the business slept.
“This prudent swain his own importance knew,
“And swore to part the now affianced two:
“Fill'd with insidious purpose, forth he went,
“Profess'd his love, and woo'd her to consent:
“‘Ah! were it true!’ she sigh'd; he boldly swore
“His love sincere, and mine was sought no more.
“All this the witch at dreadful length reveal'd,
“And begg'd me calmly to my fate to yield:
“Much pains she took engagements old to state,
“And hoped to hear me curse my cruel fate,
“Threat'ning my luckless life; and thought it strange
“In me to bear the unexpected change:
“In my calm feelings she beheld disguise,
“And told of some strange wildness in my eyes.
“And swore to part the now affianced two:
“Fill'd with insidious purpose, forth he went,
“Profess'd his love, and woo'd her to consent:
“‘Ah! were it true!’ she sigh'd; he boldly swore
“His love sincere, and mine was sought no more.
“All this the witch at dreadful length reveal'd,
“And begg'd me calmly to my fate to yield:
“Much pains she took engagements old to state,
“And hoped to hear me curse my cruel fate,
“Threat'ning my luckless life; and thought it strange
“In me to bear the unexpected change:
“In my calm feelings she beheld disguise,
“And told of some strange wildness in my eyes.
“But there was nothing in the eye amiss,
“And the heart calmly bore a stroke like this;
“Not so my mother; though of gentle kind,
“She could no mercy for the creature find.
“And the heart calmly bore a stroke like this;
“Not so my mother; though of gentle kind,
“She could no mercy for the creature find.
“‘Vile plot!’ she said.—‘But, madam, if they plot,
“‘And you would have revenge, disturb them not.
“‘And you would have revenge, disturb them not.
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“‘What can we do, my son?’—‘Consult our ease,
“‘And do just nothing, madam, if you please.’
“‘And do just nothing, madam, if you please.’
“‘What will be said?’—‘We need not that discuss;
“‘Our friends and neighbours will do that for us.’
“‘Our friends and neighbours will do that for us.’
“‘Do you so lightly, son, your loss sustain?’—
“‘Nay, my dear madam, but I count it gain.’
“‘Nay, my dear madam, but I count it gain.’
“‘The world will blame us sure, if we be still.’—
“‘And, if we stir, you may be sure it will.’
“‘And, if we stir, you may be sure it will.’
“‘Not to such loss your father had agreed.’—
“‘No, for my father's had been loss indeed.’
“‘No, for my father's had been loss indeed.’
“With gracious smile my mother gave assent,
“And let th' affair slip by with much content.
“And let th' affair slip by with much content.
“Some old dispute, the lover meant should rise,
“Some point of strife they could not compromise,
“Displeased the squire—he from the field withdrew,
“Not quite conceal'd, not fully placed in view;
“But half advancing, half retreating, kept
“At his old distance, and the business slept.
“Some point of strife they could not compromise,
“Displeased the squire—he from the field withdrew,
“Not quite conceal'd, not fully placed in view;
“But half advancing, half retreating, kept
“At his old distance, and the business slept.
“Six years had pass'd, and forty ere the six,
“When Time began to play his usual tricks:
“The locks once comely in a virgin's sight,
“Locks of pure brown, display'd th' encroaching white;
“The blood once fervid now to cool began,
“And Time's strong pressure to subdue the man:
“I rode or walk'd as I was wont before,
“But now the bounding spirit was no more;
“A moderate pace would now my body heat,
“A walk of moderate length distress my feet.
“I show'd my stranger-guest those hills sublime,
“But said, ‘The view is poor, we need not climb.’
“At a friend's mansion I began to dread
“The cold neat parlour, and the gay glazed bed;
“At home I felt a more decided taste,
“And must have all things in my order placed;
“I ceased to hunt, my horses pleased me less,
“My dinner more; I learn'd to play at chess;
“I took my dog and gun, but saw the brute
“Was disappointed that I did not shoot;
“My morning walks I now could bear to lose,
“And bless'd the shower that gave me not to choose:
“In fact, I felt a languor stealing on;
“The active arm, the agile hand were gone;
“Small daily actions into habits grew,
“And new dislike to forms and fashions new;
“I loved my trees in order to dispose,
“I number'd peaches, look'd how stocks arose,
“Told the same story oft—in short, began to prose.
“When Time began to play his usual tricks:
“The locks once comely in a virgin's sight,
“Locks of pure brown, display'd th' encroaching white;
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“And Time's strong pressure to subdue the man:
“I rode or walk'd as I was wont before,
“But now the bounding spirit was no more;
“A moderate pace would now my body heat,
“A walk of moderate length distress my feet.
“I show'd my stranger-guest those hills sublime,
“But said, ‘The view is poor, we need not climb.’
“At a friend's mansion I began to dread
“The cold neat parlour, and the gay glazed bed;
“At home I felt a more decided taste,
“And must have all things in my order placed;
“I ceased to hunt, my horses pleased me less,
“My dinner more; I learn'd to play at chess;
“I took my dog and gun, but saw the brute
“Was disappointed that I did not shoot;
“My morning walks I now could bear to lose,
“And bless'd the shower that gave me not to choose:
“In fact, I felt a languor stealing on;
“The active arm, the agile hand were gone;
“Small daily actions into habits grew,
“And new dislike to forms and fashions new;
“I loved my trees in order to dispose,
“I number'd peaches, look'd how stocks arose,
“Told the same story oft—in short, began to prose.
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“My books were changed; I now preferr'd the truth
“To the light reading of unsettled youth;
“Novels grew tedious, but by choice or chance,
“I still had interest in the wild romance:
“There is an age, we know, when tales of love
“Form the sweet pabulum our hearts approve;
“Then as we read we feel, and are indeed,
“We judge, th' heroic men of whom we read;
“But in our after life these fancies fail,
“We cannot be the heroes of the tale;
“The parts that Cliffords, Mordaunts, Bevilles play,
“We cannot,—cannot be so smart and gay.
“To the light reading of unsettled youth;
“Novels grew tedious, but by choice or chance,
“I still had interest in the wild romance:
“There is an age, we know, when tales of love
“Form the sweet pabulum our hearts approve;
“Then as we read we feel, and are indeed,
“We judge, th' heroic men of whom we read;
“But in our after life these fancies fail,
“We cannot be the heroes of the tale;
“The parts that Cliffords, Mordaunts, Bevilles play,
“We cannot,—cannot be so smart and gay.
“But all the mighty deeds and matchless powers
“Of errant knights we never fancied ours,
“And thus the prowess of each gifted knight
“Must at all times create the same delight;
“Lovelace a forward youth might hope to seem,
“But Lancelot never,—that he could not dream;
“Nothing reminds us in the magic page
“Of old romance, of our declining age:
“If once our fancy mighty dragons slew,
“This is no more than fancy now can do;
“But when the heroes of a novel come,
“Conquer'd and conquering, to a drawing-room,
“We no more feel the vanity that sees
“Within ourselves what we admire in these,
“And so we leave the modern tale, to fly
“From realm to realm with Tristram or Sir Guy.
“Of errant knights we never fancied ours,
“And thus the prowess of each gifted knight
“Must at all times create the same delight;
“Lovelace a forward youth might hope to seem,
“But Lancelot never,—that he could not dream;
“Nothing reminds us in the magic page
“Of old romance, of our declining age:
“If once our fancy mighty dragons slew,
“This is no more than fancy now can do;
“But when the heroes of a novel come,
“Conquer'd and conquering, to a drawing-room,
“We no more feel the vanity that sees
“Within ourselves what we admire in these,
“And so we leave the modern tale, to fly
“From realm to realm with Tristram or Sir Guy.
“Not quite a Quixote, I could not suppose
“That queens would call me to subdue their foes;
“But, by a voluntary weakness sway'd,
“When fancy call'd, I willingly obey'd.
“That queens would call me to subdue their foes;
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“When fancy call'd, I willingly obey'd.
“Such I became, and I believed my heart
“Might yet be pierced by some peculiar dart
“Of right heroic kind, and I could prove
“Fond of some peerless nymph who deign'd to love,
“Some high-soul'd virgin, who had spent her time
“In studies grave, heroic and sublime;
“Who would not like me less that I had spent
“Years eight and forty, just the age of Kent;
“But not with Kent's discretion, for I grew
“Fond of a creature whom my fancy drew;
“A kind of beings who are never found
“On middle-earth, but grow on fairy-ground.
“Might yet be pierced by some peculiar dart
“Of right heroic kind, and I could prove
“Fond of some peerless nymph who deign'd to love,
“Some high-soul'd virgin, who had spent her time
“In studies grave, heroic and sublime;
“Who would not like me less that I had spent
“Years eight and forty, just the age of Kent;
“But not with Kent's discretion, for I grew
“Fond of a creature whom my fancy drew;
“A kind of beings who are never found
“On middle-earth, but grow on fairy-ground.
“These found I not; but I had luck to find
“A mortal woman of this fairy kind;
“A thin, tall, upright, serious, slender maid,
“Who in my own romantic regions stray'd;
“From the world's glare to this sweet vale retired,
“To dwell unseen, unsullied, unadmired;
“In all her virgin excellence, above
“The gaze of crowds, and hopes of vulgar love.
“We spoke of noble deeds in happier times,
“Of glorious virtues, of debasing crimes:
“Warm was the season, and the subject too,
“And therefore warm in our discourse we grew.
“Love made such haste, that ere a month was flown
“Since first we met, he had us for his own;
“Riches are trifles in a hero's sight,
“And lead to questions low and unpolite;
“I nothing said of money or of land,
“But bent my knee, and fondly ask'd her hand;
“And the dear lady, with a grace divine,
“Gave it, and frankly answered, ‘It is thine.’
“A mortal woman of this fairy kind;
“A thin, tall, upright, serious, slender maid,
“Who in my own romantic regions stray'd;
“From the world's glare to this sweet vale retired,
“To dwell unseen, unsullied, unadmired;
“In all her virgin excellence, above
“The gaze of crowds, and hopes of vulgar love.
“We spoke of noble deeds in happier times,
“Of glorious virtues, of debasing crimes:
“Warm was the season, and the subject too,
“And therefore warm in our discourse we grew.
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“Since first we met, he had us for his own;
“Riches are trifles in a hero's sight,
“And lead to questions low and unpolite;
“I nothing said of money or of land,
“But bent my knee, and fondly ask'd her hand;
“And the dear lady, with a grace divine,
“Gave it, and frankly answered, ‘It is thine.’
“Our reading was not to romance confined,
“But still it gave its colour to the mind;
“Gave to our studies something of its force,
“And made profound and tender our discourse;
“Our subjects all, and our religion, took
“The grave and solemn spirit of our book:
“And who had seen us walk, or heard us read,
“Would say, ‘These lovers are sublime indeed.’
“But still it gave its colour to the mind;
“Gave to our studies something of its force,
“And made profound and tender our discourse;
“Our subjects all, and our religion, took
“The grave and solemn spirit of our book:
“And who had seen us walk, or heard us read,
“Would say, ‘These lovers are sublime indeed.’
“I knew not why, but when the day was named,
“My ardent wishes felt a little tamed;
“My mother's sickness then awaked my grief,
“And yet, to own the truth, was some relief;
“It left uncertain that decisive time
“That made my feelings nervous and sublime.
“My ardent wishes felt a little tamed;
“My mother's sickness then awaked my grief,
“And yet, to own the truth, was some relief;
“It left uncertain that decisive time
“That made my feelings nervous and sublime.
“Still all was kindness, and at morn and eve
“I made a visit, talk'd, and took my leave:
“Kind were the lady's looks, her eyes were bright,
“And swam, I thought, in exquisite delight;
“A lovely red suffused the virgin cheek,
“And spoke more plainly than the tongue could speak;
“Plainly all seem'd to promise love and joy,
“Nor fear'd we aught that might our bliss destroy.
“I made a visit, talk'd, and took my leave:
“Kind were the lady's looks, her eyes were bright,
“And swam, I thought, in exquisite delight;
“A lovely red suffused the virgin cheek,
“And spoke more plainly than the tongue could speak;
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“Nor fear'd we aught that might our bliss destroy.
“Engaged by business, I one morn delay'd
“My usual call on the accomplish'd maid;
“But soon, that small impediment removed,
“I paid the visit that decisive proved;
“For the fair lady had, with grieving heart,
“So I believed, retired to sigh apart:
“I saw her friend, and begg'd her to intreat
“My gentle nymph her sighing swain to meet.
“My usual call on the accomplish'd maid;
“But soon, that small impediment removed,
“I paid the visit that decisive proved;
“For the fair lady had, with grieving heart,
“So I believed, retired to sigh apart:
“I saw her friend, and begg'd her to intreat
“My gentle nymph her sighing swain to meet.
“The gossip gone—What demon, in his spite
“To love and man, could my frail mind excite,
“And lead me curious on, against all sense of right?
“There met my eye, unclosed, a closet's door—
“Shame! how could I the secrets there explore?
“Pride, honour, friendship, love, condemn'd the deed,
“And yet, in spite of all, I could proceed!
“I went, I saw—shall I describe the hoard
“Of precious worth in seal'd deposits stored
“Of sparkling hues? Enough—enough is told,
“'Tis not for man such mysteries to unfold.
“Thus far I dare—Whene'er those orbits swam
“In that blue liquid that restrain'd their flame,
“As showers the sunbeams—when the crimson glow
“Of the red rose o'erspread those cheeks of snow,
“I saw, but not the cause—'t was not the red
“Of transient blush that o'er her face was spread;
“'Twas not the lighter red, that partly streaks
“The Catherine pear, that brighten'd o'er her cheeks,
“Nor scarlet blush of shame—but such disclose
“The velvet petals of the Austrian rose
“When first unfolded, warm the glowing hue,
“Nor cold as rouge, but deep'ning on the view;
“Such were those cheeks—the causes unexplored
“Were now detected in that secret hoard;
“And ever to that rich recess would turn
“My mind, and cause for such effect discern.
“To love and man, could my frail mind excite,
“And lead me curious on, against all sense of right?
“There met my eye, unclosed, a closet's door—
“Shame! how could I the secrets there explore?
“Pride, honour, friendship, love, condemn'd the deed,
“And yet, in spite of all, I could proceed!
“I went, I saw—shall I describe the hoard
“Of precious worth in seal'd deposits stored
“Of sparkling hues? Enough—enough is told,
“'Tis not for man such mysteries to unfold.
“Thus far I dare—Whene'er those orbits swam
“In that blue liquid that restrain'd their flame,
“As showers the sunbeams—when the crimson glow
“Of the red rose o'erspread those cheeks of snow,
“I saw, but not the cause—'t was not the red
“Of transient blush that o'er her face was spread;
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“The Catherine pear, that brighten'd o'er her cheeks,
“Nor scarlet blush of shame—but such disclose
“The velvet petals of the Austrian rose
“When first unfolded, warm the glowing hue,
“Nor cold as rouge, but deep'ning on the view;
“Such were those cheeks—the causes unexplored
“Were now detected in that secret hoard;
“And ever to that rich recess would turn
“My mind, and cause for such effect discern.
“Such was my fortune, O! my friends, and such
“The end of lofty hopes that grasp'd too much.
“This was, indeed, a trying time in life,
“I lost at once a mother and a wife;
“Yet compensation came in time for these,
“And what I lost in joy, I gain'd in ease.”—
“The end of lofty hopes that grasp'd too much.
“This was, indeed, a trying time in life,
“I lost at once a mother and a wife;
“Yet compensation came in time for these,
“And what I lost in joy, I gain'd in ease.”—
“But,” said the Squire, “did thus your courtship cease?
“Resign'd your mistress her betroth'd in peace?”—
“Resign'd your mistress her betroth'd in peace?”—
“Yes; and had sense her feelings to restrain,
“Nor ask'd me once my conduct to explain;
“But me she saw those swimming eyes explore,
“And explanation she required no more:
“Friend to the last, I left her with regret—
“Nay, leave her not, for we are neighbours yet.
“Nor ask'd me once my conduct to explain;
“But me she saw those swimming eyes explore,
“And explanation she required no more:
“Friend to the last, I left her with regret—
“Nay, leave her not, for we are neighbours yet.
“These views extinct, I travell'd, not with taste,
“But so that time ran wickedly to waste;
“I penn'd some notes, and might a book have made,
“But I had no connection with the trade;
“Bridges and churches, towers and halls, I saw,
“Maids and Madonnas, and could sketch and draw:
“Yes, I had made a book, but that my pride
“In the not making was more gratified.
“But so that time ran wickedly to waste;
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“But I had no connection with the trade;
“Bridges and churches, towers and halls, I saw,
“Maids and Madonnas, and could sketch and draw:
“Yes, I had made a book, but that my pride
“In the not making was more gratified.
“There was one feeling upon foreign ground,
“That more distressing than the rest was found;
“That though with joy I should my country see,
“There none had pleasure in expecting me.
“That more distressing than the rest was found;
“That though with joy I should my country see,
“There none had pleasure in expecting me.
“I now was sixty, but could walk and eat;
“My food was pleasant and my slumbers sweet:
“But what could urge me at a day so late
“To think of women?—my unlucky fate.
“It was not sudden; I had no alarms,
“But was attack'd when resting on my arms;
“Like the poor soldier; when the battle raged
“The man escaped, though twice or thrice engaged,
“But when it ended, in a quiet spot
“He fell, the victim of a random-shot.
“My food was pleasant and my slumbers sweet:
“But what could urge me at a day so late
“To think of women?—my unlucky fate.
“It was not sudden; I had no alarms,
“But was attack'd when resting on my arms;
“Like the poor soldier; when the battle raged
“The man escaped, though twice or thrice engaged,
“But when it ended, in a quiet spot
“He fell, the victim of a random-shot.
“With my good friend the Vicar oft I spent
“The evening hours in quiet, as I meant;
“He was a friend in whom, although untried
“By aught severe, I found I could confide;
“A pleasant, sturdy disputant was he,
“Who had a daughter—such the Fates decree,
“To prove how weak is man—poor yielding man, like me.
“The evening hours in quiet, as I meant;
“He was a friend in whom, although untried
“By aught severe, I found I could confide;
“A pleasant, sturdy disputant was he,
“Who had a daughter—such the Fates decree,
“To prove how weak is man—poor yielding man, like me.
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“Time after time the maid went out and in,
“Ere love was yet beginning to begin;
“The first awakening proof, the early doubt,
“Rose from observing she went in and out.
“My friend, though careless, seem'd my mind to explore,
“‘Why do you look so often at the door?’
“I then was cautious, but it did no good,
“For she, at least, my meanings understood;
“But to the Vicar nothing she convey'd
“Of what she thought—she did not feel afraid.
“Ere love was yet beginning to begin;
“The first awakening proof, the early doubt,
“Rose from observing she went in and out.
“My friend, though careless, seem'd my mind to explore,
“‘Why do you look so often at the door?’
“I then was cautious, but it did no good,
“For she, at least, my meanings understood;
“But to the Vicar nothing she convey'd
“Of what she thought—she did not feel afraid.
“I must confess, this creature in her mind
“Nor face had beauty that a man would blind;
“No poet of her matchless charms would write,
“Yet sober praise they fairly would excite:
“She was a creature form'd man's heart to make
“Serenely happy, not to pierce and shake;
“If she were tried for breaking human hearts,
“Men would acquit her—she had not the arts;
“Yet without art, at first without design,
“She soon became the arbitress of mine;
“Without pretensions—nay, without pretence,
“But by a native strange intelligence
“Women possess when they behold a man
“Whom they can tease, and are assured they can;
“Then 'tis their souls' delight and pride to reign
“O'er the fond slave, to give him ease or pain,
“And stretch and loose by turns the weighty viewless chain.
“Nor face had beauty that a man would blind;
“No poet of her matchless charms would write,
“Yet sober praise they fairly would excite:
“She was a creature form'd man's heart to make
“Serenely happy, not to pierce and shake;
“If she were tried for breaking human hearts,
“Men would acquit her—she had not the arts;
“Yet without art, at first without design,
“She soon became the arbitress of mine;
“Without pretensions—nay, without pretence,
“But by a native strange intelligence
“Women possess when they behold a man
“Whom they can tease, and are assured they can;
“Then 'tis their souls' delight and pride to reign
“O'er the fond slave, to give him ease or pain,
“And stretch and loose by turns the weighty viewless chain.
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“Though much she knew, yet nothing could she prove;
“I had not yet confess'd the crime of love;
“But in an hour when guardian-angels sleep,
“I fail'd the secret of my soul to keep;
“And then I saw the triumph in those eyes
“That spoke—‘Ay, now you are indeed my prize.’
“I almost thought I saw compassion, too,
“For all the cruel things she meant to do.
“Well I can call to mind the managed air
“That gave no comfort, that brought no despair,
“That in a dubious balance held the mind,
“To each side turning, never much inclined.
“I had not yet confess'd the crime of love;
“But in an hour when guardian-angels sleep,
“I fail'd the secret of my soul to keep;
“And then I saw the triumph in those eyes
“That spoke—‘Ay, now you are indeed my prize.’
“I almost thought I saw compassion, too,
“For all the cruel things she meant to do.
“Well I can call to mind the managed air
“That gave no comfort, that brought no despair,
“That in a dubious balance held the mind,
“To each side turning, never much inclined.
“She spoke with kindness—thought the honour high,
“And knew not how to give a fit reply;
“She could not, would not, dared not, must not deem
“Such language proof of aught but my esteem;
“It made her proud—she never could forget.
“My partial thoughts,—she felt her much in debt:
“She who had never in her life indulged
“The thought of hearing what I now divulged,
“I who had seen so many and so much,—
“It was an honour—she would deem it such;
“Our different years, indeed, would put an end
“To other views, but still her father's friend
“To her, she humbly hoped, would his regard extend.
“And knew not how to give a fit reply;
“She could not, would not, dared not, must not deem
“Such language proof of aught but my esteem;
“It made her proud—she never could forget.
“My partial thoughts,—she felt her much in debt:
“She who had never in her life indulged
“The thought of hearing what I now divulged,
“I who had seen so many and so much,—
“It was an honour—she would deem it such;
“Our different years, indeed, would put an end
“To other views, but still her father's friend
“To her, she humbly hoped, would his regard extend.
“Thus saying nothing, all she meant to say,
“She play'd the part the sex delights to play;
“Now by some act of kindness giving scope
“To the new workings of excited hope,
“Then by an air of something like disdain,
“But scarcely seen, repelling it again;
“Then for a season, neither cold nor kind,
“She kept a sort of balance in the mind,
“And as his pole a dancer on the rope,
“The equal poise on both sides kept me up.
“She play'd the part the sex delights to play;
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“To the new workings of excited hope,
“Then by an air of something like disdain,
“But scarcely seen, repelling it again;
“Then for a season, neither cold nor kind,
“She kept a sort of balance in the mind,
“And as his pole a dancer on the rope,
“The equal poise on both sides kept me up.
“Is it not strange that man can fairly view
“Pursuit like this, and yet his point pursue?
“While he the folly fairly will confess,
“And even feel the danger of success?
“But so it is, and nought the Circes care
“How ill their victims with their poison fare,
“When thus they trifle, and with quiet soul
“Mix their ingredients in the maddening bowl.
“Their high regard, the softness of their air,
“The pitying grief that saddens at a prayer,
“Their grave petitions for the peace of mind
“That they determine you shall never find,
“And all their vain amazement that a man
“Like you should love—they wonder how you can.
“Pursuit like this, and yet his point pursue?
“While he the folly fairly will confess,
“And even feel the danger of success?
“But so it is, and nought the Circes care
“How ill their victims with their poison fare,
“When thus they trifle, and with quiet soul
“Mix their ingredients in the maddening bowl.
“Their high regard, the softness of their air,
“The pitying grief that saddens at a prayer,
“Their grave petitions for the peace of mind
“That they determine you shall never find,
“And all their vain amazement that a man
“Like you should love—they wonder how you can.
“For months the idler play'd her wicked part,
“Then fairly gave the secret of her heart.
“‘She hoped’—I now the smiling gipsy view—
“‘Her father's friend would be her lover's too,
“‘Young Henry Gale’—But why delay so long?—
“She could not tell—she fear'd it might be wrong,
“‘But I was good’—I knew not, I was weak,
“And spoke as love directed me to speak.
“Then fairly gave the secret of her heart.
“‘She hoped’—I now the smiling gipsy view—
“‘Her father's friend would be her lover's too,
“‘Young Henry Gale’—But why delay so long?—
“She could not tell—she fear'd it might be wrong,
“‘But I was good’—I knew not, I was weak,
“And spoke as love directed me to speak.
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“When in my arms their boy and girl I take,
“I feel a fondness for the mother's sake;
“But though the dears some softening thoughts excite,
“I have no wishes for the father's right.
“I feel a fondness for the mother's sake;
“But though the dears some softening thoughts excite,
“I have no wishes for the father's right.
“Now all is quiet, and the mind sustains
“Its proper comforts, its befitting pains;
‘The heart reposes; it has had its share
“Of love, as much as it could fairly bear,
“And what is left in life, that now demands its care?
“Its proper comforts, its befitting pains;
‘The heart reposes; it has had its share
“Of love, as much as it could fairly bear,
“And what is left in life, that now demands its care?
“For O! my friends, if this were all indeed,
“Could we believe that nothing would succeed;
“If all were but this daily dose of life,
“Without a care or comfort, child or wife;
“These walks for health with nothing more in view,
“This doing nothing, and with labour too;
“This frequent asking when 't is time to dine,
“This daily dozing o'er the news and wine;
“This age's riddle, when each day appears
“So very long, so very short the years;
“If this were all—but let me not suppose—
“What then were life! whose virtues, trials, woes,
“Would sleep th' eternal sleep, and there the scene would close.
“Could we believe that nothing would succeed;
“If all were but this daily dose of life,
“Without a care or comfort, child or wife;
“These walks for health with nothing more in view,
“This doing nothing, and with labour too;
“This frequent asking when 't is time to dine,
“This daily dozing o'er the news and wine;
“This age's riddle, when each day appears
“So very long, so very short the years;
“If this were all—but let me not suppose—
“What then were life! whose virtues, trials, woes,
“Would sleep th' eternal sleep, and there the scene would close.
“This cannot be—but why has Time a pace
“That seems unequal in our mortal race?
“Quick is that pace in early life, but slow,
“Tedious and heavy, as we older grow;
“But yet, though slow, the movements are alike,
“And with no force upon the memory strike,
“And therefore tedious as we find them all,
“They leave us nothing we in view recall;
“But days that we so dull and heavy knew
“Are now as moments passing in review,
“And hence arises ancient men's report,
“That days are tedious, and yet years are short.”
“That seems unequal in our mortal race?
“Quick is that pace in early life, but slow,
“Tedious and heavy, as we older grow;
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“And with no force upon the memory strike,
“And therefore tedious as we find them all,
“They leave us nothing we in view recall;
“But days that we so dull and heavy knew
“Are now as moments passing in review,
“And hence arises ancient men's report,
“That days are tedious, and yet years are short.”
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BOOK XI. THE MAID'S STORY.
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A Mother's Advice—Trials for a young Lady—Ancient Lovers—The Mother a Wife—Grandmamma—Genteel Economy—Frederick, a young Collegian—Grandmamma dies—Retreat with Biddy—Comforts of the Poor— Return home—Death of the Husband—Nervous Disorders —Conversion—Frederick a Teacher—Retreat to Sidmouth—Self-examination—The Mother dies—Frederick a Soldier—Retirement with a Friend—Their Happiness how interrupted—Frederick an Actor—Is dismissed and supported—A last Adventure.
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Three days remain'd their Friend, and then again
The Brothers left, themselves to entertain;
When spake the younger—“It would please me well
“To hear thy Spinster-friend her story tell;
“And our attention would be nobly paid
“Thus to compare the Bachelor and Maid.”
The Brothers left, themselves to entertain;
When spake the younger—“It would please me well
“To hear thy Spinster-friend her story tell;
“And our attention would be nobly paid
“Thus to compare the Bachelor and Maid.”
“Frank as she is,” replied the Squire, “nor one
“Is more disposed to show what she has done
“With time, or time with her; yet all her care
“And every trial she might not declare
“To one a stranger; but to me, her friend,
“She has the story of those trials penn'd;
“These shalt thou hear, for well the maid I know,
“And will her efforts and her conquests show.
“Jacques is abroad, and we alone shall dine,
“And then to give this lady's tale be mine;
“Thou wilt attend to this good spinster's life,
“And grieve and wonder she is not a wife;
“But if we judge by either words or looks,
“Her mode of life, her morals, or her books,
“Her pure devotion, unaffected sense,
“Her placid air, her mild benevolence,
“Her gay good humour, and her manners free,
“She is as happy as a maid can be;
“If as a wife, I know not, and decline
“Question like this, till I can judge of thine.”
“Is more disposed to show what she has done
“With time, or time with her; yet all her care
“And every trial she might not declare
“To one a stranger; but to me, her friend,
“She has the story of those trials penn'd;
“These shalt thou hear, for well the maid I know,
“And will her efforts and her conquests show.
“Jacques is abroad, and we alone shall dine,
“And then to give this lady's tale be mine;
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“And grieve and wonder she is not a wife;
“But if we judge by either words or looks,
“Her mode of life, her morals, or her books,
“Her pure devotion, unaffected sense,
“Her placid air, her mild benevolence,
“Her gay good humour, and her manners free,
“She is as happy as a maid can be;
“If as a wife, I know not, and decline
“Question like this, till I can judge of thine.”
Then from a secret hoard drew forth the Squire
His tale, and said, “Attention I require—
“My verse you may condemn, my theme you must admire.”
His tale, and said, “Attention I require—
“My verse you may condemn, my theme you must admire.”
I to your kindness speak! let that prevail,
And of my frailty judge as beings frail.—
And of my frailty judge as beings frail.—
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My father dying, to my mother left
An infant charge, of all things else bereft;
Poor, but experienced in the world, she knew
What others did, and judged what she could do;
Beauty she justly weigh'd, was never blind
To her own interest, and she read mankind:
She view'd my person with approving glance,
And judged the way my fortune to advance:
Taught me betimes that person to improve,
And make a lawful merchandise of love;
Bade me my temper in subjection keep,
And not permit my vigilance to sleep;
I was not one, a miss, who might presume
Now to be crazed by mirth, now sunk in gloom;
Nor to be fretful, vapourish, or give way
To spleen and anger, as the wealthy may;
But I must please, and all I felt of pride,
Contempt, and hatred, I must cast aside.
An infant charge, of all things else bereft;
Poor, but experienced in the world, she knew
What others did, and judged what she could do;
Beauty she justly weigh'd, was never blind
To her own interest, and she read mankind:
She view'd my person with approving glance,
And judged the way my fortune to advance:
Taught me betimes that person to improve,
And make a lawful merchandise of love;
Bade me my temper in subjection keep,
And not permit my vigilance to sleep;
I was not one, a miss, who might presume
Now to be crazed by mirth, now sunk in gloom;
Nor to be fretful, vapourish, or give way
To spleen and anger, as the wealthy may;
But I must please, and all I felt of pride,
Contempt, and hatred, I must cast aside.
“Have not one friend,” my mother cried, “not one;
“That bane of our romantic triflers shun;
“Suppose her true, can she afford you aid?
“Suppose her false, your purpose is betray'd;
“And then in dubious points, and matters nice,
“How can you profit by a child's advice?
“While you are writing on from post to post,
“Your hour is over, and a man is lost;
“Girls of their hearts are scribbling; their desires,
“And what the folly of the heart requires,
“Dupes to their dreams—but I the truth impart,
“You cannot, child, afford to have a heart;
“Think nothing of it; to yourself be true,
“And keep life's first great business in your view;—
“Take it, dear Martha, for a useful rule,
“She who is poor is ugly or a fool;
“Or, worse than either, has a bosom fill'd
“With soft emotions, and with raptures thrill'd.
“That bane of our romantic triflers shun;
“Suppose her true, can she afford you aid?
“Suppose her false, your purpose is betray'd;
“And then in dubious points, and matters nice,
“How can you profit by a child's advice?
“While you are writing on from post to post,
“Your hour is over, and a man is lost;
“Girls of their hearts are scribbling; their desires,
“And what the folly of the heart requires,
“Dupes to their dreams—but I the truth impart,
“You cannot, child, afford to have a heart;
258
“And keep life's first great business in your view;—
“Take it, dear Martha, for a useful rule,
“She who is poor is ugly or a fool;
“Or, worse than either, has a bosom fill'd
“With soft emotions, and with raptures thrill'd.
“Read not too much, nor write in verse or prose,
“For then you make the dull and foolish foes;
“Yet those who do, deride not nor condemn,
“It is not safe to raise up foes in them;
“For though they harm you not, as blockheads do,
“There is some malice in the scribbling crew.”
“For then you make the dull and foolish foes;
“Yet those who do, deride not nor condemn,
“It is not safe to raise up foes in them;
“For though they harm you not, as blockheads do,
“There is some malice in the scribbling crew.”
Such her advice: full hard with her had dealt
The world, and she the usage keenly felt.
The world, and she the usage keenly felt.
“Keep your good name,” she said; “and that to keep,
“You must not suffer vigilance to sleep:
“Some have, perhaps, the name of chaste retain'd,
“When nought of chastity itself remain'd;
“But there is danger—few have means to blind
“The keen-eyed world, and none to make it kind.
“You must not suffer vigilance to sleep:
“Some have, perhaps, the name of chaste retain'd,
“When nought of chastity itself remain'd;
“But there is danger—few have means to blind
“The keen-eyed world, and none to make it kind.
“And one thing more—to free yourself from foes,
“Never a secret to your friend disclose;
“Secrets with girls, like loaded guns with boys,
“Are never valued till they make a noise;
“To show how trusted, they their power display;
“To show how worthy, they the trust betray;
“Like pence in children's pockets secrets lie
“In female bosoms—they must burn or fly.
“Never a secret to your friend disclose;
“Secrets with girls, like loaded guns with boys,
“Are never valued till they make a noise;
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“To show how worthy, they the trust betray;
“Like pence in children's pockets secrets lie
“In female bosoms—they must burn or fly.
“Let not your heart be soften'd; if it be,
“Let not the man his softening influence see;
“For the most fond will sometimes tyrants prove,
“And wound the bosom where they trace the love.
“But to your fortune look, on that depend
“For your life's comforts, comforts that attend
“On wealth alone—wealth gone, they have their end.”
“Let not the man his softening influence see;
“For the most fond will sometimes tyrants prove,
“And wound the bosom where they trace the love.
“But to your fortune look, on that depend
“For your life's comforts, comforts that attend
“On wealth alone—wealth gone, they have their end.”
Such were my mother's cares to mend my lot,
And, such her pupil, they succeeded not.
And, such her pupil, they succeeded not.
It was conceived the person I had then
Might lead to serious thoughts some wealthy men,
Who, having none their purpose to oppose,
Would soon be won their wishes to disclose:
My mother thought I was the very child
By whom the old and amorous are beguiled;
So mildly gay, so ignorantly fair,
And pure, no doubt, as sleeping infants are:
Then I had lessons how to look and move,
And, I repeat, make merchandise of love.
Might lead to serious thoughts some wealthy men,
Who, having none their purpose to oppose,
Would soon be won their wishes to disclose:
My mother thought I was the very child
By whom the old and amorous are beguiled;
So mildly gay, so ignorantly fair,
And pure, no doubt, as sleeping infants are:
Then I had lessons how to look and move,
And, I repeat, make merchandise of love.
Thrice it was tried if one so young could bring
Old wary men to buy the binding ring;
And on the taper finger, to whose tip
The fond old swain would press his withering lip,
Place the strong charm:—and one would win my heart
By re-assuming youth—a trying part;
Girls, he supposed, all knew the young were bold,
And he would show that spirit in the old;
In boys they loved to hear the rattling tongue,
And he would talk as idly as the young;
He knew the vices our Lotharios boast,
And he would show of every vice the ghost,
The evil's self, without disguise or dress,
Vice in its own pure native ugliness;
Not as the drunkenness of slaves to prove
Vice hateful, but that seeing, I might love.
He drove me out, and I was pleased to see
Care of himself, it served as care for me;
For he would tell me, that he should not spare
Man, horse, or carriage, if I were not there:
Provoked at last, my malice I obey'd,
And smiling said, “Sir, I am not afraid.’
This check'd his spirit; but he said, “Could you
“Have charge so rich, you would be careful too.”
And he, indeed, so very slowly drove,
That we dismiss'd the over-cautious love.
Old wary men to buy the binding ring;
And on the taper finger, to whose tip
The fond old swain would press his withering lip,
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By re-assuming youth—a trying part;
Girls, he supposed, all knew the young were bold,
And he would show that spirit in the old;
In boys they loved to hear the rattling tongue,
And he would talk as idly as the young;
He knew the vices our Lotharios boast,
And he would show of every vice the ghost,
The evil's self, without disguise or dress,
Vice in its own pure native ugliness;
Not as the drunkenness of slaves to prove
Vice hateful, but that seeing, I might love.
He drove me out, and I was pleased to see
Care of himself, it served as care for me;
For he would tell me, that he should not spare
Man, horse, or carriage, if I were not there:
Provoked at last, my malice I obey'd,
And smiling said, “Sir, I am not afraid.’
This check'd his spirit; but he said, “Could you
“Have charge so rich, you would be careful too.”
And he, indeed, so very slowly drove,
That we dismiss'd the over-cautious love.
My next admirer was of equal age,
And wish'd the child's affection to engage,
And keep the fluttering bird a victim in his cage:
He had no portion of his rival's glee,
But gravely praised the gravity in me;
Religious, moral, both in word and deed,
But warmly disputatious in his creed:
Wild in his younger time, as we were told,
And therefore like a penitent when old.
Strange! he should wish a lively girl to look
Upon the methods his repentance took.
Then he would say, he was no more a rake
To squander money for his passions' sake;
Yet, upon proper terms, as man discreet,
He with my mother was disposed to treat,
To whom he told, “the price of beauty fell
“In every market, and but few could sell;
“That trade in India, once alive and brisk,
“Was over done, and scarcely worth the risk.”
Then stoop'd to speak of board, and what for life
A wife would cost—if he should take a wife.
Hardly he bargain'd, and so much desired,
That we demurr'd; and he, displeased, retired.
And wish'd the child's affection to engage,
And keep the fluttering bird a victim in his cage:
He had no portion of his rival's glee,
But gravely praised the gravity in me;
Religious, moral, both in word and deed,
But warmly disputatious in his creed:
Wild in his younger time, as we were told,
And therefore like a penitent when old.
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Upon the methods his repentance took.
Then he would say, he was no more a rake
To squander money for his passions' sake;
Yet, upon proper terms, as man discreet,
He with my mother was disposed to treat,
To whom he told, “the price of beauty fell
“In every market, and but few could sell;
“That trade in India, once alive and brisk,
“Was over done, and scarcely worth the risk.”
Then stoop'd to speak of board, and what for life
A wife would cost—if he should take a wife.
Hardly he bargain'd, and so much desired,
That we demurr'd; and he, displeased, retired.
And now I hoped to rest, nor act again
The paltry part for which I felt disdain,
When a third lover came within our view,
And somewhat differing from the former two;
He had been much abroad, and he had seen
The world's weak side, and read the hearts of men;
But all, it seem'd, this study could produce,
Was food for spleen, derision, and abuse;
He levell'd all, as one who had intent
To clear the vile and spot the innocent;
He praised my sense, and said I ought to be
From girl's restraint and nursery maxims free;
He praised my mother; but he judged her wrong
To keep us from the admiring world so long;
He praised himself; and then his vices named,
And call'd them follies, and was not ashamed.
He more than hinted that the lessons taught
By priests were all with superstition fraught;
And I must think them for the crowd design'd,
Not to alarm the free and liberal mind.
The paltry part for which I felt disdain,
When a third lover came within our view,
And somewhat differing from the former two;
He had been much abroad, and he had seen
The world's weak side, and read the hearts of men;
But all, it seem'd, this study could produce,
Was food for spleen, derision, and abuse;
He levell'd all, as one who had intent
To clear the vile and spot the innocent;
He praised my sense, and said I ought to be
From girl's restraint and nursery maxims free;
He praised my mother; but he judged her wrong
To keep us from the admiring world so long;
He praised himself; and then his vices named,
And call'd them follies, and was not ashamed.
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By priests were all with superstition fraught;
And I must think them for the crowd design'd,
Not to alarm the free and liberal mind.
Wisdom with him was virtue. They were wrong
And weak, he said, who went not with the throng;
Man must his passions order and restrain,
In all that gives his fellow-subjects pain;
But yet of guilt he would in pity speak,
And as he judged, the wicked were the weak.
And weak, he said, who went not with the throng;
Man must his passions order and restrain,
In all that gives his fellow-subjects pain;
But yet of guilt he would in pity speak,
And as he judged, the wicked were the weak.
Such was the lover of a simple maid,
Who seem'd to call his logic to his aid,
And to mean something: I will not pretend
To judge the purpose of my reasoning friend,
Who was dismiss'd, in quiet to complain
That so much labour was bestow'd in vain.
Who seem'd to call his logic to his aid,
And to mean something: I will not pretend
To judge the purpose of my reasoning friend,
Who was dismiss'd, in quiet to complain
That so much labour was bestow'd in vain.
And now my mother seem'd disposed to try
A life of reason and tranquillity;
Ere this, her health and spirits were the best,
Hers the day's trifling, and the nightly rest;
But something new was in her mind instill'd;
Unquiet thoughts the matron bosom fill'd;
For five and forty peaceful years she bore
Her placid looks, and dress becoming wore:
She could a compliment with pleasure take,
But no absurd impression could it make.
Now were her nerves disorder'd: she was weak,
And must the help of a physician seek;
A Scotch physician, who had just began
To settle near us, quite a graceful man,
And very clever, with a soft address,
That would his meaning tenderly express.
A life of reason and tranquillity;
Ere this, her health and spirits were the best,
Hers the day's trifling, and the nightly rest;
But something new was in her mind instill'd;
Unquiet thoughts the matron bosom fill'd;
For five and forty peaceful years she bore
Her placid looks, and dress becoming wore:
She could a compliment with pleasure take,
But no absurd impression could it make.
Now were her nerves disorder'd: she was weak,
And must the help of a physician seek;
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To settle near us, quite a graceful man,
And very clever, with a soft address,
That would his meaning tenderly express.
Sick as my mother seem'd, when he enquired
If she was ill, he found her well attired;
She purchased wares so showy and so fine,
The venders all believed th' indulgence mine:—
But I, who thrice was woo'd, had lovers three,
Must now again a very infant be;
While the good lady, twenty years a wife,
Was to decide the colour of his life:
And she decided. She was wont t' appear
To these unequal marriages severe;
Her thoughts of such with energy she told,
And was repulsive, dignified, and cold;
But now, like monarchs weary of a throne,
She would no longer reign—at least alone.
If she was ill, he found her well attired;
She purchased wares so showy and so fine,
The venders all believed th' indulgence mine:—
But I, who thrice was woo'd, had lovers three,
Must now again a very infant be;
While the good lady, twenty years a wife,
Was to decide the colour of his life:
And she decided. She was wont t' appear
To these unequal marriages severe;
Her thoughts of such with energy she told,
And was repulsive, dignified, and cold;
But now, like monarchs weary of a throne,
She would no longer reign—at least alone.
She gave her pulse, and, with a manner sweet,
Wish'd him to feel how kindly they could beat;
And 't is a thing quite wonderful to tell
How soon he understood them, and how well.
Wish'd him to feel how kindly they could beat;
And 't is a thing quite wonderful to tell
How soon he understood them, and how well.
Now, when she married, I from home was sent,
With grandmamma to keep perpetual Lent;
For she would take me on conditions cheap,
For what we scarcely could a parrot keep:
A trifle added to the daily fare
Would feed a maiden who must learn to spare
With grandmamma to keep perpetual Lent;
For she would take me on conditions cheap,
For what we scarcely could a parrot keep:
A trifle added to the daily fare
Would feed a maiden who must learn to spare
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With grandmamma I lived in perfect ease;
Consent to starve, and I was sure to please.
Full well I knew the painful shifts we made
Expenses all to lessen or evade,
And tradesmen's flinty hearts to soften and persuade.
Consent to starve, and I was sure to please.
Full well I knew the painful shifts we made
Expenses all to lessen or evade,
And tradesmen's flinty hearts to soften and persuade.
Poor grandmamma among the gentry dwelt
Of a small town, and all the honour felt;
Shrinking from all approaches to disgrace
That might be marked in so genteel a place;
Where every daily deed, as soon as done,
Ran through the town as fast as it could run:—
At dinners what appear'd—at cards who lost or won.
Of a small town, and all the honour felt;
Shrinking from all approaches to disgrace
That might be marked in so genteel a place;
Where every daily deed, as soon as done,
Ran through the town as fast as it could run:—
At dinners what appear'd—at cards who lost or won.
Our good appearance through the town was known,
Hunger and thirst were matters of our own;
And you would judge that she in scandal dealt
Who told on what we fed, or how we felt.
Hunger and thirst were matters of our own;
And you would judge that she in scandal dealt
Who told on what we fed, or how we felt.
We had a little maid, some four feet high,
Who was employ'd our household stores to buy;
For she would weary every man in trade,
And tease to assent, whom she could not persuade.
Who was employ'd our household stores to buy;
For she would weary every man in trade,
And tease to assent, whom she could not persuade.
Methinks I see her, with her pigmy light,
Precede her mistress in a moonless night;
From the small lantern throwing through the street
The dimm'd effulgence at her lady's feet;
What time she went to prove her well-known skill
With rival friends at their beloved quadrille.
Precede her mistress in a moonless night;
From the small lantern throwing through the street
The dimm'd effulgence at her lady's feet;
What time she went to prove her well-known skill
With rival friends at their beloved quadrille.
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“And how's your pain?” enquired the gentle maid,
For that was asking if with luck she play'd;
And this she answer'd as the cards decreed,
“O Biddy! ask not—very bad indeed;”
Or, in more cheerful tone, from spirit light,
“Why, thank you, Biddy, pretty well to-night.”
For that was asking if with luck she play'd;
And this she answer'd as the cards decreed,
“O Biddy! ask not—very bad indeed;”
Or, in more cheerful tone, from spirit light,
“Why, thank you, Biddy, pretty well to-night.”
The good old lady often thought me vain,
And of my dress would tenderly complain;
But liked my taste in food of every kind,
As from all grossness, like her own, refined:
Yet when she hinted that on herbs and bread
Girls of my age and spirit should be fed,
Whate'er my age had borne, my flesh and blood,
Spirit and strength, the interdict withstood;
But though I might the frugal soul offend
Of the good matron, now my only friend,
And though her purse suggested rules so strict,
Her love could not the punishment inflict:
She sometimes watch'd the morsel with a frown,
And sigh'd to see, but let it still go down.
And of my dress would tenderly complain;
But liked my taste in food of every kind,
As from all grossness, like her own, refined:
Yet when she hinted that on herbs and bread
Girls of my age and spirit should be fed,
Whate'er my age had borne, my flesh and blood,
Spirit and strength, the interdict withstood;
But though I might the frugal soul offend
Of the good matron, now my only friend,
And though her purse suggested rules so strict,
Her love could not the punishment inflict:
She sometimes watch'd the morsel with a frown,
And sigh'd to see, but let it still go down.
Our butcher's bill, to me a monstrous sum,
Was such, that summon'd, he forbore to come:
Proud man was he, and when the bill was paid,
He put the money in his bag and play'd,
Jerking it up, and catching it again,
And poising in his hand in pure disdain;
While the good lady, awed by man so proud,
And yet disposed to have her claims allow'd,
Balanced between humility and pride,
Stood a fall'n empress at the butcher's side,
Praising his meat as delicate and nice—
“Yes, madam, yes! if people pay the price.”
Was such, that summon'd, he forbore to come:
Proud man was he, and when the bill was paid,
He put the money in his bag and play'd,
Jerking it up, and catching it again,
And poising in his hand in pure disdain;
While the good lady, awed by man so proud,
And yet disposed to have her claims allow'd,
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Stood a fall'n empress at the butcher's side,
Praising his meat as delicate and nice—
“Yes, madam, yes! if people pay the price.”
So lived the lady, and so murmur'd I,
In all the grief of pride and poverty:
Twice in the year there came a note to tell
How well mamma, who hoped the child was well;
It was not then a pleasure to be styled,
By a mamma of such experience, Child!
But I suppress'd the feelings of my pride,
Or other feelings set them all aside.
In all the grief of pride and poverty:
Twice in the year there came a note to tell
How well mamma, who hoped the child was well;
It was not then a pleasure to be styled,
By a mamma of such experience, Child!
But I suppress'd the feelings of my pride,
Or other feelings set them all aside.
There was a youth from college, just the one
I judged mamma would value as a son;
He was to me good, handsome, learn'd, genteel,
I cannot now what then I thought reveal;
But, in a word, he was the very youth
Who told me what I judged the very truth,
That love like his and charms like mine agreed,
For all description they must both exceed:
Yet scarcely can I throw a smile on things
So painful, but that Time his comfort brings,
Or rather throws oblivion on the mind;
For we are more forgetful than resign'd.
I judged mamma would value as a son;
He was to me good, handsome, learn'd, genteel,
I cannot now what then I thought reveal;
But, in a word, he was the very youth
Who told me what I judged the very truth,
That love like his and charms like mine agreed,
For all description they must both exceed:
Yet scarcely can I throw a smile on things
So painful, but that Time his comfort brings,
Or rather throws oblivion on the mind;
For we are more forgetful than resign'd.
We both were young, had heard of love and read,
And could see nothing in the thing to dread,
But like a simple pair our time employ'd
In pleasant views to be in time enjoy'd;
When Frederick came, the kind old lady smiled
To see the youth so taken with her child;
A nice young man, who came with unsoil'd feet
In her best room, and neither drank nor eat:
Alas! he planted in a vacant breast
The hopes and fears that robb'd it of its rest.
And could see nothing in the thing to dread,
But like a simple pair our time employ'd
In pleasant views to be in time enjoy'd;
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To see the youth so taken with her child;
A nice young man, who came with unsoil'd feet
In her best room, and neither drank nor eat:
Alas! he planted in a vacant breast
The hopes and fears that robb'd it of its rest.
All now appear'd so right, so fair, so just,
We surely might the lovely prospect trust;
Alas! poor Frederick and his charmer found
That they were standing on fallacious ground:
All that the father of the youth could do
Was done—and now he must himself pursue
Success in life; and, honest truth to state,
He was not fitted for a candidate:
I, too, had nothing in this world below,
Save what a Scotch physician could bestow,
Who for a pittance took my mother's hand,
And if disposed, what had they to command?
But these were after fears, nor came t' annoy
The tender children in their dreams of joy:
Who talk'd of glebe and garden, tithe and rent,
And how a fancied income should be spent;
What friends, what social parties we should see,
And live with what genteel economy;
In fact, we gave our hearts as children give,
And thought of living as our neighbours live.
We surely might the lovely prospect trust;
Alas! poor Frederick and his charmer found
That they were standing on fallacious ground:
All that the father of the youth could do
Was done—and now he must himself pursue
Success in life; and, honest truth to state,
He was not fitted for a candidate:
I, too, had nothing in this world below,
Save what a Scotch physician could bestow,
Who for a pittance took my mother's hand,
And if disposed, what had they to command?
But these were after fears, nor came t' annoy
The tender children in their dreams of joy:
Who talk'd of glebe and garden, tithe and rent,
And how a fancied income should be spent;
What friends, what social parties we should see,
And live with what genteel economy;
In fact, we gave our hearts as children give,
And thought of living as our neighbours live.
Now when assured ourselves that all was well,
'Twas right our friends of these designs to tell:
For this we parted.—Grandmamma, amazed,
Upon her child with fond compassion gazed;
Then pious tears appear'd, but not a word
In aid of weeping till she cried, “Good Lord!”
She then, with hurried motion, sought the stairs,
And calling Biddy, bade her come to prayers.
'Twas right our friends of these designs to tell:
For this we parted.—Grandmamma, amazed,
Upon her child with fond compassion gazed;
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In aid of weeping till she cried, “Good Lord!”
She then, with hurried motion, sought the stairs,
And calling Biddy, bade her come to prayers.
Yet the good lady early in her life
Was call'd to vow the duties of a wife;
She sought the altar by her friends' advice,
No free-will offering, but a sacrifice:
But here a forward girl and eager boy
Dared talk of life, and turn their heads with joy.
To my mamma I wrote in just the way
I felt, and said what dreaming lasses say;
How handsome Frederick was, by all confess'd,
How well he look'd, how very well he dress'd;
With learning much, that would for both provide,
His mother's darling, and his father's pride:
And then he loves me more than mind can guess.
Than heart conceive, or eloquence express.
Was call'd to vow the duties of a wife;
She sought the altar by her friends' advice,
No free-will offering, but a sacrifice:
But here a forward girl and eager boy
Dared talk of life, and turn their heads with joy.
To my mamma I wrote in just the way
I felt, and said what dreaming lasses say;
How handsome Frederick was, by all confess'd,
How well he look'd, how very well he dress'd;
With learning much, that would for both provide,
His mother's darling, and his father's pride:
And then he loves me more than mind can guess.
Than heart conceive, or eloquence express.
No letter came, a doubtful mind to ease,
And, what was worse, no Frederick came to please;
To college gone—so thought our little maid—
But not to see me! I was much afraid;
I walk'd the garden round, and deeply sigh'd,
When grandmamma grew faint! and dropp'd, and died:
A fate so awful and so sudden drove
All else away, and half extinguish'd love.
And, what was worse, no Frederick came to please;
To college gone—so thought our little maid—
But not to see me! I was much afraid;
I walk'd the garden round, and deeply sigh'd,
When grandmamma grew faint! and dropp'd, and died:
A fate so awful and so sudden drove
All else away, and half extinguish'd love.
Strange people came; they search'd the house around,
And, vulgar wretches! sold whate'er they found:
The secret hoards that in the drawers were kept,
The silver toys that with the tokens slept,
The precious beads, the corals with their bells,
That laid secure, lock'd up in secret cells,
The costly silk, the tabby, the brocade,
The very garment for the wedding made,
Were brought to sale, with many a jest thereon!
“Going—a bridal dress—for—Going!—Gone.”
That ring, dear pledge of early love and true,
That to the wedded finger almost grew,
Was sold for six and ten-pence to a Jew!
And, vulgar wretches! sold whate'er they found:
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The silver toys that with the tokens slept,
The precious beads, the corals with their bells,
That laid secure, lock'd up in secret cells,
The costly silk, the tabby, the brocade,
The very garment for the wedding made,
Were brought to sale, with many a jest thereon!
“Going—a bridal dress—for—Going!—Gone.”
That ring, dear pledge of early love and true,
That to the wedded finger almost grew,
Was sold for six and ten-pence to a Jew!
Great was the fancied worth; but ah! how small
The sum thus made, and yet how valued all!
But all that to the shameful service went
Just paid the bills, the burial, and the rent;
And I and Biddy, poor deserted maids!
Were turn'd adrift to seek for other aids
The sum thus made, and yet how valued all!
But all that to the shameful service went
Just paid the bills, the burial, and the rent;
And I and Biddy, poor deserted maids!
Were turn'd adrift to seek for other aids
Now left by all the world, as I believed,
I wonder'd much that I so little grieved;
Yet I was frighten'd at the painful view
Of shiftless want, and saw not what to do
In times like this the poor have little dread,
They can but work, and they shall then be fed:
And Biddy cheer'd me with such thoughts as this,
“You'll find the poor have their enjoyments, Miss!”
Indeed I saw, for Biddy took me home
To a forsaken hovel's cold and gloom;
And, while my tears in plenteous flow were shed,
With her own hands she placed her proper bed,
Reserved for need—A fire was quickly made,
And food, the purchase for the day, display'd:
She let in air to make the damps retire,
Then placed her sad companion at her fire;
She then began her wonted peace to feel,
She bought her wool, and sought her favourite wheel,
That as she turn'd, she sang with sober glee,
“Begone, dull Care! I'll have no more with thee;
Then turn'd to me, and bade me weep no more,
But try and taste the pleasures of the poor.
I wonder'd much that I so little grieved;
Yet I was frighten'd at the painful view
Of shiftless want, and saw not what to do
In times like this the poor have little dread,
They can but work, and they shall then be fed:
And Biddy cheer'd me with such thoughts as this,
“You'll find the poor have their enjoyments, Miss!”
Indeed I saw, for Biddy took me home
To a forsaken hovel's cold and gloom;
And, while my tears in plenteous flow were shed,
With her own hands she placed her proper bed,
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And food, the purchase for the day, display'd:
She let in air to make the damps retire,
Then placed her sad companion at her fire;
She then began her wonted peace to feel,
She bought her wool, and sought her favourite wheel,
That as she turn'd, she sang with sober glee,
“Begone, dull Care! I'll have no more with thee;
Then turn'd to me, and bade me weep no more,
But try and taste the pleasures of the poor.
When dinner came, on table brown and bare
Were placed the humblest forms of earthen ware,
With one blue dish, on which our food was placed,
For appetite provided, not for taste:
I look'd disgusted, having lately seen
All so minutely delicate and clean;
Yet, as I sat, I found to my surprise
A vulgar kind of inclination rise,
And near my humble friend, and nearer drew,
Tried the strange food, and was partaker too.
Were placed the humblest forms of earthen ware,
With one blue dish, on which our food was placed,
For appetite provided, not for taste:
I look'd disgusted, having lately seen
All so minutely delicate and clean;
Yet, as I sat, I found to my surprise
A vulgar kind of inclination rise,
And near my humble friend, and nearer drew,
Tried the strange food, and was partaker too.
I walk'd at eve, but not where I was seen,
And thought, with sorrow, what can Frederick mean?
I must not write, I said, for I am poor;
And then I wept till I could weep no more.
Kind-hearted Biddy tried my griefs to heal:
“This is a nothing to what others feel:
“Life has a thousand sorrows worse than this,
“A lover lost is not a fortune, Miss!
“One goes, another comes, and which is best
“There is no telling—set your heart at rest.”
And thought, with sorrow, what can Frederick mean?
I must not write, I said, for I am poor;
And then I wept till I could weep no more.
Kind-hearted Biddy tried my griefs to heal:
“This is a nothing to what others feel:
“Life has a thousand sorrows worse than this,
“A lover lost is not a fortune, Miss!
“One goes, another comes, and which is best
“There is no telling—set your heart at rest.”
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At night we pray'd—I dare not say a word
Of our devotion, it was so absurd;
And very pious upon Biddy's part,
But mine were all effusions of the heart;
While she her angels call'd their peace to shed,
And bless the corners of our little bed.
All was a dream! I said, is this indeed
To be my life? and thus to lodge and feed,
To pay for what I have, and work for what I need?
Must I be poor? and Frederick, if we meet,
Would not so much as know me in the street?
Or, as he walk'd with ladies, he would try
To be engaged as we were passing by—
And then I wept to think that I should grow
Like them whom he would be ashamed to know.
Of our devotion, it was so absurd;
And very pious upon Biddy's part,
But mine were all effusions of the heart;
While she her angels call'd their peace to shed,
And bless the corners of our little bed.
All was a dream! I said, is this indeed
To be my life? and thus to lodge and feed,
To pay for what I have, and work for what I need?
Must I be poor? and Frederick, if we meet,
Would not so much as know me in the street?
Or, as he walk'd with ladies, he would try
To be engaged as we were passing by—
And then I wept to think that I should grow
Like them whom he would be ashamed to know.
On the third day, while striving with my fate,
And hearing Biddy all its comforts state,
Talking of all her neighbours, all her schemes,
Her stories, merry jests, and warning dreams;
With tales of mirth and murder! Oh! the nights
Pass'd, said the maiden, in such dear delights,
And I was thinking, can the time arrive
When I shall thus be humbled, and survive?—
Then I beheld a horse and handsome gig,
With the good air, tall form, and comely wig
Of Doctor Mackey—I in fear began
To say, Good Heaven, preserve me from the man!
But fears ill reason,—Heaven to such a mind
Had lent a heart compassionate and kind.
And hearing Biddy all its comforts state,
Talking of all her neighbours, all her schemes,
Her stories, merry jests, and warning dreams;
With tales of mirth and murder! Oh! the nights
Pass'd, said the maiden, in such dear delights,
And I was thinking, can the time arrive
When I shall thus be humbled, and survive?—
Then I beheld a horse and handsome gig,
With the good air, tall form, and comely wig
Of Doctor Mackey—I in fear began
To say, Good Heaven, preserve me from the man!
But fears ill reason,—Heaven to such a mind
Had lent a heart compassionate and kind.
272
From him I learnt that one had call'd to know
What with my hand my parents could bestow;
And when he learn'd the truth, in high disdain
He told my fate, and home return'd again.
“Nay, be not grieved, my lovely girl; but few
“Wed the first love, however kind and true;
“Something there comes to break the strongest vow,
“Or mine had been my gentle Mattie now.
“When the good lady died—but let me leave
“All gloomy subjects—'t is not good to grieve.”
What with my hand my parents could bestow;
And when he learn'd the truth, in high disdain
He told my fate, and home return'd again.
“Nay, be not grieved, my lovely girl; but few
“Wed the first love, however kind and true;
“Something there comes to break the strongest vow,
“Or mine had been my gentle Mattie now.
“When the good lady died—but let me leave
“All gloomy subjects—'t is not good to grieve.”
Thus the kind Scotchman soothed me: he sustain'd
A father's part, and my submission gain'd:
Then my affection; and he often told
My sterner parent that her heart was cold.
He grew in honour—he obtain'd a name—
And now a favourite with the place became:
To me most gentle, he would condescend
To read and reason, be the guide and friend;
He taught me knowledge of the wholesome kind,
And fill'd with many a useful truth my mind:
Life's common burden daily lighter grew,
And even Frederick lessen'd in my view:
Cold and repulsive as he once appear'd,
He was by every generous act endear'd;
And, above all, that he with ardour fill'd
My soul for truth—a love by him instill'd;
Till my mamma grew jealous of a maid
To whom a husband such attention paid:
Not grossly jealous; but it gave her pain,
And she observed, “He made her daughter vain;
“And what his help to one who must not look
“To gain her bread by poring on a book?”
A father's part, and my submission gain'd:
Then my affection; and he often told
My sterner parent that her heart was cold.
He grew in honour—he obtain'd a name—
And now a favourite with the place became:
To me most gentle, he would condescend
To read and reason, be the guide and friend;
He taught me knowledge of the wholesome kind,
And fill'd with many a useful truth my mind:
Life's common burden daily lighter grew,
And even Frederick lessen'd in my view:
Cold and repulsive as he once appear'd,
He was by every generous act endear'd;
And, above all, that he with ardour fill'd
My soul for truth—a love by him instill'd;
Till my mamma grew jealous of a maid
To whom a husband such attention paid:
Not grossly jealous; but it gave her pain,
And she observed, “He made her daughter vain;
273
“To gain her bread by poring on a book?”
This was distress; but this, and all beside,
Was lost in grief—my kinder parent died;
When praised and loved, when joy and health he gave,
He sank lamented to an early grave:
Then love and woe—the parent and the child,
Lost in one grief, allied and reconciled.
Was lost in grief—my kinder parent died;
When praised and loved, when joy and health he gave,
He sank lamented to an early grave:
Then love and woe—the parent and the child,
Lost in one grief, allied and reconciled.
Yet soon a will, that left me half his worth,
To the same spirit gave a second birth:
But 't was a mother's spleen; and she indeed
Was sick, and sad, and had of comfort need;
I watch'd the way her anxious spirit took,
And often found her musing o'er a book;
She changed her dress, her church, her priest, her prayer,
Join'd a new sect, and sought her comforts there;
Some strange coarse people came, and were so free
In their addresses, they offended me;
But my mamma threw all her pride away—
More humble she as more assuming they.
To the same spirit gave a second birth:
But 't was a mother's spleen; and she indeed
Was sick, and sad, and had of comfort need;
I watch'd the way her anxious spirit took,
And often found her musing o'er a book;
She changed her dress, her church, her priest, her prayer,
Join'd a new sect, and sought her comforts there;
Some strange coarse people came, and were so free
In their addresses, they offended me;
But my mamma threw all her pride away—
More humble she as more assuming they.
“And what,” they said, as having power, “are now
“The inward conflicts? do you strive? and how?”
Themselves confessing thoughts so new and wild,
I thought them like the visions of a child.
“Could we,” they ask, “our best good deeds condemn?
“And did we long to touch the garment's hem?
“And was it so with us? for so it was with them
A younger few assumed a softer part,
And tried to shake the fortress of my heart;
To this my pliant mother lent her aid,
And wish'd the winning of her erring maid:
I was constrain'd her female friends to hear,
But suffer'd not a bearded convert near:
Though more than one attempted, with their whine,
And “Sister! sister! how that heart of thine?”—
But this was freedom I for ever check'd:
Mine was a heart no brother could affect.
“The inward conflicts? do you strive? and how?”
Themselves confessing thoughts so new and wild,
I thought them like the visions of a child.
“Could we,” they ask, “our best good deeds condemn?
“And did we long to touch the garment's hem?
“And was it so with us? for so it was with them
274
And tried to shake the fortress of my heart;
To this my pliant mother lent her aid,
And wish'd the winning of her erring maid:
I was constrain'd her female friends to hear,
But suffer'd not a bearded convert near:
Though more than one attempted, with their whine,
And “Sister! sister! how that heart of thine?”—
But this was freedom I for ever check'd:
Mine was a heart no brother could affect.
But, “would I hear the preacher, and receive
“The dropping dew of his discourse at eve?
“The soft, sweet words?” I gave two precious hours
To hear of gifts and graces, helps and powers;
When a pale youth, who should dismiss the flock,
Gave to my bosom an electric shock.
While in that act he look'd upon my face
As one in that all-equalising place:
Nor, though he sought me, would he lay aside
Their cold, dead freedom, or their dull, sad pride.
“The dropping dew of his discourse at eve?
“The soft, sweet words?” I gave two precious hours
To hear of gifts and graces, helps and powers;
When a pale youth, who should dismiss the flock,
Gave to my bosom an electric shock.
While in that act he look'd upon my face
As one in that all-equalising place:
Nor, though he sought me, would he lay aside
Their cold, dead freedom, or their dull, sad pride.
Of his conversion he with triumph spoke,
Before he orders from a bishop took:
Then how his father's anger he had braved;
And, safe himself, his erring neighbours saved.
Me he rejoiced a sister to behold
Among the members of his favourite fold;
He had not sought me, the availing call
Demanded all his love, and had it all;
But, now thus met, it must be Heaven's design.—
Indeed! I thought, it never shall be mine;—
Yes, we must wed. He was not rich; and I
Had of the earthly good a mean supply;
But it sufficed. Of his conversion then
He told, and labours in converting men;
For he was chosen all their bands among—
Another Daniel! honour'd, though so young.
Before he orders from a bishop took:
Then how his father's anger he had braved;
And, safe himself, his erring neighbours saved.
Me he rejoiced a sister to behold
Among the members of his favourite fold;
He had not sought me, the availing call
Demanded all his love, and had it all;
275
Indeed! I thought, it never shall be mine;—
Yes, we must wed. He was not rich; and I
Had of the earthly good a mean supply;
But it sufficed. Of his conversion then
He told, and labours in converting men;
For he was chosen all their bands among—
Another Daniel! honour'd, though so young.
He call'd me sister: show'd me that he knew
What I possess'd; and told what it would do;
My looks, I judge, express'd my full disdain;
But it was given to the man in vain:
They preach till they are proud, and pride disturbs the brain.
What I possess'd; and told what it would do;
My looks, I judge, express'd my full disdain;
But it was given to the man in vain:
They preach till they are proud, and pride disturbs the brain.
Is this the youth once timid, mild, polite?
How odious now, and sick'ning to the sight!
Proud that he sees, and yet so truly blind,
With all this blight and mildew on the mind!
Amazed, the solemn creature heard me vow,
That I was not disposed to take him now.
How odious now, and sick'ning to the sight!
Proud that he sees, and yet so truly blind,
With all this blight and mildew on the mind!
Amazed, the solemn creature heard me vow,
That I was not disposed to take him now.
“Then, art thou changed, fair maiden? changed thy heart?”
I answer'd, “No; but I perceive thou art.”
I answer'd, “No; but I perceive thou art.”
Still was my mother sad, her nerves relax'd,
And our small income for advice was tax'd;
When I, who long'd for change and freedom, cried,
Let sea and Sidmouth's balmy air be tried;
And so they were, and every neighbouring scene,
That make the bosom, like the clime, serene;
Yet were her teachers loth to yield assent;
And not without the warning voice we went;
And there was secret counsel all unknown
To me—but I had counsel of my own.
And our small income for advice was tax'd;
When I, who long'd for change and freedom, cried,
Let sea and Sidmouth's balmy air be tried;
276
That make the bosom, like the clime, serene;
Yet were her teachers loth to yield assent;
And not without the warning voice we went;
And there was secret counsel all unknown
To me—but I had counsel of my own.
And now there pass'd a portion of my time
In ease delicious, and in joy sublime—
With friends endear'd by kindness—with delight,—
In all that could the feeling mind excite,
Or please, excited; walks in every place,
Where we could pleasure find and beauty trace,
Or views at night, where on the rocky steep
Shines the full moon, or glitters on the deep.
In ease delicious, and in joy sublime—
With friends endear'd by kindness—with delight,—
In all that could the feeling mind excite,
Or please, excited; walks in every place,
Where we could pleasure find and beauty trace,
Or views at night, where on the rocky steep
Shines the full moon, or glitters on the deep.
Yes, they were happy days; but they are fled!
All now are parted—part are with the dead!
Still it is pleasure, though 'tis mix'd with pain,
To think of joys that cannot live again!
Here cannot live; but they excite desire
Of purer kind, and heavenly thoughts inspire!
All now are parted—part are with the dead!
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To think of joys that cannot live again!
Here cannot live; but they excite desire
Of purer kind, and heavenly thoughts inspire!
And now my mother, weaken'd in her mind,
Her will, subdued before, to me resign'd.
Wean'd from her late directors, by degrees
She sank resign'd, and only sought for ease:
In a small town upon the coast we fix'd;
Nor in amusement with associates mix'd.
My years—but other mode will I pursue,
And count my time by what I sought to do.
Her will, subdued before, to me resign'd.
Wean'd from her late directors, by degrees
She sank resign'd, and only sought for ease:
In a small town upon the coast we fix'd;
Nor in amusement with associates mix'd.
My years—but other mode will I pursue,
And count my time by what I sought to do.
And was that mind at ease? could I avow
That no once leading thoughts engaged me now?
Was I convinced th' enthusiastic man
Had ruin'd what the loving boy began?
I answer doubting—I could still detect
Feelings too soft—yet him I could reject—
Feelings that came when I had least employ,
When common pleasures I could least enjoy—
When I was pacing lonely in the rays
Of a full moon, in lonely walks and ways—
When I was sighing o'er a tale's distress,
And paid attention to my Bible less.
That no once leading thoughts engaged me now?
Was I convinced th' enthusiastic man
Had ruin'd what the loving boy began?
I answer doubting—I could still detect
Feelings too soft—yet him I could reject—
Feelings that came when I had least employ,
When common pleasures I could least enjoy—
When I was pacing lonely in the rays
Of a full moon, in lonely walks and ways—
278
And paid attention to my Bible less.
These found, I sought my remedies for these;
I suffer'd common things my mind to please,
And common pleasures: seldom walk'd alone,
Nor when the moon upon the waters shone;
But then my candles lit, my window closed,
My needle took, and with my neighbours prosed:
And in one year—nay, ere the end of one,
My labour ended, and my love was done.
I suffer'd common things my mind to please,
And common pleasures: seldom walk'd alone,
Nor when the moon upon the waters shone;
But then my candles lit, my window closed,
My needle took, and with my neighbours prosed:
And in one year—nay, ere the end of one,
My labour ended, and my love was done.
My heart at rest, I boldly look'd within,
And dared to ask it of its secret sin;
Alas! with pride it answer'd, “Look around,
“And tell me where a better heart is found.”
And then I traced my virtues: Oh! how few,
In fact, they were, and yet how vain I grew;
Thought of my kindness, condescension, ease,
My will, my wishes, nay, my power to please;
I judged me prudent, rational, discreet,
And void of folly, falsehood, and deceit;
I read, not lightly, as I some had known,
But made an author's meaning all my own;
In short, what lady could a poet choose
As a superior subject for his Muse?
And dared to ask it of its secret sin;
Alas! with pride it answer'd, “Look around,
“And tell me where a better heart is found.”
And then I traced my virtues: Oh! how few,
In fact, they were, and yet how vain I grew;
Thought of my kindness, condescension, ease,
My will, my wishes, nay, my power to please;
I judged me prudent, rational, discreet,
And void of folly, falsehood, and deceit;
I read, not lightly, as I some had known,
But made an author's meaning all my own;
In short, what lady could a poet choose
As a superior subject for his Muse?
So said my heart; and Conscience straight replied—
“I say the matter is not fairly tried:
“I am offended, hurt, dissatisfied;
“First of the Christian graces, let me see
“What thy pretensions to humility?
“Art thou prepared for trial? Wilt thou say,
“I am this being, and for judgment pray?
“And with the gallant Frenchman, wilt thou cry,
“When to thy judge presented, Thus am I—
“Thus was I form'd—these talents I possess'd—
“So I employ'd them—and thou know'st the rest?”
“I say the matter is not fairly tried:
“I am offended, hurt, dissatisfied;
“First of the Christian graces, let me see
“What thy pretensions to humility?
279
“I am this being, and for judgment pray?
“And with the gallant Frenchman, wilt thou cry,
“When to thy judge presented, Thus am I—
“Thus was I form'd—these talents I possess'd—
“So I employ'd them—and thou know'st the rest?”
Thus Conscience; and she then a picture drew,
And bade me think and tremble at the view.
One I beheld—a wife, a mother—go
To gloomy scenes of wickedness and woe;
She sought her way through all things vile and base,
And made a prison a religious place:
Fighting her way—the way that angels fight
With powers of darkness—to let in the light;
Tell me, my heart, hast thou such victory won
As this, a sinner of thy sex, has done,
And calls herself a sinner? What art thou?
And where thy praise and exaltation now?
Yet is she tender, delicate, and nice,
And shrinks from all depravity and vice;
Shrinks from the ruffian gaze, the savage gloom,
That reign where guilt and misery find a home:
Guilt chain'd, and misery purchased; and with them
All we abhor, abominate, condemn—
The look of scorn, the scowl, th' insulting leer
Of shame, all fix'd on her who ventures here:
Yet all she braved! she kept her steadfast eye
On the dear cause, and brush'd the baseness by.
So would a mother press her darling child
Close to her breast, with tainted rags defiled.
And bade me think and tremble at the view.
One I beheld—a wife, a mother—go
To gloomy scenes of wickedness and woe;
She sought her way through all things vile and base,
And made a prison a religious place:
Fighting her way—the way that angels fight
With powers of darkness—to let in the light;
Tell me, my heart, hast thou such victory won
As this, a sinner of thy sex, has done,
And calls herself a sinner? What art thou?
And where thy praise and exaltation now?
Yet is she tender, delicate, and nice,
And shrinks from all depravity and vice;
Shrinks from the ruffian gaze, the savage gloom,
That reign where guilt and misery find a home:
Guilt chain'd, and misery purchased; and with them
All we abhor, abominate, condemn—
280
Of shame, all fix'd on her who ventures here:
Yet all she braved! she kept her steadfast eye
On the dear cause, and brush'd the baseness by.
So would a mother press her darling child
Close to her breast, with tainted rags defiled.
But thou hast talents truly! say the ten:
Come, let us look at their improvement then.
What hast thou done to aid thy suffering kind,
To help the sick, the deaf, the lame, the blind?
Hast thou not spent thy intellectual force
On books abstruse, in critical discourse?
Wasting in useless energy thy days,
And idly listening to their common praise,
Who can a kind of transient fame dispense,
And say—“A woman of exceeding sense.”
Thus tried, and failing, the suggestions fled,
And a corrected spirit reign'd instead.
Come, let us look at their improvement then.
What hast thou done to aid thy suffering kind,
To help the sick, the deaf, the lame, the blind?
Hast thou not spent thy intellectual force
On books abstruse, in critical discourse?
Wasting in useless energy thy days,
And idly listening to their common praise,
Who can a kind of transient fame dispense,
And say—“A woman of exceeding sense.”
Thus tried, and failing, the suggestions fled,
And a corrected spirit reign'd instead.
My mother yet was living; but the flame
Of life now flash'd, and fainter then became;
I made it pleasant, and was pleased to see
A parent looking as a child to me.
Of life now flash'd, and fainter then became;
I made it pleasant, and was pleased to see
A parent looking as a child to me.
And now our humble place grew wond'rous gay;
Came gallant persons in their red array:
All strangers welcome there, extremely welcome they.
When in the church I saw enquiring eyes
Fix'd on my face with pleasure and surprise;
And soon a knocking at my door was heard;
And soon the lover of my youth appear'd—
Frederick, in all his glory, glad to meet,
And say, “his happiness was now complete.”
Came gallant persons in their red array:
All strangers welcome there, extremely welcome they.
281
Fix'd on my face with pleasure and surprise;
And soon a knocking at my door was heard;
And soon the lover of my youth appear'd—
Frederick, in all his glory, glad to meet,
And say, “his happiness was now complete.”
He told his flight from superstitious zeal;
But first what torments he was doom'd to feel:—
“The tender tears he saw from women fall—
“The strong persuasions of the brethren all—
“The threats of crazed enthusiasts, bound to keep
“The struggling mind, and awe the straying sheep—
“From these, their love, their curses, and their creed,
“Was I by reason and exertion freed.”
But first what torments he was doom'd to feel:—
“The tender tears he saw from women fall—
“The strong persuasions of the brethren all—
“The threats of crazed enthusiasts, bound to keep
“The struggling mind, and awe the straying sheep—
“From these, their love, their curses, and their creed,
“Was I by reason and exertion freed.”
Then, like a man who often had been told
And was convinced success attends the bold,
His former purpose he renew'd, and swore
He never loved me half so well before:
Before he felt a something to divide
The heart, that now had not a love beside.
And was convinced success attends the bold,
His former purpose he renew'd, and swore
He never loved me half so well before:
Before he felt a something to divide
The heart, that now had not a love beside.
In earlier times had I myself amused,
And first my swain perplex'd, and then refused;—
Cure for conceit;—but now in purpose grave,
Strong and decisive the reply I gave.
Still he would come, and talk as idlers do,
Both of his old associates and his new;
Those who their dreams and reveries receive
For facts, and those who would not facts believe.
And first my swain perplex'd, and then refused;—
Cure for conceit;—but now in purpose grave,
Strong and decisive the reply I gave.
Still he would come, and talk as idlers do,
Both of his old associates and his new;
282
For facts, and those who would not facts believe.
He now conceived that Truth was hidden, placed
He knew not where, she never could be traced;
“But in that every place, the world around,
“Might some resemblance of the nymph be found:
“Yet wise men knew these shadows to be vain,
“Such as our true philosophers disdain,—
“They laugh to see what vulgar minds pursue—
“Truth, as a mistress, never in their view—
“But there the shadow flies, and that, they cry, is true.”
He knew not where, she never could be traced;
“But in that every place, the world around,
“Might some resemblance of the nymph be found:
“Yet wise men knew these shadows to be vain,
“Such as our true philosophers disdain,—
“They laugh to see what vulgar minds pursue—
“Truth, as a mistress, never in their view—
“But there the shadow flies, and that, they cry, is true.”
Thus, at the college and the meeting train'd,
My lover seem'd his acmé to have gain'd;
With some compassion I essay'd a cure:
“If truth be hidden, why art thou so sure?”
This he mistook for tenderness, and cried,
“If sure of thee, I care not what beside!”
Compell'd to silence, I, in pure disdain,
Withdrew from one so insolent and vain:
He then retired; and I was kindly told,
“In pure compassion grew estranged and cold.”
My lover seem'd his acmé to have gain'd;
With some compassion I essay'd a cure:
“If truth be hidden, why art thou so sure?”
This he mistook for tenderness, and cried,
“If sure of thee, I care not what beside!”
Compell'd to silence, I, in pure disdain,
Withdrew from one so insolent and vain:
He then retired; and I was kindly told,
“In pure compassion grew estranged and cold.”
My mother died; but, in my grief, drew near
A bosom friend, who dried the useless tear:
We lived together: we combined our shares
Of the world's good, and learn'd to brave its cares:
We were “the Ladies of the Place,” and found
Protection and respect the country round;
We gave, and largely, for we wish'd to live
In good repute—for this 't is good to give;
Our annual present to the priest convey'd
Was kindly taken:—we in comfort pray'd;
There none molested in the crimson pew
The worthy ladies, whom the vicar knew:
And we began to think that life might be,
Not happy all, but innocently free.
A bosom friend, who dried the useless tear:
We lived together: we combined our shares
Of the world's good, and learn'd to brave its cares:
We were “the Ladies of the Place,” and found
Protection and respect the country round;
We gave, and largely, for we wish'd to live
In good repute—for this 't is good to give;
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Was kindly taken:—we in comfort pray'd;
There none molested in the crimson pew
The worthy ladies, whom the vicar knew:
And we began to think that life might be,
Not happy all, but innocently free.
My friend in early life was bound to one
Of gentle kindred, but a younger son.
He fortune's smile with perseverance woo'd,
And wealth beneath the burning sun pursued:
There, urged by love and youthful hope, he went,
Loth; but 't was all his fortune could present.
Of gentle kindred, but a younger son.
He fortune's smile with perseverance woo'd,
And wealth beneath the burning sun pursued:
There, urged by love and youthful hope, he went,
Loth; but 't was all his fortune could present.
From hence he wrote; and, with a lover's fears,
And gloomy fondness, talk'd of future years;
To her devoted, his Priscilla found
His faithful heart still suffering with its wound,
That would not heal. A second time she heard;
And then no more: nor lover since appear'd;
Year after year the country's fleet arrived,
Confirm'd her fear, and yet her love survived;
It still was living; yet her hope was dead,
And youthful dreams, nay, youth itself, was fled;
And he was lost: so urged her friends, so she
At length believed, and thus retired with me;
She would a dedicated vestal prove,
And give her virgin vows to heaven and love;
She dwelt with fond regret on pleasures past,
With ardent hope on those that ever last;
Pious and tender, every day she view'd
With solemn joy our perfect solitude;
Her reading, that which most delighted her,
That soothed the passions, yet would gently stir;
The tender, softening, melancholy strain,
That caused not pleasure, but that vanquish'd pain,
In tears she read, and wept, and long'd to read again.
But other worlds were her supreme delight,
And there, it seem'd, she long'd to take her flight:
Yet patient, pensive, arm'd by thoughts sublime,
She watch'd the tardy steps of lingering time.
And gloomy fondness, talk'd of future years;
To her devoted, his Priscilla found
His faithful heart still suffering with its wound,
That would not heal. A second time she heard;
And then no more: nor lover since appear'd;
Year after year the country's fleet arrived,
Confirm'd her fear, and yet her love survived;
It still was living; yet her hope was dead,
And youthful dreams, nay, youth itself, was fled;
And he was lost: so urged her friends, so she
At length believed, and thus retired with me;
She would a dedicated vestal prove,
And give her virgin vows to heaven and love;
She dwelt with fond regret on pleasures past,
With ardent hope on those that ever last;
Pious and tender, every day she view'd
With solemn joy our perfect solitude;
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That soothed the passions, yet would gently stir;
The tender, softening, melancholy strain,
That caused not pleasure, but that vanquish'd pain,
In tears she read, and wept, and long'd to read again.
But other worlds were her supreme delight,
And there, it seem'd, she long'd to take her flight:
Yet patient, pensive, arm'd by thoughts sublime,
She watch'd the tardy steps of lingering time.
My friend, with face that most would handsome call,
Possess'd the charm that wins the heart of all;
And, thrice entreated by a lover's prayer,
She thrice refused him with determined air.
“No! had the world one monarch, and was he
“All that the heart could wish its lord to be,—
“Lovely and loving, generous, brave, and true,—
“Vain were his hopes to waken hers anew!”
For she was wedded to ideal views,
And fancy's prospects, that she would not lose,
Would not forego, to be a mortal's wife,
And wed the poor realities of life.
Possess'd the charm that wins the heart of all;
And, thrice entreated by a lover's prayer,
She thrice refused him with determined air.
“No! had the world one monarch, and was he
“All that the heart could wish its lord to be,—
“Lovely and loving, generous, brave, and true,—
“Vain were his hopes to waken hers anew!”
For she was wedded to ideal views,
And fancy's prospects, that she would not lose,
Would not forego, to be a mortal's wife,
And wed the poor realities of life.
There was a day, ere yet the autumn closed,
When, ere her wintry wars, the earth reposed,
When from the yellow weed the feathery crown,
Light as the curling smoke, fell slowly down;
When the wing'd insect settled in our sight,
And waited wind to recommence her flight;
When the wide river was a silver sheet,
And on the ocean slept th' unanchor'd fleet;
When from our garden, as we look'd above,
There was no cloud, and nothing seem'd to move;
Then was my friend in ecstasies—she cried,
“There is, I feel there is, a world beside!
“Martha, dear Martha! we shall hear not then
“Of hearts distress'd by good or evil men,
“But all will constant, tender, faithful be—
“So had I been, and so had one with me;
“But in this world the fondest and the best
“Are the most tried, most troubled, and distress'd;
“This is the place for trial; here we prove,
“And there enjoy, the faithfulness of love.
When, ere her wintry wars, the earth reposed,
When from the yellow weed the feathery crown,
Light as the curling smoke, fell slowly down;
When the wing'd insect settled in our sight,
And waited wind to recommence her flight;
When the wide river was a silver sheet,
And on the ocean slept th' unanchor'd fleet;
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There was no cloud, and nothing seem'd to move;
Then was my friend in ecstasies—she cried,
“There is, I feel there is, a world beside!
“Martha, dear Martha! we shall hear not then
“Of hearts distress'd by good or evil men,
“But all will constant, tender, faithful be—
“So had I been, and so had one with me;
“But in this world the fondest and the best
“Are the most tried, most troubled, and distress'd;
“This is the place for trial; here we prove,
“And there enjoy, the faithfulness of love.
“Nay, were he here in all the pride of youth,
“With honour, valour, tenderness, and truth,
“Entirely mine, yet what could I secure,
“Or who one day of comfort could insure?
“No! all is closed on earth, and there is now
“Nothing to break th' indissoluble vow;
“But in that world will be th' abiding bliss,
“That pays for every tear and sigh in this.”
“With honour, valour, tenderness, and truth,
“Entirely mine, yet what could I secure,
“Or who one day of comfort could insure?
“No! all is closed on earth, and there is now
“Nothing to break th' indissoluble vow;
“But in that world will be th' abiding bliss,
“That pays for every tear and sigh in this.”
Such her discourse, and more refined it grew,
Till she had all her glorious dream in view;
And she would further in that dream proceed
Than I dare go, who doubtfully agreed:
Smiling I ask'd, again to draw the soul
From flight so high, and fancy to control,
“If this be truth, the lover's happier way
“Is distant still to keep the purposed day,
“The real bliss would mar the fancied joy,
“And marriage all the dream of love destroy.”
Till she had all her glorious dream in view;
And she would further in that dream proceed
Than I dare go, who doubtfully agreed:
Smiling I ask'd, again to draw the soul
From flight so high, and fancy to control,
“If this be truth, the lover's happier way
“Is distant still to keep the purposed day,
“The real bliss would mar the fancied joy,
“And marriage all the dream of love destroy.”
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She softly smiled, and as we gravely talk'd,
We saw a man who up the gravel walk'd,
Not quite erect, nor quite by age depress'd,
A travell'd man, and as a merchant dress'd;
Large chain of gold upon his watch he wore,
Small golden buckles on his feet he bore;
A head of gold his costly cane display'd,
And all about him love of gold betray'd.
We saw a man who up the gravel walk'd,
Not quite erect, nor quite by age depress'd,
A travell'd man, and as a merchant dress'd;
Large chain of gold upon his watch he wore,
Small golden buckles on his feet he bore;
A head of gold his costly cane display'd,
And all about him love of gold betray'd.
This comely man moved onward, and a pair
Of comely maidens met with serious air;
Till one exclaim'd, and wildly look'd around,
“O Heav'n, 'tis Paul!” and dropp'd upon the ground;
But she recover'd soon, and you must guess
What then ensued, and how much happiness.
Of comely maidens met with serious air;
Till one exclaim'd, and wildly look'd around,
“O Heav'n, 'tis Paul!” and dropp'd upon the ground;
But she recover'd soon, and you must guess
What then ensued, and how much happiness.
They parted lovers, both distress'd to part!
They met as neighbours, heal'd, and whole of heart:
She in his absence look'd to heaven for bliss,
He was contented with a world like this;
And she prepared in some new state to meet
The man now seeking for some snug retreat.
He kindly told her he was firm and true,
Nor doubted her, and bade her then adieu!
They met as neighbours, heal'd, and whole of heart:
She in his absence look'd to heaven for bliss,
He was contented with a world like this;
And she prepared in some new state to meet
The man now seeking for some snug retreat.
He kindly told her he was firm and true,
Nor doubted her, and bade her then adieu!
“What shall I do?” the sighing maid began,
“How lost the lover! O, how gross the man.”
For the plain dealer had his wish declared,
Nor she, devoted victim! could be spared:
He spoke as one decided; she as one
Who fear'd the love, and would the lover shun.
“O Martha, sister of my soul! how dies
“Each lovely view! for can I truth disguise,
“That this is he? No! nothing shall persuade,
“This is a man the naughty world has made,
“An eating, drinking, buying, bargaining man—
“And can I love him? No! I never can.
“What once he was, what fancy gave beside,
“Full well I know, my love was then my pride;
“What time has done, what trade and travel wrought,
“You see! and yet your sorrowing friend is sought;
“But can I take him?”—“Take him not,” I cried,
“If so averse—but why so soon decide?”
“How lost the lover! O, how gross the man.”
For the plain dealer had his wish declared,
Nor she, devoted victim! could be spared:
He spoke as one decided; she as one
Who fear'd the love, and would the lover shun.
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“Each lovely view! for can I truth disguise,
“That this is he? No! nothing shall persuade,
“This is a man the naughty world has made,
“An eating, drinking, buying, bargaining man—
“And can I love him? No! I never can.
“What once he was, what fancy gave beside,
“Full well I know, my love was then my pride;
“What time has done, what trade and travel wrought,
“You see! and yet your sorrowing friend is sought;
“But can I take him?”—“Take him not,” I cried,
“If so averse—but why so soon decide?”
Meantime a daily guest the man appear'd,
Set all his sail, and for his purpose steer'd:
Loud and familiar, loving, fierce, and free,
He overpower'd her soft timidity;
Who, weak and vain, and grateful to behold
The man was hers, and hers would be the gold;
Thus sundry motives, more than I can name,
Leagued on his part, and she a wife became.
Set all his sail, and for his purpose steer'd:
Loud and familiar, loving, fierce, and free,
He overpower'd her soft timidity;
Who, weak and vain, and grateful to behold
The man was hers, and hers would be the gold;
Thus sundry motives, more than I can name,
Leagued on his part, and she a wife became.
A home was offer'd, but I knew too well
What comfort was with married friends to dwell;
I was resign'd, and had I felt distress,
Again a lover offer'd some redress;
Behold, a hero of the buskin hears
My loss, and with consoling love appears;
Frederick was now a hero on the stage,
In all its glories, rhapsody, and rage;
Again himself he offer'd, offer'd all
That his a hero of the kind can call:
He for my sake would hope of fame resign,
And leave the applause of all the world for mine
Hard fate was Frederick's, never to succeed,
Yet ever try—but so it was decreed:
His mind was weaken'd; he would laugh and weep,
And swore profusely I had “murder'd sleep.”
Had quite unmann'd him, cleft his heart in twain,
And he should never “be himself again.”
What comfort was with married friends to dwell;
I was resign'd, and had I felt distress,
Again a lover offer'd some redress;
Behold, a hero of the buskin hears
My loss, and with consoling love appears;
Frederick was now a hero on the stage,
In all its glories, rhapsody, and rage;
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That his a hero of the kind can call:
He for my sake would hope of fame resign,
And leave the applause of all the world for mine
Hard fate was Frederick's, never to succeed,
Yet ever try—but so it was decreed:
His mind was weaken'd; he would laugh and weep,
And swore profusely I had “murder'd sleep.”
Had quite unmann'd him, cleft his heart in twain,
And he should never “be himself again.”
He was himself; weak, nervous, kind, and poor,
Ill dress'd and idle, he besieged my door,
Borrow'd,—or, worse, made verses on my charms,
And did his best to fill me with alarms;
I had some pity, and I sought the price
Of my repose—my hero was not nice;
There was a loan, and promise I should be
From all the efforts of his fondness free,
From hunger's future claims, or those of vanity.
“Yet,” said he, bowing, “do to study take!
“Oh! what a Desdemona wouldst thou make!”
Thus was my lover lost; yet even now
He claims one thought, and this we will allow.
Ill dress'd and idle, he besieged my door,
Borrow'd,—or, worse, made verses on my charms,
And did his best to fill me with alarms;
I had some pity, and I sought the price
Of my repose—my hero was not nice;
There was a loan, and promise I should be
From all the efforts of his fondness free,
From hunger's future claims, or those of vanity.
“Yet,” said he, bowing, “do to study take!
“Oh! what a Desdemona wouldst thou make!”
Thus was my lover lost; yet even now
He claims one thought, and this we will allow.
His father lived to an extreme old age,
But never kind!—his son had left the stage
And gain'd some office, but a humble place,
And that he lost! Want sharpen'd his disgrace,
Urged him to seek his father—but too late,
His jealous brothers watch'd and barr'd the gate.
But never kind!—his son had left the stage
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And that he lost! Want sharpen'd his disgrace,
Urged him to seek his father—but too late,
His jealous brothers watch'd and barr'd the gate.
The old man died: but there is one who pays
A moderate pension for his latter days,
Who, though assured inquiries will offend,
Is ever asking for this unknown friend;
Some partial lady, whom he hopes to find,
As to his wants so to his wishes kind.
A moderate pension for his latter days,
Who, though assured inquiries will offend,
Is ever asking for this unknown friend;
Some partial lady, whom he hopes to find,
As to his wants so to his wishes kind.
“Be still,” a cool adviser sometimes writes—
“Nay, but,” says he, “the gentle maid invites—
“Do, let me know the young! the soft! the fair!
“Old man,” 'tis answer'd, “take thyself to prayer!
“Be clean, be sober, to thy priest apply,
“And—dead to all around thee—learn to die!”
“Nay, but,” says he, “the gentle maid invites—
“Do, let me know the young! the soft! the fair!
“Old man,” 'tis answer'd, “take thyself to prayer!
“Be clean, be sober, to thy priest apply,
“And—dead to all around thee—learn to die!”
Now had I rest from life's strong hopes and fears,
And no disturbance mark'd the flying years;
So on in quiet might those years have pass'd
But for a light adventure, and a last.
And no disturbance mark'd the flying years;
So on in quiet might those years have pass'd
But for a light adventure, and a last.
A handsome Boy, from school-day bondage free,
Came with mamma to gaze upon the sea;
With soft blue eye he look'd upon the waves,
And talk'd of treacherous rocks, and seamen's graves:
There was much sweetness in his boyish smile,
And signs of feelings frank, that knew not guile.
Came with mamma to gaze upon the sea;
With soft blue eye he look'd upon the waves,
And talk'd of treacherous rocks, and seamen's graves:
There was much sweetness in his boyish smile,
And signs of feelings frank, that knew not guile.
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The partial mother, of her darling proud,
Besought my friendship, and her own avow'd;
She praised her Rupert's person, spirit, ease,
How fond of study, yet how form'd to please;
In our discourse he often bore a part,
And talk'd, heaven bless him! of his feeling heart;
He spoke of pleasures souls like his enjoy,
And hated Lovelace like a virtuous boy;
Besought my friendship, and her own avow'd;
She praised her Rupert's person, spirit, ease,
How fond of study, yet how form'd to please;
In our discourse he often bore a part,
And talk'd, heaven bless him! of his feeling heart;
He spoke of pleasures souls like his enjoy,
And hated Lovelace like a virtuous boy;
He felt for Clementina's holy strife,
And was Sir Charles as large and true as life:
For Virtue's heroines was his soul distress'd;
True love and guileless honour fill'd his breast,
When, as the subjects drew the frequent sigh,
The tear stood trembling in his large blue eye,
And softly he exclaim'd, “Sweet, sweetest sympathy!”
And was Sir Charles as large and true as life:
For Virtue's heroines was his soul distress'd;
True love and guileless honour fill'd his breast,
When, as the subjects drew the frequent sigh,
The tear stood trembling in his large blue eye,
And softly he exclaim'd, “Sweet, sweetest sympathy!”
When thus I heard the handsome stripling speak,
I smiled assent, and thought to pat his cheek:
But when I saw the feelings blushing there,
Signs of emotions strong, they said—forbear!
I smiled assent, and thought to pat his cheek:
But when I saw the feelings blushing there,
Signs of emotions strong, they said—forbear!
The Youth would speak of his intent to live
On that estate which heaven was pleased to give,
There with the partner of his joys to dwell,
And nurse the virtues that he loved so well;
The humble good of happy swains to share,
And from the cottage drive distress and care;
To the dear infants make some pleasures known,
And teach, he gravely said, the virtues to his own.
On that estate which heaven was pleased to give,
There with the partner of his joys to dwell,
And nurse the virtues that he loved so well;
The humble good of happy swains to share,
And from the cottage drive distress and care;
To the dear infants make some pleasures known,
And teach, he gravely said, the virtues to his own.
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He loved to read in verse, and verse-like prose,
The softest tales of love-inflicted woes;
When, looking fondly, he would smile and cry,
Is there not bliss in sensibility?”
The softest tales of love-inflicted woes;
When, looking fondly, he would smile and cry,
Is there not bliss in sensibility?”
We walk'd together, and it seem'd not harm
In linking thought with thought, and arm with arm,
Till the dear boy would talk too much of bliss,
And indistinctly murmur—“such as this.”
In linking thought with thought, and arm with arm,
Till the dear boy would talk too much of bliss,
And indistinctly murmur—“such as this.”
When no maternal wish her heart beguiled,
The lady call'd her son “the darling child;”
When with some nearer view her speech began,
She changed her phrase, and said, “the good young man!”
And lost, when hinting of some future bride,
The woman's prudence in the mother's pride.
The lady call'd her son “the darling child;”
When with some nearer view her speech began,
She changed her phrase, and said, “the good young man!”
And lost, when hinting of some future bride,
The woman's prudence in the mother's pride.
Still decent fear and conscious folly strove
With fond presumption and aspiring love;
But now too plain to me the strife appear'd,
And what he sought I knew, and what he fear'd;
The trembling hand and frequent sigh disclosed
The wish that prudence, care, and time opposed.
With fond presumption and aspiring love;
But now too plain to me the strife appear'd,
And what he sought I knew, and what he fear'd;
The trembling hand and frequent sigh disclosed
The wish that prudence, care, and time opposed.
Was I not pleased, will you demand?—Amused
By boyish love, that woman's pride refused?
This I acknowledge, and, from day to day,
Resolved no longer at such game to play;
Yet I forbore, though to my purpose true,
And firmly fix'd to bid the youth adieu.
There was a moonlight eve, serenely cool,
When the vast ocean seem'd a mighty pool;
Save the small rippling waves that gently beat,
We scarcely heard them falling, at our feet
His mother absent, absent every sound,
And every sight, that could the youth confound;
The arm, fast lock'd in mine, his fear betray'd,
And when he spoke not, his designs convey'd;
He oft-times gasp'd for breath, he tried to speak,
And studying words, at last had words to seek.
By boyish love, that woman's pride refused?
This I acknowledge, and, from day to day,
Resolved no longer at such game to play;
Yet I forbore, though to my purpose true,
And firmly fix'd to bid the youth adieu.
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When the vast ocean seem'd a mighty pool;
Save the small rippling waves that gently beat,
We scarcely heard them falling, at our feet
His mother absent, absent every sound,
And every sight, that could the youth confound;
The arm, fast lock'd in mine, his fear betray'd,
And when he spoke not, his designs convey'd;
He oft-times gasp'd for breath, he tried to speak,
And studying words, at last had words to seek.
Silent the boy, by silence more betray'd,
And fearing lest he should appear afraid,
He knelt abruptly, and his speech began—
“Pity the pangs of an unhappy man.”
And fearing lest he should appear afraid,
He knelt abruptly, and his speech began—
“Pity the pangs of an unhappy man.”
“Be sure,” I answer'd, “and relieve them too—
“But why that posture? What the woes to you?
“To feel for others' sorrows is humane,
“But too much feeling is our virtue's bane.
“But why that posture? What the woes to you?
“To feel for others' sorrows is humane,
“But too much feeling is our virtue's bane.
“Come, my dear Rupert! now your tale disclose,
“That I may know the sufferer and his woes,
“Know there is pain that wilful man endures,
“That our reproof and not our pity cures;
“For though for such assumed distress we grieve,
“Since they themselves as well as us deceive,
“Yet we assist not.”—The unhappy youth,
Unhappy then, beheld not all the truth.
“That I may know the sufferer and his woes,
“Know there is pain that wilful man endures,
“That our reproof and not our pity cures;
“For though for such assumed distress we grieve,
“Since they themselves as well as us deceive,
“Yet we assist not.”—The unhappy youth,
Unhappy then, beheld not all the truth.
“O! what is this?” exclaim'd the dubious boy,
“Words that confuse the being they destroy?
“So have I read the gods to madness drive
“The man condemn'd with adverse fate to strive;
“O! make thy victim, though by misery, sure,
“And let me know the pangs I must endure;
“For, like the Grecian warrior, I can pray
“Falling, to perish in the face of day.”
“Words that confuse the being they destroy?
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“The man condemn'd with adverse fate to strive;
“O! make thy victim, though by misery, sure,
“And let me know the pangs I must endure;
“For, like the Grecian warrior, I can pray
“Falling, to perish in the face of day.”
“Pretty, my Rupert; and it proves the use
“Of all that learning which the schools produce:
“But come, your arm—no trembling, but attend
“To sober truth, and a maternal friend.
“Of all that learning which the schools produce:
“But come, your arm—no trembling, but attend
“To sober truth, and a maternal friend.
“You ask for pity?”—“O! indeed I do.”
“Well then, you have it, and assistance too:
“Suppose us married!”—“O! the heavenly thought!”
“Nay—nay, my friend, be you by wisdom taught;
“For wisdom tells you, love would soon subside,
“Fall, and make room for penitence and pride;
“Then would you meet the public eye, and blame
“Your private taste, and be o'erwhelm'd with shame:
“How must it then your bosom's peace destroy
“To hear it said, ‘The mother and her boy!’
“And then, to show the sneering world it lies,
“You would assume the man, and tyrannize;
“Ev'n Time, Care's general soother, would augment
“Your self-reproaching, growing discontent.
“Well then, you have it, and assistance too:
“Suppose us married!”—“O! the heavenly thought!”
“Nay—nay, my friend, be you by wisdom taught;
“For wisdom tells you, love would soon subside,
“Fall, and make room for penitence and pride;
“Then would you meet the public eye, and blame
“Your private taste, and be o'erwhelm'd with shame:
“How must it then your bosom's peace destroy
“To hear it said, ‘The mother and her boy!’
“And then, to show the sneering world it lies,
“You would assume the man, and tyrannize;
“Ev'n Time, Care's general soother, would augment
“Your self-reproaching, growing discontent.
“Add twenty years to my precarious life,
“And lo! your aged, feeble, wailing wife;
“Displeased, displeasing, discontented, blamed;
“Both, and with cause, ashaming and ashamed:
“When I shall bend beneath a press of time,
“Thou wilt be all erect in manhood's prime;
“Then wilt thou fly to younger minds t' assuage
“Thy bosom's pain, and I in jealous age
“Shall move contempt, if still; if active, rage:
“And though in anguish all my days are past,
“Yet far beyond thy wishes they may last;
“May last till thou, thy better prospects fled,
“Shall have no comfort when thy wife is dead.
“And lo! your aged, feeble, wailing wife;
“Displeased, displeasing, discontented, blamed;
“Both, and with cause, ashaming and ashamed:
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“Thou wilt be all erect in manhood's prime;
“Then wilt thou fly to younger minds t' assuage
“Thy bosom's pain, and I in jealous age
“Shall move contempt, if still; if active, rage:
“And though in anguish all my days are past,
“Yet far beyond thy wishes they may last;
“May last till thou, thy better prospects fled,
“Shall have no comfort when thy wife is dead.
“Then thou in turn, though none will call thee old
“Wilt feel thy spirit fled, thy bosom cold;
“No strong or eager wish to wake the will,
“Life will appear to stagnate and be still,
“As now with me it slumbers; O! rejoice
“That I attend not to that pleading voice;
“So will new hopes this troubled dream succeed,
“And one will gladly hear my Rupert plead.”
“Wilt feel thy spirit fled, thy bosom cold;
“No strong or eager wish to wake the will,
“Life will appear to stagnate and be still,
“As now with me it slumbers; O! rejoice
“That I attend not to that pleading voice;
“So will new hopes this troubled dream succeed,
“And one will gladly hear my Rupert plead.”
Ask you, while thus I could the youth deny,
Was I unmoved?—Inexorable I,
Fix'd and determined: thrice he made his prayer,
With looks of sadness first, and then despair;
Thrice doom'd to bear refusal, not exempt,
At the last effort, from a slight contempt.
Was I unmoved?—Inexorable I,
Fix'd and determined: thrice he made his prayer,
With looks of sadness first, and then despair;
Thrice doom'd to bear refusal, not exempt,
At the last effort, from a slight contempt.
Did his distress, his pains, your joy excite?—
No; but I fear'd his perseverance might.
Was there no danger in the moon's soft rays,
To hear the handsome stripling's earnest praise?
Was there no fear that, while my words reproved
The eager youth, I might myself be moved?
Not for his sake alone I cried “Persist
No more,” and with a frown the cause dismiss'd.
No; but I fear'd his perseverance might.
Was there no danger in the moon's soft rays,
To hear the handsome stripling's earnest praise?
Was there no fear that, while my words reproved
The eager youth, I might myself be moved?
295
No more,” and with a frown the cause dismiss'd.
Seek you th' event?—I scarcely need reply,
Love, unreturn'd, will languish, pine, and die:
We lived awhile in friendship, and with joy
I saw depart in peace the amorous boy.
Love, unreturn'd, will languish, pine, and die:
We lived awhile in friendship, and with joy
I saw depart in peace the amorous boy.
We met some ten years after, and he then
Was married, and as cool as married men;
He talk'd of war and taxes, trade and farms,
And thought no more of me, or of my charms
Was married, and as cool as married men;
He talk'd of war and taxes, trade and farms,
And thought no more of me, or of my charms
We spoke; and when, alluding to the past,
Something of meaning in my look I cast,
He, who could never thought or wish disguise,
Look'd in my face with trouble and surprise;
To kill reserve, I seized his arm, and cried,
“Know me, my lord!” when laughing, he replied,
Wonder'd again, and look'd upon my face,
And seem'd unwilling marks of time to trace;
But soon I brought him fairly to confess,
That boys in love judge ill of happiness.
Something of meaning in my look I cast,
He, who could never thought or wish disguise,
Look'd in my face with trouble and surprise;
To kill reserve, I seized his arm, and cried,
“Know me, my lord!” when laughing, he replied,
Wonder'd again, and look'd upon my face,
And seem'd unwilling marks of time to trace;
But soon I brought him fairly to confess,
That boys in love judge ill of happiness.
Love had his day—to graver subjects led,
My will is govern'd, and my mind is fed;
And to more vacant bosoms I resign
The hopes and fears that once affected mine.
My will is govern'd, and my mind is fed;
And to more vacant bosoms I resign
The hopes and fears that once affected mine.
END OF THE SIXTH VOLUME.
3
BOOK XII. SIR OWEN DALE.
4
The Rector at the Hall—Why absent—He relates the Story of Sir Owen—His Marriage—Death of his Lady—His Mind acquires new Energy—His Passions awake—His Taste and Sensibility—Admires a Lady—Camilla—Her Purpose—Sir Owen's Disappointment—His Spirit of Revenge —How gratified—The Dilemma of Love—An Example of Forgiveness—Its Effect.
5
Again the Brothers saw their friend the Priest,
Who shared the comforts he so much increased;
Absent of late—and thus the Squire address'd,
With welcome smile, his ancient friend and guest.
Who shared the comforts he so much increased;
Absent of late—and thus the Squire address'd,
With welcome smile, his ancient friend and guest.
“What has detain'd thee? some parochial case?
“Some man's desertion, or some maid's disgrace?
“Or wert thou call'd, as parish priest, to give
“Name to a new-born thing that would not live,
“That its weak glance upon the world had thrown,
“And shrank in terror from the prospect shown?
“Or hast thou heard some dying wretch deplore,
“That of his pleasures he could taste no more?
“Who wish'd thy aid his spirits to sustain,
“And drive away the fears that gave him pain?
“For priests are thought to have a patent charm
“To ease the dying sinner of alarm:
“Or was thy business of the carnal sort,
“And thou wert gone a patron's smile to court,
“And Croft or Creswell would'st to Binning add,
“Or take, kind soul! whatever could be had?
“Once more I guess: th' election now is near;
“My friend, perhaps, is sway'd, by hope or fear,
“And all a patriot's wishes, forth to ride,
“And hunt for votes to prop the fav'rite side.”
“Some man's desertion, or some maid's disgrace?
“Or wert thou call'd, as parish priest, to give
“Name to a new-born thing that would not live,
“That its weak glance upon the world had thrown,
“And shrank in terror from the prospect shown?
“Or hast thou heard some dying wretch deplore,
“That of his pleasures he could taste no more?
“Who wish'd thy aid his spirits to sustain,
“And drive away the fears that gave him pain?
“For priests are thought to have a patent charm
“To ease the dying sinner of alarm:
“Or was thy business of the carnal sort,
“And thou wert gone a patron's smile to court,
6
“Or take, kind soul! whatever could be had?
“Once more I guess: th' election now is near;
“My friend, perhaps, is sway'd, by hope or fear,
“And all a patriot's wishes, forth to ride,
“And hunt for votes to prop the fav'rite side.”
“More private duty call'd me hence, to pay
“My friends respect on a rejoicing day,”
Replied the Rector: “there is born a son,
“Pride of an ancient race, who pray'd for one,
“And long desponded. Would you hear the tale—
“Ask, and 't is granted—of Sir Owen Dale?”
“My friends respect on a rejoicing day,”
Replied the Rector: “there is born a son,
“Pride of an ancient race, who pray'd for one,
“And long desponded. Would you hear the tale—
“Ask, and 't is granted—of Sir Owen Dale?”
“Grant,” said the Brothers, “for we humbly ask;
“Ours be the gratitude, and thine the task:
“Yet dine we first: then to this tale of thine,
“As to thy sermon, seriously incline:
“In neither case our Rector shall complain,
“Of this recited, that composed in vain.
“Something we heard of vengeance, who appall'd,
“Like an infernal spirit, him who call'd;
“And, ere he vanish'd, would perform his part,
“Inflicting tortures on the wounded heart.
“Of this but little from report we know;
“If you the progress of revenge can show,
“Give it, and all its horrors, if you please,
“We hear our neighbour's sufferings much at ease.
“Ours be the gratitude, and thine the task:
“Yet dine we first: then to this tale of thine,
“As to thy sermon, seriously incline:
“In neither case our Rector shall complain,
“Of this recited, that composed in vain.
“Something we heard of vengeance, who appall'd,
“Like an infernal spirit, him who call'd;
“And, ere he vanish'd, would perform his part,
“Inflicting tortures on the wounded heart.
“Of this but little from report we know;
“If you the progress of revenge can show,
“Give it, and all its horrors, if you please,
“We hear our neighbour's sufferings much at ease.
“Is it not so? For do not men delight—
“We call them men—our bruisers to excite,
“And urge with bribing gold, and feed them for the fight?
“Men beyond common strength, of giant size,
“And threat'ning terrors in each other's eyes;
“When in their naked, native force display'd,
“Look answers look, affrighting and afraid;
“While skill, like spurs and feeding, gives the arm
“The wicked power to do the greater harm:
“Maim'd in the strife, the falling man sustains
“Th' insulting shout, that aggravates his pains:—
“Man can bear this; and shall thy hearers heed
“A tale of human sufferings! Come! proceed.”
“We call them men—our bruisers to excite,
“And urge with bribing gold, and feed them for the fight?
7
“And threat'ning terrors in each other's eyes;
“When in their naked, native force display'd,
“Look answers look, affrighting and afraid;
“While skill, like spurs and feeding, gives the arm
“The wicked power to do the greater harm:
“Maim'd in the strife, the falling man sustains
“Th' insulting shout, that aggravates his pains:—
“Man can bear this; and shall thy hearers heed
“A tale of human sufferings! Come! proceed.”
8
Thus urged, the worthy Rector thought it meet
Some moral truth, as preface, to repeat;
Reflection serious,—common-place, 't is true,—
But he would act as he was wont to do,
And bring his morals in his neighbour's view.
Some moral truth, as preface, to repeat;
Reflection serious,—common-place, 't is true,—
But he would act as he was wont to do,
And bring his morals in his neighbour's view.
“Oh! how the passions, insolent and strong,
“Bear our weak minds their rapid course along;
“Make us the madness of their will obey;
“Then die, and leave us to our griefs a prey!”
“Bear our weak minds their rapid course along;
“Make us the madness of their will obey;
“Then die, and leave us to our griefs a prey!”
Sir Owen Dale his fortieth year had seen,
With temper placid, and with mind serene;
Rich; early married to an easy wife,
They led in comfort a domestic life:
He took of his affairs a prudent care,
And was by early habit led to spare;
Not as a miser, but in pure good taste,
That scorn'd the idle wantonness of waste.
With temper placid, and with mind serene;
Rich; early married to an easy wife,
They led in comfort a domestic life:
He took of his affairs a prudent care,
And was by early habit led to spare;
Not as a miser, but in pure good taste,
That scorn'd the idle wantonness of waste.
In fact, the lessons he from prudence took
Were written in his mind, as in a book:
There what to do he read, and what to shun;
And all commanded was with promptness done:
He seem'd without a passion to proceed,
Or one whose passions no correction need;
Yet some believed those passions only slept,
And were in bounds by early habits kept:
Curb'd as they were by fetters worn so long,
There were who judged them a rebellious throng.
Were written in his mind, as in a book:
There what to do he read, and what to shun;
And all commanded was with promptness done:
He seem'd without a passion to proceed,
Or one whose passions no correction need;
Yet some believed those passions only slept,
And were in bounds by early habits kept:
Curb'd as they were by fetters worn so long,
There were who judged them a rebellious throng.
9
To these he stood, not as a hero true,
Who fought his foes, and in the combat slew,
But one who all those foes, when sleeping, found,
And, unresisted, at his pleasure bound.
Who fought his foes, and in the combat slew,
But one who all those foes, when sleeping, found,
And, unresisted, at his pleasure bound.
We thought—for I was one—that we espied
Some indications strong of dormant pride;
It was his wish in peace with all to live;
And he could pardon, but could not forgive:
Nay, there were times when stern defiance shook
The moral man, and threaten'd in his look.
Some indications strong of dormant pride;
It was his wish in peace with all to live;
And he could pardon, but could not forgive:
Nay, there were times when stern defiance shook
The moral man, and threaten'd in his look.
Should these fierce passions—so we reason'd—break
Their long-worn chain, what ravage will they make!
In vain will prudence then contend with pride,
And reason vainly bid revenge subside;
Anger will not to meek persuasion bend,
Nor to the pleas of hope or fear attend:
What curb shall, then, in their disorder'd race,
Check the wild passions? what the calm replace?
Virtue shall strive in vain; and has he help in grace?
While yet the wife with pure discretion ruled,
The man was guided, and the mind was school'd;
But then that mind unaided ran to waste:
He had some learning, but he wanted taste;
Placid, not pleased—contented, not employ'd,—
He neither time improved, nor life enjoy'd.
Their long-worn chain, what ravage will they make!
In vain will prudence then contend with pride,
And reason vainly bid revenge subside;
Anger will not to meek persuasion bend,
Nor to the pleas of hope or fear attend:
What curb shall, then, in their disorder'd race,
Check the wild passions? what the calm replace?
Virtue shall strive in vain; and has he help in grace?
While yet the wife with pure discretion ruled,
The man was guided, and the mind was school'd;
But then that mind unaided ran to waste:
He had some learning, but he wanted taste;
Placid, not pleased—contented, not employ'd,—
He neither time improved, nor life enjoy'd.
That wife expired, and great the loss sustain'd,
Though much distress he neither felt nor feign'd;
He loved not warmly; but the sudden stroke
Deeply and strongly on his habits broke.
He had no child to soothe him, and his farm,
His sports, his speculations, lost their charm;
Then would he read and travel, would frequent
Life's busy scenes, and forth Sir Owen went:
The mind, that now was free, unfix'd, uncheck'd,
Read and observed with wonderful effect;
And still the more he gain'd, the more he long'd
To pay that mind his negligence had wrong'd;
He felt his pleasures rise as he improved;
And, first enduring, then the labour loved.
Though much distress he neither felt nor feign'd;
10
Deeply and strongly on his habits broke.
He had no child to soothe him, and his farm,
His sports, his speculations, lost their charm;
Then would he read and travel, would frequent
Life's busy scenes, and forth Sir Owen went:
The mind, that now was free, unfix'd, uncheck'd,
Read and observed with wonderful effect;
And still the more he gain'd, the more he long'd
To pay that mind his negligence had wrong'd;
He felt his pleasures rise as he improved;
And, first enduring, then the labour loved.
But, by the light let in, Sir Owen found
Some of those passions had their chain unbound;
As from a trance they rose to act their part,
And seize, as due to them, a feeling heart.
His very person now appear'd refined,
And took some graces from th' improving mind:
He grew polite without a fix'd intent,
And to the world a willing pupil went.
Restore him twenty years,—restore him ten,—
And bright had been his earthly prospect then;
But much refinement, when it late arrives,
May be the grace, not comfort, of our lives.
Some of those passions had their chain unbound;
As from a trance they rose to act their part,
And seize, as due to them, a feeling heart.
His very person now appear'd refined,
And took some graces from th' improving mind:
He grew polite without a fix'd intent,
And to the world a willing pupil went.
Restore him twenty years,—restore him ten,—
And bright had been his earthly prospect then;
But much refinement, when it late arrives,
May be the grace, not comfort, of our lives.
Now had Sir Owen feeling; things of late
Indifferent, he began to love or hate;
What once could neither good nor ill impart
Now pleased the senses, and now touch'd the heart;
Prospects and pictures struck th' awaken'd sight,
And each new object gave a new delight.
He, like th' imperfect creature who had shaped
A shroud to hide him, had at length escaped;
Changed from his grub-like state, to crawl no more,
But a wing'd being, pleased and form'd to soar.
Indifferent, he began to love or hate;
What once could neither good nor ill impart
Now pleased the senses, and now touch'd the heart;
11
And each new object gave a new delight.
He, like th' imperfect creature who had shaped
A shroud to hide him, had at length escaped;
Changed from his grub-like state, to crawl no more,
But a wing'd being, pleased and form'd to soar.
Now, said his friends, while thus his views improve,
And his mind softens, what if he should love?
True; life with him has yet serene appear'd,
And therefore love in wisdom should be fear'd:
Forty and five his years, and then to sigh
For beauty's favour!—Son of frailty, fly!
And his mind softens, what if he should love?
True; life with him has yet serene appear'd,
And therefore love in wisdom should be fear'd:
Forty and five his years, and then to sigh
For beauty's favour!—Son of frailty, fly!
Alas! he loved; it was our fear, but ours,
His friends alone. He doubted not his pow'rs
To win the prize, or to repel the charm,
To gain the battle, or escape the harm;
For he had never yet resistance proved,
Nor fear'd that friends should say—‘Alas! he loved.’
His friends alone. He doubted not his pow'rs
To win the prize, or to repel the charm,
To gain the battle, or escape the harm;
For he had never yet resistance proved,
Nor fear'd that friends should say—‘Alas! he loved.’
Younger by twenty years, Camilla found
Her face unrivall'd when she smiled or frown'd:
Of all approved; in manner, form, and air,
Made to attract; gay, elegant, and fair:
She had, in beauty's aid, a fair pretence
To cultivated, strong intelligence;
For she a clear and ready mind had fed
With wholesome food; unhurt by what she read:
She loved to please; but, like her dangerous sex,
To please the more whom she design'd to vex.
Her face unrivall'd when she smiled or frown'd:
Of all approved; in manner, form, and air,
Made to attract; gay, elegant, and fair:
She had, in beauty's aid, a fair pretence
To cultivated, strong intelligence;
For she a clear and ready mind had fed
With wholesome food; unhurt by what she read:
She loved to please; but, like her dangerous sex,
To please the more whom she design'd to vex.
12
This heard Sir Owen, and he saw it true;
It promised pleasure, promised danger too;
But this he knew not then, or slighted if he knew.
Yet he delay'd, and would by trials prove
That he was safe; would see the signs of love;
Would not address her while a fear remain'd;
But win his way, assured of what he gain'd.
It promised pleasure, promised danger too;
But this he knew not then, or slighted if he knew.
Yet he delay'd, and would by trials prove
That he was safe; would see the signs of love;
Would not address her while a fear remain'd;
But win his way, assured of what he gain'd.
This saw the lady, not displeased to find
A man at once so cautious and so blind:
She saw his hopes that she would kindly show
Proofs of her passion—then she his should know.
“So, when my heart is bleeding in his sight,
“His love acknowledged will the pains requite;
“It is, when conquer'd, he the heart regards;
“Well, good Sir Owen; let us play our cards.”
A man at once so cautious and so blind:
She saw his hopes that she would kindly show
Proofs of her passion—then she his should know.
“So, when my heart is bleeding in his sight,
“His love acknowledged will the pains requite;
“It is, when conquer'd, he the heart regards;
“Well, good Sir Owen; let us play our cards.”
He spake her praise in terms that love affords,
By words select, and looks surpassing words:
Kindly she listen'd, and in turn essay'd
To pay th' applauses—and she amply paid;
A beauty flattering!—beauteous flatterers feel
The ill you cause, when thus in praise you deal;
For surely he is more than man, or less,
When praised by lips that he would die to press,
And yet his senses undisturb'd can keep,
Can calmly reason, or can soundly sleep.
By words select, and looks surpassing words:
Kindly she listen'd, and in turn essay'd
To pay th' applauses—and she amply paid;
A beauty flattering!—beauteous flatterers feel
The ill you cause, when thus in praise you deal;
For surely he is more than man, or less,
When praised by lips that he would die to press,
And yet his senses undisturb'd can keep,
Can calmly reason, or can soundly sleep.
Not so Sir Owen; him Camilla praised,
And lofty hopes and strong emotions raised;
This had alone the strength of man subdued;
But this enchantress various arts pursued.
Let others pray for music—others pray'd
In vain:—Sir Owen ask'd, and was obey'd;
Let others, walking, sue that arm to take,
Unmoved she kept it for Sir Owen's sake;
Each small request she granted, and though small,
He thought them pledges of her granting all.
And lofty hopes and strong emotions raised;
This had alone the strength of man subdued;
But this enchantress various arts pursued.
13
In vain:—Sir Owen ask'd, and was obey'd;
Let others, walking, sue that arm to take,
Unmoved she kept it for Sir Owen's sake;
Each small request she granted, and though small,
He thought them pledges of her granting all.
And now the lover, casting doubt aside,
Urged the fond suit that—could not be denied;
Joy more than reverence moved him when he said,
“Now banish all my fears, angelic maid!”
And as she paused for words, he gaily cried,
“I must not, cannot, will not be denied.”
Ah! good Sir Owen, think not favours, such
As artful maids allow, amount to much;
The sweet, small, poison'd baits, that take the eye
And win the soul of all who venture nigh.
Urged the fond suit that—could not be denied;
Joy more than reverence moved him when he said,
“Now banish all my fears, angelic maid!”
And as she paused for words, he gaily cried,
“I must not, cannot, will not be denied.”
Ah! good Sir Owen, think not favours, such
As artful maids allow, amount to much;
The sweet, small, poison'd baits, that take the eye
And win the soul of all who venture nigh.
Camilla listen'd, paused, and look'd surprise,
Fair witch! exulting in her witcheries!
She turn'd aside her face, withdrew her hand,
And softly said, “Sir, let me understand.”
Fair witch! exulting in her witcheries!
She turn'd aside her face, withdrew her hand,
And softly said, “Sir, let me understand.”
“Nay, my dear lady! what can words explain,
“If all my looks and actions plead in vain?
“I love”—She show'd a cool respectful air,
And he began to falter in his prayer,
Yet urged her kindness—Kindness she confess'd,
It was esteem, she felt it, and express'd,
For her dear father's friend; and was it right
That friend of his—she thought of hers—to slight?
“If all my looks and actions plead in vain?
“I love”—She show'd a cool respectful air,
And he began to falter in his prayer,
Yet urged her kindness—Kindness she confess'd,
It was esteem, she felt it, and express'd,
For her dear father's friend; and was it right
That friend of his—she thought of hers—to slight?
14
This to the wond'ring lover strange and new,
And false appear'd—he would not think it true:
Still he pursued the lovely prize, and still
Heard the cold words, design'd his hopes to kill;
He felt dismay'd, as he perceived success
Had inverse ratio, more obtaining less;
And still she grew more cool in her replies,
And talk'd of age and improprieties.
And false appear'd—he would not think it true:
Still he pursued the lovely prize, and still
Heard the cold words, design'd his hopes to kill;
He felt dismay'd, as he perceived success
Had inverse ratio, more obtaining less;
And still she grew more cool in her replies,
And talk'd of age and improprieties.
Then to his friends, although it hurt his pride,
And to the lady's, he for aid applied;
Who kindly woo'd for him, but strongly were denied.
And to the lady's, he for aid applied;
Who kindly woo'd for him, but strongly were denied.
And now it was those fiercer passions rose,
Urged by his love, to murder his repose;
Shame shook his soul to be deceived so long,
And fierce Revenge for such contemptuous wrong;
Jealous he grew, and Jealousy supplied
His mind with rage, unsoothed, unsatisfied;
And grievous were the pangs of deeply wounded Pride.
His generous soul had not the grief sustain'd,
Had he not thought, ‘Revenge may be obtain'd.’
Urged by his love, to murder his repose;
Shame shook his soul to be deceived so long,
And fierce Revenge for such contemptuous wrong;
Jealous he grew, and Jealousy supplied
His mind with rage, unsoothed, unsatisfied;
And grievous were the pangs of deeply wounded Pride.
His generous soul had not the grief sustain'd,
Had he not thought, ‘Revenge may be obtain'd.’
Camilla grieved, but grief was now to late;
She hush'd her fears, and left th' event to fate.
She hush'd her fears, and left th' event to fate.
15
Four years elapsed, nor knew Sir Owen yet
How to repay the meditated debt;
The lovely foe was in her thirtieth year,
Nor saw the favourite of the heart appear;
'Tis sure less sprightly the fair nymph became,
And spoke of former levities with shame:
But this, alas! was not in time confess'd,
And vengeance waited in Sir Owen's breast.
How to repay the meditated debt;
The lovely foe was in her thirtieth year,
Nor saw the favourite of the heart appear;
'Tis sure less sprightly the fair nymph became,
And spoke of former levities with shame:
But this, alas! was not in time confess'd,
And vengeance waited in Sir Owen's breast.
But now the time arrives—the maid must feel
And grieve for wounds that she refused to heal.
Sir Owen, childless, in his love had rear'd
A sister's son, and now the Youth appear'd,
In all the pride of manhood, and, beside,
With all a soldier's spirit and his pride:
Valiant and poor, with all that arms bestow,
And wants that captains in their quarters know;
Yet to his uncle's generous heart was due
The praise, that wants of any kind were few.
And grieve for wounds that she refused to heal.
Sir Owen, childless, in his love had rear'd
A sister's son, and now the Youth appear'd,
In all the pride of manhood, and, beside,
With all a soldier's spirit and his pride:
Valiant and poor, with all that arms bestow,
And wants that captains in their quarters know;
Yet to his uncle's generous heart was due
The praise, that wants of any kind were few.
When he appear'd, Sir Owen felt a joy
Unknown before, his vengeance bless'd the boy—
“To him I dare confide a cause so just;
“Love him she may—Oh! could I say, she must.”
Unknown before, his vengeance bless'd the boy—
“To him I dare confide a cause so just;
“Love him she may—Oh! could I say, she must.”
Thus fix'd, he more than usual kindness show'd,
Nor let the Captain name the debt he owed;
But when he spoke of gratitude, exclaim'd,
“My dearest Morden! make me not ashamed;
“Each for a friend should do the best he can,
“The most obliged is the obliging man;
“But if you wish to give as well as take,
“You may a debtor of your uncle make.”
Nor let the Captain name the debt he owed;
But when he spoke of gratitude, exclaim'd,
“My dearest Morden! make me not ashamed;
“Each for a friend should do the best he can,
“The most obliged is the obliging man;
16
“You may a debtor of your uncle make.”
Morden was earnest in his wish to know
How he could best his grateful spirit show.
How he could best his grateful spirit show.
Now the third dinner had their powers renew'd,
And fruit and wine upon the table stood;
The fire brought comfort, and the warmth it lent
A cheerful spirit to the feelings sent,
When thus the Uncle—“Morden, I depend
“On you for aid—assist me as a friend:
“Full well I know that you would much forego,
“And much endure, to wreak me on my foe.
“Charles, I am wrong'd, insulted—nay, be still,
“Nor look so fiercely,—there are none to kill.
And fruit and wine upon the table stood;
The fire brought comfort, and the warmth it lent
A cheerful spirit to the feelings sent,
When thus the Uncle—“Morden, I depend
“On you for aid—assist me as a friend:
“Full well I know that you would much forego,
“And much endure, to wreak me on my foe.
“Charles, I am wrong'd, insulted—nay, be still,
“Nor look so fiercely,—there are none to kill.
“I loved a lady, somewhat late in life,
“Perhaps too late, and would have made a wife;
“Nay, she consented; for consent I call
“The mark'd distinction that was seen of all,
“And long was seen; but when she knew my pain,
“Saw my first wish her favour to obtain,
“And ask her hand—no sooner was it ask'd,
“Than she, the lovely Jezebel unmask'd;
“And by her haughty airs, and scornful pride,
“My peace was wounded—nay, my reason tried;
“I felt despised and fallen when we met,
“And she, O folly! looks too lovely yet;
“Yet love no longer in my bosom glows,
“But my heart warms at the revenge it owes.
“Perhaps too late, and would have made a wife;
“Nay, she consented; for consent I call
“The mark'd distinction that was seen of all,
“And long was seen; but when she knew my pain,
“Saw my first wish her favour to obtain,
“And ask her hand—no sooner was it ask'd,
“Than she, the lovely Jezebel unmask'd;
“And by her haughty airs, and scornful pride,
“My peace was wounded—nay, my reason tried;
“I felt despised and fallen when we met,
“And she, O folly! looks too lovely yet;
“Yet love no longer in my bosom glows,
“But my heart warms at the revenge it owes.
17
“Oh! that I saw her with her soul on fire,
“Desperate from love, and sickening with desire;
“While all beheld her just, unpitied pain,
“Grown in neglect, and sharpen'd by disdain!
“Let her be jealous of each maid she sees,
“Striving by every fruitless art to please,
“And when she fondly looks, let looks and fondness tease!
“So, lost on passion's never resting sea,
“Hopeless and helpless, let her think of me!
“Charles, thou art handsome, nor canst want the art
“To warm a cold or win a wanton heart:
“Be my avenger”—
“Desperate from love, and sickening with desire;
“While all beheld her just, unpitied pain,
“Grown in neglect, and sharpen'd by disdain!
“Let her be jealous of each maid she sees,
“Striving by every fruitless art to please,
“And when she fondly looks, let looks and fondness tease!
“So, lost on passion's never resting sea,
“Hopeless and helpless, let her think of me!
“Charles, thou art handsome, nor canst want the art
“To warm a cold or win a wanton heart:
“Be my avenger”—
Charles, with smile, not vain,
Nor quite unmix'd with pity and disdain,
Sat mute in wonder; but he sat not long
Without reflection:—Was Sir Owen wrong?
“So must I think; for can I judge it right
“To treat a lovely lady with despite?
“Because she play'd too roughly with the love
“Of a fond man whom she could not approve,
“And yet to vex him for the love he bore
“Is cause enough for his revenge, and more.
“But, thoughts, to council!—Do I wear a charm
“That will preserve my citadel from harm?
“Like the good knight, I have a heart that feels
“The wounds that beauty makes and kindness heals:
“Beauty she has, it seems, but is not kind—
“So found Sir Owen, and so I may find.
“Yet why, O heart of tinder, why afraid?
“Comes so much danger from so fair a maid?
“Wilt thou be made a voluntary prize
“To the fierce firing of two wicked eyes?
“Think her a foe, and on the danger rush,
“Nor let thy kindred for a coward blush.
Nor quite unmix'd with pity and disdain,
Sat mute in wonder; but he sat not long
Without reflection:—Was Sir Owen wrong?
“So must I think; for can I judge it right
“To treat a lovely lady with despite?
“Because she play'd too roughly with the love
“Of a fond man whom she could not approve,
“And yet to vex him for the love he bore
“Is cause enough for his revenge, and more.
“But, thoughts, to council!—Do I wear a charm
“That will preserve my citadel from harm?
“Like the good knight, I have a heart that feels
“The wounds that beauty makes and kindness heals:
“Beauty she has, it seems, but is not kind—
“So found Sir Owen, and so I may find.
18
“Comes so much danger from so fair a maid?
“Wilt thou be made a voluntary prize
“To the fierce firing of two wicked eyes?
“Think her a foe, and on the danger rush,
“Nor let thy kindred for a coward blush.
“But how if this fair creature should incline
“To think too highly of this love of mine,
“And, taking all my counterfeit address
“For sterling passion, should the like profess?
“Nay, this is folly; or if I perceive
“Aught of the kind, I can but take my leave;
“And if the heart should feel a little sore,
“Contempt and anger will its ease restore.
“To think too highly of this love of mine,
“And, taking all my counterfeit address
“For sterling passion, should the like profess?
“Nay, this is folly; or if I perceive
“Aught of the kind, I can but take my leave;
“And if the heart should feel a little sore,
“Contempt and anger will its ease restore.
“Then, too, to his all-bounteous hand I owe
“All I possess, and almost all I know;
“And shall I for my friend no hazard run,
“Who seeks no more for all his love has done?
“'T is but to meet and bow, to talk and smile,
“To act a part, and put on love awhile:
“And the good knight shall see, this trial made,
“That I have just his talents to persuade;
“For why the lady should her heart bestow
“On me, or I of her enamour'd grow,
“There's none can reason give, there's none can danger show.”
“All I possess, and almost all I know;
“And shall I for my friend no hazard run,
“Who seeks no more for all his love has done?
“'T is but to meet and bow, to talk and smile,
“To act a part, and put on love awhile:
“And the good knight shall see, this trial made,
“That I have just his talents to persuade;
“For why the lady should her heart bestow
“On me, or I of her enamour'd grow,
“There's none can reason give, there's none can danger show.”
These were his rapid thoughts, and then he spoke.
“I make a promise, and will not revoke;
“You are my judge in what is fit and right,
“And I obey you—bid me love or fight;
“Yet had I rather, so the act could meet
“With your concurrence,—not to play the cheat;
“In a fair cause”—
“I make a promise, and will not revoke;
19
“And I obey you—bid me love or fight;
“Yet had I rather, so the act could meet
“With your concurrence,—not to play the cheat;
“In a fair cause”—
“Charles, fighting for your king,
“Did you e'er judge the merits of the thing?
“Show me a monarch who has cause like mine,
“And yet what soldier would his cause decline?”
“Did you e'er judge the merits of the thing?
“Show me a monarch who has cause like mine,
“And yet what soldier would his cause decline?”
Poor Charles or saw not, or refused to see,
How weak the reasoning of our hopes may be,
And said—“Dear uncle, I my king obey'd,
“And for his glory's sake the soldier play'd;
“Now a like duty shall your nephew rule,
“And for your vengeance I will play the fool.”
'T was well; but ere they parted for repose,
A solemn oath must the engagement close.
How weak the reasoning of our hopes may be,
And said—“Dear uncle, I my king obey'd,
“And for his glory's sake the soldier play'd;
“Now a like duty shall your nephew rule,
“And for your vengeance I will play the fool.”
'T was well; but ere they parted for repose,
A solemn oath must the engagement close.
“Swear to me, nephew, from the day you meet
“This cruel girl, there shall be no deceit;
“That by all means approved and used by man
“You win this dangerous woman, if you can;
“That being won, you my commands obey,
“Leave her lamenting, and pursue your way;
“And that, as in my business, you will take
“My will as guide, and no resistance make:
“Take now an oath—within the volume look,
“There is the Gospel—swear, and kiss the book.”
“This cruel girl, there shall be no deceit;
“That by all means approved and used by man
“You win this dangerous woman, if you can;
“That being won, you my commands obey,
“Leave her lamenting, and pursue your way;
“And that, as in my business, you will take
“My will as guide, and no resistance make:
“Take now an oath—within the volume look,
“There is the Gospel—swear, and kiss the book.”
“It cannot be,” thought Charles, “he cannot rest
“In this strange humour,—it is all a jest,
“All but dissimulation—Well, sir, there;
“Now I have sworn as you would have me swear.”
“In this strange humour,—it is all a jest,
20
“Now I have sworn as you would have me swear.”
“'T is well,” the uncle said in solemn tone;
“Now send me vengeance, Fate, and groan for groan!”
“Now send me vengeance, Fate, and groan for groan!”
The time is come: the soldier now must meet
Th' unconscious object of the sworn deceit.
They meet; each other's looks the pair explore,
And, such their fortune, wish'd to part no more.
Whether a man is thus disposed to break
An evil compact he was forced to make,
Or whether some contention in the breast
Will not permit a feeling heart to rest;
Or was it nature, who in every case
Has made such mind subjected to such face;
Whate'er the cause, no sooner met the pair
Than both began to love, and one to feel despair.
Th' unconscious object of the sworn deceit.
They meet; each other's looks the pair explore,
And, such their fortune, wish'd to part no more.
Whether a man is thus disposed to break
An evil compact he was forced to make,
Or whether some contention in the breast
Will not permit a feeling heart to rest;
Or was it nature, who in every case
Has made such mind subjected to such face;
Whate'er the cause, no sooner met the pair
Than both began to love, and one to feel despair.
But the fair damsel saw with strong delight
Th' impression made, and gloried in the sight:
No chilling doubt alarm'd her tender breast,
But she rejoiced in all his looks profess'd;
Long ere his words her lover's hopes convey'd
They warm'd the bosom of the conscious maid;
One spirit seem'd each nature to inspire,
And the two hearts were fix'd in one desire.
Th' impression made, and gloried in the sight:
No chilling doubt alarm'd her tender breast,
But she rejoiced in all his looks profess'd;
Long ere his words her lover's hopes convey'd
They warm'd the bosom of the conscious maid;
One spirit seem'd each nature to inspire,
And the two hearts were fix'd in one desire.
“Now,” thought the courteous maid, “my father's friend
“Will ready pardon to my fault extend;
“He shall no longer lead that hermit's life,
“But love his mistress in his nephew's wife;
“My humble duty shall his anger kill,
“And I who fled his love will meet his will,
“Prevent his least desire, and every wish fulfil.”
“Will ready pardon to my fault extend;
21
“But love his mistress in his nephew's wife;
“My humble duty shall his anger kill,
“And I who fled his love will meet his will,
“Prevent his least desire, and every wish fulfil.”
Hail, happy power! that to the present lends
Such views; not all on Fortune's wheel depends;
Hope, fair enchantress, drives each cloud away,
And now enjoys the glad, but distant day.
Such views; not all on Fortune's wheel depends;
Hope, fair enchantress, drives each cloud away,
And now enjoys the glad, but distant day.
Still fears ensued; for love produces fear.—
“To this dear maid can I indeed be dear?
“My fatal oath, alas! I now repent;
“Stern in his purpose, he will not relent;
“Would, ere that oath, I had Camilla seen!
“I had not then my honour's victim been:
“I must be honest, yet I know not how,
“'T is crime to break, and death to keep my vow.”
“To this dear maid can I indeed be dear?
“My fatal oath, alas! I now repent;
“Stern in his purpose, he will not relent;
“Would, ere that oath, I had Camilla seen!
“I had not then my honour's victim been:
“I must be honest, yet I know not how,
“'T is crime to break, and death to keep my vow.”
Sir Owen closely watch'd both maid and man,
And saw with joy proceed his cruel plan:
Then gave his praise—“She has it—has it deep
“In her capricious heart,—it murders sleep;
“You see the looks that grieve, you see the eyes that weep;
“Now breathe again, dear youth, the kindling fire,
“And let her feel what she could once inspire.”
And saw with joy proceed his cruel plan:
Then gave his praise—“She has it—has it deep
“In her capricious heart,—it murders sleep;
“You see the looks that grieve, you see the eyes that weep;
“Now breathe again, dear youth, the kindling fire,
“And let her feel what she could once inspire.”
Alas! obedience was an easy task,
So might he cherish what he meant to ask;
He ventured soon, for Love prepared his way,
He sought occasion, he forbad delay;
In spite of vow foregone he taught the youth
The looks of passion, and the words of truth;
In spite of woman's caution, doubt, and fear,
He bade her credit all she wish'd to hear;
An honest passion ruled in either breast,
And both believed the truth that both profess'd.
So might he cherish what he meant to ask;
He ventured soon, for Love prepared his way,
He sought occasion, he forbad delay;
22
The looks of passion, and the words of truth;
In spite of woman's caution, doubt, and fear,
He bade her credit all she wish'd to hear;
An honest passion ruled in either breast,
And both believed the truth that both profess'd.
But now, 'mid all her new-born hopes, the eyes
Of fair Camilla saw through all disguise,
Reserve, and apprehension—Charles, who now
Grieved for his duty, and abhorr'd his vow,
Told the full fact, and it endear'd him more;
She felt her power, and pardon'd all he swore,
Since to his vow he could his wish prefer,
And loved the man who gave his world for her.
Of fair Camilla saw through all disguise,
Reserve, and apprehension—Charles, who now
Grieved for his duty, and abhorr'd his vow,
Told the full fact, and it endear'd him more;
She felt her power, and pardon'd all he swore,
Since to his vow he could his wish prefer,
And loved the man who gave his world for her.
What must they do, and how their work begin,
Can they that temper to their wishes win?
They tried, they fail'd; and all they did t' assuage
The tempest of his soul provoked his rage;
The uncle met the youth with angry look,
And cried, “Remember, sir, the oath you took;
“You have my pity, Charles, but nothing more,
“Death, and death only, shall her peace restore;
“And am I dying?—I shall live to view
“The harlot's sorrow, and enjoy it too.
Can they that temper to their wishes win?
They tried, they fail'd; and all they did t' assuage
The tempest of his soul provoked his rage;
The uncle met the youth with angry look,
And cried, “Remember, sir, the oath you took;
“You have my pity, Charles, but nothing more,
“Death, and death only, shall her peace restore;
“And am I dying?—I shall live to view
“The harlot's sorrow, and enjoy it too.
“How! words offend you? I have borne for years
“Unheeded anguish, shed derided tears,
“Felt scorn in every look, endured the stare
“Of wondering fools, who never felt a care;
“On me all eyes were fix'd, and I the while
“Sustain'd the insult of a rival's smile.
“And shall I now—entangled thus my foe,
“My honest vengeance for a boy forego?
“A boy forewarn'd, forearm'd? Shall this be borne,
“And I be cheated, Charles, and thou forsworn?
“Hope not, I say, for thou mayst change as well
“The sentence graven on the gates of hell—
“Here bid adieu to hope,—here hopeless beings dwell.
“Unheeded anguish, shed derided tears,
“Felt scorn in every look, endured the stare
“Of wondering fools, who never felt a care;
23
“Sustain'd the insult of a rival's smile.
“And shall I now—entangled thus my foe,
“My honest vengeance for a boy forego?
“A boy forewarn'd, forearm'd? Shall this be borne,
“And I be cheated, Charles, and thou forsworn?
“Hope not, I say, for thou mayst change as well
“The sentence graven on the gates of hell—
“Here bid adieu to hope,—here hopeless beings dwell.
“But does she love thee, Charles? I cannot live
“Dishonour'd, unrevenged—I may forgive,
“But to thy oath I bind thee; on thy soul
“Seek not my injured spirit to control;
“Seek not to soften, I am hard of heart,
“Harden'd by insult:—leave her now, and part,
“And let me know she grieves, while I enjoy her smart.”
“Dishonour'd, unrevenged—I may forgive,
“But to thy oath I bind thee; on thy soul
“Seek not my injured spirit to control;
“Seek not to soften, I am hard of heart,
“Harden'd by insult:—leave her now, and part,
“And let me know she grieves, while I enjoy her smart.”
Charles first in anger to the knight replied,
Then felt the clog upon his soul, and sigh'd:
To his obedience made his wishes stoop,
And now admitted, now excluded hope;
As lovers do, he saw a prospect fair,
And then so dark, he sank into despair.
Then felt the clog upon his soul, and sigh'd:
To his obedience made his wishes stoop,
And now admitted, now excluded hope;
As lovers do, he saw a prospect fair,
And then so dark, he sank into despair.
The uncle grieved; he even told the youth
That he was sorry, and it seem'd a truth;
But though it vex'd, it varied not his mind,
He bound himself, and would his nephew bind.
“I told him this, placed danger in his view,
“Bade him be certain, bound him to be true;
“And shall I now my purposes reject,
“Because my warnings were of no effect?”
Thus felt Sir Owen as a man whose cause
Is very good—it had his own applause.
That he was sorry, and it seem'd a truth;
But though it vex'd, it varied not his mind,
He bound himself, and would his nephew bind.
“I told him this, placed danger in his view,
“Bade him be certain, bound him to be true;
24
“Because my warnings were of no effect?”
Thus felt Sir Owen as a man whose cause
Is very good—it had his own applause.
Our knight a tenant had in high esteem,
His constant boast, when justice was his theme:
He praised the farmer's sense, his shrewd discourse,
Free without rudeness, manly, and not coarse;
As farmer, tenant, nay, as man, the knight
Thought Ellis all that is approved and right;
Then he was happy, and some envy drew,
For knowing more than other farmers knew;
They call'd him learned, and it soothed their pride,
While he in his was pleased and gratified.
His constant boast, when justice was his theme:
He praised the farmer's sense, his shrewd discourse,
Free without rudeness, manly, and not coarse;
As farmer, tenant, nay, as man, the knight
Thought Ellis all that is approved and right;
Then he was happy, and some envy drew,
For knowing more than other farmers knew;
They call'd him learned, and it soothed their pride,
While he in his was pleased and gratified.
Still more t' offend, he to the altar led
The vicar's niece, to early reading bred;
Who, though she freely ventured on the life,
Could never fully be the farmer's wife;
She had a softness, gentleness, and ease,
Sure a coarse mind to humble and displease:
Oh! had she never known a fault beside,
How vain their spite, how impotent their pride!
The vicar's niece, to early reading bred;
Who, though she freely ventured on the life,
Could never fully be the farmer's wife;
She had a softness, gentleness, and ease,
Sure a coarse mind to humble and displease:
Oh! had she never known a fault beside,
How vain their spite, how impotent their pride!
Three darling girls the happy couple bless'd,
Who now the sweetest lot of life possess'd;
For what can more a grateful spirit move
Than health with competence, and peace with love?
Who now the sweetest lot of life possess'd;
For what can more a grateful spirit move
Than health with competence, and peace with love?
25
Ellis would sometimes, thriving man! retire
To the town inn, and quit the parlour fire;
But he was ever kind where'er he went,
And trifling sums in his amusements spent:
He bought, he thought for her—she should have been content:
Oft, when he cash received at Smithfield mart,
At Cranbourn-alley he would leave a part;
And, if to town he follow'd what he sold,
Sure was his wife a present to behold.
To the town inn, and quit the parlour fire;
But he was ever kind where'er he went,
And trifling sums in his amusements spent:
He bought, he thought for her—she should have been content:
Oft, when he cash received at Smithfield mart,
At Cranbourn-alley he would leave a part;
And, if to town he follow'd what he sold,
Sure was his wife a present to behold.
Still, when his evenings at the inn were spent,
She mused at home in sullen discontent;
And, sighing yielded to a wish that some
With social spirit to the farm would come:
There was a farmer in the place, whose name,
And skill in rural arts, was known to fame:
He had a pupil, by his landlord sent,
On terms that gave the parties much content;
The youth those arts, and those alone, should learn,
With aught beside his guide had no concern:
He might to neighb'ring towns or distant ride,
And there amusements seek without a guide;
With handsome prints his private room was graced,
His music there, and there his books were placed:
Men knew not if he farm'd, but they allow'd him taste.
She mused at home in sullen discontent;
And, sighing yielded to a wish that some
With social spirit to the farm would come:
There was a farmer in the place, whose name,
And skill in rural arts, was known to fame:
He had a pupil, by his landlord sent,
On terms that gave the parties much content;
The youth those arts, and those alone, should learn,
With aught beside his guide had no concern:
He might to neighb'ring towns or distant ride,
And there amusements seek without a guide;
With handsome prints his private room was graced,
His music there, and there his books were placed:
Men knew not if he farm'd, but they allow'd him taste.
Books, prints, and music cease, at times, to charm,
And sometimes men can neither ride nor farm;
They look for kindred minds, and Cecil found,
In Farmer Ellis, one informed and sound;
But in his wife—I hate the fact I tell—
A lovely being, who could please too well:
And he was one who never would deny
Himself a pleasure, or indeed would try.
And sometimes men can neither ride nor farm;
They look for kindred minds, and Cecil found,
In Farmer Ellis, one informed and sound;
26
A lovely being, who could please too well:
And he was one who never would deny
Himself a pleasure, or indeed would try.
Early and well the wife of Ellis knew
Where danger was, and trembled at the view;
So evil spirits tremble, but are still
Evil, and lose not the rebellious will:
She sought not safety from the fancied crime,
“And why retreat before the dangerous time?”
Where danger was, and trembled at the view;
So evil spirits tremble, but are still
Evil, and lose not the rebellious will:
She sought not safety from the fancied crime,
“And why retreat before the dangerous time?”
Oft came the student of the farm and read,
And found his mind with more than reading fed:
This Ellis seeing, left them, or he stay'd,
As pleased him, not offended nor afraid:
He came in spirits with his girls to play,
Then ask excuse, and laughing, walk away:
When, as he enter'd, Cecil ceased to read,
He would exclaim, “Proceed, my friend, proceed!
Or, sometimes weary, would to bed retire,
And fear and anger by his ease inspire.
And found his mind with more than reading fed:
This Ellis seeing, left them, or he stay'd,
As pleased him, not offended nor afraid:
He came in spirits with his girls to play,
Then ask excuse, and laughing, walk away:
When, as he enter'd, Cecil ceased to read,
He would exclaim, “Proceed, my friend, proceed!
Or, sometimes weary, would to bed retire,
And fear and anger by his ease inspire.
“My conversation does he then despise?
“Leaves he this slighted face for other eyes?”
So said Alicia; and she dwelt so long
Upon that thought, to leave her was to wrong.
“Leaves he this slighted face for other eyes?”
So said Alicia; and she dwelt so long
Upon that thought, to leave her was to wrong.
Alas! the woman loved the soothing tongue,
That yet pronounced her beautiful and young;
The tongue that, seeming careless, ever praised;
The eye that roving, on her person gazed:
The ready service, on the watch to please;
And all such sweet, small courtesies as these.
That yet pronounced her beautiful and young;
The tongue that, seeming careless, ever praised;
The eye that roving, on her person gazed:
27
And all such sweet, small courtesies as these.
Still there was virtue, but a rolling stone
On a hill's brow is not more quickly gone;
The slightest motion,—ceasing from our care,—
A moment's absence,—when we're not aware,—
When down it rolls, and at the bottom lies,
Sunk, lost, degraded, never more to rise!
Far off the glorious height from whence it fell,
With all things base and infamous to dwell.
On a hill's brow is not more quickly gone;
The slightest motion,—ceasing from our care,—
A moment's absence,—when we're not aware,—
When down it rolls, and at the bottom lies,
Sunk, lost, degraded, never more to rise!
Far off the glorious height from whence it fell,
With all things base and infamous to dwell.
Friendship with woman is a dangerous thing—
Thence hopes avow'd and bold confessions spring;
Frailties confess'd to other frailties lead,
And new confessions new desires succeed;
And, when the friends have thus their hearts disclosed,
They find how little is to guilt opposed.
The foe's attack will on the fort begin,
When he is certain of a friend within.
Thence hopes avow'd and bold confessions spring;
Frailties confess'd to other frailties lead,
And new confessions new desires succeed;
And, when the friends have thus their hearts disclosed,
They find how little is to guilt opposed.
The foe's attack will on the fort begin,
When he is certain of a friend within.
When all was lost,—or, in the lover's sight,
When all was won,—the lady thought of flight.
When all was won,—the lady thought of flight.
“What! sink a slave?” she said, “and with deceit
“The rigid virtue of a husband meet?
“No! arm'd with death, I would his fury brave,
“And own the justice of the blow he gave!
“But thus to see him easy, careless, cold,
“And his confiding folly to behold:
“To feel incessant fears that he should read,
“In looks assumed, the cause whence they proceed,
“I cannot brook; nor will I here abide
“Till chance betrays the crime that shame would hide:
“Fly with me, Henry!” Henry sought in vain
To soothe her terrors and her griefs restrain:
He saw the lengths that women dared to go,
And fear'd the husband both as friend and foe.
Of farming weary—for the guilty mind
Can no resource in guiltless studies find,
Left to himself, his mother all unknown,
His titled father loth the boy to own,
Had him to decent expectations bred,
A favour'd offspring of a lawless bed;
And would he censure one who should pursue
The way he took? Alicia yet was new:
Her passion pleased him: he agreed on flight:
They fix'd the method, and they chose the night.
“The rigid virtue of a husband meet?
“No! arm'd with death, I would his fury brave,
“And own the justice of the blow he gave!
“But thus to see him easy, careless, cold,
“And his confiding folly to behold:
28
“In looks assumed, the cause whence they proceed,
“I cannot brook; nor will I here abide
“Till chance betrays the crime that shame would hide:
“Fly with me, Henry!” Henry sought in vain
To soothe her terrors and her griefs restrain:
He saw the lengths that women dared to go,
And fear'd the husband both as friend and foe.
Of farming weary—for the guilty mind
Can no resource in guiltless studies find,
Left to himself, his mother all unknown,
His titled father loth the boy to own,
Had him to decent expectations bred,
A favour'd offspring of a lawless bed;
And would he censure one who should pursue
The way he took? Alicia yet was new:
Her passion pleased him: he agreed on flight:
They fix'd the method, and they chose the night.
Then, while the Farmer read of public crimes,
Collating coolly Chronicles and Times,
The flight was taken by the guilty pair,
That made one passage in the columns there.
Collating coolly Chronicles and Times,
The flight was taken by the guilty pair,
That made one passage in the columns there.
The heart of Ellis bled; the comfort, pride,
The hope and stay of his existence died;
Rage from the ruin of his peace arose,
And he would follow and destroy his foes;
Would with wild haste the guilty pair pursue,
And when he found—Good Heaven! what would he do?
The hope and stay of his existence died;
Rage from the ruin of his peace arose,
And he would follow and destroy his foes;
Would with wild haste the guilty pair pursue,
And when he found—Good Heaven! what would he do?
29
That wretched woman he would wildly seize,
And agonise her heart, his own to ease;
That guilty man would grasp, and in her sight
Insult his pangs, and her despair excite;
Bring death in view, and then the stroke suspend,
And draw out tortures till his life should end:
Oh! it should stand recorded in all time,
How they transgress'd, and he avenged the crime!
In this bad world should all his business cease,
He would not seek—he would not taste of peace;
But wrath should live till vengeance had her due,
And with his wrath his life should perish too.
And agonise her heart, his own to ease;
That guilty man would grasp, and in her sight
Insult his pangs, and her despair excite;
Bring death in view, and then the stroke suspend,
And draw out tortures till his life should end:
Oh! it should stand recorded in all time,
How they transgress'd, and he avenged the crime!
In this bad world should all his business cease,
He would not seek—he would not taste of peace;
But wrath should live till vengeance had her due,
And with his wrath his life should perish too.
His girls—not his—he would not be so weak—
Child was a word he never more must speak!
How did he know what villains had defiled
His honest bed?—he spurn'd the name of child:
Keep them he must; but he would coarsely hide
Their forms, and nip the growth of woman's pride;
He would consume their flesh, abridge their food,
And kill the mother-vices in their blood.
Child was a word he never more must speak!
How did he know what villains had defiled
His honest bed?—he spurn'd the name of child:
Keep them he must; but he would coarsely hide
Their forms, and nip the growth of woman's pride;
He would consume their flesh, abridge their food,
And kill the mother-vices in their blood.
All this Sir Owen heard, and grieved for all;
He with the husband mourn'd Alicia's fall;
But urged the vengeance with a spirit strong,
As one whose own rose high against the wrong:
He saw his tenant by this passion moved,
Shared in his wrath, and his revenge approved.
He with the husband mourn'd Alicia's fall;
But urged the vengeance with a spirit strong,
As one whose own rose high against the wrong:
He saw his tenant by this passion moved,
Shared in his wrath, and his revenge approved.
30
Years now unseen, he mourn'd this tenant's fate,
And wonder'd how he bore his widow'd state:
Still he would mention Ellis with the pride
Of one who felt himself to worth allied:
Such were his notions—had been long, but now
He wish'd to see if vengeance lived, and how:
He doubted not a mind so strong must feel
Most righteously, and righteous measures deal.
And wonder'd how he bore his widow'd state:
Still he would mention Ellis with the pride
Of one who felt himself to worth allied:
Such were his notions—had been long, but now
He wish'd to see if vengeance lived, and how:
He doubted not a mind so strong must feel
Most righteously, and righteous measures deal.
Then would he go, and haply he might find
Some new excitement for a weary mind;
Might learn the miseries of a pair undone,
One scorn'd and hated, lost and perish'd one;
Yes, he would praise to virtuous anger give,
And so his vengeance should be nursed and live.
Some new excitement for a weary mind;
Might learn the miseries of a pair undone,
One scorn'd and hated, lost and perish'd one;
Yes, he would praise to virtuous anger give,
And so his vengeance should be nursed and live.
Ellis was glad to see his landlord come,
A transient joy broke in upon his gloom,
And pleased he led the knight to the superior room:
Where she was wont in happier days to sit,
Who paid with smiles his condescending wit.
There the sad husband, who had seldom been
Where prints acquired in happier days were seen,
Now struck by these, and carried to the past,
A painful look on every object cast:
Sir Owen saw his tenant's troubled state,
But still he wish'd to know the offenders' fate.
A transient joy broke in upon his gloom,
And pleased he led the knight to the superior room:
Where she was wont in happier days to sit,
Who paid with smiles his condescending wit.
There the sad husband, who had seldom been
Where prints acquired in happier days were seen,
Now struck by these, and carried to the past,
A painful look on every object cast:
Sir Owen saw his tenant's troubled state,
But still he wish'd to know the offenders' fate.
“Know you they suffer, Ellis?”—Ellis knew;—
“'T is well! 'tis just! but have they all their due?
“Have they in mind and body, head and heart,
‘Sustain'd the pangs of their accursed part?”—
“They have!”—“'T is well!”—“and wants enough to shake
“The firmest mind, the stoutest heart to break.”—
“But have you seen them in such misery dwell?”—
“In misery past description.”—“That is well.”
“'T is well! 'tis just! but have they all their due?
“Have they in mind and body, head and heart,
‘Sustain'd the pangs of their accursed part?”—
31
“The firmest mind, the stoutest heart to break.”—
“But have you seen them in such misery dwell?”—
“In misery past description.”—“That is well.”
“Alas! Sir Owen, it perhaps is just,—
“Yet I began my purpose to distrust;
“For they to justice have discharged a debt,
“That vengeance surely may her claim forget.”
“Yet I began my purpose to distrust;
“For they to justice have discharged a debt,
“That vengeance surely may her claim forget.”
“Man! can you pity?”—“As a man I feel
“Miseries like theirs.”—
“Miseries like theirs.”—
“But never would you heal?”
“Hear me, Sir Owen! I had sought them long,
“Urged by the pain of ever present wrong,
“Yet had not seen; and twice the year came round—
“Years hateful now—ere I my victims found:
“But I did find them, in the dungeon's gloom
“Of a small garret—a precarious home;
“For that depended on the weekly pay,
“And they were sorely frighten'd on the day;
“But there they linger'd on from week to week,
“Haunted by ills of which 't is hard to speak,
“For they are many and vexatious all,
“The very smallest—but they none were small.
“Urged by the pain of ever present wrong,
“Yet had not seen; and twice the year came round—
“Years hateful now—ere I my victims found:
“But I did find them, in the dungeon's gloom
“Of a small garret—a precarious home;
“For that depended on the weekly pay,
“And they were sorely frighten'd on the day;
“But there they linger'd on from week to week,
“Haunted by ills of which 't is hard to speak,
“For they are many and vexatious all,
“The very smallest—but they none were small.
“The roof, unceil'd in patches, gave the snow
“Entrance within, and there were heaps below;
“I pass'd a narrow region dark and cold,
“The strait of stairs to that infectious hold;
“And, when I entered, misery met my view
“In every shape she wears, in every hue,
“And the black icy blast across the dungeon flew;
“There frown'd the ruin'd walls that once were white;
“There gleam'd the panes that once admitted light;
“There lay unsavoury scraps of wretched food;
“And there a measure, void of fuel, stood;
“But who shall part by part describe the state
“Of these, thus follow'd by relentless fate?
“All, too, in winter, when the icy air
“Breathed its bleak venom on the guilty pair.
“Entrance within, and there were heaps below;
“I pass'd a narrow region dark and cold,
“The strait of stairs to that infectious hold;
32
“In every shape she wears, in every hue,
“And the black icy blast across the dungeon flew;
“There frown'd the ruin'd walls that once were white;
“There gleam'd the panes that once admitted light;
“There lay unsavoury scraps of wretched food;
“And there a measure, void of fuel, stood;
“But who shall part by part describe the state
“Of these, thus follow'd by relentless fate?
“All, too, in winter, when the icy air
“Breathed its bleak venom on the guilty pair.
“That man, that Cecil!—he was left, it seems,
“Unnamed, unnoticed: farewell to his dreams!
“Heirs made by law rejected him of course,
“And left him neither refuge nor resource.”—
“Unnamed, unnoticed: farewell to his dreams!
“Heirs made by law rejected him of course,
“And left him neither refuge nor resource.”—
“Their father's?”—
“No: he was the harlot's son
“Who wrong'd them, whom their duty bade them shun;
“And they were duteous all, and he was all undone.
“Who wrong'd them, whom their duty bade them shun;
“And they were duteous all, and he was all undone.
“Now the lost pair, whom better times had led
“To part disputing, shared their sorrow's bed:
“Their bed!—I shudder as I speak—and shared
“Scraps to their hunger by the hungry spared.”
“To part disputing, shared their sorrow's bed:
“Their bed!—I shudder as I speak—and shared
“Scraps to their hunger by the hungry spared.”
“Man! my good Ellis! can you sigh?”—
“I can;
“In short, Sir Owen, I must feel as man;
“And could you know the miseries they endured,
“The poor, uncertain pittance they procured;
“When, laid aside the needle and the pen,
“Their sickness won the neighbours of their den,
“Poor as they are, and they are passing poor,
“To lend some aid to those who needed more:
“Then, too, an ague with the winter came,
“And in this state—that wife I cannot name
“Brought forth a famish'd child of suffering and of shame.
“In short, Sir Owen, I must feel as man;
33
“The poor, uncertain pittance they procured;
“When, laid aside the needle and the pen,
“Their sickness won the neighbours of their den,
“Poor as they are, and they are passing poor,
“To lend some aid to those who needed more:
“Then, too, an ague with the winter came,
“And in this state—that wife I cannot name
“Brought forth a famish'd child of suffering and of shame.
“This had you known, and traced them to this scene,
“Where all was desolate, defiled, unclean,
“A fireless room, and, where a fire had place,
“The blast loud howling down the empty space,
“You must have felt a part of the distress,
“Forgot your wrongs, and made their suffering less!”
“Where all was desolate, defiled, unclean,
“A fireless room, and, where a fire had place,
“The blast loud howling down the empty space,
“You must have felt a part of the distress,
“Forgot your wrongs, and made their suffering less!”
“Sought you them, Ellis, from the mean intent
“To give them succour?”
“To give them succour?”
“What, indeed, I meant
“At first was vengeance; but I long pursued
“The pair, and I at last their misery view'd
“In that vile garret, which I cannot paint—
“The sight was loathsome, and the smell was faint;
“And there that wife,—whom I had loved so well,
“And thought so happy,—was condemn'd to dwell;
“The gay, the grateful wife, whom I was glad
“To see in dress beyond our station clad,
“And to behold among our neighbours fine,
“More than perhaps became a wife of mine;
“And now among her neighbours to explore,
“And see her poorest of the very poor!—
“At first was vengeance; but I long pursued
“The pair, and I at last their misery view'd
“In that vile garret, which I cannot paint—
“The sight was loathsome, and the smell was faint;
“And there that wife,—whom I had loved so well,
“And thought so happy,—was condemn'd to dwell;
“The gay, the grateful wife, whom I was glad
“To see in dress beyond our station clad,
34
“More than perhaps became a wife of mine;
“And now among her neighbours to explore,
“And see her poorest of the very poor!—
“I would describe it, but I bore a part,
“Nor can explain the feelings of the heart;
“Yet memory since has aided me to trace
“The horrid features of that dismal place.
“There she reclined unmoved, her bosom bare
“To her companion's unimpassion'd stare,
“And my wild wonder:—Seat of virtue! chaste
“As lovely once! O! how wert thou disgraced!
“Upon that breast, by sordid rags defiled,
“Lay the wan features of a famish'd child;—
“That sin-born babe in utter misery laid,
“Too feebly wretched even to cry for aid;
“The ragged sheeting, o'er her person drawn,
“Served for the dress that hunger placed in pawn.
“Nor can explain the feelings of the heart;
“Yet memory since has aided me to trace
“The horrid features of that dismal place.
“There she reclined unmoved, her bosom bare
“To her companion's unimpassion'd stare,
“And my wild wonder:—Seat of virtue! chaste
“As lovely once! O! how wert thou disgraced!
“Upon that breast, by sordid rags defiled,
“Lay the wan features of a famish'd child;—
“That sin-born babe in utter misery laid,
“Too feebly wretched even to cry for aid;
“The ragged sheeting, o'er her person drawn,
“Served for the dress that hunger placed in pawn.
“At the bed's feet the man reclined his frame:
“Their chairs were perish'd to support the flame,
“That warm'd his agued limbs; and, sad to see,
“That shook him fiercely as he gazed on me.
“Their chairs were perish'd to support the flame,
“That warm'd his agued limbs; and, sad to see,
“That shook him fiercely as he gazed on me.
“I was confused in this unhappy view:
“My wife! my friend! I could not think it true;
“My children's mother,—my Alicia,—laid
“On such a bed! so wretched,—so afraid!
“And her gay, young seducer, in the guise
“Of all we dread, abjure, defy, despise,
“And all the fear and terror in his look,
“Still more my mind to its foundation shook.
“My wife! my friend! I could not think it true;
“My children's mother,—my Alicia,—laid
“On such a bed! so wretched,—so afraid!
“And her gay, young seducer, in the guise
“Of all we dread, abjure, defy, despise,
35
“Still more my mind to its foundation shook.
“At last he spoke:—‘Long since I would have died,
“‘But could not leave her, though for death I sigh'd,
“‘And tried the poison'd cup, and dropp'd it as I tried.
“‘She is a woman, and that famish'd thing
“‘Makes her to life, with all its evils, cling:
“‘Feed her, and let her breathe her last in peace,
“‘And all my sufferings with your promise cease!’
“‘But could not leave her, though for death I sigh'd,
“‘And tried the poison'd cup, and dropp'd it as I tried.
“‘She is a woman, and that famish'd thing
“‘Makes her to life, with all its evils, cling:
“‘Feed her, and let her breathe her last in peace,
“‘And all my sufferings with your promise cease!’
“Ghastly he smiled:—I knew not what I felt,
“But my heart melted—hearts of flint would melt,
“To see their anguish, penury, and shame,
“How base, how low, how groveling they became:
“I could not speak my purpose, but my eyes
“And my expression bade the creature rise.
“But my heart melted—hearts of flint would melt,
“To see their anguish, penury, and shame,
“How base, how low, how groveling they became:
“I could not speak my purpose, but my eyes
“And my expression bade the creature rise.
“Yet, O! that woman's look! my words are vain
“Her mix'd and troubled feelings to explain;
“True, there was shame and consciousness of fall,
“But yet remembrance of my love withal,
“And knowledge of that power which she would now recall.
“Her mix'd and troubled feelings to explain;
“True, there was shame and consciousness of fall,
“But yet remembrance of my love withal,
“And knowledge of that power which she would now recall.
“But still the more that she to memory brought,
“The greater anguish in my mind was wrought:
“The more she tried to bring the past in view,
“She greater horror on the present threw;
“So that, for love or pity, terror thrill'd
“My blood, and vile and odious thoughts instill'd.
“The greater anguish in my mind was wrought:
“The more she tried to bring the past in view,
“She greater horror on the present threw;
36
“My blood, and vile and odious thoughts instill'd.
“This war within, these passions in their strife,
“If thus protracted, had exhausted life;
“But the strong view of these departed years
“Caused a full burst of salutary tears,
“And as I wept at large, and thought alone,
“I felt my reason re-ascend her throne.”
“If thus protracted, had exhausted life;
“But the strong view of these departed years
“Caused a full burst of salutary tears,
“And as I wept at large, and thought alone,
“I felt my reason re-ascend her throne.”
“My friend!” Sir Owen answer'd, “what became
“Of your just anger?—when you saw their shame,
“It was your triumph, and you should have shown
“Strength, if not joy—their sufferings were their own.”
“Of your just anger?—when you saw their shame,
“It was your triumph, and you should have shown
“Strength, if not joy—their sufferings were their own.”
“Alas, for them! their own in very deed!
“And they of mercy had the greater need;
“Their own by purchase, for their frailty paid,—
“And wanted heaven's own justice human aid?
“And seeing this, could I beseech my God
“For deeper misery, and a heavier rod?”
“And they of mercy had the greater need;
“Their own by purchase, for their frailty paid,—
“And wanted heaven's own justice human aid?
“And seeing this, could I beseech my God
“For deeper misery, and a heavier rod?”
“But could you help them?”
“Think, Sir Owen, how
“I saw them then—methinks I see them now!
“She had not food, nor aught a mother needs,
“Who for another life and dearer feeds:
“I saw her speechless; on her wither'd breast
“The wither'd child extended, but not prest,
“Who sought, with moving lip and feeble cry,
“Vain instinct! for the fount without supply.”
“I saw them then—methinks I see them now!
“She had not food, nor aught a mother needs,
“Who for another life and dearer feeds:
“I saw her speechless; on her wither'd breast
“The wither'd child extended, but not prest,
“Who sought, with moving lip and feeble cry,
“Vain instinct! for the fount without supply.”
37
“Sure it was all a grievous, odious scene,
“Where all was dismal, melancholy, mean,
“Foul with compell'd neglect, unwholesome, and unclean;
“That arm,—that eye,—the cold, the sunken cheek,—
“Spoke all, Sir Owen—fiercely miseries speak!”
“Where all was dismal, melancholy, mean,
“Foul with compell'd neglect, unwholesome, and unclean;
“That arm,—that eye,—the cold, the sunken cheek,—
“Spoke all, Sir Owen—fiercely miseries speak!”
“And you relieved?”
“If hell's seducing crew
“Had seen that sight, they must have pitied too.”
“Had seen that sight, they must have pitied too.”
“Revenge was thine—thou hadst the power, the right;
“To give it up was heaven's own act to slight.”
“To give it up was heaven's own act to slight.”
“Tell me not, Sir, of rights, and wrongs, or powers!
“I felt it written—Vengeance is not ours!”
“I felt it written—Vengeance is not ours!”
“Well, Ellis, well!—I find these female foes,
“Or good or ill, will murder our repose;
“And we, when Satan tempts them, take the cup,
“The fruit of their foul sin, and drink it up:
“But shall our pity all our claims remit,
“And we the sinners of their guilt acquit?”
“Or good or ill, will murder our repose;
“And we, when Satan tempts them, take the cup,
“The fruit of their foul sin, and drink it up:
“But shall our pity all our claims remit,
“And we the sinners of their guilt acquit?”
“And what, Sir Owen, will our vengeance do?
“It follows us when we our foe pursue,
“And, as we strike the blow, it smites the smiters too.”
“It follows us when we our foe pursue,
“And, as we strike the blow, it smites the smiters too.”
38
“What didst thou, man?”
“I brought them to a cot
“Behind your larches,—a sequester'd spot,
“Where dwells the woman: I believe her mind
“Is now enlighten'd—I am sure resign'd:
“She gave her infant, though with aching heart
“And faltering spirit, to be nursed apart.”
“Behind your larches,—a sequester'd spot,
“Where dwells the woman: I believe her mind
“Is now enlighten'd—I am sure resign'd:
“She gave her infant, though with aching heart
“And faltering spirit, to be nursed apart.”
“And that vile scoundrel—”
“Nay, his name restore,
“And call him Cecil,—for he is no more:
“When my vain help was offer'd, he was past
“All human aid, and shortly breathed his last;
“But his heart open'd, and he lived to see
“Guilt in himself, and find a friend in me.
“And call him Cecil,—for he is no more:
“When my vain help was offer'd, he was past
“All human aid, and shortly breathed his last;
“But his heart open'd, and he lived to see
“Guilt in himself, and find a friend in me.
“Strange was their parting, parting on the day
“I offer'd help, and took the man away,
“Sure not to meet again, and not to live
“And taste of joy.—He feebly cried, ‘Forgive!
“‘I have thy guilt, thou mine, but now adieu!
“‘Tempters and tempted! what will thence ensue
“‘I know not, dare not think!’—He said, and he withdrew.”
“I offer'd help, and took the man away,
“Sure not to meet again, and not to live
“And taste of joy.—He feebly cried, ‘Forgive!
“‘I have thy guilt, thou mine, but now adieu!
“‘Tempters and tempted! what will thence ensue
“‘I know not, dare not think!’—He said, and he withdrew.”
“But, Ellis, tell me, didst thou thus desire
“To heap upon their heads those coals of fire?”
“To heap upon their heads those coals of fire?”
“If fire to melt, that feeling is confest,—
“If fire to shame, I let that question rest;
“But if aught more the sacred words imply,
“I know it not—no commentator I.”
“If fire to shame, I let that question rest;
“But if aught more the sacred words imply,
“I know it not—no commentator I.”
39
“Then did you freely from your soul forgive?”—
“Sure as I hope before my Judge to live,
“Sure as I trust his mercy to receive,
“Sure as his word I honour and believe,
“Sure as the Saviour died upon the tree
“For all who sin,—for that dear wretch and me,—
“Whom never more on earth will I forsake or see.”
“Sure as I hope before my Judge to live,
“Sure as I trust his mercy to receive,
“Sure as his word I honour and believe,
“Sure as the Saviour died upon the tree
“For all who sin,—for that dear wretch and me,—
“Whom never more on earth will I forsake or see.”
Sir Owen softly to his bed adjourn'd,
Sir Owen quickly to his home return'd;
And all the way he meditating dwelt
On what this man in his affliction felt;
How he, resenting first, forbore, forgave,
His passion's lord, and not his anger's slave:
And as he rode he seem'd to fear the deed
Should not be done, and urged unwonted speed.
Sir Owen quickly to his home return'd;
And all the way he meditating dwelt
On what this man in his affliction felt;
40
His passion's lord, and not his anger's slave:
And as he rode he seem'd to fear the deed
Should not be done, and urged unwonted speed.
Arrived at home, he scorn'd the change to hide,
Nor would indulge a mean and selfish pride,
That would some little at a time recall
Th' avenging vow; he now was frankness all:
He saw his nephew, and with kindness spoke—
“Charles, I repent my purpose, and revoke;
“Take her—I'm taught, and would I could repay
“The generous teacher; hear me, and obey:
“Bring me the dear coquette, and let me vow
“On lips half perjured to be passive now:
“Take her, and let me thank the powers divine
“She was not stolen when her hand was mine,
“Or when her heart—Her smiles I must forget,
“She my revenge, and cancel either debt.”
Nor would indulge a mean and selfish pride,
That would some little at a time recall
Th' avenging vow; he now was frankness all:
He saw his nephew, and with kindness spoke—
“Charles, I repent my purpose, and revoke;
“Take her—I'm taught, and would I could repay
“The generous teacher; hear me, and obey:
“Bring me the dear coquette, and let me vow
“On lips half perjured to be passive now:
“Take her, and let me thank the powers divine
“She was not stolen when her hand was mine,
“Or when her heart—Her smiles I must forget,
“She my revenge, and cancel either debt.”
Here ends our tale, for who will doubt the bliss
Of ardent lovers in a case like this?
And if Sir Owen's was not half so strong,
It may, perchance, continue twice as long.
Of ardent lovers in a case like this?
And if Sir Owen's was not half so strong,
It may, perchance, continue twice as long.
41
BOOK XIII. DELAY HAS DANGER.
42
Morning Excursion—Lady at Silford, who?—Reflections on Delay—Cecilia and Henry—The Lovers contracted—Visit to the Patron—Whom he finds there—Fanny described —The yielding of Vanity—Delay—Resentment—Want of Resolution—Further Entanglement—Danger—How met—Conclusion.
43
Three weeks had pass'd, and Richard rambles now
Far as the dinners of the day allow;
He rode to Farley Grange and Finley Mere,
That house so ancient, and that lake so clear:
He rode to Ripley through that river gay,
Where in the shallow stream the loaches play,
And stony fragments stay the winding stream,
And gilded pebbles at the bottom gleam,
Giving their yellow surface to the sun,
And making proud the waters as they run:
It is a lovely place, and at the side
Rises a mountain-rock in rugged pride;
And in that rock are shapes of shells, and forms
Of creatures in old worlds, of nameless worms,
Whose generations lived and died ere man,
A worm of other class, to crawl began.
Far as the dinners of the day allow;
He rode to Farley Grange and Finley Mere,
That house so ancient, and that lake so clear:
He rode to Ripley through that river gay,
Where in the shallow stream the loaches play,
And stony fragments stay the winding stream,
And gilded pebbles at the bottom gleam,
Giving their yellow surface to the sun,
And making proud the waters as they run:
It is a lovely place, and at the side
Rises a mountain-rock in rugged pride;
And in that rock are shapes of shells, and forms
Of creatures in old worlds, of nameless worms,
Whose generations lived and died ere man,
A worm of other class, to crawl began.
44
There is a town call'd Silford, where his steed
Our traveller rested,—He the while would feed
His mind by walking to and fro, to meet,
He knew not what adventure, in the street:
A stranger there, but yet a window-view
Gave him a face that he conceived he knew;
He saw a tall, fair, lovely lady, dress'd
As one whom taste and wealth had jointly bless'd;
He gazed, but soon a footman at the door
Thundering, alarm'd her, who was seen no more.
Our traveller rested,—He the while would feed
His mind by walking to and fro, to meet,
He knew not what adventure, in the street:
A stranger there, but yet a window-view
Gave him a face that he conceived he knew;
He saw a tall, fair, lovely lady, dress'd
As one whom taste and wealth had jointly bless'd;
He gazed, but soon a footman at the door
Thundering, alarm'd her, who was seen no more.
“This was the lady whom her lover bound
“In solemn contract, and then proved unsound:
“Of this affair I have a clouded view,
“And should be glad to have it clear'd by you.”
“In solemn contract, and then proved unsound:
“Of this affair I have a clouded view,
“And should be glad to have it clear'd by you.”
So Richard spake, and instant George replied,
“I had the story from the injured side,
“But when resentment and regret were gone,
“And pity (shaded by contempt) came on.
“I had the story from the injured side,
“But when resentment and regret were gone,
“And pity (shaded by contempt) came on.
“Frail was the hero of my tale, but still
“Was rather drawn by accident than will;
“Some without meaning into guilt advance,
“From want of guard, from vanity, from chance;
“Man's weakness flies his more immediate pain,
“A little respite from his fears to gain;
“And takes the part that he would gladly fly,
“If he had strength and courage to deny.
“Was rather drawn by accident than will;
“Some without meaning into guilt advance,
“From want of guard, from vanity, from chance;
“Man's weakness flies his more immediate pain,
“A little respite from his fears to gain;
“And takes the part that he would gladly fly,
“If he had strength and courage to deny.
“But now my tale, and let the moral say,
“When hope can sleep, there's Danger in Delay.
“Not that for rashness, Richard, I would plead,
“For unadvised alliance: no, indeed:
“Think ere the contract—but, contracted, stand
“No more debating, take the ready hand:
“When hearts are willing, and when fears subside,
“Trust not to time, but let the knot be tied;
“For when a lover has no more to do,
“He thinks in leisure, what shall I pursue?
“And then who knows what objects come in view!
“For when, assured, the man has nought to keep
“His wishes warm and active, then they sleep:
“Hopes die with fears; and then a man must lose
“All the gay visions, and delicious views,
“Once his mind's wealth! He travels at his ease,
“Nor horrors now nor fairy-beauty sees;
“When the kind goddess gives the wish'd assent,
“No mortal business should the deed prevent;
“But the bless'd youth should legal sanction seek
“Ere yet th' assenting blush has fled the cheek.
“When hope can sleep, there's Danger in Delay.
45
“For unadvised alliance: no, indeed:
“Think ere the contract—but, contracted, stand
“No more debating, take the ready hand:
“When hearts are willing, and when fears subside,
“Trust not to time, but let the knot be tied;
“For when a lover has no more to do,
“He thinks in leisure, what shall I pursue?
“And then who knows what objects come in view!
“For when, assured, the man has nought to keep
“His wishes warm and active, then they sleep:
“Hopes die with fears; and then a man must lose
“All the gay visions, and delicious views,
“Once his mind's wealth! He travels at his ease,
“Nor horrors now nor fairy-beauty sees;
“When the kind goddess gives the wish'd assent,
“No mortal business should the deed prevent;
“But the bless'd youth should legal sanction seek
“Ere yet th' assenting blush has fled the cheek.
“And—hear me, Richard,—man has reptile-pride
“That often rises when his fears subside;
“When, like a trader feeling rich, he now
“Neglects his former smile, his humble bow,
“And, conscious of his hoarded wealth, assumes
“New airs, nor thinks how odious he becomes.
“That often rises when his fears subside;
“When, like a trader feeling rich, he now
“Neglects his former smile, his humble bow,
“And, conscious of his hoarded wealth, assumes
“New airs, nor thinks how odious he becomes.
“There is a wandering, wavering train of thought,
“That something seeks where nothing should be sought,
“And will a self-delighted spirit move
“To dare the danger of pernicious love.
“That something seeks where nothing should be sought,
46
“To dare the danger of pernicious love.
First be it granted all was duly said
“By the fond youth to the believing maid;
“Let us suppose with many a sigh there came
“The declaration of the deathless flame;—
“And so her answer—‘She was happy then,
“‘Bless'd in herself, and did not think of men;
“‘And with such comforts in her present state,
“‘A wish to change it was to tempt her fate:
“‘That she would not; but yet she would confess
“‘With him she thought her hazard would be less;
“‘Nay, more, she would esteem, she would regard express:
“‘But to be brief—if he could wait and see
“‘In a few years what his desires would be.’”—
“By the fond youth to the believing maid;
“Let us suppose with many a sigh there came
“The declaration of the deathless flame;—
“And so her answer—‘She was happy then,
“‘Bless'd in herself, and did not think of men;
“‘And with such comforts in her present state,
“‘A wish to change it was to tempt her fate:
47
“‘With him she thought her hazard would be less;
“‘Nay, more, she would esteem, she would regard express:
“‘But to be brief—if he could wait and see
“‘In a few years what his desires would be.’”—
Henry for years read months, then weeks, nor found
The lady thought his judgment was unsound;
“For months read weeks,” she read it to his praise,
And had some thoughts of changing it to days.
The lady thought his judgment was unsound;
“For months read weeks,” she read it to his praise,
And had some thoughts of changing it to days.
And here a short excursion let me make,
A lover tried, I think, for lovers' sake;
And teach the meaning in a lady's mind
When you can none in her expressions find:
Words are design'd that meaning to convey,
But often Yea is hidden in a Nay!
And what the charmer wills, some gentle hints betray.
Then, too, when ladies mean to yield at length,
They match their reasons with the lover's strength,
And, kindly cautious, will no force employ
But such as he can baffle or destroy.
A lover tried, I think, for lovers' sake;
And teach the meaning in a lady's mind
When you can none in her expressions find:
Words are design'd that meaning to convey,
But often Yea is hidden in a Nay!
And what the charmer wills, some gentle hints betray.
Then, too, when ladies mean to yield at length,
They match their reasons with the lover's strength,
And, kindly cautious, will no force employ
But such as he can baffle or destroy.
As when heroic lovers beauty woo'd,
And were by magic's mighty art withstood,
The kind historian, for the dame afraid,
Gave to the faithful knight the stronger aid.
And were by magic's mighty art withstood,
The kind historian, for the dame afraid,
Gave to the faithful knight the stronger aid.
A downright No! would make a man despair,
Or leave for kinder nymph the cruel fair;
But “No! because I'm very happy now,
“Because I dread th' irrevocable vow,
“Because I fear papa will not approve,
“Because I love not—no, I cannot love;
“Because you men of Cupid make a jest,
“Because—in short, a single life is best.”
A No! when back'd by reasons of such force,
Invites approach, and will recede of course.
Or leave for kinder nymph the cruel fair;
48
“Because I dread th' irrevocable vow,
“Because I fear papa will not approve,
“Because I love not—no, I cannot love;
“Because you men of Cupid make a jest,
“Because—in short, a single life is best.”
A No! when back'd by reasons of such force,
Invites approach, and will recede of course.
Ladies, like towns besieged, for honour's sake,
Will some defence or its appearance make;
On first approach there's much resistance made,
And conscious weakness hides in bold parade;
With lofty looks, and threat'nings stern and proud,
“Come, if you dare,” is said in language loud,
But if th' attack be made with care and skill,
“Come,” says the yielding party, “if you will;”
Then each the other's valiant acts approve,
And twine their laurels in a wreath of love.—
Will some defence or its appearance make;
On first approach there's much resistance made,
And conscious weakness hides in bold parade;
With lofty looks, and threat'nings stern and proud,
“Come, if you dare,” is said in language loud,
But if th' attack be made with care and skill,
“Come,” says the yielding party, “if you will;”
Then each the other's valiant acts approve,
And twine their laurels in a wreath of love.—
We now retrace our tale, and forward go,—
Thus Henry rightly read Cecilia's No!
His prudent father, who had duly weigh'd,
And well approved the fortune of the maid,
Not much resisted, just enough to show
He knew his power, and would his son should know.
Thus Henry rightly read Cecilia's No!
His prudent father, who had duly weigh'd,
And well approved the fortune of the maid,
Not much resisted, just enough to show
He knew his power, and would his son should know.
“Harry, I will, while I your bargain make,
“That you a journey to our patron take:
“I know her guardian; care will not become
“A lad when courting; as you must be dumb,
“You may be absent; I for you will speak,
“And ask what you are not supposed to seek.”
“That you a journey to our patron take:
“I know her guardian; care will not become
“A lad when courting; as you must be dumb,
49
“And ask what you are not supposed to seek.”
Then came the parting hour, and what arise
When lovers part! expressive looks and eyes,
Tender and tear-full,—many a fond adieu,
And many a call the sorrow to renew;
Sighs such as lovers only can explain,
And words that they might undertake in vain.
When lovers part! expressive looks and eyes,
Tender and tear-full,—many a fond adieu,
And many a call the sorrow to renew;
Sighs such as lovers only can explain,
And words that they might undertake in vain.
Cecilia liked it not; she had, in truth,
No mind to part with her enamour'd youth;
But thought it foolish thus themselves to cheat,
And part for nothing but again to meet.
No mind to part with her enamour'd youth;
But thought it foolish thus themselves to cheat,
And part for nothing but again to meet.
Now Henry's father was a man whose heart
Took with his interest a decided part;
He knew his lordship, and was known for acts
That I omit,—they were acknowledged facts;
An interest somewhere; I the place forget,
And the good deed—no matter—'twas a debt:
Thither must Henry, and in vain the maid
Express'd dissent—the father was obey'd.
Took with his interest a decided part;
He knew his lordship, and was known for acts
That I omit,—they were acknowledged facts;
An interest somewhere; I the place forget,
And the good deed—no matter—'twas a debt:
Thither must Henry, and in vain the maid
Express'd dissent—the father was obey'd.
But though the maid was by her fears assail'd,
Her reason rose against them, and prevail'd;
Fear saw him hunting, leaping, falling—led,
Maim'd and disfigured, groaning to his bed;
Saw him in perils, duels,—dying,—dead.
But Prudence answer'd, “Is not every maid
“With equal cause for him she loves afraid?”
And from her guarded mind Cecilia threw
The groundless terrors that will love pursue.
Her reason rose against them, and prevail'd;
Fear saw him hunting, leaping, falling—led,
Maim'd and disfigured, groaning to his bed;
Saw him in perils, duels,—dying,—dead.
But Prudence answer'd, “Is not every maid
“With equal cause for him she loves afraid?”
50
The groundless terrors that will love pursue.
She had no doubts, and her reliance strong
Upon the honour that she would not wrong:
Firm in herself, she doubted not the truth
Of him, the chosen, the selected youth;
Trust of herself a trust in him supplied,
And she believed him faithful, though untried:
On her he might depend, in him she would confide.
If some fond girl express'd a tender pain
Lest some fair rival should allure her swain,
To such she answer'd, with a look severe,
“Can one you doubt be worthy of your fear?”
Upon the honour that she would not wrong:
Firm in herself, she doubted not the truth
Of him, the chosen, the selected youth;
Trust of herself a trust in him supplied,
And she believed him faithful, though untried:
On her he might depend, in him she would confide.
If some fond girl express'd a tender pain
Lest some fair rival should allure her swain,
To such she answer'd, with a look severe,
“Can one you doubt be worthy of your fear?”
My lord was kind,—a month had pass'd away,
And Henry stay'd,—he sometimes named a day;
But still my lord was kind, and Henry still must stay:
His father's words to him were words of fate—
“Wait, 'tis your duty; 'tis my pleasure, wait!”
And Henry stay'd,—he sometimes named a day;
But still my lord was kind, and Henry still must stay:
His father's words to him were words of fate—
“Wait, 'tis your duty; 'tis my pleasure, wait!”
In all his walks, in hilly heath or wood,
Cecilia's form the pensive youth pursued;
In the grey morning, in the silent noon,
In the soft twilight, by the sober moon
In those forsaken rooms, in that immense saloon;
And he, now fond of that seclusion grown,
There reads her letters, and there writes his own.
“Here none approach,” said he, “to interfere,
“But I can think of my Cecilia here!”
Cecilia's form the pensive youth pursued;
In the grey morning, in the silent noon,
In the soft twilight, by the sober moon
In those forsaken rooms, in that immense saloon;
And he, now fond of that seclusion grown,
There reads her letters, and there writes his own.
“Here none approach,” said he, “to interfere,
“But I can think of my Cecilia here!”
51
But there did come—and how it came to pass
Who shall explain?—a mild and blue-eyed lass;—
It was the work of accident, no doubt—
The cause unknown—we say, “as things fall out;”
The damsel enter'd there, in wand'ring round about:
At first she saw not Henry; and she ran,
As from a ghost, when she beheld a man.
Who shall explain?—a mild and blue-eyed lass;—
It was the work of accident, no doubt—
The cause unknown—we say, “as things fall out;”
The damsel enter'd there, in wand'ring round about:
At first she saw not Henry; and she ran,
As from a ghost, when she beheld a man.
She was esteem'd a beauty through the Hall,
And so admitted, with consent of all;
And, like a treasure, was her beauty kept
From every guest who in the mansion slept;
Whether as friends who join'd the noble pair,
Or those invited by the steward there.
And so admitted, with consent of all;
And, like a treasure, was her beauty kept
From every guest who in the mansion slept;
Whether as friends who join'd the noble pair,
Or those invited by the steward there.
She was the daughter of a priest, whose life
Was brief and sad: he lost a darling wife,
And Fanny then her father, who could save
But a small portion; but his all he gave,
With the fair orphan, to a sister's care,
And her good spouse: they were the ruling pair—
Steward and steward's lady—o'er a tribe,
Each under each, whom I shall not describe.
Was brief and sad: he lost a darling wife,
And Fanny then her father, who could save
But a small portion; but his all he gave,
With the fair orphan, to a sister's care,
And her good spouse: they were the ruling pair—
Steward and steward's lady—o'er a tribe,
Each under each, whom I shall not describe.
This grave old couple, childless and alone,
Would, by their care, for Fanny's loss atone:
She had been taught in schools of honest fame;
And to the Hall, as to a home, she came,
My lord assenting: yet, as meet and right,
Fanny was held from every hero's sight,
Who might in youthful error cast his eyes
On one so gentle as a lawful prize,
On border land, whom, as their right or prey,
A youth from either side might bear away.
Some handsome lover of th' inferior class
Might as a wife approve the lovely lass;
Or some invader from the class above,
Who, more presuming, would his passion prove
By asking less—love only for his love.
Would, by their care, for Fanny's loss atone:
She had been taught in schools of honest fame;
And to the Hall, as to a home, she came,
My lord assenting: yet, as meet and right,
Fanny was held from every hero's sight,
Who might in youthful error cast his eyes
On one so gentle as a lawful prize,
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A youth from either side might bear away.
Some handsome lover of th' inferior class
Might as a wife approve the lovely lass;
Or some invader from the class above,
Who, more presuming, would his passion prove
By asking less—love only for his love.
This much experienced aunt her fear express'd,
And dread of old and young, of host and guest.
“Go not, my Fanny, in their way,” she cried,
“It is not right that virtue should be tried;
“So, to be safe, be ever at my side.”
She was not ever at that side; but still
Observ'd her precepts, and obey'd her will.
And dread of old and young, of host and guest.
“Go not, my Fanny, in their way,” she cried,
“It is not right that virtue should be tried;
“So, to be safe, be ever at my side.”
She was not ever at that side; but still
Observ'd her precepts, and obey'd her will.
But in the morning's dawn and evening's gloom
She could not lock the damsel in her room;
And Fanny thought, “I will ascend these stairs
“To see the chapel,—there are none at prayers;
“None,” she believed, “had yet to dress return'd,
“By whom a timid girl might be discern'd:”
In her slow motion, looking, as she glides,
On pictures, busts, and what she met besides,
And speaking softly to herself alone,
Or singing low in melancholy tone;
And thus she rambled through the still domain,
Room after room, again, and yet again.
She could not lock the damsel in her room;
And Fanny thought, “I will ascend these stairs
“To see the chapel,—there are none at prayers;
“None,” she believed, “had yet to dress return'd,
“By whom a timid girl might be discern'd:”
In her slow motion, looking, as she glides,
On pictures, busts, and what she met besides,
And speaking softly to herself alone,
Or singing low in melancholy tone;
And thus she rambled through the still domain,
Room after room, again, and yet again.
But, to retrace our story, still we say,
To this saloon the maiden took her way;
Where she beheld our Youth, and frighten'd ran,
And so their friendship in her fear began.
To this saloon the maiden took her way;
53
And so their friendship in her fear began.
But dare she thither once again advance,
And still suppose the man will think it chance?
Nay, yet again, and what has chance to do
With this?—I know not: doubtless Fanny knew.
And still suppose the man will think it chance?
Nay, yet again, and what has chance to do
With this?—I know not: doubtless Fanny knew.
Now, of the meeting of a modest maid
And sober youth why need we be afraid?
And when a girl's amusements are so few
As Fanny's were, what would you have her do?
Reserved herself, a decent youth to find,
And just be civil, sociable, and kind,
And look together at the setting sun,
Then at each other—what the evil done?
And sober youth why need we be afraid?
And when a girl's amusements are so few
As Fanny's were, what would you have her do?
Reserved herself, a decent youth to find,
And just be civil, sociable, and kind,
And look together at the setting sun,
Then at each other—what the evil done?
Then Fanny took my little lord to play,
And bade him not intrude on Henry's way:
“O, he intrudes not!” said the Youth, and grew
Fond of the child, and would amuse him too;
Would make such faces, and assume such looks—
He loved it better than his gayest books.
And bade him not intrude on Henry's way:
“O, he intrudes not!” said the Youth, and grew
Fond of the child, and would amuse him too;
Would make such faces, and assume such looks—
He loved it better than his gayest books.
When man with man would an acquaintance seek,
He will his thoughts in chosen language speak;
And they converse on divers themes, to find
If they possess a corresponding mind;
But man with woman has foundation laid,
And built up friendship ere a word is said:
'T is not with words that they their wishes tell,
But with a language answering quite as well;
And thus they find, when they begin t' explore
Their way by speech, they knew it all before.
He will his thoughts in chosen language speak;
And they converse on divers themes, to find
If they possess a corresponding mind;
But man with woman has foundation laid,
And built up friendship ere a word is said:
54
But with a language answering quite as well;
And thus they find, when they begin t' explore
Their way by speech, they knew it all before.
And now it chanced again the pair, when dark
Met in their way when wandering in the park;
Not in the common path, for so they might,
Without a wonder, wander day or night;
But, when in pathless ways their chance will bring
A musing pair, we do admire the thing.
Met in their way when wandering in the park;
Not in the common path, for so they might,
Without a wonder, wander day or night;
But, when in pathless ways their chance will bring
A musing pair, we do admire the thing.
The Youth in meeting read the damsel's face,
As if he meant her inmost thoughts to trace:
On which her colour changed, as if she meant
To give her aid, and help his kind intent.
As if he meant her inmost thoughts to trace:
On which her colour changed, as if she meant
To give her aid, and help his kind intent.
Both smiled and parted, but they did not speak—
The smile implied, “Do tell me what you seek:”
They took their different ways with erring feet,
And met again, surprised that they could meet;
Then must they speak—and something of the air
Is always ready—“'T is extremely fair!”
The smile implied, “Do tell me what you seek:”
They took their different ways with erring feet,
And met again, surprised that they could meet;
Then must they speak—and something of the air
Is always ready—“'T is extremely fair!”
“It was so pleasant!” Henry said; “the beam
“Of that sweet light so brilliant on the stream;
“And chiefly yonder, where that old cascade
“Has for an age its simple music made;
“All so delightful, soothing, and serene!
“Do you not feel it? not enjoy the scene?
“Something it has that words will not express,
“But rather hide, and make th' enjoyment less:
“'T is what our souls conceive, 't is what our hearts confess.”
“Of that sweet light so brilliant on the stream;
“And chiefly yonder, where that old cascade
“Has for an age its simple music made;
“All so delightful, soothing, and serene!
“Do you not feel it? not enjoy the scene?
55
“But rather hide, and make th' enjoyment less:
“'T is what our souls conceive, 't is what our hearts confess.”
Poor Fanny's heart at these same words confess'd
How well he painted, and how rightly guess'd;
And, while they stood admiring their retreat,
Henry found something like a mossy seat;
But Fanny sat not; no, she rather pray'd
That she might leave him, she was so afraid.
How well he painted, and how rightly guess'd;
And, while they stood admiring their retreat,
Henry found something like a mossy seat;
But Fanny sat not; no, she rather pray'd
That she might leave him, she was so afraid.
“Not, sir, of you; your goodness I can trust,
“But folks are so censorious and unjust,
“They make no difference, they pay no regard
“To our true meaning, which is very hard
“And very cruel; great the pain it cost
“To lose such pleasure, but it must be lost;
“Did people know how free from thought of ill
“One's meaning is, their malice would be still.”
“But folks are so censorious and unjust,
“They make no difference, they pay no regard
“To our true meaning, which is very hard
“And very cruel; great the pain it cost
“To lose such pleasure, but it must be lost;
“Did people know how free from thought of ill
“One's meaning is, their malice would be still.”
At this she wept; at least a glittering gem
Shone in each eye, and there was fire in them,
For as they fell, the sparkles, at his feet,
He felt emotions very warm and sweet.
“A lovely creature! not more fair than good,
“By all admired, by some, it seems, pursued,
“Yet self-protected by her virtue's force
“And conscious truth—What evil in discourse
“With one so guarded, who is pleased to trust
“Herself with me, reliance strong and just?”
Shone in each eye, and there was fire in them,
For as they fell, the sparkles, at his feet,
He felt emotions very warm and sweet.
“A lovely creature! not more fair than good,
“By all admired, by some, it seems, pursued,
“Yet self-protected by her virtue's force
“And conscious truth—What evil in discourse
“With one so guarded, who is pleased to trust
“Herself with me, reliance strong and just?”
56
Our lover then believed he must not seem
Cold to the maid who gave him her esteem;
Not manly this; Cecilia had his heart,
But it was lawful with his time to part;
It would be wrong in her to take amiss
A virtuous friendship for a girl like this;
False or disloyal he would never prove,
But kindness here took nothing from his love:
Soldiers to serve a foreign prince are known,
When not on present duty to their own;
So, though our bosom's queen we still prefer,
We are not always on our knees to her.
“Cecilia present, witness yon fair moon,
“And yon bright orbs, that fate would change as soon
“As my devotion; but the absent sun
“Cheers us no longer when his course is run;
“And then those starry twinklers may obtain
“A little worship till he shines again.”
Cold to the maid who gave him her esteem;
Not manly this; Cecilia had his heart,
But it was lawful with his time to part;
It would be wrong in her to take amiss
A virtuous friendship for a girl like this;
False or disloyal he would never prove,
But kindness here took nothing from his love:
Soldiers to serve a foreign prince are known,
When not on present duty to their own;
So, though our bosom's queen we still prefer,
We are not always on our knees to her.
“Cecilia present, witness yon fair moon,
“And yon bright orbs, that fate would change as soon
“As my devotion; but the absent sun
“Cheers us no longer when his course is run;
“And then those starry twinklers may obtain
“A little worship till he shines again.”
The father still commanded, “Wait awhile,”
And the son answer'd in submissive style,
Grieved, but obedient; and obedience teased
His lady's spirit more than grieving pleased:
That he should grieve in absence was most fit,
But not that he to absence should submit;
And in her letters might be traced reproof,
Distant indeed, but visible enough;
This should the wandering of his heart have stay'd:
Alas! the wanderer was the vainer made.
And the son answer'd in submissive style,
Grieved, but obedient; and obedience teased
His lady's spirit more than grieving pleased:
That he should grieve in absence was most fit,
But not that he to absence should submit;
And in her letters might be traced reproof,
Distant indeed, but visible enough;
This should the wandering of his heart have stay'd:
Alas! the wanderer was the vainer made.
The parties daily met, as by consent
And yet it always seem'd by accident;
Till in the nymph the shepherd had been blind
If he had fail'd to see a manner kind,
With that expressive look, that seem'd to say,
“You do not speak, and yet you see you may.”
And yet it always seem'd by accident;
57
If he had fail'd to see a manner kind,
With that expressive look, that seem'd to say,
“You do not speak, and yet you see you may.”
O, yes, he saw, and he resolved to fly,
And blamed his heart, unwilling to comply:
He sometimes wonder'd how it came to pass,
That he had all this freedom with the lass;
Reserved herself, with strict attention kept,
And care and vigilance that never slept:
“How is it thus that they a beauty trust
“With me, who feel the confidence is just?
“And they, too, feel it; yes, they may confide,”—
He said in folly, and he smiled in pride.
'T is thus our secret passions work their way,
And the poor victims know not they obey.
And blamed his heart, unwilling to comply:
He sometimes wonder'd how it came to pass,
That he had all this freedom with the lass;
Reserved herself, with strict attention kept,
And care and vigilance that never slept:
“How is it thus that they a beauty trust
“With me, who feel the confidence is just?
“And they, too, feel it; yes, they may confide,”—
He said in folly, and he smiled in pride.
'T is thus our secret passions work their way,
And the poor victims know not they obey.
Familiar now became the wandering pair,
And there was pride and joy in Fanny's air;
For though his silence did not please the maid,
She judged him only modest and afraid:
The gentle dames are ever pleased to find
Their lovers dreading they should prove unkind;
So blind by hope, and pleased with prospects gay,
The generous beauty gave her heart away
Before he said, “I love!”—alas! he dared not say.
And there was pride and joy in Fanny's air;
For though his silence did not please the maid,
She judged him only modest and afraid:
The gentle dames are ever pleased to find
Their lovers dreading they should prove unkind;
So blind by hope, and pleased with prospects gay,
The generous beauty gave her heart away
Before he said, “I love!”—alas! he dared not say.
Cecilia yet was mistress of his mind,
But oft he wish'd her, like his Fanny, kind;
Her fondness soothed him, for the man was vain,
And he perceived that he could give her pain:
Cecilia liked not to profess her love,
But Fanny ever was the yielding dove;
Tender and trusting, waiting for the word,
And then prepared to hail her bosom's lord.
But oft he wish'd her, like his Fanny, kind;
Her fondness soothed him, for the man was vain,
And he perceived that he could give her pain:
58
But Fanny ever was the yielding dove;
Tender and trusting, waiting for the word,
And then prepared to hail her bosom's lord.
Cecilia once her honest love avow'd,
To make him happy, not to make him proud;
But she would not, for every asking sigh,
Confess the flame that waked his vanity;
But this poor maiden, every day and hour,
Would by fresh kindness feed the growing power;
And he indulged, vain being! in the joy,
That he alone could raise it, or destroy:
A present good, from which he dared not fly,
Cecilia absent, and his Fanny by.
To make him happy, not to make him proud;
But she would not, for every asking sigh,
Confess the flame that waked his vanity;
But this poor maiden, every day and hour,
Would by fresh kindness feed the growing power;
And he indulged, vain being! in the joy,
That he alone could raise it, or destroy:
A present good, from which he dared not fly,
Cecilia absent, and his Fanny by.
O! vain desire of youth, that in the hour
Of strong temptation, when he feels the power,
And knows how daily his desires increase,
Yet will he wait, and sacrifice his peace,
Will trust to chance to free him from the snare,
Of which, long since, his conscience said, beware,
Or look for strange deliverance from that ill,
That he might fly, could he command the will!
How can he freedom from the future seek,
Who feels already that he grows too weak?
And thus refuses to resist, till time
Removes the power, and makes the way for crime:
Yet thoughts he had, and he would think, “Forego
“My dear Cecilia? not for kingdoms! No!
“But may I, ought I not the friend to be
“Of one who feels this fond regard for me?
“I wrong no creature by a kindness lent
“To one so gentle, mild, and innocent:
“And for that fair one, whom I still adore,
“By feeling thus I think of her the more;”
And not unlikely, for our thoughts will tend
To those whom we are conscious we offend.
Of strong temptation, when he feels the power,
And knows how daily his desires increase,
Yet will he wait, and sacrifice his peace,
Will trust to chance to free him from the snare,
Of which, long since, his conscience said, beware,
Or look for strange deliverance from that ill,
That he might fly, could he command the will!
How can he freedom from the future seek,
Who feels already that he grows too weak?
And thus refuses to resist, till time
Removes the power, and makes the way for crime:
Yet thoughts he had, and he would think, “Forego
“My dear Cecilia? not for kingdoms! No!
“But may I, ought I not the friend to be
“Of one who feels this fond regard for me?
59
“To one so gentle, mild, and innocent:
“And for that fair one, whom I still adore,
“By feeling thus I think of her the more;”
And not unlikely, for our thoughts will tend
To those whom we are conscious we offend.
Had Reason whisper'd, “Has Cecilia leave
“Some gentle youth in friendship to receive,
“And be to him the friend that you appear
“To this soft girl?—would not some jealous fear
“Proclaim your thoughts, that he approach'd too near?”
“Some gentle youth in friendship to receive,
“And be to him the friend that you appear
“To this soft girl?—would not some jealous fear
“Proclaim your thoughts, that he approach'd too near?”
But Henry, blinded still, presumed to write
Of one in whom Cecilia would delight:
A mild and modest girl, a gentle friend,
If, as he hoped, her kindness would descend—
But what he fear'd to lose or hoped to gain
By writing thus, he had been ask'd in vain.
Of one in whom Cecilia would delight:
A mild and modest girl, a gentle friend,
If, as he hoped, her kindness would descend—
But what he fear'd to lose or hoped to gain
By writing thus, he had been ask'd in vain.
It was his purpose every morn he rose,
The dangerous friendship he had made to close:
It was his torment nightly, ere he slept,
To feel his prudent purpose was not kept.
True, he has wonder'd why the timid maid
Meets him so often, and is not afraid;
And why that female dragon, fierce and keen,
Has never in their private walks been seen:
And often he has thought, “What can their silence mean?
“They can have no design, or plot, or plan,—
“In fact, I know not how the thing began,—
“'T is their dependence on my credit here,
“And fear not, nor, in fact, have cause to fear.”
The dangerous friendship he had made to close:
It was his torment nightly, ere he slept,
To feel his prudent purpose was not kept.
True, he has wonder'd why the timid maid
Meets him so often, and is not afraid;
And why that female dragon, fierce and keen,
Has never in their private walks been seen:
And often he has thought, “What can their silence mean?
60
“In fact, I know not how the thing began,—
“'T is their dependence on my credit here,
“And fear not, nor, in fact, have cause to fear.”
But did that pair, who seem'd to think that all
Unwatch'd will wander and unguarded fall,—
Did they permit a youth and maid to meet
Both unreproved? were they so indiscreet?
Unwatch'd will wander and unguarded fall,—
Did they permit a youth and maid to meet
Both unreproved? were they so indiscreet?
This sometimes enter'd Henry's mind, and then,
“Who shall account for women or for men?”
He said, “or who their secret thoughts explore?
“Why do I vex me? I will think no more.”
“Who shall account for women or for men?”
He said, “or who their secret thoughts explore?
“Why do I vex me? I will think no more.”
My lord of late had said, in manner kind,
“My good friend Harry, do not think us blind!”
Letters had pass'd, though he had nothing seen,
His careful father and my lord between,
But to what purpose was to him unknown—
It might be borough business, or their own.
Fanny, it seem'd, was now no more in dread,
If one approach'd, she neither fear'd nor fled:
He mused on this,—“But wherefore her alarm?
“She knows me better, and she dreads no harm.”
“My good friend Harry, do not think us blind!”
Letters had pass'd, though he had nothing seen,
His careful father and my lord between,
But to what purpose was to him unknown—
It might be borough business, or their own.
Fanny, it seem'd, was now no more in dread,
If one approach'd, she neither fear'd nor fled:
He mused on this,—“But wherefore her alarm?
“She knows me better, and she dreads no harm.”
Something his father wrote that gave him pain:
“I know not, son, if you should yet remain;—
“Be cautious, Harry, favours to procure
“We strain a point, but we must first be sure:
“Love is a folly,—that, indeed, is true,—
“But something still is to our honour due,
“So I must leave the thing to my good lord and you.”
“I know not, son, if you should yet remain;—
“Be cautious, Harry, favours to procure
“We strain a point, but we must first be sure:
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“But something still is to our honour due,
“So I must leave the thing to my good lord and you.”
But from Cecilia came remonstrance strong:—
“You write too darkly, and you stay too long;
“We hear reports; and, Henry, mark me well,—
“I heed not every tale that triflers tell;—
“Be you no trifler; dare not to believe
“That I am one whom words and vows deceive:
“You know your heart, your hazard you will learn,
“And this your trial—instantly return.”
“You write too darkly, and you stay too long;
“We hear reports; and, Henry, mark me well,—
“I heed not every tale that triflers tell;—
“Be you no trifler; dare not to believe
“That I am one whom words and vows deceive:
“You know your heart, your hazard you will learn,
“And this your trial—instantly return.”
“Unjust, injurious, jealous, cruel maid!
“Am I a slave, of haughty words afraid?
“Can she who thus commands expect to be obey'd?
“O! how unlike this dear assenting soul,
“Whose heart a man might at his will control?”
“Am I a slave, of haughty words afraid?
“Can she who thus commands expect to be obey'd?
“O! how unlike this dear assenting soul,
“Whose heart a man might at his will control?”
Uneasy, anxious, fill'd with self-reproof,
He now resolved to quit his patron's roof;
And then again his vacillating mind
To stay resolved, and that her pride should find;
Debating thus, his pen the lover took,
And chose the words of anger and rebuke.
He now resolved to quit his patron's roof;
And then again his vacillating mind
To stay resolved, and that her pride should find;
Debating thus, his pen the lover took,
And chose the words of anger and rebuke.
Again, yet once again, the conscious pair
Met, and “O speak!” was Fanny's silent prayer;
And, “I must speak,” said the embarrass'd youth,
“Must save my honour, must confess the truth:
“Then I must lose her; but, by slow degrees,
“She will regain her peace, and I my ease.”
Met, and “O speak!” was Fanny's silent prayer;
And, “I must speak,” said the embarrass'd youth,
“Must save my honour, must confess the truth:
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“She will regain her peace, and I my ease.”
Ah! foolish man: to virtue true nor vice,
He buys distress, and self-esteem the price;
And what his gain?—a tender smile and sigh
From a fond girl to feed his vanity.
Thus, every day they lived, and every time
They met, increased his anguish and his crime.
He buys distress, and self-esteem the price;
And what his gain?—a tender smile and sigh
From a fond girl to feed his vanity.
Thus, every day they lived, and every time
They met, increased his anguish and his crime.
Still in their meetings they were oft-times nigh
The darling theme, and then pass'd trembling by;
On those occasions Henry often tried
For the sad truth—and then his heart denied
The utterance due: thus daily he became
The prey of weakness, vanity, and shame.
The darling theme, and then pass'd trembling by;
On those occasions Henry often tried
For the sad truth—and then his heart denied
The utterance due: thus daily he became
The prey of weakness, vanity, and shame.
But soon a day, that was their doubts to close,
On the fond maid and thoughtless youth arose.
Within the park, beside the bounding brook,
The social pair their usual ramble took;
And there the steward found them: they could trace
News in his look, and gladness in his face.
On the fond maid and thoughtless youth arose.
Within the park, beside the bounding brook,
The social pair their usual ramble took;
And there the steward found them: they could trace
News in his look, and gladness in his face.
He was a man of riches, bluff and big,
With clean brown broad cloth, and with white cut wig:
He bore a cane of price, with riband tied,
And a fat spaniel waddled at his side:
To every being whom he met he gave
His looks expressive; civil, gay, or grave,
But condescending all; and each declared
How much he govern'd, and how well he fared.
With clean brown broad cloth, and with white cut wig:
He bore a cane of price, with riband tied,
And a fat spaniel waddled at his side:
To every being whom he met he gave
His looks expressive; civil, gay, or grave,
But condescending all; and each declared
How much he govern'd, and how well he fared.
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This great man bow'd, not humbly, but his bow
Appear'd familiar converse to allow:
The trembling Fanny, as he came in view,
Within the chestnut grove in fear withdrew;
While Henry wonder'd, not without a fear,
Of that which brought th' important man so near:
Doubt was dispersed by—“My esteem'd young man!”
As he with condescending grace began—
“Though you with youthful frankness nobly trust
“Your Fanny's friends, and doubtless think them just;
“Though you have not, with craving soul, applied
“To us, and ask'd the fortune of your bride,
“Be it our care that you shall not lament
“That love has made you so improvident.
Appear'd familiar converse to allow:
The trembling Fanny, as he came in view,
Within the chestnut grove in fear withdrew;
While Henry wonder'd, not without a fear,
Of that which brought th' important man so near:
Doubt was dispersed by—“My esteem'd young man!”
As he with condescending grace began—
“Though you with youthful frankness nobly trust
“Your Fanny's friends, and doubtless think them just;
“Though you have not, with craving soul, applied
“To us, and ask'd the fortune of your bride,
“Be it our care that you shall not lament
“That love has made you so improvident.
“An orphan maid—Your patience! you shall have
“Your time to speak, I now attention crave;—
“Fanny, dear girl! has in my spouse and me
“Friends of a kind we wish our friends to be,
“None of the poorest—nay, sir, no reply,
“You shall not need—and we are born to die;
“And one yet crawls on earth, of whom, I say,
“That what he has he cannot take away:
“Her mother's father, one who has a store
“Of this world's good, and always looks for more;
“But, next his money, loves the girl at heart,
“And she will have it when they come to part.”
“Your time to speak, I now attention crave;—
“Fanny, dear girl! has in my spouse and me
“Friends of a kind we wish our friends to be,
“None of the poorest—nay, sir, no reply,
“You shall not need—and we are born to die;
“And one yet crawls on earth, of whom, I say,
“That what he has he cannot take away:
“Her mother's father, one who has a store
“Of this world's good, and always looks for more;
“But, next his money, loves the girl at heart,
“And she will have it when they come to part.”
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“Sir,” said the Youth, his terrors all awake,
“Hear me, I pray, I beg,—for mercy's sake!
“Sir, were the secrets of my soul confess'd,
“Would you admit the truths that I protest
“Are such—your pardon—”
“Hear me, I pray, I beg,—for mercy's sake!
“Sir, were the secrets of my soul confess'd,
“Would you admit the truths that I protest
“Are such—your pardon—”
“Pardon! good, my friend,
“I not alone will pardon, I commend:
“Think you that I have no remembrance left
“Of youthful love, and Cupid's cunning theft?
“How nymphs will listen when their swains persuade,
“How hearts are gain'd, and how exchange is made?
“Come, sir, your hand—”
“I not alone will pardon, I commend:
“Think you that I have no remembrance left
“Of youthful love, and Cupid's cunning theft?
“How nymphs will listen when their swains persuade,
“How hearts are gain'd, and how exchange is made?
“Come, sir, your hand—”
“In mercy, hear me now!”—
“I cannot hear you, time will not allow:
“You know my station, what on me depends,
“For ever needed—but we part as friends;
“And here comes one who will the whole explain,
“My better self—and we shall meet again.”
“I cannot hear you, time will not allow:
“You know my station, what on me depends,
“For ever needed—but we part as friends;
“And here comes one who will the whole explain,
“My better self—and we shall meet again.”
“Sir, I entreat—”
“Then be entreaty made
“To her, a woman, one you may persuade;
“A little teasing, but she will comply,
“And loves her niece too fondly to deny.”
“To her, a woman, one you may persuade;
“A little teasing, but she will comply,
“And loves her niece too fondly to deny.”
“O! he is mad, and miserable I!”
Exclaim'd the Youth; “but let me now collect
“My scatter'd thoughts, I something must effect.”
Exclaim'd the Youth; “but let me now collect
“My scatter'd thoughts, I something must effect.”
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Hurrying she came—“Now, what has he confess'd,
‘Ere I could come to set your heart at rest?
“What! he has grieved you! Yet he, too, approves
“The thing! but man will tease you, if he loves.
“But now for business: tell me, did you think
“That we should always at your meetings wink?
“Think you, you walk'd unseen? There are who bring
“To me all secrets—O, you wicked thing!
“Poor Fanny! now I think I see her blush,
“All red and rosy, when I beat the bush;
“And hide your secret, said I, if you dare!
“So out it came, like an affrighten'd hare.
“Miss! said I, gravely; and the trembling maid
“Pleased me at heart to see her so afraid;
“And then she wept;—now, do remember this,
“Never to chide her when she does amiss;
“For she is tender as the callow bird,
“And cannot bear to have her temper stirr'd;—
“Fanny, I said, then whisper'd her the name,
“And caused such looks—Yes, yours are just the same;
“But hear my story—When your love was known
“For this our child—she is, in fact, our own—
“Then, first debating, we agreed at last
“To seek my Lord, and tell him what had past.”
‘Ere I could come to set your heart at rest?
“What! he has grieved you! Yet he, too, approves
“The thing! but man will tease you, if he loves.
“But now for business: tell me, did you think
“That we should always at your meetings wink?
“Think you, you walk'd unseen? There are who bring
“To me all secrets—O, you wicked thing!
“Poor Fanny! now I think I see her blush,
“All red and rosy, when I beat the bush;
“And hide your secret, said I, if you dare!
“So out it came, like an affrighten'd hare.
“Miss! said I, gravely; and the trembling maid
“Pleased me at heart to see her so afraid;
“And then she wept;—now, do remember this,
“Never to chide her when she does amiss;
“For she is tender as the callow bird,
“And cannot bear to have her temper stirr'd;—
“Fanny, I said, then whisper'd her the name,
“And caused such looks—Yes, yours are just the same;
“But hear my story—When your love was known
“For this our child—she is, in fact, our own—
“Then, first debating, we agreed at last
“To seek my Lord, and tell him what had past.”
“To tell the Earl?”
“Yes, truly, and why not?
“And then together we contrived our plot.”
“And then together we contrived our plot.”
66
“Eternal God!”
“Nay, be not so surprised,—
“In all the matter we were well advised;
“We saw my Lord, and Lady Jane was there,
“And said to Johnson, ‘Johnson, take a chair;’
“True, we are servants in a certain way,
“But in the higher places so are they;
“We are obey'd in ours, and they in theirs obey—
“So Johnson bow'd, for that was right and fit,
“And had no scruple with the Earl to sit—
“Why look you so impatient while I tell
“What they debated?—you must like it well.
“In all the matter we were well advised;
“We saw my Lord, and Lady Jane was there,
“And said to Johnson, ‘Johnson, take a chair;’
“True, we are servants in a certain way,
“But in the higher places so are they;
“We are obey'd in ours, and they in theirs obey—
“So Johnson bow'd, for that was right and fit,
“And had no scruple with the Earl to sit—
“Why look you so impatient while I tell
“What they debated?—you must like it well.
“‘Let them go on,’ our gracious Earl began;
“‘They will go off,’ said, joking, my good man:
“‘Well!’ said the Countess,—she's a lover's friend,—
“‘What if they do, they make the speedier end’—
“But be you more composed, for that dear child
“Is with her joy and apprehension wild:
“O! we have watch'd you on from day to day,
“‘There go the lovers!’ we were wont to say—
“But why that look?”—
“‘They will go off,’ said, joking, my good man:
“‘Well!’ said the Countess,—she's a lover's friend,—
“‘What if they do, they make the speedier end’—
“But be you more composed, for that dear child
“Is with her joy and apprehension wild:
“O! we have watch'd you on from day to day,
“‘There go the lovers!’ we were wont to say—
“But why that look?”—
“Dear madam, I implore
“A single moment!”—
“A single moment!”—
“I can give no more:
“Here are your letters—that's a female pen,
“Said I to Fanny.—‘'T is his sister's, then,’
“Replied the maid.—No! never must you stray;
“Or hide your wanderings, if you should, I pray;
“I know, at least I fear, the best may err,
“But keep the by-walks of your life from her:
“That youth should stray is nothing to be told,
“When they have sanction in the grave and old,
“Who have no call to wander and transgress,
“But very love of change and wantonness.
“Here are your letters—that's a female pen,
“Said I to Fanny.—‘'T is his sister's, then,’
“Replied the maid.—No! never must you stray;
“Or hide your wanderings, if you should, I pray;
“I know, at least I fear, the best may err,
“But keep the by-walks of your life from her:
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“When they have sanction in the grave and old,
“Who have no call to wander and transgress,
“But very love of change and wantonness.
“I prattle idly, while your letters wait,
“And then my Lord has much that he would state,
“All good to you—do clear that clouded face,
“And with good looks your lucky lot embrace.
“And then my Lord has much that he would state,
“All good to you—do clear that clouded face,
“And with good looks your lucky lot embrace.
“Now, mind that none with her divide your heart,
“For she would die ere lose the smallest part;
“And I rejoice that all has gone so well,
“For who th' effect of Johnson's rage can tell?
“He had his fears when you began to meet,
“But I assured him there was no deceit:
“He is a man who kindness will requite,
“But injured once, revenge is his delight;
“And he would spend the best of his estates
“To ruin, goods and body, them he hates;
“While he is kind enough when he approves
“A deed that's done, and serves the man he loves:
“Come, read your letters—I must now be gone,
“And think of matters that are coming on.”
“For she would die ere lose the smallest part;
“And I rejoice that all has gone so well,
“For who th' effect of Johnson's rage can tell?
“He had his fears when you began to meet,
“But I assured him there was no deceit:
“He is a man who kindness will requite,
“But injured once, revenge is his delight;
“And he would spend the best of his estates
“To ruin, goods and body, them he hates;
“While he is kind enough when he approves
“A deed that's done, and serves the man he loves:
“Come, read your letters—I must now be gone,
“And think of matters that are coming on.”
Henry was lost,—his brain confused, his soul
Dismay'd and sunk, his thoughts beyond control;
Borne on by terror, he foreboding read
Cecilia's letter! and his courage fled;
All was a gloomy, dark, and dreadful view,
He felt him guilty, but indignant too:—
And as he read, he felt the high disdain
Of injured men—“She may repent, in vain.”
Dismay'd and sunk, his thoughts beyond control;
Borne on by terror, he foreboding read
Cecilia's letter! and his courage fled;
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He felt him guilty, but indignant too:—
And as he read, he felt the high disdain
Of injured men—“She may repent, in vain.”
Cecilia much had heard, and told him all
That scandal taught—“A servant at the Hall,
“Or servant's daughter, in the kitchen bred,
“Whose father would not with her mother wed,
“Was now his choice! a blushing fool, the toy,
“Or the attempted, both of man and boy;
“More than suspected, but without the wit
“Or the allurements for such creatures fit;
“Not virtuous though unfeeling, cold as ice
“And yet not chaste, the weeping fool of vice;
“Yielding, not tender; feeble, not refined;
“Her form insipid, and without a mind.
That scandal taught—“A servant at the Hall,
“Or servant's daughter, in the kitchen bred,
“Whose father would not with her mother wed,
“Was now his choice! a blushing fool, the toy,
“Or the attempted, both of man and boy;
“More than suspected, but without the wit
“Or the allurements for such creatures fit;
“Not virtuous though unfeeling, cold as ice
“And yet not chaste, the weeping fool of vice;
“Yielding, not tender; feeble, not refined;
“Her form insipid, and without a mind.
“Rival! she spurn'd the word; but let him stay,
“Warn'd as he was! beyond the present day,
“Whate'er his patron might object to this,
“The uncle-butler, or the weeping miss—
“Let him from this one single day remain,
“And then return! he would to her, in vain;
“There let him then abide, to earn, or crave
“Food undeserved! and be with slaves a slave.”
“Warn'd as he was! beyond the present day,
“Whate'er his patron might object to this,
“The uncle-butler, or the weeping miss—
“Let him from this one single day remain,
“And then return! he would to her, in vain;
“There let him then abide, to earn, or crave
“Food undeserved! and be with slaves a slave.”
Had reason guided anger, govern'd zeal,
Or chosen words to make a lover feel,
She might have saved him—anger and abuse
Will but defiance and revenge produce.
Or chosen words to make a lover feel,
She might have saved him—anger and abuse
Will but defiance and revenge produce.
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“Unjust and cruel, insolent and proud!”
He said, indignant, and he spoke aloud.
“Butler! and servant! Gentlest of thy sex,
“Thou wouldst not thus a man who loved thee vex;
“Thou wouldst not thus to vile report give ear,
“Nor thus enraged for fancied crimes appear;
“I know not what, dear maid!—if thy soft smiles were here.”
He said, indignant, and he spoke aloud.
“Butler! and servant! Gentlest of thy sex,
“Thou wouldst not thus a man who loved thee vex;
“Thou wouldst not thus to vile report give ear,
“Nor thus enraged for fancied crimes appear;
“I know not what, dear maid!—if thy soft smiles were here.”
And then, that instant, there appear'd the maid,
By his sad looks in her approach dismay'd;
Such timid sweetness, and so wrong'd, did more
Than all her pleading tenderness before.
In that weak moment, when disdain and pride,
And fear and fondness, drew the man aside,
In this weak moment—“Wilt thou,” he began,
“Be mine?” and joy o'er all her features ran;
“I will!” she softly whisper'd; but the roar
Of cannon would not strike his spirit more;
Ev'n as his lips the lawless contract seal'd
He felt that conscience lost her seven-fold shield,
And honour fled; but still he spoke of love,
And all was joy in the consenting dove.
By his sad looks in her approach dismay'd;
Such timid sweetness, and so wrong'd, did more
Than all her pleading tenderness before.
In that weak moment, when disdain and pride,
And fear and fondness, drew the man aside,
In this weak moment—“Wilt thou,” he began,
“Be mine?” and joy o'er all her features ran;
“I will!” she softly whisper'd; but the roar
Of cannon would not strike his spirit more;
Ev'n as his lips the lawless contract seal'd
He felt that conscience lost her seven-fold shield,
And honour fled; but still he spoke of love,
And all was joy in the consenting dove.
That evening all in fond discourse was spent,
When the sad lover to his chamber went,
To think on what had past, to grieve and to repent.
Early he rose, and look'd with many a sigh
On the red light that fill'd the eastern sky;
Oft had he stood before, alert and gay,
To hail the glories of the new-born day:
But now dejected, languid, listless, low,
He saw the wind upon the water blow,
And the cold stream curl'd onward as the gale
From the pine-hill blew harshly down the dale;
On the right side the youth a wood survey'd,
With all its dark intensity of shade;
Where the rough wind alone was heard to move,
In this, the pause of nature and of love,
When now the young are rear'd, and when the old,
Lost to the tie, grow negligent and cold—
Far to the left he saw the huts of men,
Half hid in mist, that hung upon the fen;
Before him swallows, gathering for the sea,
Took their short flights, and twitter'd on the lea;
And near the bean-sheaf stood, the harvest done,
And slowly blacken'd in the sickly sun;
All these were sad in nature, or they took
Sadness from him, the likeness of his look,
And of his mind—he ponder'd for a while,
Then met his Fanny with a borrow'd smile.
When the sad lover to his chamber went,
To think on what had past, to grieve and to repent.
Early he rose, and look'd with many a sigh
On the red light that fill'd the eastern sky;
Oft had he stood before, alert and gay,
To hail the glories of the new-born day:
70
He saw the wind upon the water blow,
And the cold stream curl'd onward as the gale
From the pine-hill blew harshly down the dale;
On the right side the youth a wood survey'd,
With all its dark intensity of shade;
Where the rough wind alone was heard to move,
In this, the pause of nature and of love,
When now the young are rear'd, and when the old,
Lost to the tie, grow negligent and cold—
Far to the left he saw the huts of men,
Half hid in mist, that hung upon the fen;
Before him swallows, gathering for the sea,
Took their short flights, and twitter'd on the lea;
And near the bean-sheaf stood, the harvest done,
And slowly blacken'd in the sickly sun;
All these were sad in nature, or they took
Sadness from him, the likeness of his look,
And of his mind—he ponder'd for a while,
Then met his Fanny with a borrow'd smile.
Not much remain'd; for money and my Lord
Soon made the father of the youth accord;
His prudence half resisted, half obey'd,
And scorn kept still the guardians of the maid:
Cecilia never on the subject spoke,
She seem'd as one who from a dream awoke;
So all was peace, and soon the married pair
Fix'd with fair fortune in a mansion fair.
Soon made the father of the youth accord;
His prudence half resisted, half obey'd,
And scorn kept still the guardians of the maid:
Cecilia never on the subject spoke,
She seem'd as one who from a dream awoke;
So all was peace, and soon the married pair
Fix'd with fair fortune in a mansion fair.
Five years had pass'd, and what was Henry then?
The most repining of repenting men;
With a fond, teasing, anxious wife, afraid
Of all attention to another paid;
Yet powerless she her husband to amuse,
Lives but t' entreat, implore, resent, accuse;
Jealous and tender, conscious of defects,
She merits little, and yet much expects;
She looks for love that now she cannot see,
And sighs for joy that never more can be;
On his retirements her complaints intrude,
And fond reproof endears his solitude:
While he her weakness (once her kindness) sees,
And his affections in her languor freeze;
Regret, uncheck'd by hope, devours his mind,
He feels unhappy, and he grows unkind.
The most repining of repenting men;
71
Of all attention to another paid;
Yet powerless she her husband to amuse,
Lives but t' entreat, implore, resent, accuse;
Jealous and tender, conscious of defects,
She merits little, and yet much expects;
She looks for love that now she cannot see,
And sighs for joy that never more can be;
On his retirements her complaints intrude,
And fond reproof endears his solitude:
While he her weakness (once her kindness) sees,
And his affections in her languor freeze;
Regret, uncheck'd by hope, devours his mind,
He feels unhappy, and he grows unkind.
“Fool! to be taken by a rosy cheek,
“And eyes that cease to sparkle or to speak;
“Fool! for this child my freedom to resign,
“When one the glory of her sex was mine;
“While from this burden to my soul I hide,
“To think what Fate has dealt, and what denied.
“And eyes that cease to sparkle or to speak;
“Fool! for this child my freedom to resign,
“When one the glory of her sex was mine;
“While from this burden to my soul I hide,
“To think what Fate has dealt, and what denied.
“What fiend possess'd me when I tamely gave
‘My forced assent to be an idiot's slave?
“Her beauty vanish'd, what for me remains?
“Th' eternal clicking of the galling chains:
“Her person truly I may think my own,
“Seen without pleasure, without triumph shown:
“Doleful she sits, her children at her knees,
“And gives up all her feeble powers to please;
“Whom I, unmoved, or moved with scorn, behold,
“Melting as ice, as vapid and as cold.”
‘My forced assent to be an idiot's slave?
“Her beauty vanish'd, what for me remains?
“Th' eternal clicking of the galling chains:
“Her person truly I may think my own,
“Seen without pleasure, without triumph shown:
“Doleful she sits, her children at her knees,
“And gives up all her feeble powers to please;
“Whom I, unmoved, or moved with scorn, behold,
“Melting as ice, as vapid and as cold.”
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Such was his fate, and he must yet endure
The self-contempt that no self-love can cure:
Some business call'd him to a wealthy town
When unprepared for more than Fortune's frown;
There at a house he gave his luckless name,
The master absent, and Cecilia came;
Unhappy man! he could not, dared not speak,
But look'd around, as if retreat to seek:
This she allow'd not; but, with brow severe,
Ask'd him his business, sternly bent to hear;
He had no courage, but he view'd that face
As if he sought for sympathy and grace;
As if some kind returning thought to trace:
In vain; not long he waited, but with air,
That of all grace compell'd him to despair,
She rang the bell, and, when a servant came,
Left the repentant traitor to his shame;
But, going, spoke, “Attend this person out,
“And if he speaks, hear what he comes about!”
Then, with cool curtsy, from the room withdrew,
That seem'd to say, “Unhappy man, adieu!”
The self-contempt that no self-love can cure:
Some business call'd him to a wealthy town
When unprepared for more than Fortune's frown;
There at a house he gave his luckless name,
The master absent, and Cecilia came;
Unhappy man! he could not, dared not speak,
But look'd around, as if retreat to seek:
This she allow'd not; but, with brow severe,
Ask'd him his business, sternly bent to hear;
He had no courage, but he view'd that face
As if he sought for sympathy and grace;
As if some kind returning thought to trace:
In vain; not long he waited, but with air,
That of all grace compell'd him to despair,
She rang the bell, and, when a servant came,
Left the repentant traitor to his shame;
But, going, spoke, “Attend this person out,
“And if he speaks, hear what he comes about!”
Then, with cool curtsy, from the room withdrew,
That seem'd to say, “Unhappy man, adieu!”
Thus will it be when man permits a vice
First to invade his heart, and then entice;
When wishes vain and undefined arise,
And that weak heart deceive, seduce, surprise
When evil Fortune works on Folly's side,
And rash Resentment adds a spur to Pride;
Then life's long troubles from those actions come,
In which a moment may decide our doom.
First to invade his heart, and then entice;
When wishes vain and undefined arise,
And that weak heart deceive, seduce, surprise
73
And rash Resentment adds a spur to Pride;
Then life's long troubles from those actions come,
In which a moment may decide our doom.
75
BOOK XIV. THE NATURAL DEATH OF LOVE.
76
The Rector of the Parish—His Manner of teaching—Of living—Richard's Correspondence—The Letters received—Love that survives Marriage—That dies in consequence—That is permitted to die for Want of Care—Henry and Emma, a Dialogue—Complaints on either Side—and Replies —Mutual Accusation—Defence of acknowledged Error—Means of restoring Happiness—The one to be adopted.
77
Richard one month had with his Brother been,
And had his guests, his friends, his favourites seen;
Had heard the Rector, who with decent force,
But not of action, aided his discourse:
“A moral teacher!” some, contemptuous, cried;
He smiled, but nothing of the fact denied,
Nor, save by his fair life, to charge so strong replied.
Still, though he bade them not on aught rely
That was their own, but all their worth deny,
They call'd his pure advice his cold morality;
And though he felt that earnestness and zeal,
That made some portion of his hearers feel,
Nay, though he loved the minds of men to lead
To the great points that form the Christian's creed,
Still he offended, for he would discuss
Points that to him seem'd requisite for us;
And urge his flock to virtue, though he knew
The very heathen taught the virtues too:
And had his guests, his friends, his favourites seen;
Had heard the Rector, who with decent force,
But not of action, aided his discourse:
“A moral teacher!” some, contemptuous, cried;
He smiled, but nothing of the fact denied,
Nor, save by his fair life, to charge so strong replied.
Still, though he bade them not on aught rely
That was their own, but all their worth deny,
They call'd his pure advice his cold morality;
And though he felt that earnestness and zeal,
That made some portion of his hearers feel,
Nay, though he loved the minds of men to lead
To the great points that form the Christian's creed,
Still he offended, for he would discuss
Points that to him seem'd requisite for us;
And urge his flock to virtue, though he knew
The very heathen taught the virtues too:
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Nor was this moral minister afraid
To ask of inspiration's self the aid
Of truths by him so sturdily maintain'd,
That some confusion in the parish reign'd:
“Heathens,” they said, “can tell us right from wrong,
“But to a Christian higher points belong.”
Yet Jacques proceeded, void of fear and shame,
In his old method, and obtain'd the name
Of Moral Preacher—yet they all agreed,
Whatever error had defiled his creed,
His life was pure, and him they could commend,
Not as their guide, indeed, but as their friend:
Truth, justice, pity, and a love of peace,
Were his—but there must approbation cease;
He either did not, or he would not see,
That if he meant a favourite priest to be,
He must not show, but learn of them, the way
To truth—he must not dictate, but obey.
They wish'd him not to bring them further light,
But to convince them that they now were right,
And to assert that justice will condemn
All who presumed to disagree with them:
In this he fail'd; and his the greater blame,
For he persisted, void of fear or shame.
To ask of inspiration's self the aid
Of truths by him so sturdily maintain'd,
That some confusion in the parish reign'd:
“Heathens,” they said, “can tell us right from wrong,
“But to a Christian higher points belong.”
Yet Jacques proceeded, void of fear and shame,
In his old method, and obtain'd the name
Of Moral Preacher—yet they all agreed,
Whatever error had defiled his creed,
His life was pure, and him they could commend,
Not as their guide, indeed, but as their friend:
Truth, justice, pity, and a love of peace,
Were his—but there must approbation cease;
He either did not, or he would not see,
That if he meant a favourite priest to be,
He must not show, but learn of them, the way
To truth—he must not dictate, but obey.
They wish'd him not to bring them further light,
But to convince them that they now were right,
And to assert that justice will condemn
All who presumed to disagree with them:
In this he fail'd; and his the greater blame,
For he persisted, void of fear or shame.
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Him Richard heard, and by his friendly aid
Were pleasant views observed and visits paid;
He to peculiar people found his way,
And had his question answer'd, “Who are they?”
Were pleasant views observed and visits paid;
80
And had his question answer'd, “Who are they?”
Twice in the week came letters, and delight
Beam'd in the eye of Richard at the sight;
Letters of love, all full and running o'er,
The paper fill'd till it could hold no more;
Cross'd with discolour'd ink, the doublings full,
No fear that love should find abundance dull;
Love reads unsated all that love inspires,
When most indulged, indulgence still requires;
Looks what the corners, what the crossings tell,
And lifts each folding for a fond farewell.
Beam'd in the eye of Richard at the sight;
Letters of love, all full and running o'er,
The paper fill'd till it could hold no more;
Cross'd with discolour'd ink, the doublings full,
No fear that love should find abundance dull;
Love reads unsated all that love inspires,
When most indulged, indulgence still requires;
Looks what the corners, what the crossings tell,
And lifts each folding for a fond farewell.
George saw and smiled—“To lovers we allow
“All this o'erflowing, but a husband thou!
“A father too; can time create no change?
“Married, and still so foolish?—very strange!
“What of this wife or mistress is the art?”—
“The simple truth, my Brother, to impart,
“Her heart, whene'er she writes, feels writing to a heart.”—
“Fortune, dear Richard, is thy friend—a wife
“Like thine must soften every care of life,
“And all its woes—I know a pair whose lives
“Run in the common track of men and wives;
“And half their worth, at least, this pair would give
“Could they like thee and thy Matilda live.
“All this o'erflowing, but a husband thou!
“A father too; can time create no change?
“Married, and still so foolish?—very strange!
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“The simple truth, my Brother, to impart,
“Her heart, whene'er she writes, feels writing to a heart.”—
“Fortune, dear Richard, is thy friend—a wife
“Like thine must soften every care of life,
“And all its woes—I know a pair whose lives
“Run in the common track of men and wives;
“And half their worth, at least, this pair would give
“Could they like thee and thy Matilda live.
“They were, as lovers, of the fondest kind,
“With no defects in manner or in mind;
“In habit, temper, prudence, they were those
“Whom, as examples, I could once propose;
“Now this, when married, you no longer trace,
“But discontent and sorrow in the place:
“Their pictures, taken as the pair I saw
“In a late contest, I have tried to draw;
“'Tis but a sketch, and at my idle time
“I put my couple in the garb of rhyme:
“Thou art a critic of the milder sort,
“And thou wilt judge with favour my report.
“With no defects in manner or in mind;
“In habit, temper, prudence, they were those
“Whom, as examples, I could once propose;
“Now this, when married, you no longer trace,
“But discontent and sorrow in the place:
“Their pictures, taken as the pair I saw
“In a late contest, I have tried to draw;
“'Tis but a sketch, and at my idle time
“I put my couple in the garb of rhyme:
“Thou art a critic of the milder sort,
“And thou wilt judge with favour my report.
“Let me premise, twelve months have flown away,
“Swiftly or sadly, since the happy day.
“Swiftly or sadly, since the happy day.
“Let us suppose the couple left to spend
“Some hours without engagement or a friend;
“And be it likewise on our mind impress'd,
‘They pass for persons happy and at rest;
“Their love by Hymen crown'd, and all their prospects bless'd.
“Love has slow death and sudden: wretches prove
“Some hours without engagement or a friend;
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‘They pass for persons happy and at rest;
“Their love by Hymen crown'd, and all their prospects bless'd.
“That fate severe—the sudden death of love;
“It is as if, on day serenely bright,
“Came with its horrors instantaneous night;
“Others there are with whom love dies away
“In gradual waste and unperceived decay;
“Such is that death of love that nature finds
“Most fitted for the use of common minds,
“The natural death; but doubtless there are some
“Who struggle hard when they perceive it come;
“Loth to be loved no longer, loth to prove
“To the once dear that they no longer love:
“And some with not successless arts will strive
“To keep the weak'ning, fluttering flame alive.
“But see my verse; in this I try to paint
“The passion failing, fading to complaint,
“The gathering grief for joys remember'd yet,
“The vain remonstrance, and the weak regret:
“First speaks the wife in sorrow, she is grieved
“T' admit the truth, and would be still deceived.”
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HENRY AND EMMA.
E.Well, my good sir, I shall contend no more;
But, O! the vows you made, the oaths you swore—
H.
To love you always:—I confess it true;
And do I not? If not, what can I do?
Moreover, think what you yourself profess'd,
And then the subject may for ever rest.
E.
Yes, sir, obedience I profess'd; I know
My debt, and wish to pay you all I owe,
Pay without murmur; but that vow was made
To you who said it never should be paid;—
Now truly tell me why you took such care
To make me err? I ask'd you not to swear,
But rather hoped you would my mind direct,
And say, when married, what you would expect.
My debt, and wish to pay you all I owe,
Pay without murmur; but that vow was made
To you who said it never should be paid;—
Now truly tell me why you took such care
To make me err? I ask'd you not to swear,
But rather hoped you would my mind direct,
And say, when married, what you would expect.
You may remember—it is not so long
Since you affirm'd that I could not be wrong;
I told you then—you recollect, I told
The very truth—that humour would not hold;
Not that I thought, or ever could suppose,
The mighty raptures were so soon to close—
Poetic flights of love all sunk in sullen prose.
Since you affirm'd that I could not be wrong;
I told you then—you recollect, I told
The very truth—that humour would not hold;
Not that I thought, or ever could suppose,
The mighty raptures were so soon to close—
Poetic flights of love all sunk in sullen prose.
Do you remember how you used to hang
Upon my looks? your transports when I sang?
I play'd—you melted into tears; I moved—
Voice, words, and motion, how you all approved;
A time when Emma reign'd, a time when Henry loved:
You recollect?
Upon my looks? your transports when I sang?
84
Voice, words, and motion, how you all approved;
A time when Emma reign'd, a time when Henry loved:
You recollect?
H.
Yes, surely; and then why
The needless truths? do I the facts deny?
For this remonstrance I can see no need,
Or this impatience—if you do, proceed.
E.
O! that is now so cool, and with a smile
That sharpens insult—I detest the style;
And, now I talk of styles, with what delight
You read my lines—I then, it seems, could write:
In short, when I was present, you could see,
But one dear object, and you lived for me;
And now, sir, what your pleasure? Let me dress,
Sing, speak, or write, and you your sense express
Of my poor taste—my words are not correct;
In all I do is failing or defect—
Some error you will seek, some blunder will detect;
And what can such dissatisfaction prove?
I tell you, Henry, you have ceased to love.
H.
I own it not; but if a truth it be,
It is the fault of nature, not of me.
Remember you, my love, the fairy tale,
Where the young pairs were spell-bound in the vale?
When all around them gay or glorious seem'd,
And of bright views and ceaseless joys they dream'd?
Young love and infant life no more could give—
They said but half, when they exclaim'd, “We live!”
All was so light, so lovely, so serene,
And not a trouble to be heard or seen;
Till, melting into truth, the vision fled,
And there came miry roads and thorny ways instead.
It is the fault of nature, not of me.
Remember you, my love, the fairy tale,
Where the young pairs were spell-bound in the vale?
When all around them gay or glorious seem'd,
And of bright views and ceaseless joys they dream'd?
85
They said but half, when they exclaim'd, “We live!”
All was so light, so lovely, so serene,
And not a trouble to be heard or seen;
Till, melting into truth, the vision fled,
And there came miry roads and thorny ways instead.
Such was our fate, my charmer! we were found
A wandering pair, by roguish Cupid bound;
All that I saw was gifted to inspire
Grand views of bliss, and wake intense desire
Of joys that never pall, of flights that never tire;
There was that purple light of love, that bloom,
That ardent passions in their growth assume,
That pure enjoyment of the soul—O! weak
Are words such loves and glowing thoughts to speak!
I sought to praise thee, and I felt disdain
Of my own effort; all attempts were vain.
A wandering pair, by roguish Cupid bound;
All that I saw was gifted to inspire
Grand views of bliss, and wake intense desire
Of joys that never pall, of flights that never tire;
There was that purple light of love, that bloom,
That ardent passions in their growth assume,
That pure enjoyment of the soul—O! weak
Are words such loves and glowing thoughts to speak!
I sought to praise thee, and I felt disdain
Of my own effort; all attempts were vain.
Nor they alone were charming; by that light
All loved of thee grew lovely in my sight;
Sweet influence not its own in every place
Was found, and there was found in all things grace;
Thy shrubs and plants were seen new bloom to bear,
Not the Arabian sweets so fragrant were,
Nor Eden's self, if aught with Eden might compare.
All loved of thee grew lovely in my sight;
Sweet influence not its own in every place
Was found, and there was found in all things grace;
Thy shrubs and plants were seen new bloom to bear,
Not the Arabian sweets so fragrant were,
Nor Eden's self, if aught with Eden might compare.
You went the church-way walk, you reach'd the farm,
And gave the grass and babbling springs a charm;
Crop, whom you rode,—sad rider though you be,—
Thenceforth was more than Pegasus to me:
Have I not woo'd your snarling cur to bend
To me the paw and greeting of a friend?
And all his surly ugliness forgave,
Because, like me, he was my Emma's slave?
Think you, thus charm'd, I would the spell revoke?
Alas! my love, we married, and it broke!
And gave the grass and babbling springs a charm;
86
Thenceforth was more than Pegasus to me:
Have I not woo'd your snarling cur to bend
To me the paw and greeting of a friend?
And all his surly ugliness forgave,
Because, like me, he was my Emma's slave?
Think you, thus charm'd, I would the spell revoke?
Alas! my love, we married, and it broke!
Yet no deceit or falsehood stain'd my breast,
What I asserted might a saint attest;
Fair, dear, and good thou wert, nay, fairest, dearest, best;
Nor shame, nor guilt, nor falsehood I avow,
But 'tis by heaven's own light I see thee now;
And if that light will all those glories chase,
'Tis not my wish that will the good replace
What I asserted might a saint attest;
Fair, dear, and good thou wert, nay, fairest, dearest, best;
Nor shame, nor guilt, nor falsehood I avow,
But 'tis by heaven's own light I see thee now;
And if that light will all those glories chase,
'Tis not my wish that will the good replace
E.
O! sir, this boyish tale is mighty well,
But 'twas your falsehood that destroy'd the spell:
Speak not of nature, 'tis an evil mind
That makes you to accustom'd beauties blind;
You seek the faults yourself, and then complain you find.
H.
I sought them not; but, madam, 'tis in vain
The course of love and nature to restrain:
Lo! when the buds expand the leaves are green,
Then the first opening of the flower is seen;
Then comes the honied breath and rosy smile,
That with their sweets the willing sense beguile;
But, as we look, and love, and taste, and praise,
And the fruit grows, the charming flower decays;
Till all is gather'd, and the wintry blast
Moans o'er the place of love and pleasure past.
The course of love and nature to restrain:
Lo! when the buds expand the leaves are green,
Then the first opening of the flower is seen;
Then comes the honied breath and rosy smile,
That with their sweets the willing sense beguile;
87
And the fruit grows, the charming flower decays;
Till all is gather'd, and the wintry blast
Moans o'er the place of love and pleasure past.
So 'tis with beauty—such the opening grace
And dawn of glory in the youthful face;
Then are the charms unfolded to the sight,
Then all is loveliness and all delight;
The nuptial tie succeeds the genial hour,
And, lo! the falling off of beauty's flower;
So, through all nature is the progress made,—
The bud, the bloom, the fruit,—and then we fade.
And dawn of glory in the youthful face;
Then are the charms unfolded to the sight,
Then all is loveliness and all delight;
The nuptial tie succeeds the genial hour,
And, lo! the falling off of beauty's flower;
So, through all nature is the progress made,—
The bud, the bloom, the fruit,—and then we fade.
Then sigh no more,—we might as well retain
The year's gay prime as bid that love remain,
That fond, delusive, happy, transient spell,
That hides us from a world wherein we dwell,
And forms and fits us for that fairy ground,
Where charming dreams and gay conceits abound;
Till comes at length th' awakening strife and care,
That we, as tried and toiling men, must share.
The year's gay prime as bid that love remain,
That fond, delusive, happy, transient spell,
That hides us from a world wherein we dwell,
And forms and fits us for that fairy ground,
Where charming dreams and gay conceits abound;
Till comes at length th' awakening strife and care,
That we, as tried and toiling men, must share.
E.
O! sir, I must not think that heaven approves
Ungrateful man or unrequited loves;
Nor that we less are fitted for our parts
By having tender souls and feeling hearts.
H.
Come, my dear friend, and let us not refuse
The good we have, by grief for that we lose;
But let us both the very truth confess;
This must relieve the ill, and may redress.
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O! much I fear! I practised no deceit,
Such as I am I saw you at my feet:
If for a goddess you a girl would take,
'T is you yourself the disappointment make.
H.
And I alone?—O! Emma, when I pray'd
For grace from thee, transported and afraid,
Now raised to rapture, now to terror doom'd,
Was not the goddess by the girl assumed?
Did not my Emma use her skill to hide—
Let us be frank—her weakness and her pride?
Did she not all her sex's arts pursue,
To bring the angel forward to my view?
Was not the rising anger oft suppress'd?
Was not the waking passion hush'd to rest?
And when so mildly sweet you look'd and spoke,
Did not the woman deign to wear a cloak?
A cloak she wore, or, though not clear my sight,
I might have seen her—think you not I might?
E.
O! this is glorious!—while your passion lives,
To the loved maid a robe of grace it gives;
And then, unjust! beholds her with surprise,
Unrobed, ungracious, when the passion dies.
H.
For this, my Emma, I to Heaven appeal,
I felt entirely what I seem'd to feel;
Thou wert all precious in my sight, to me
The being angels are supposed to be;
And am I now of my deception told,
Because I'm doom'd a woman to behold?
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Sir! in few words, I would a question ask—
Mean these reproaches that I wore a mask?
Mean you that I by art or caution tried
To show a virtue, or a fault to hide?
H.
I will obey you.—When you seem'd to feel
Those books we read, and praised them with such zeal,
Approving all that certain friends approved,
Was it the pages or the praise you loved?
Nay, do not frown—I much rejoiced to find
Such early judgment in such gentle mind;
But, since we married, have you deign'd to look
On the grave subjects of one favourite book?
Or have the once applauded pages power
T' engage their warm approver for an hour?
Those books we read, and praised them with such zeal,
Approving all that certain friends approved,
Was it the pages or the praise you loved?
Nay, do not frown—I much rejoiced to find
Such early judgment in such gentle mind;
But, since we married, have you deign'd to look
On the grave subjects of one favourite book?
Or have the once applauded pages power
T' engage their warm approver for an hour?
Nay, hear me further.—When we view'd that dell,
Where lie those ruins—you must know it well—
When that worn pediment your walk delay'd,
And the stream gushing through the arch decay'd;
When at the venerable pile you stood,
Till the does ventured on our solitude,
We were so still! before the growing day
Call'd us reluctant from our seat away—
Tell me, was all the feeling you express'd
The genuine feeling of my Emma's breast?
Or was it borrow'd, that her faithful slave
The higher notion of her taste might have?
So may I judge, for of that lovely scene
The married Emma has no witness been;
No more beheld that water, falling, flow
Through the green fern that there delights to grow.
Where lie those ruins—you must know it well—
When that worn pediment your walk delay'd,
And the stream gushing through the arch decay'd;
When at the venerable pile you stood,
Till the does ventured on our solitude,
We were so still! before the growing day
Call'd us reluctant from our seat away—
Tell me, was all the feeling you express'd
The genuine feeling of my Emma's breast?
Or was it borrow'd, that her faithful slave
The higher notion of her taste might have?
So may I judge, for of that lovely scene
The married Emma has no witness been;
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Through the green fern that there delights to grow.
Once more permit me—Well, I know, you feel
For suffering men, and would their sufferings heal,
But when at certain huts you chose to call,
At certain seasons, was compassion all?
I there beheld thee, to the wretched dear
As angels to expiring saints appear
When whispering hope—I saw an infant press'd
And hush'd to slumber on my Emma's breast!
Hush'd be each rude suggestion!—Well I know
With a free hand your bounty you bestow;
And to these objects frequent comforts send,
But still they see not now their pitying friend.
A merchant, Emma, when his wealth he states,
Though rich, is faulty if he over-rates
His real store; and, gaining greater trust
For the deception, should we deem him just?
For suffering men, and would their sufferings heal,
But when at certain huts you chose to call,
At certain seasons, was compassion all?
I there beheld thee, to the wretched dear
As angels to expiring saints appear
When whispering hope—I saw an infant press'd
And hush'd to slumber on my Emma's breast!
Hush'd be each rude suggestion!—Well I know
With a free hand your bounty you bestow;
And to these objects frequent comforts send,
But still they see not now their pitying friend.
A merchant, Emma, when his wealth he states,
Though rich, is faulty if he over-rates
His real store; and, gaining greater trust
For the deception, should we deem him just?
If in your singleness of heart you hide
No flaw or frailty, when your truth is tried,
And time has drawn aside the veil of love,
We may be sorry, but we must approve;
The fancied charms no more our praise compel,
But doubly shines the worth that stands so well.
No flaw or frailty, when your truth is tried,
And time has drawn aside the veil of love,
We may be sorry, but we must approve;
The fancied charms no more our praise compel,
But doubly shines the worth that stands so well.
E.
O! precious are you all, and prizes too,
Or could we take such guilty pains for you?
Believe it not—As long as passion lasts,
A charm about the chosen maid it casts;
And the poor girl has little more to do
Than just to keep in sight as you pursue:
Chance to a ruin leads her; you behold,
And straight the angel of her taste is told;
Chance to a cottage leads you, and you trace
A virtuous pity in the angel's face;
She reads a work you chance to recommend,
And likes it well—at least, she likes the friend;
But when it chances this no more is done,
She has not left one virtue—no! not one!
Or could we take such guilty pains for you?
Believe it not—As long as passion lasts,
A charm about the chosen maid it casts;
And the poor girl has little more to do
Than just to keep in sight as you pursue:
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And straight the angel of her taste is told;
Chance to a cottage leads you, and you trace
A virtuous pity in the angel's face;
She reads a work you chance to recommend,
And likes it well—at least, she likes the friend;
But when it chances this no more is done,
She has not left one virtue—no! not one!
But be it said, good sir, we use such art,
Is it not done to hold a fickle heart,
And fix a roving eye? Is that design
Shameful or wicked that would keep you mine?
If I confess the art, I would proceed
To say of such that every maid has need.
Is it not done to hold a fickle heart,
And fix a roving eye? Is that design
Shameful or wicked that would keep you mine?
If I confess the art, I would proceed
To say of such that every maid has need.
Then when you flatter—in your language—praise,
In our own view you must our value raise;
And must we not, to this mistaken man,
Appear as like his picture as we can?
If you will call—nay, treat us as divine,
Must we not something to your thoughts incline?
If men of sense will worship whom they love,
Think you the idol will the error prove?
What! show him all her glory is pretence,
And make an idiot of this man of sense?
In our own view you must our value raise;
And must we not, to this mistaken man,
Appear as like his picture as we can?
If you will call—nay, treat us as divine,
Must we not something to your thoughts incline?
If men of sense will worship whom they love,
Think you the idol will the error prove?
What! show him all her glory is pretence,
And make an idiot of this man of sense?
Then, too, suppose we should his praise refuse,
And clear his mind, we may our lover lose;
In fact, you make us more than nature makes,
And we, no doubt, consent to your mistakes;
You will, we know, until the frenzy cools,
Enjoy the transient paradise of fools;
But fancy fled, you quit the blissful state,
And truth for ever bars the golden gate.
And clear his mind, we may our lover lose;
In fact, you make us more than nature makes,
And we, no doubt, consent to your mistakes;
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Enjoy the transient paradise of fools;
But fancy fled, you quit the blissful state,
And truth for ever bars the golden gate.
H.
True! but how ill each other to upbraid,
'T is not our fault that we no longer staid;
No sudden fate our lingering love suppress'd,
It died an easy death, and calmly sank to rest:
To either sex is the delusion lent,
And when it fails us, we should rest content,
'T is cruel to reproach, when bootless to repent.
E.
Then wise the lovers who consent to wait,
And always lingering, never try the state;
But hurried on, by what they call their pain,
And I their bliss, no longer they refrain;
To ease that pain, to lose that bliss, they run
To the church magi, and the thing is done;
A spell is utter'd, and a ring applied,
And forth they walk a bridegroom and a bride,
To find this counter-charm, this marriage rite,
Has put their present fallacies to flight!
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May we not bid the happy dream revive?
H.
Alas! they say when weakness or when vice
Expels a foolish pair from Paradise,
The guardian power to prayer has no regard,
The knowledge once obtain'd, the gate is barr'd;
Or could we enter we should still repine,
Unless we could the knowledge too resign.
Yet let us calmly view our present fate,
And make a humbler Eden of our state;
With this advantage, that what now we gain,
Experience gives, and prudence will retain.
E.
Ah! much I doubt—when you in fury broke
That lovely vase by one impassion'd stroke,
And thousand china fragments met my sight,
Till rising anger put my grief to flight;
As well might you the beauteous jar repiece,
As joy renew and bid vexation cease.
H.
Why then 't is wisdom, Emma, not to keep
These griefs in memory; they had better sleep.
These griefs in memory; they had better sleep.
There was a time when this heaven-guarded isle,
Whose valleys flourish—nay, whose mountains smile,
Was sterile, wild, deform'd, and beings rude
Creatures scarce wilder than themselves pursued;
The sea was heard around a waste to howl,
The night-wolf answer'd to the whooting owl,
And all was wretched—Yet who now surveys
The land, withholds his wonder and his praise?
Come, let us try and make our moral view
Improve like this—this have we power to do.
Whose valleys flourish—nay, whose mountains smile,
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Creatures scarce wilder than themselves pursued;
The sea was heard around a waste to howl,
The night-wolf answer'd to the whooting owl,
And all was wretched—Yet who now surveys
The land, withholds his wonder and his praise?
Come, let us try and make our moral view
Improve like this—this have we power to do.
E.
O! I'll be all forgetful, deaf and dumb,
And all you wish, to have these changes come.
H.
And come they may, if not as heretofore,
We cannot all the lovely vase restore;
What we beheld in Love's perspective glass
Has pass'd away—one sigh! and let it pass—
It was a blissful vision, and it fled,
And we must get some actual good instead:
Of good and evil that we daily find,—
That we must hoard, this banish from the mind;
The food of Love, that food on which he thrives,
To find must be the business of our lives;
And when we know what Love delights to see,
We must his guardians and providers be.
We cannot all the lovely vase restore;
What we beheld in Love's perspective glass
Has pass'd away—one sigh! and let it pass—
It was a blissful vision, and it fled,
And we must get some actual good instead:
Of good and evil that we daily find,—
That we must hoard, this banish from the mind;
The food of Love, that food on which he thrives,
To find must be the business of our lives;
And when we know what Love delights to see,
We must his guardians and providers be.
As careful peasants, with incessant toil,
Bring earth to vines in bare and rocky soil,
And, as they raise with care each scanty heap,
Think of the purple clusters they shall reap;
So those accretions to the mind we'll bring,
Whence fond regard and just esteem will spring;
Then, though we backward look with some regret
On those first joys, we shall be happy yet.
Each on the other must in all depend,
The kind adviser, the unfailing friend;
Through the rough world we must each other aid,
Leading and led, obeying and obey'd;
Favour'd and favouring, eager to believe
What should be truth—unwilling to perceive
What might offend—determin'd to remove
What has offended; wisely to improve
What pleases yet, and guard returning love.
Bring earth to vines in bare and rocky soil,
And, as they raise with care each scanty heap,
Think of the purple clusters they shall reap;
So those accretions to the mind we'll bring,
Whence fond regard and just esteem will spring;
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On those first joys, we shall be happy yet.
Each on the other must in all depend,
The kind adviser, the unfailing friend;
Through the rough world we must each other aid,
Leading and led, obeying and obey'd;
Favour'd and favouring, eager to believe
What should be truth—unwilling to perceive
What might offend—determin'd to remove
What has offended; wisely to improve
What pleases yet, and guard returning love.
Nor doubt, my Emma, but in many an hour
Fancy, who sleeps, shall wake with all her power;
And we shall pass—though not perhaps remain—
To fairy-land, and feel its charm again.
Fancy, who sleeps, shall wake with all her power;
And we shall pass—though not perhaps remain—
To fairy-land, and feel its charm again.
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BOOK XV. GRETNA GREEN.
98
Richard meets an Acquaintance of his Youth—The Kind of Meeting—His School—The Doctor Sidmere and his Family—Belwood, a Pupil—The Doctor's Opinion of him—The Opinion of his Wife—and of his Daughter—Consultation —The Lovers—Flight to Gretna Green—Return no more—The Doctor and his Lady—Belwood and his Wife—the Doctor reflects—Goes to his Son-in-Law— His Reception and Return.
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“I met,” said Richard, when return'd to dine,
“In my excursion, with a friend of mine;
“Friend! I mistake,—but yet I knew him well,
“Ours was the village where he came to dwell:
“He was an orphan born to wealth, and then
“Placed in the guardian-care of cautious men;
“When our good parent, who was kindness all,
“Fed and caress'd him when he chose to call;
“And this he loved, for he was always one
“For whom some pleasant service must be done,
“Or he was sullen.—He would come and play
“At his own time, and at his pleasure stay;
“But our kind parent soothed him as a boy
“Without a friend; she loved he should enjoy
“A day of ease, and strove to give his mind employ:
“She had but seldom the desired success,
“And therefore parting troubled her the less;
“Two years he there remain'd, then went his way,
“I think to school, and him I met to-day.
“In my excursion, with a friend of mine;
“Friend! I mistake,—but yet I knew him well,
“Ours was the village where he came to dwell:
“He was an orphan born to wealth, and then
“Placed in the guardian-care of cautious men;
“When our good parent, who was kindness all,
“Fed and caress'd him when he chose to call;
“And this he loved, for he was always one
“For whom some pleasant service must be done,
“Or he was sullen.—He would come and play
“At his own time, and at his pleasure stay;
“But our kind parent soothed him as a boy
“Without a friend; she loved he should enjoy
“A day of ease, and strove to give his mind employ:
“She had but seldom the desired success,
“And therefore parting troubled her the less;
“Two years he there remain'd, then went his way,
“I think to school, and him I met to-day.
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“I heard his name, or he had pass'd unknown,
“And, without scruple, I divulged my own;
“His words were civil, but not much express'd,
“‘Yes! he had heard I was my Brother's guest;’
“Then would explain what was not plain to me,
“Why he could not a social neighbour be:
“He envied you, he said, your quiet life,
“And me a loving and contented wife;
“You, as unfetter'd by domestic bond,
“Me, as a husband and a father fond:
“I was about to speak, when to the right
“The road then turn'd, and, lo! his house in sight.
“And, without scruple, I divulged my own;
“His words were civil, but not much express'd,
“‘Yes! he had heard I was my Brother's guest;’
“Then would explain what was not plain to me,
“Why he could not a social neighbour be:
“He envied you, he said, your quiet life,
“And me a loving and contented wife;
“You, as unfetter'd by domestic bond,
“Me, as a husband and a father fond:
“I was about to speak, when to the right
“The road then turn'd, and, lo! his house in sight.
“‘Adieu!’ he said, nor gave a word or sign
“Of invitation—‘Yonder house is mine;
“‘Your Brother's I prefer, if I might choose—
“‘But, my dear Sir, you have no time to lose.’
“Of invitation—‘Yonder house is mine;
“‘Your Brother's I prefer, if I might choose—
“‘But, my dear Sir, you have no time to lose.’
“Say, is he poor? or has he fits of spleen?
“Or is he melancholy, moped, or mean?
“So cold, so distant—I bestow'd some pains
“Upon the fever in my Irish veins.”
“Or is he melancholy, moped, or mean?
“So cold, so distant—I bestow'd some pains
“Upon the fever in my Irish veins.”
“Well, Richard, let your native wrath be tamed
“The man has half the evils you have named
“He is not poor, indeed, nor is he free
“From all the gloom and care of poverty.”
“The man has half the evils you have named
“He is not poor, indeed, nor is he free
“From all the gloom and care of poverty.”
“But is he married?”—“Hush! the bell, my friend;
“That business done, we will to this attend;
“And, o'er our wine engaged, and at our ease,
“We may discourse of Belwood's miseries;
“Not that his sufferings please me: no, indeed;
“But I from such am happy to be freed.”
“That business done, we will to this attend;
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“We may discourse of Belwood's miseries;
“Not that his sufferings please me: no, indeed;
“But I from such am happy to be freed.”
Their speech, of course, to this misfortune led,
A weak young man improvidently wed.
“Weak,” answer'd Richard; “but we do him wrong
“To say that his affection was not strong.”
A weak young man improvidently wed.
“Weak,” answer'd Richard; “but we do him wrong
“To say that his affection was not strong.”
“That we may doubt,” said George; “in men so weak
“You may in vain the strong affections seek;
“They have strong appetites; a fool will eat
“As long as food is to his palate sweet;
“His rule is not what sober nature needs,
“But what the palate covets as he feeds;
“He has the passions, anger, envy, fear,
“As storm is angry, and as frost severe;
“Uncheck'd, he still retains what nature gave,
“And has what creatures of the forest have.
“You may in vain the strong affections seek;
“They have strong appetites; a fool will eat
“As long as food is to his palate sweet;
“His rule is not what sober nature needs,
“But what the palate covets as he feeds;
“He has the passions, anger, envy, fear,
“As storm is angry, and as frost severe;
“Uncheck'd, he still retains what nature gave,
“And has what creatures of the forest have.
“Weak boys, indulged by parents just as weak,
“Will with much force of their affection speak;
“But let mamma th' accustom'd sweets withhold,
“And the fond boys grow insolent and cold.
“Will with much force of their affection speak;
“But let mamma th' accustom'd sweets withhold,
“And the fond boys grow insolent and cold.
“Weak men profess to love, and while untried
“May woo with warmth, and grieve to be denied,
“But this is selfish ardour,—all the zeal
“Of their pursuit is from the wish they feel
“For self-indulgence.—When do they deny
“Themselves? and when the favourite object fly?
“Or, for that object's sake, with her requests comply?
“Their sickly love is fed with hopes of joy,
“Repulses damp it, and delays destroy;
“Love, that to virtuous acts will some excite,
“In others but provokes an appetite;
“In better minds, when love possession takes
“And meets with peril, he the reason shakes;
“But these weak natures, when they love profess,
“Never regard their small concerns the less.
“May woo with warmth, and grieve to be denied,
“But this is selfish ardour,—all the zeal
“Of their pursuit is from the wish they feel
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“Themselves? and when the favourite object fly?
“Or, for that object's sake, with her requests comply?
“Their sickly love is fed with hopes of joy,
“Repulses damp it, and delays destroy;
“Love, that to virtuous acts will some excite,
“In others but provokes an appetite;
“In better minds, when love possession takes
“And meets with peril, he the reason shakes;
“But these weak natures, when they love profess,
“Never regard their small concerns the less.
“That true and genuine love has Quixote-flights
“May be allow'd—in vision it delights;
“But in its loftiest flight, its wildest dream,
“Has something in it that commands esteem;
“But this poor love to no such region soars,
“But, Sancho-like, its selfish loss deplores;
“Of its own merit and its service speaks,
“And full reward for all its duty seeks.”
“May be allow'd—in vision it delights;
“But in its loftiest flight, its wildest dream,
“Has something in it that commands esteem;
“But this poor love to no such region soars,
“But, Sancho-like, its selfish loss deplores;
“Of its own merit and its service speaks,
“And full reward for all its duty seeks.”
—“When a rich boy, with all the pride of youth,
“Weds a poor beauty, will you doubt his truth?
“Such love is tried—it indiscreet may be,
“But must be generous.”—
“Weds a poor beauty, will you doubt his truth?
“Such love is tried—it indiscreet may be,
“But must be generous.”—
“That I do not see;
“Just at this time the balance of the mind
“Is this or that way by the weights inclined;
“In this scale beauty, wealth in that abides,
“In dubious balance, till the last subsides;
“Things are not poised in just the equal state,
“That the ass stands stock-still in the debate;
“Though when deciding he may slowly pass
“And long for both—the nature of the ass;
“'Tis but an impulse that he must obey
“When he resigns one bundle of the hay.”
“Just at this time the balance of the mind
“Is this or that way by the weights inclined;
“In this scale beauty, wealth in that abides,
“In dubious balance, till the last subsides;
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“That the ass stands stock-still in the debate;
“Though when deciding he may slowly pass
“And long for both—the nature of the ass;
“'Tis but an impulse that he must obey
“When he resigns one bundle of the hay.”
Take your friend Belwood, whom his guardians sent
To Doctor Sidmere—full of dread he went;
Doctor they call'd him—he was not of us,
And where he was, we need not now discuss:
He kept a school, he had a daughter fair,
He said, as angels,—say, as women are.
To Doctor Sidmere—full of dread he went;
Doctor they call'd him—he was not of us,
And where he was, we need not now discuss:
He kept a school, he had a daughter fair,
He said, as angels,—say, as women are.
Clara, this beauty, had a figure light,
Her face was handsome, and her eyes were bright;
Her voice was music, not by anger raised;
And sweet her dimple, either pleased or praised;
All round the village was her fame allow'd,
She was its pride, and not a little proud.
Her face was handsome, and her eyes were bright;
Her voice was music, not by anger raised;
And sweet her dimple, either pleased or praised;
All round the village was her fame allow'd,
She was its pride, and not a little proud.
The ruling thought that sway'd her father's mind
Was this—I am for dignity design'd:
Riches he rather as a mean approved,
Yet sought them early, and in seeking loved;
For this he early made the marriage vow,
But fail'd to gain—I recollect not how;
For this his lady had his wrath incurr'd,
But that her feelings seldom could be stirr'd;
To his fair daughter, famed as well as fair,
He look'd, and found his consolation there.
Was this—I am for dignity design'd:
Riches he rather as a mean approved,
Yet sought them early, and in seeking loved;
For this he early made the marriage vow,
But fail'd to gain—I recollect not how;
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But that her feelings seldom could be stirr'd;
To his fair daughter, famed as well as fair,
He look'd, and found his consolation there.
The Doctor taught of youth some half a score,
Well-born and wealthy—He would take no more;
His wife, when peevish, told him, “Yes! and glad”—
It might be so—no more were to be had:
Belwood, it seems, for college was design'd,
But for more study he was not inclined:
He thought of labouring there with much dismay,
And motives mix'd here urged the long delay.
He now on manhood verged, at least began
To talk as he supposed became a man.
Well-born and wealthy—He would take no more;
His wife, when peevish, told him, “Yes! and glad”—
It might be so—no more were to be had:
Belwood, it seems, for college was design'd,
But for more study he was not inclined:
He thought of labouring there with much dismay,
And motives mix'd here urged the long delay.
He now on manhood verged, at least began
To talk as he supposed became a man.
Whether he chose the college or the school
“Was his own act, and that should no man rule;
‘He had his reasons for the step he took,
“Did they suppose he stay'd to read his book?”
“Was his own act, and that should no man rule;
‘He had his reasons for the step he took,
“Did they suppose he stay'd to read his book?”
Hopeless, the Doctor said, “This boy is one
“With whom I fear there's nothing to be done.”
His wife replied, who more had guess'd or knew,
“You only mean there's nothing he can do;
“Ev'n there you err, unless you mean indeed
“That the poor lad can neither think nor read.”
“With whom I fear there's nothing to be done.”
His wife replied, who more had guess'd or knew,
“You only mean there's nothing he can do;
“Ev'n there you err, unless you mean indeed
“That the poor lad can neither think nor read.”
—“What credit can I by such dunce obtain?”—
“Credit? I know not—you may something gain;
“'Tis true he has no passion for his books,
“But none can closer study Clara's looks;
“And who controls him? now his father's gone,
“There's not a creature cares about the son.
“If he be brought to ask your daughter's hand,
“All that he has will be at her command;
“And who is she? and whom does she obey?
“Where is the wrong, and what the danger, pray?
“Becoming guide to one who guidance needs
“Is merit surely.—If the thing succeeds,
“Cannot you always keep him at your side,
“And be his honour'd guardian and his guide?
“And cannot I my pretty Clara rule?
“Is not this better than a noisy school?”
“Credit? I know not—you may something gain;
“'Tis true he has no passion for his books,
“But none can closer study Clara's looks;
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“There's not a creature cares about the son.
“If he be brought to ask your daughter's hand,
“All that he has will be at her command;
“And who is she? and whom does she obey?
“Where is the wrong, and what the danger, pray?
“Becoming guide to one who guidance needs
“Is merit surely.—If the thing succeeds,
“Cannot you always keep him at your side,
“And be his honour'd guardian and his guide?
“And cannot I my pretty Clara rule?
“Is not this better than a noisy school?”
The Doctor thought and mused, he felt and fear'd,
Wish'd it to be—then wish'd he had not heard;
But he was angry—that at least was right,
And gave him credit in his lady's sight;—
Then, milder grown, yet something still severe,
He said, “Consider, Madam, think and fear;”
But, ere they parted, softening to a smile,
“Farewell!” said he—“I'll think myself awhile.’
Wish'd it to be—then wish'd he had not heard;
But he was angry—that at least was right,
And gave him credit in his lady's sight;—
Then, milder grown, yet something still severe,
He said, “Consider, Madam, think and fear;”
But, ere they parted, softening to a smile,
“Farewell!” said he—“I'll think myself awhile.’
James and his Clara had, with many a pause
And many a doubt, infringed the Doctor's laws,
At first with terror, and with eyes turn'd round
On every side for fear they should be found:
In the long passage, and without the gate,
They met, and talk'd of love and his estate;
Sweet little notes, and full of hope, were laid
Where they were found by the attentive maid;
And these she answer'd kindly as she could,
But still ‘I dare not’ waited on ‘I would;’
Her fears and wishes she in part confess'd,
Her thoughts and views she carefully suppress'd;
Her Jemmy said at length, “He did not heed
“His guardian's anger—What was he, indeed?
“A tradesman once, and had his fortune gain'd
“In that low way,—such anger he disdain'd—
“He loved her pretty looks, her eyes of blue,
“Her auburn-braid, and lips that shone like dew;
“And did she think her Jemmy stay'd at school
“To study Greek?—What! take him for a fool?
“Not he, by Jove! for what he had to seek
“He would in English ask her, not in Greek;
“Will you be be mine? are all your scruples gone?
“Then let's be off—I've that will take us on.”
'T was true; the clerk of an attorney there
Had found a Jew,—the Jew supplied the heir.
And many a doubt, infringed the Doctor's laws,
At first with terror, and with eyes turn'd round
On every side for fear they should be found:
In the long passage, and without the gate,
They met, and talk'd of love and his estate;
Sweet little notes, and full of hope, were laid
Where they were found by the attentive maid;
And these she answer'd kindly as she could,
But still ‘I dare not’ waited on ‘I would;’
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Her thoughts and views she carefully suppress'd;
Her Jemmy said at length, “He did not heed
“His guardian's anger—What was he, indeed?
“A tradesman once, and had his fortune gain'd
“In that low way,—such anger he disdain'd—
“He loved her pretty looks, her eyes of blue,
“Her auburn-braid, and lips that shone like dew;
“And did she think her Jemmy stay'd at school
“To study Greek?—What! take him for a fool?
“Not he, by Jove! for what he had to seek
“He would in English ask her, not in Greek;
“Will you be be mine? are all your scruples gone?
“Then let's be off—I've that will take us on.”
'T was true; the clerk of an attorney there
Had found a Jew,—the Jew supplied the heir.
Yet had he fears—“My guardians may condemn
“The choice I make—but what is that to them?
“The more they strive my pleasure to restrain,
“The less they'll find they're likely to obtain;
“For when they work one to a proper cue,
“What they forbid one takes delight to do.”
“The choice I make—but what is that to them?
“The more they strive my pleasure to restrain,
“The less they'll find they're likely to obtain;
“For when they work one to a proper cue,
“What they forbid one takes delight to do.”
Clara exulted—now the day would come
Belwood must take her in her carriage home;
“Then I shall hear what Envy will remark
“When I shall sport the ponies in the Park;
“When my friend Jane will meet me at the ball,
“And see me taken out the first of all;
“I see her looks when she beholds the men
“All crowd about me—she will simper then,
“And cry with her affected air and voice,
“‘O! my sweet Clara, how do I rejoice
“‘At your good fortune!’—‘Thank you, dear,’ say I;
“‘But some there are that could for envy die.’”
Belwood must take her in her carriage home;
“Then I shall hear what Envy will remark
“When I shall sport the ponies in the Park;
“When my friend Jane will meet me at the ball,
“And see me taken out the first of all;
“I see her looks when she beholds the men
“All crowd about me—she will simper then,
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“‘O! my sweet Clara, how do I rejoice
“‘At your good fortune!’—‘Thank you, dear,’ say I;
“‘But some there are that could for envy die.’”
Mamma look'd on with thoughts to these allied,
She felt the pleasure of reflected pride;
She should respect in Clara's honour find—
But she to Clara's secret thoughts was blind;
O! when we thus design we do but spread
Nets for our feet, and to our toils are led:
Those whom we think we rule their views attain,
And we partake the guilt without the gain.
She felt the pleasure of reflected pride;
She should respect in Clara's honour find—
But she to Clara's secret thoughts was blind;
O! when we thus design we do but spread
Nets for our feet, and to our toils are led:
Those whom we think we rule their views attain,
And we partake the guilt without the gain.
The Doctor long had thought, till he became
A victim both to avarice and shame;
From his importance, every eye was placed
On his designs—How dreadful if disgraced!
“O! that unknown to him the pair had flown
“To that same Green, the project all their own!
“And should they now be guilty of the act,
“Am not I free from knowledge of the fact?
“Will they not, if they will?”—'T is thus we meet
The check of conscience, and our guide defeat.
A victim both to avarice and shame;
From his importance, every eye was placed
On his designs—How dreadful if disgraced!
“O! that unknown to him the pair had flown
“To that same Green, the project all their own!
“And should they now be guilty of the act,
“Am not I free from knowledge of the fact?
“Will they not, if they will?”—'T is thus we meet
The check of conscience, and our guide defeat.
This friend, this spy, this counsellor at rest,
More pleasing views were to the mind address'd.
The mischief done, he would be much displeased,
For weeks, nay, months, and slowly be appeased;—
Yet of this anger if they felt the dread,
Perhaps they dare not steal away to wed;
And if on hints of mercy they should go,
He stood committed—it must not be so.
More pleasing views were to the mind address'd.
The mischief done, he would be much displeased,
For weeks, nay, months, and slowly be appeased;—
Yet of this anger if they felt the dread,
Perhaps they dare not steal away to wed;
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He stood committed—it must not be so.
In this dilemma either horn was hard,—
Best to seem careless, then, and off one's guard;
And, lest their terror should their flight prevent.
His wife might argue—fathers will relent
On such occasions—and that she should share
The guilt and censure was her proper care.
Best to seem careless, then, and off one's guard;
And, lest their terror should their flight prevent.
His wife might argue—fathers will relent
On such occasions—and that she should share
The guilt and censure was her proper care.
“Suppose them wed,” said he, “and at my feet,
“I must exclaim that instant—Vile deceit!
“Then will my daughter, weeping, while they kneel,
“For its own Clara beg my heart may feel:
“At last, but slowly, I may all forgive,
“And their adviser and director live.”
“I must exclaim that instant—Vile deceit!
“Then will my daughter, weeping, while they kneel,
“For its own Clara beg my heart may feel:
“At last, but slowly, I may all forgive,
“And their adviser and director live.”
When wishes only weak the heart surprise,
Heaven, in its mercy, the fond prayer denies;
But when our wishes are both base and weak,
Heaven, in its justice, gives us what we seek;
All pass'd that was expected, all prepared
To share the comfort—What the comfort shared?
Heaven, in its mercy, the fond prayer denies;
But when our wishes are both base and weak,
Heaven, in its justice, gives us what we seek;
All pass'd that was expected, all prepared
To share the comfort—What the comfort shared?
The married pair, on their return, agreed
That they from school were now completely freed,
Were man and wife, and to their mansion now
Should boldly drive, and their intents avow:
The acting guardian in the mansion reign'd,
And, thither driving, they their will explain'd:
The man awhile discoursed in language high,
The ward was sullen, and made brief reply;
Till, when he saw th' opposing strength decline,
He bravely utter'd—“Sir, the house is mine!”
And, like a lion, lash'd by self-rebuke,
His own defence he bravely undertook.
That they from school were now completely freed,
Were man and wife, and to their mansion now
Should boldly drive, and their intents avow:
The acting guardian in the mansion reign'd,
And, thither driving, they their will explain'd:
The man awhile discoursed in language high,
The ward was sullen, and made brief reply;
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He bravely utter'd—“Sir, the house is mine!”
And, like a lion, lash'd by self-rebuke,
His own defence he bravely undertook.
“Well! be it right or wrong, the thing is past;
“You cannot hinder what is tight and fast:
“The church has tied us; we are hither come
“To our own place, and you must make us room.”
“You cannot hinder what is tight and fast:
“The church has tied us; we are hither come
“To our own place, and you must make us room.”
The man reflected—“You deserve, I know,
“Foolish young man! what fortune will bestow:
“No punishment from me your actions need,
“Whose pains will shortly to your fault succeed.”
“Foolish young man! what fortune will bestow:
“No punishment from me your actions need,
“Whose pains will shortly to your fault succeed.”
James was quite angry, wondering what was meant
By such expressions—Why should he repent?
By such expressions—Why should he repent?
New trial came.—The wife conceived it right
To see her parents;—“So,” he said, “she might,
“If she had any fancy for a jail,
“But upon him no creature should prevail;
“No! he would never be again the fool
“To go and starve, or study at a school!”
To see her parents;—“So,” he said, “she might,
“If she had any fancy for a jail,
“But upon him no creature should prevail;
“No! he would never be again the fool
“To go and starve, or study at a school!”
“O! but to see her parents!”—“Well! the sight
“Might give her pleasure—very like it might,
“And she might go; but to his house restored,
“He would not now be catechised and bored.”
It was her duty;—“Well!” said he again,
“There you may go—and there you may remain!”
“Might give her pleasure—very like it might,
“And she might go; but to his house restored,
“He would not now be catechised and bored.”
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“There you may go—and there you may remain!”
Already this?—Even so: he heard it said
How rash and heedless was the part he play'd;
For love of money in his spirit dwelt,
And there repentance was intensely felt:
His guardian told him he had bought a toy
At tenfold price, and bargain'd like a boy:
Angry at truth, and wrought to fierce disdain,
He swore his loss should be no woman's gain;
His table she might share, his name she must,
But if aught more—she gets it upon trust.
How rash and heedless was the part he play'd;
For love of money in his spirit dwelt,
And there repentance was intensely felt:
His guardian told him he had bought a toy
At tenfold price, and bargain'd like a boy:
Angry at truth, and wrought to fierce disdain,
He swore his loss should be no woman's gain;
His table she might share, his name she must,
But if aught more—she gets it upon trust.
For a few weeks his pride her face display'd—
He then began to thwart her, and upbraid;
He grew imperious, insolent, and loud—
His blinded weakness made his folly proud;
He would be master,—she had no pretence
To counsel him, as if he wanted sense;
He must inform her, she already cost
More than her worth, and more should not be lost;
But still concluding, “If your will be so,
“That you must see the old ones, do it—go!”
He then began to thwart her, and upbraid;
He grew imperious, insolent, and loud—
His blinded weakness made his folly proud;
He would be master,—she had no pretence
To counsel him, as if he wanted sense;
He must inform her, she already cost
More than her worth, and more should not be lost;
But still concluding, “If your will be so,
“That you must see the old ones, do it—go!”
Some weeks the Doctor waited, and the while
His lady preach'd in no consoling style:
At last she fear'd that rustic had convey'd
Their child to prison—yes, she was afraid,—
There to remain in that old hall alone
With the vile heads of stags, and floors of stone.
His lady preach'd in no consoling style:
At last she fear'd that rustic had convey'd
Their child to prison—yes, she was afraid,—
There to remain in that old hall alone
With the vile heads of stags, and floors of stone.
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“Why did you, sir, who know such things so well,
And teach us good, permit them to rebel?
Had you o'erawed and check'd them when in sight,
“They would not then have ventured upon flight—
“Had you ------”—“Out, serpent! did not you begin?
“What! introduce, and then upbraid the sin?
“For sin it is, as I too well perceive:
“But leave me, woman, to reflection leave;
“Then to your closet fly, and on your knees
“Beg for forgiveness for such sins as these.”
And teach us good, permit them to rebel?
Had you o'erawed and check'd them when in sight,
“They would not then have ventured upon flight—
“Had you ------”—“Out, serpent! did not you begin?
“What! introduce, and then upbraid the sin?
“For sin it is, as I too well perceive:
“But leave me, woman, to reflection leave;
“Then to your closet fly, and on your knees
“Beg for forgiveness for such sins as these.”
“A moody morning!” with a careless air
Replied the wife.—“Why counsel me to prayer?
“I think the lord and teacher of a school
“Should pray himself, and keep his temper cool.”
Replied the wife.—“Why counsel me to prayer?
“I think the lord and teacher of a school
“Should pray himself, and keep his temper cool.”
Calm grew the husband when the wife was gone—
“The game,” said he, “is never lost till won:
“'T is true, the rebels fly their proper home,
“They come not nigh, because they fear to come;
“And for my purpose fear will doubtless prove
“Of more importance and effect than love;—
“Suppose me there—suppose the carriage stops,
“Down on her knees my trembling daughter drops;
“Slowly I raise her, in my arms to fall,
“And call for mercy as she used to call;
“And shall that boy, who dreaded to appear
“Before me, cast away at once his fear?
“'T is not in nature! He who once would cower
“Beneath my frown, and sob for half an hour;
“He who would kneel with motion prompt and quick
“If I but look'd—as dogs that do a trick;
“He still his knee-joints flexible must feel,
“And have a slavish promptitude to kneel;—
“Soon as he sees me he will drop his lip,
“And bend like one made ready for the whip:
“O! come, I trifle, let me haste away—
“What! throw it up, when I have cards to play?”
“The game,” said he, “is never lost till won:
“'T is true, the rebels fly their proper home,
“They come not nigh, because they fear to come;
“And for my purpose fear will doubtless prove
“Of more importance and effect than love;—
“Suppose me there—suppose the carriage stops,
“Down on her knees my trembling daughter drops;
“Slowly I raise her, in my arms to fall,
“And call for mercy as she used to call;
“And shall that boy, who dreaded to appear
“Before me, cast away at once his fear?
“'T is not in nature! He who once would cower
“Beneath my frown, and sob for half an hour;
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“If I but look'd—as dogs that do a trick;
“He still his knee-joints flexible must feel,
“And have a slavish promptitude to kneel;—
“Soon as he sees me he will drop his lip,
“And bend like one made ready for the whip:
“O! come, I trifle, let me haste away—
“What! throw it up, when I have cards to play?”
The Doctor went, a self-invited guest;
He met his pupil, and his frown repress'd,
For in those lowering looks he could discern
Resistance sullen and defiance stern;
Yet was it painful to put off his style
Of awful distance, and assume a smile:
So between these, the gracious and the grand,
Succeeded nothing that the Doctor plann'd.
He met his pupil, and his frown repress'd,
For in those lowering looks he could discern
Resistance sullen and defiance stern;
Yet was it painful to put off his style
Of awful distance, and assume a smile:
So between these, the gracious and the grand,
Succeeded nothing that the Doctor plann'd.
The sullen youth, with some reviving dread
Bow'd and then hang'd disconsolate his head;
And, muttering welcome in a muffled tone,
Stalk'd cross the park to meditate alone,
Saying, or rather seeming to have said,
“Go! seek your daughter, and be there obey'd.”
Bow'd and then hang'd disconsolate his head;
And, muttering welcome in a muffled tone,
Stalk'd cross the park to meditate alone,
Saying, or rather seeming to have said,
“Go! seek your daughter, and be there obey'd.”
He went.—The daughter her distresses told,
But found her father to her interests cold;
He kindness and complacency advised;
She answer'd, “These were sure to be despised;
“That of the love her husband once possess'd
“Not the least spark was living in his breast;
“The boy repented, and grew savage soon;
“There never shone for her a honey-moon.
“Soon as he came, his cares all fix'd on one,
“Himself, and all his passion was a gun;
“And though he shot as he did all beside,
“It still remain'd his only joy and pride;
“He left her there,—she knew not where he went,—
“But knew full well he should the slight repent;
“She was not one his daily taunts to bear,
“He made the house a hell that he should share;
“For, till he gave her power herself to please,
“Never for him should be a moment's ease.”
But found her father to her interests cold;
He kindness and complacency advised;
She answer'd, “These were sure to be despised;
“That of the love her husband once possess'd
“Not the least spark was living in his breast;
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“There never shone for her a honey-moon.
“Soon as he came, his cares all fix'd on one,
“Himself, and all his passion was a gun;
“And though he shot as he did all beside,
“It still remain'd his only joy and pride;
“He left her there,—she knew not where he went,—
“But knew full well he should the slight repent;
“She was not one his daily taunts to bear,
“He made the house a hell that he should share;
“For, till he gave her power herself to please,
“Never for him should be a moment's ease.”
“He loves you, child!” the softening father cried:
—“He loves himself, and not a soul beside;
“Loves me!—why, yes, and so he did the pears
“You caught him stealing—would he had the fears!
“Would you could make him tremble for his life,
“And then to you return the stolen wife,
“Richly endow'd—but, O! the idiot knows
“The worth of every penny he bestows.
—“He loves himself, and not a soul beside;
“Loves me!—why, yes, and so he did the pears
“You caught him stealing—would he had the fears!
“Would you could make him tremble for his life,
“And then to you return the stolen wife,
“Richly endow'd—but, O! the idiot knows
“The worth of every penny he bestows.
“Were he but fool alone, I'd find a way
“To govern him, at least to have my day;
“Or were he only brute, I'd watch the hour,
“And make the brute-affection yield me power;
“But silly both and savage—O! my heart!
“It is too great a trial!—we must part.”
“Oblige the savage by some act!”—“The debt,
“You find, the fool will instantly forget;
“Oblige the fool with kindness or with praise,
“And you the passions of the savage raise.”
“Time will do much.”—“Can time my name restore?”—
“Have patience, child.”—“I am a child no more,
“Nor more dependent; but, at woman's age,
“I feel that wrongs provoke me and enrage:
“Sir, could you bring me comfort, I were cool;
“But keep your counsel for your boys at school.”
“To govern him, at least to have my day;
“Or were he only brute, I'd watch the hour,
“And make the brute-affection yield me power;
“But silly both and savage—O! my heart!
“It is too great a trial!—we must part.”
“Oblige the savage by some act!”—“The debt,
“You find, the fool will instantly forget;
“Oblige the fool with kindness or with praise,
“And you the passions of the savage raise.”
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“Have patience, child.”—“I am a child no more,
“Nor more dependent; but, at woman's age,
“I feel that wrongs provoke me and enrage:
“Sir, could you bring me comfort, I were cool;
“But keep your counsel for your boys at school.”
The Doctor then departed.—Why remain
To hear complaints, who could himself complain,
Who felt his actions wrong, and knew his efforts vain?
To hear complaints, who could himself complain,
Who felt his actions wrong, and knew his efforts vain?
The sullen youth, contending with his fate,
Began the darling of his heart to hate;
Her pretty looks, her auburn braid, her face,
All now remain'd the proofs of his disgrace;
While, more than hateful in his vixen's eyes,
He saw her comforts from his griefs arise;
Who felt a joy she strove not to conceal,
When their expenses made her miser feel.
War was perpetual: on a first attack
She gain'd advantage, he would turn his back;
And when her small shot whistled in his ears,
He felt a portion of his early fears;
But if he turn'd him in the battle's heat,
And fought in earnest, hers was then defeat;
His strength of oath and curse brought little harm,
But there was no resisting strength of arm.
Began the darling of his heart to hate;
Her pretty looks, her auburn braid, her face,
All now remain'd the proofs of his disgrace;
While, more than hateful in his vixen's eyes,
He saw her comforts from his griefs arise;
Who felt a joy she strove not to conceal,
When their expenses made her miser feel.
War was perpetual: on a first attack
She gain'd advantage, he would turn his back;
And when her small shot whistled in his ears,
He felt a portion of his early fears;
But if he turn'd him in the battle's heat,
And fought in earnest, hers was then defeat;
His strength of oath and curse brought little harm,
But there was no resisting strength of arm.
Yet wearied both with war, and vex'd at heart,
The slaves of passion judged it best to part:
Long they debated, nor could fix a rate
For a man's peace with his contending mate;
But mutual hatred, scorn, and fear, assign'd
That price—that peace it was not theirs to find.
The slaves of passion judged it best to part:
Long they debated, nor could fix a rate
For a man's peace with his contending mate;
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That price—that peace it was not theirs to find.
The watchful husband lived in constant hope
To hear the wife had ventured to elope;
But though not virtuous, nor in much discreet,
He found her coldness would such views defeat;
And thus, by self-reproof and avarice scourged,
He wore the galling chains his folly forged.
To hear the wife had ventured to elope;
But though not virtuous, nor in much discreet,
He found her coldness would such views defeat;
And thus, by self-reproof and avarice scourged,
He wore the galling chains his folly forged.
The wife her pleasures, few and humble, sought,
And with anticipated stipend bought;
Without a home, at fashion's call she fled
To a hired lodging and a widow'd bed:
Husband and parents banish'd from her mind,
She seeks for pleasures that she cannot find;
And grieves that so much treachery was employ'd
To gain a man who has her peace destroy'd.
And with anticipated stipend bought;
Without a home, at fashion's call she fled
To a hired lodging and a widow'd bed:
Husband and parents banish'd from her mind,
She seeks for pleasures that she cannot find;
And grieves that so much treachery was employ'd
To gain a man who has her peace destroy'd.
Yet more the grieving father feels distress,
His error greater, and his motives less;
He finds too late, by stooping to deceit,
It is ourselves, and not the world we cheat;
For, though we blind it, yet we can but feel
That we have something evil to conceal;
Nor can we by our utmost care be sure
That we can hide the sufferings we endure.
His error greater, and his motives less;
He finds too late, by stooping to deceit,
It is ourselves, and not the world we cheat;
For, though we blind it, yet we can but feel
That we have something evil to conceal;
Nor can we by our utmost care be sure
That we can hide the sufferings we endure.
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BOOK XVI. LADY BARBARA; OR, THE GHOST.
118
Introductory Discourse—For what Purpose would a Ghost appear?—How the Purpose would be answered—The Fact admitted, would not Doubts return?—Family Stories of Apparitions—Story of Lady Barbara—Her Widowhood—Resides with a Priest—His Family—A favourite Boy—His Education—His Fondness for the Lady—It becomes Love—His Reflections—His Declaration—Her Reply—Her Relation—Why she must not marry a second Time—How warned—Tokens of the Appearance—The Lover argues with the Lady—His Success—The Consequences of it.
119
The Brothers spoke of Ghosts,—a favourite theme,
With those who love to reason or to dream;
And they, as greater men were wont to do,
Felt strong desire to think the stories true:
Stories of spirits freed, who came to prove
To spirits bound in flesh that yet they love,
To give them notice of the things below,
Which we must wonder how they came to know,
Or known, would think of coming to relate
To creatures who are tried by unknown fate.
With those who love to reason or to dream;
And they, as greater men were wont to do,
Felt strong desire to think the stories true:
Stories of spirits freed, who came to prove
To spirits bound in flesh that yet they love,
To give them notice of the things below,
Which we must wonder how they came to know,
Or known, would think of coming to relate
To creatures who are tried by unknown fate.
“Warning,” said Richard, “seems the only thing
“That would a spirit on an errand bring:
“To turn a guilty mind from wrong to right
“A ghost might come, at least I think it might.”
“That would a spirit on an errand bring:
“To turn a guilty mind from wrong to right
“A ghost might come, at least I think it might.”
“But,” said the Brother, “if we here are tried,
“A spirit sent would put that law aside;
“It gives to some advantage others need,
“Or hurts the sinner should it not succeed:
“If from the dead, said Dives, one were sent
“To warn my brethren, sure they would repent;
“But Abraham answered, if they now reject
“The guides they have, no more would that effect;
“Their doubts too obstinate for grace would prove,
“For wonder hardens hearts it fails to move.
“A spirit sent would put that law aside;
“It gives to some advantage others need,
“Or hurts the sinner should it not succeed:
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“To warn my brethren, sure they would repent;
“But Abraham answered, if they now reject
“The guides they have, no more would that effect;
“Their doubts too obstinate for grace would prove,
“For wonder hardens hearts it fails to move.
“Suppose a sinner in an hour of gloom,
“And let a ghost with all its horrors come;
“From lips unmoved let solemn accents flow,
“Solemn his gesture be, his motion slow;
“Let the waved hand and threatening look impart
“Truth to the mind and terror to the heart;
“And, when the form is fading to the view,
“Let the convicted man cry, ‘This is true!’
“And let a ghost with all its horrors come;
“From lips unmoved let solemn accents flow,
“Solemn his gesture be, his motion slow;
“Let the waved hand and threatening look impart
“Truth to the mind and terror to the heart;
“And, when the form is fading to the view,
“Let the convicted man cry, ‘This is true!’
“Alas! how soon would doubts again invade
“The willing mind, and sins again persuade!
“I saw it—What?—I was awake, but how?
“Not as I am, or I should see it now:
“It spoke, I think,—I thought, at least it spoke,—
“And look'd alarming—yes, I felt the look.
“But then in sleep those horrid forms arise,
“That the soul sees,—and, we suppose, the eyes,—
“And the soul hears,—the senses then thrown by,
“She is herself the ear, herself the eye;
“A mistress so will free her servile race
“For their own tasks, and take herself the place:
“In sleep what forms will ductile fancy take,
“And what so common as to dream awake?
“On others thus do ghostly guests intrude?
“Or why am I by such advice pursued?
“One out of millions who exist, and why
“They know not—cannot know—and such am I;
“And shall two beings of two worlds, to meet,
“The laws of one, perhaps of both, defeat?
“It cannot be.—But if some being lives
“Who such kind warning to a favourite gives,
“Let him these doubts from my dull spirit clear,
“And once again, expected guest! appear.
“The willing mind, and sins again persuade!
“I saw it—What?—I was awake, but how?
“Not as I am, or I should see it now:
“It spoke, I think,—I thought, at least it spoke,—
“And look'd alarming—yes, I felt the look.
“But then in sleep those horrid forms arise,
“That the soul sees,—and, we suppose, the eyes,—
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“She is herself the ear, herself the eye;
“A mistress so will free her servile race
“For their own tasks, and take herself the place:
“In sleep what forms will ductile fancy take,
“And what so common as to dream awake?
“On others thus do ghostly guests intrude?
“Or why am I by such advice pursued?
“One out of millions who exist, and why
“They know not—cannot know—and such am I;
“And shall two beings of two worlds, to meet,
“The laws of one, perhaps of both, defeat?
“It cannot be.—But if some being lives
“Who such kind warning to a favourite gives,
“Let him these doubts from my dull spirit clear,
“And once again, expected guest! appear.
“And if a second time the power complied,
“Why is a third, and why a fourth, denied?
“Why not a warning ghost for ever at our side?
“Ah, foolish being! thou hast truth enough,
“Augmented guilt would rise on greater proof;
“Blind and imperious passion disbelieves,
“Or madly scorns the warning it receives,
“Or looks for pardon ere the ill be done,
“Because 't is vain to strive our fate to shun;
“In spite of ghosts, predestined woes would come,
“And warning add new terrors to our doom.
“Why is a third, and why a fourth, denied?
“Why not a warning ghost for ever at our side?
“Ah, foolish being! thou hast truth enough,
“Augmented guilt would rise on greater proof;
“Blind and imperious passion disbelieves,
“Or madly scorns the warning it receives,
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“Because 't is vain to strive our fate to shun;
“In spite of ghosts, predestined woes would come,
“And warning add new terrors to our doom.
“Yet there are tales that would remove our doubt,
“The whisper'd tales that circulate about,
“That in some noble mansion take their rise,
“And told with secrecy and awe, surprise:
“It seems not likely people should advance,
“For falsehood's sake, such train of circumstance;
“Then the ghosts bear them with a ghost-like grace,
“That suits the person, character, and place.
“The whisper'd tales that circulate about,
“That in some noble mansion take their rise,
“And told with secrecy and awe, surprise:
“It seems not likely people should advance,
“For falsehood's sake, such train of circumstance;
“Then the ghosts bear them with a ghost-like grace,
“That suits the person, character, and place.
“But let us something of the kind recite:
“What think you, now, of Lady Barbara's spright?”
“What think you, now, of Lady Barbara's spright?”
“I know not what to think; but I have heard
“A ghost, to warn her or advise, appear'd;
“And that she sought a friend before she died
“To whom she might the awful fact confide,
“Who seal'd and secret should the story keep
“Till Lady Barbara slept her final sleep,
“In that close bed, that never spirit shakes,
“Nor ghostly visiter the sleeper wakes.”
“A ghost, to warn her or advise, appear'd;
“And that she sought a friend before she died
“To whom she might the awful fact confide,
“Who seal'd and secret should the story keep
“Till Lady Barbara slept her final sleep,
“In that close bed, that never spirit shakes,
“Nor ghostly visiter the sleeper wakes.”
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“Yes, I can give that story, not so well
“As your old woman would the legend tell,
“But as the facts are stated; and now hear
“How ghosts advise, and widows persevere.”
“As your old woman would the legend tell,
“But as the facts are stated; and now hear
“How ghosts advise, and widows persevere.”
When her lord died, who had so kind a heart,
That any woman would have grieved to part,
It had such influence on his widow's mind,
That she the pleasures of the world resign'd,
Young as she was, and from the busy town
Came to the quiet of a village down;
Not as insensible to joys, but still
With a subdued but half-rebellious will;
For she had passions warm, and feeling strong,
With a right mind, that dreaded to be wrong;—
Yet she had wealth to tie her to the place
Where it procures delight and veils disgrace;
Yet she had beauty to engage the eye,
A widow still in her minority;
Yet she had merit worthy men to gain,
And yet her hand no merit could obtain;
For, though secluded, there were trials made,
When he who soften'd most could not persuade;
Awhile she hearken'd as her swain proposed,
And then his suit with strong refusal closed.
That any woman would have grieved to part,
It had such influence on his widow's mind,
That she the pleasures of the world resign'd,
Young as she was, and from the busy town
Came to the quiet of a village down;
Not as insensible to joys, but still
With a subdued but half-rebellious will;
For she had passions warm, and feeling strong,
With a right mind, that dreaded to be wrong;—
Yet she had wealth to tie her to the place
Where it procures delight and veils disgrace;
Yet she had beauty to engage the eye,
A widow still in her minority;
Yet she had merit worthy men to gain,
And yet her hand no merit could obtain;
For, though secluded, there were trials made,
When he who soften'd most could not persuade;
Awhile she hearken'd as her swain proposed,
And then his suit with strong refusal closed.
“Thanks, and farewell!—give credit to my word,
“That I shall die the widow of my lord;
“'T is my own will, I now prefer the state,—
“If mine should change, it is the will of fate.”
“That I shall die the widow of my lord;
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“If mine should change, it is the will of fate.”
Such things were spoken, and the hearers cried,
“'T is very strange,—perhaps she may be tried.”
“'T is very strange,—perhaps she may be tried.”
The lady pass'd her time in taking air,
In working, reading, charities, and prayer;
In the last duties she received the aid
Of an old friend, a priest, with whom she pray'd;
And to his mansion with a purpose went,
That there should life be innocently spent;
Yet no cold vot'ress of the cloister she,
Warm her devotion, warm her charity;
The face the index of a feeling mind,
And her whole conduct rational and kind.
In working, reading, charities, and prayer;
In the last duties she received the aid
Of an old friend, a priest, with whom she pray'd;
And to his mansion with a purpose went,
That there should life be innocently spent;
Yet no cold vot'ress of the cloister she,
Warm her devotion, warm her charity;
The face the index of a feeling mind,
And her whole conduct rational and kind.
Though rich and noble, she was pleased to slide
Into the habits of her reverend guide,
And so attended to his girls and boys,
She seem'd a mother in her fears and joys;
On her they look'd with fondness, something check'd
By her appearance, that engaged respect;
For still she dress'd as one of higher race,
And her sweet smiles had dignity and grace.
Into the habits of her reverend guide,
And so attended to his girls and boys,
She seem'd a mother in her fears and joys;
On her they look'd with fondness, something check'd
By her appearance, that engaged respect;
For still she dress'd as one of higher race,
And her sweet smiles had dignity and grace.
George was her favourite, and it gave her joy
To indulge and to instruct the darling boy;
To watch, to soothe, to check the forward child,
Who was at once affectionate and wild;
Happy and grateful for her tender care,
And pleased her thoughts and company to share.
To indulge and to instruct the darling boy;
To watch, to soothe, to check the forward child,
Who was at once affectionate and wild;
Happy and grateful for her tender care,
And pleased her thoughts and company to share.
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George was a boy with spirit strong and high,
With handsome face, and penetrating eye;
O'er his broad forehead hung his locks of brown,
That gave a spirit to his boyish frown;
“My little man,” were words that she applied
To him, and he received with growing pride;
Her darling even from his infant years
Had something touching in his smiles and tears;
And in his boyish manners he began
To show the pride that was not made for man;
But it became the child, the mother cried,
And the kind lady said it was not pride.
With handsome face, and penetrating eye;
O'er his broad forehead hung his locks of brown,
That gave a spirit to his boyish frown;
“My little man,” were words that she applied
To him, and he received with growing pride;
Her darling even from his infant years
Had something touching in his smiles and tears;
And in his boyish manners he began
To show the pride that was not made for man;
But it became the child, the mother cried,
And the kind lady said it was not pride.
George, to his cost, though sometimes to his praise,
Was quite a hero in these early days,
And would return from heroes just as stout,
Blood in his crimson cheek, and blood without.
“What! he submit to vulgar boys and low,
“He bear an insult, he forget a blow!
“They call'd him Parson—let his father bear
“His own reproach, it was his proper care;
“He was no parson, but he still would teach
“The boys their manners, and yet would not preach.”
Was quite a hero in these early days,
And would return from heroes just as stout,
Blood in his crimson cheek, and blood without.
“What! he submit to vulgar boys and low,
“He bear an insult, he forget a blow!
“They call'd him Parson—let his father bear
“His own reproach, it was his proper care;
“He was no parson, but he still would teach
“The boys their manners, and yet would not preach.”
The father, thoughtful of the time foregone,
Was loth to damp the spirit of his son;
Rememb'ring he himself had early laurels won;
The mother, frighten'd, begg'd him to refrain,
And not his credit or his linen stain;
While the kind friend so gently blamed the deed,
He smiled in tears, and wish'd her to proceed;
For the boy pleased her, and that roguish eye
And daring look were cause of many a sigh,
When she had thought how much would such quick temper try:
And oft she felt a kind of gathering gloom,
Sad, and prophetic of the ills to come.
Was loth to damp the spirit of his son;
Rememb'ring he himself had early laurels won;
The mother, frighten'd, begg'd him to refrain,
And not his credit or his linen stain;
While the kind friend so gently blamed the deed,
He smiled in tears, and wish'd her to proceed;
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And daring look were cause of many a sigh,
When she had thought how much would such quick temper try:
And oft she felt a kind of gathering gloom,
Sad, and prophetic of the ills to come.
Years fled unmark'd: the lady taught no more
Th' adopted tribe as she was wont before;
But by her help the school the lasses sought,
And by the Vicar's self the boy was taught;
Not unresisting when that cursed Greek
Ask'd so much time for words that none will speak.
Th' adopted tribe as she was wont before;
But by her help the school the lasses sought,
And by the Vicar's self the boy was taught;
Not unresisting when that cursed Greek
Ask'd so much time for words that none will speak.
“What can men worse for mortal brain contrive
“Than thus a hard dead language to revive!
“Heav'ns, if a language once be fairly dead,
“Let it be buried, not preserved and read,
“The bane of every boy to decent station bred;
“If any good these crabbed books contain,
“Translate them well, and let them then remain;
“To one huge vault convey the useless store,
“Then lose the key, and never find it more.”
“Than thus a hard dead language to revive!
“Heav'ns, if a language once be fairly dead,
“Let it be buried, not preserved and read,
“The bane of every boy to decent station bred;
“If any good these crabbed books contain,
“Translate them well, and let them then remain;
“To one huge vault convey the useless store,
“Then lose the key, and never find it more.”
Something like this the lively boy express'd,
When Homer was his torment and his jest.
When Homer was his torment and his jest.
“George,” said the father, “can at pleasure seize
“The point he wishes, and with too much ease;
“And hence, depending on his powers and vain,
‘He wastes the time that he will sigh to gain.”
The partial widow thought the wasted days
He would recover, urged by love and praise;
And thus absolved, the boy, with grateful mind,
Repaid a love so useful and so blind:
Her angry words he loved, although he fear'd,
And words not angry doubly kind appear'd.
“The point he wishes, and with too much ease;
“And hence, depending on his powers and vain,
‘He wastes the time that he will sigh to gain.”
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He would recover, urged by love and praise;
And thus absolved, the boy, with grateful mind,
Repaid a love so useful and so blind:
Her angry words he loved, although he fear'd,
And words not angry doubly kind appear'd.
George, then on manhood verging, felt the charms
Of war, and kindled at the world's alarms;
Yet war was then, though spreading wide and far,
A state of peace to what has since been war;
'T was then some dubious claim at sea or land,
That placed a weapon in a warrior's hand:
But in these times the causes of our strife
Are hearth and altar, liberty and life.
Of war, and kindled at the world's alarms;
Yet war was then, though spreading wide and far,
A state of peace to what has since been war;
'T was then some dubious claim at sea or land,
That placed a weapon in a warrior's hand:
But in these times the causes of our strife
Are hearth and altar, liberty and life.
George, when from college he return'd, and heard
His father's questions, cool and shy appear'd.
“Who had the honours?”—“Honour!” said the youth,
“Honour at college—very good, in truth!”—
“What hours to study did he give?”—He gave
Enough to feel they made him like a slave—
In fact, the Vicar found if George should rise
'T was not by college rules and exercise.
His father's questions, cool and shy appear'd.
“Who had the honours?”—“Honour!” said the youth,
“Honour at college—very good, in truth!”—
“What hours to study did he give?”—He gave
Enough to feel they made him like a slave—
In fact, the Vicar found if George should rise
'T was not by college rules and exercise.
“At least the time for your degree abide,
“And be ordain'd,” the man of peace replied;
“Then you may come and aid me while I keep,
“And watch, and shear th' hereditary sheep;
“Choose then your spouse.”—That heard the youth, and sigh'd,
Nor to aught else attended or replied.
“And be ordain'd,” the man of peace replied;
“Then you may come and aid me while I keep,
“And watch, and shear th' hereditary sheep;
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Nor to aught else attended or replied.
George had of late indulged unusual fears
And dangerous hopes: he wept unconscious tears;—
Whether for camp or college, well he knew
He must at present bid his friends adieu;
His father, mother, sisters, could he part
With these, and feel no sorrow at his heart?
But from that lovely lady could he go?
That fonder, fairer, dearer mother?—No!
For while his father spoke, he fix'd his eyes
On that dear face, and felt a warmth arise,
A trembling flush of joy, that he could ill disguise—
Then ask'd himself from whence this growing bliss,
This new-found joy, and all that waits on this?
Why sinks that voice so sweetly in mine ear?
What makes it now a livelier joy to hear?
Why gives that touch—still, still do I retain
The fierce delight that tingled through each vein—
Why at her presence with such quickness flows
The vital current?—Well a lover knows.
And dangerous hopes: he wept unconscious tears;—
Whether for camp or college, well he knew
He must at present bid his friends adieu;
His father, mother, sisters, could he part
With these, and feel no sorrow at his heart?
But from that lovely lady could he go?
That fonder, fairer, dearer mother?—No!
For while his father spoke, he fix'd his eyes
On that dear face, and felt a warmth arise,
A trembling flush of joy, that he could ill disguise—
Then ask'd himself from whence this growing bliss,
This new-found joy, and all that waits on this?
Why sinks that voice so sweetly in mine ear?
What makes it now a livelier joy to hear?
Why gives that touch—still, still do I retain
The fierce delight that tingled through each vein—
Why at her presence with such quickness flows
The vital current?—Well a lover knows.
O! tell me not of years,—can she be old?
Those eyes, those lips, can man unmoved behold?
Has time that bosom chill'd? are cheeks so rosy cold?
No, she is young, or I her love t' engage
Will grow discreet, and that will seem like age;
But speak it not; Death's equalising arm
Levels not surer than Love's stronger charm.
That bids all inequalities be gone,
That laughs at rank, that mocks comparison.
Those eyes, those lips, can man unmoved behold?
Has time that bosom chill'd? are cheeks so rosy cold?
No, she is young, or I her love t' engage
Will grow discreet, and that will seem like age;
But speak it not; Death's equalising arm
Levels not surer than Love's stronger charm.
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That laughs at rank, that mocks comparison.
There is not young or old, if Love decrees,
He levels orders, he confounds degrees;
There is not fair, or dark, or short, or tall,
Or grave, or sprightly—Love reduces all;
He makes unite the pensive and the gay,
Gives something here, takes something there away;
From each abundant good a portion takes,
And for each want a compensation makes;
Then tell me not of years—Love, power divine,
Takes, as he wills, from hers, and gives to mine.
He levels orders, he confounds degrees;
There is not fair, or dark, or short, or tall,
Or grave, or sprightly—Love reduces all;
He makes unite the pensive and the gay,
Gives something here, takes something there away;
From each abundant good a portion takes,
And for each want a compensation makes;
Then tell me not of years—Love, power divine,
Takes, as he wills, from hers, and gives to mine.
And she, in truth, was lovely—Time had strown
No snows on her, though he so long had flown;
The purest damask blossom'd in her cheek,
The eyes said all that eyes are wont to speak;
Her pleasing person she with care adorn'd,
Nor arts that stay the flying graces scorn'd;
Nor held it wrong these graces to renew,
Or give the fading rose its opening hue;
Yet few there were who needed less the art
To hide an error, or a grace impart.
No snows on her, though he so long had flown;
The purest damask blossom'd in her cheek,
The eyes said all that eyes are wont to speak;
Her pleasing person she with care adorn'd,
Nor arts that stay the flying graces scorn'd;
Nor held it wrong these graces to renew,
Or give the fading rose its opening hue;
Yet few there were who needed less the art
To hide an error, or a grace impart.
George, yet a child, her faultless form admired,
And call'd his fondness love, as truth required;
But now, when conscious of the secret flame,
His bosom's pain, he dared not give the name;
In her the mother's milder passion grew,
Tender she was, but she was placid too;
From him the mild and filial love was gone,
And a strong passion came in triumph on.
And call'd his fondness love, as truth required;
But now, when conscious of the secret flame,
His bosom's pain, he dared not give the name;
In her the mother's milder passion grew,
Tender she was, but she was placid too;
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And a strong passion came in triumph on.
“Will she,” he cried, “this impious love allow?
“And, once my mother, be my mistress now?
“The parent-spouse, how far the thought from her,
“And how can I the daring wish aver?
“When first I speak it, how will those dear eyes
“Gleam with awaken'd horror and surprise;
“Will she not, angry and indignant, fly
“From my imploring call, and bid me die?
“Will she not shudder at the thought, and say,
“My son! and lift her eyes to heaven, and pray?
“And, once my mother, be my mistress now?
“The parent-spouse, how far the thought from her,
“And how can I the daring wish aver?
“When first I speak it, how will those dear eyes
“Gleam with awaken'd horror and surprise;
“Will she not, angry and indignant, fly
“From my imploring call, and bid me die?
“Will she not shudder at the thought, and say,
“My son! and lift her eyes to heaven, and pray?
“Alas! I fear—and yet my soul she won
“While she with fond endearments call'd me son!
“Then first I felt—yet knew that I was wrong—
“This hope, at once so guilty and so strong:
“She gave—I feel it now—a mother's kiss,
“And quickly fancy took a bolder bliss;
“But hid the burning blush, for fear that eye
“Should see the transport, and the bliss deny:
“O! when she knows the purpose I conceal,
“When my fond wishes to her bosom steal,
“How will that angel fear? How will the woman feel?
“While she with fond endearments call'd me son!
“Then first I felt—yet knew that I was wrong—
“This hope, at once so guilty and so strong:
“She gave—I feel it now—a mother's kiss,
“And quickly fancy took a bolder bliss;
“But hid the burning blush, for fear that eye
“Should see the transport, and the bliss deny:
“O! when she knows the purpose I conceal,
“When my fond wishes to her bosom steal,
“How will that angel fear? How will the woman feel?
“And yet, perhaps, this instant, while I speak,
“She knows the pain I feel, the cure I seek;
“Better than I she may my feelings know,
“And nurse the passion that she dares not show;
“She reads the look,—and sure my eyes have shown
“To her the power and triumph of her own,—
“And in maternal love she veils the flame
“That she will heal with joy, yet hear with shame.
“She knows the pain I feel, the cure I seek;
“Better than I she may my feelings know,
“And nurse the passion that she dares not show;
“She reads the look,—and sure my eyes have shown
“To her the power and triumph of her own,—
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“That she will heal with joy, yet hear with shame.
“Come, let me then—no more a son—reveal
“The daring hope, and for her favour kneel;
“Let me in ardent speech my meanings dress,
“And, while I mourn the fault, my love confess;
“And, once confess'd, no more that hope resign,
“For she or misery henceforth must be mine.
“O! what confusion shall I see advance
“On that dear face, responsive to my glance!
“Sure she can love!”
“The daring hope, and for her favour kneel;
“Let me in ardent speech my meanings dress,
“And, while I mourn the fault, my love confess;
“And, once confess'd, no more that hope resign,
“For she or misery henceforth must be mine.
“O! what confusion shall I see advance
“On that dear face, responsive to my glance!
“Sure she can love!”
In fact, the youth was right;
She could, but love was dreadful in her sight;
Love like a spectre in her view appear'd,
The nearer he approach'd the more she fear'd.
She could, but love was dreadful in her sight;
Love like a spectre in her view appear'd,
The nearer he approach'd the more she fear'd.
But knew she, then, this dreaded love? She guess'd
That he had guilt—she knew he had not rest:
She saw a fear that she could ill define,
And nameless terrors in his looks combine;
It is a state that cannot long endure,
And yet both parties dreaded to be sure.
That he had guilt—she knew he had not rest:
She saw a fear that she could ill define,
And nameless terrors in his looks combine;
It is a state that cannot long endure,
And yet both parties dreaded to be sure.
All views were past of priesthood and a gown,
George, fix'd on glory, now prepared for town;
But first this mighty hazard must be run,
And more than glory either lost or won:
Yet, what was glory? Could he win that heart
And gain that hand, what cause was there to part?
Her love afforded all that life affords—
Honour and fame were phantasies and words.
George, fix'd on glory, now prepared for town;
But first this mighty hazard must be run,
And more than glory either lost or won:
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And gain that hand, what cause was there to part?
Her love afforded all that life affords—
Honour and fame were phantasies and words.
But he must see her—She alone was seen
In the still evening of a day serene:
In the deep shade beyond the garden walk
They met, and, talking, ceased and fear'd to talk;
At length she spoke of parent's love,—and now
He hazards all—“No parent, lady, thou!
“None, none to me! but looks so fond and mild
“Would well become the parent of my child.”
In the still evening of a day serene:
In the deep shade beyond the garden walk
They met, and, talking, ceased and fear'd to talk;
At length she spoke of parent's love,—and now
He hazards all—“No parent, lady, thou!
“None, none to me! but looks so fond and mild
“Would well become the parent of my child.”
She gasp'd for breath—then sat as one resolved
On some high act, and then the means revolved.
On some high act, and then the means revolved.
“It cannot be, my George, my child, my son!
“The thought is misery!—Guilt and misery shun:
“Far from us both be such design, O, far!
“Let it not pain us at the awful bar,
“Where souls are tried, where known the mother's part
“That I sustain, and all of either heart.
“To wed with thee I must all shame efface,
“And part with female dignity and grace:
“Was I not told, by one who knew so well
“This rebel heart, that it must not rebel?
“Were I not warn'd, yet Reason's voice would cry,
“‘Retreat, resolve, and from the danger fly!’
“If Reason spoke not, yet would woman's pride—
“A woman will by better counsel guide;
“And should both Pride and Prudence plead in vain,
“There is a warning that must still remain,
“And, though the heart rebell'd, would ever cry ‘Refrain.’”
“The thought is misery!—Guilt and misery shun:
“Far from us both be such design, O, far!
“Let it not pain us at the awful bar,
“Where souls are tried, where known the mother's part
“That I sustain, and all of either heart.
“To wed with thee I must all shame efface,
“And part with female dignity and grace:
“Was I not told, by one who knew so well
“This rebel heart, that it must not rebel?
“Were I not warn'd, yet Reason's voice would cry,
“‘Retreat, resolve, and from the danger fly!’
“If Reason spoke not, yet would woman's pride—
“A woman will by better counsel guide;
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“There is a warning that must still remain,
“And, though the heart rebell'd, would ever cry ‘Refrain.’”
He heard, he grieved—so check'd, the eager youth
Dared not again repeat th' offensive truth,
But stopp'd, and fix'd on that loved face an eye
Of pleading passion, trembling to reply:
And that reply was hurried, was express'd
With bursts of sorrow from a troubled breast;
He could not yet forbear the tender suit,
And dare not speak—his eloquence was mute.
Dared not again repeat th' offensive truth,
But stopp'd, and fix'd on that loved face an eye
Of pleading passion, trembling to reply:
And that reply was hurried, was express'd
With bursts of sorrow from a troubled breast;
He could not yet forbear the tender suit,
And dare not speak—his eloquence was mute.
But this not long, again the passion rose
In him, in her the spirit to oppose:
Yet was she firm; and he, who fear'd the calm
Of resolution, purposed to alarm,
And make her dread a passion strong and wild—
He fear'd her firmness while her looks were mild:
Therefore he strongly, warmly urged his prayer,
Till she, less patient, urged him to forbear.
In him, in her the spirit to oppose:
Yet was she firm; and he, who fear'd the calm
Of resolution, purposed to alarm,
And make her dread a passion strong and wild—
He fear'd her firmness while her looks were mild:
Therefore he strongly, warmly urged his prayer,
Till she, less patient, urged him to forbear.
“I tell thee, George, as I have told before,
“I feel a mother's love, and feel no more;
“A child I bore thee in my arms, and how
“Could I—did prudence yield,—receive thee now?”
“I feel a mother's love, and feel no more;
“A child I bore thee in my arms, and how
“Could I—did prudence yield,—receive thee now?”
At her remonstrance hope revived, for oft
He found her words severe, her accents soft;
In eyes that threaten'd tears of pity stood,
And truth she made as gracious as she could;—
But, when she found the dangerous youth would seek
His peace alone, and still his wishes speak,
Fearful she grew, that, opening thus his heart,
He might to hers a dangerous warmth impart:
All her objections slight to him appear'd,—
But one she had, and now it must be heard.
He found her words severe, her accents soft;
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And truth she made as gracious as she could;—
But, when she found the dangerous youth would seek
His peace alone, and still his wishes speak,
Fearful she grew, that, opening thus his heart,
He might to hers a dangerous warmth impart:
All her objections slight to him appear'd,—
But one she had, and now it must be heard.
“Yes, it must be! and he shall understand
“What powers, that are not of the world, command;
“So shall he cease, and I in peace shall live—”
Sighing she spoke—“that widowhood can give!”
Then to her lover turn'd, and gravely said,
“Let due attention to my words be paid:
“Meet me to-morrow, and resolve t' obey;”
Then named the hour and place, and went her way.
Before that hour, or moved by spirit vain
Of woman's wish to triumph and complain;
She had his parents summon'd, and had shown
Their son's strong wishes, nor conceal'd her own:
“And do you give,” she said, “a parent's aid
“To make the youth of his strange love afraid;
“And, be it sin or not, be all the shame display'd.”
“What powers, that are not of the world, command;
“So shall he cease, and I in peace shall live—”
Sighing she spoke—“that widowhood can give!”
Then to her lover turn'd, and gravely said,
“Let due attention to my words be paid:
“Meet me to-morrow, and resolve t' obey;”
Then named the hour and place, and went her way.
Before that hour, or moved by spirit vain
Of woman's wish to triumph and complain;
She had his parents summon'd, and had shown
Their son's strong wishes, nor conceal'd her own:
“And do you give,” she said, “a parent's aid
“To make the youth of his strange love afraid;
“And, be it sin or not, be all the shame display'd.”
The good old Pastor wonder'd, seem'd to grieve,
And look'd suspicious on this child of Eve:
He judged his boy, though wild, had never dared
To talk of love, had not rebuke been spared;
But he replied, in mild and tender tone,
“It is not sin, and therefore shame has none.”
And look'd suspicious on this child of Eve:
He judged his boy, though wild, had never dared
To talk of love, had not rebuke been spared;
But he replied, in mild and tender tone,
“It is not sin, and therefore shame has none.”
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The different ages of the pair he knew,
And quite as well their different fortunes too:
A meek, just man; but difference in his sight
That made the match unequal made it right:
“His son, his friend united, and become
“Of his own hearth—the comforts of his home—
“Was it so wrong? Perhaps it was her pride
“That felt the distance, and the youth denied?”
And quite as well their different fortunes too:
A meek, just man; but difference in his sight
That made the match unequal made it right:
“His son, his friend united, and become
“Of his own hearth—the comforts of his home—
“Was it so wrong? Perhaps it was her pride
“That felt the distance, and the youth denied?”
The blushing widow heard, and she retired,
Musing on what her ancient friend desired;
She could not, therefore, to the youth complain,
That his good father wish'd him to refrain;
She could not add, “Your parents, George, obey,
“They will your absence”—no such will had they.
Musing on what her ancient friend desired;
She could not, therefore, to the youth complain,
That his good father wish'd him to refrain;
She could not add, “Your parents, George, obey,
“They will your absence”—no such will had they.
Now, in th' appointed minute met the pair,
Foredoom'd to meet: George made the lover's pray'r,—
That was heard kindly; then the lady tried
For a calm spirit, felt it, and replied.
Foredoom'd to meet: George made the lover's pray'r,—
That was heard kindly; then the lady tried
For a calm spirit, felt it, and replied.
“George, that I love thee why should I suppress?
“For 't is a love that virtue may profess—
“Parental,—frown not,—tender, fix'd, sincere;
“Thou art for dearer ties by much too dear,
“And nearer must not be, thou art so very near:
“Nay, does not reason, prudence, pride, agree,
“Our very feelings, that it must not be?
“Nay, look not so,—I shun the task no more,
“But will to thee thy better self restore.
“For 't is a love that virtue may profess—
“Parental,—frown not,—tender, fix'd, sincere;
“Thou art for dearer ties by much too dear,
“And nearer must not be, thou art so very near:
“Nay, does not reason, prudence, pride, agree,
“Our very feelings, that it must not be?
“Nay, look not so,—I shun the task no more,
“But will to thee thy better self restore.
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“Then hear, and hope not; to the tale I tell
“Attend! obey me, and let all be well:
“Love is forbad to me, and thou wilt find
“All thy too ardent views must be resign'd;
“Then from thy bosom all such thoughts remove,
“And spare the curse of interdicted love.
“If doubts at first assail thee, wait awhile,
“Nor mock my sadness with satiric smile:
“For, if not much of other worlds we know,
“Nor how a spirit speaks in this below,
“Still there is speech and intercourse; and now
“The truth of what I tell I first avow,
“True will I be in all, and be attentive thou.
“Attend! obey me, and let all be well:
“Love is forbad to me, and thou wilt find
“All thy too ardent views must be resign'd;
“Then from thy bosom all such thoughts remove,
“And spare the curse of interdicted love.
“If doubts at first assail thee, wait awhile,
“Nor mock my sadness with satiric smile:
“For, if not much of other worlds we know,
“Nor how a spirit speaks in this below,
“Still there is speech and intercourse; and now
“The truth of what I tell I first avow,
“True will I be in all, and be attentive thou.
“I was a Ratcliffe, taught and train'd to live
“In all the pride that ancestry can give;
“My only brother, when our mother died,
“Fill'd the dear offices of friend and guide;
“My father early taught us all he dared,
“And for his bolder flights our minds prepared:
“He read the works of deists, every book
“From crabbed Hobbes to courtly Bolingbroke;
“And when we understood not, he would cry,
“‘Let the expressions in your memory lie,
“‘The light will soon break in, and you will find
“‘Rest for your spirits, and be strong of mind!’
“In all the pride that ancestry can give;
“My only brother, when our mother died,
“Fill'd the dear offices of friend and guide;
“My father early taught us all he dared,
“And for his bolder flights our minds prepared:
“He read the works of deists, every book
“From crabbed Hobbes to courtly Bolingbroke;
“And when we understood not, he would cry,
“‘Let the expressions in your memory lie,
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“‘Rest for your spirits, and be strong of mind!’
“Alas! however strong, however weak,
“The rest was something we had still to seek!
“He taught us duties of no arduous kind,
“The easy morals of the doubtful mind;
“He bade us all our childish fears control,
“And drive the nurse and grandam from the soul;
“Told us the word of God was all we saw,
“And that the law of nature was his law;
“This law of nature we might find abstruse,
“But gain sufficient for our common use.
“Thus by persuasion, we our duties learn'd,
“And were but little in the cause concern'd.
“The rest was something we had still to seek!
“He taught us duties of no arduous kind,
“The easy morals of the doubtful mind;
“He bade us all our childish fears control,
“And drive the nurse and grandam from the soul;
“Told us the word of God was all we saw,
“And that the law of nature was his law;
“This law of nature we might find abstruse,
“But gain sufficient for our common use.
“Thus by persuasion, we our duties learn'd,
“And were but little in the cause concern'd.
“We lived in peace, in intellectual ease,
“And thought that virtue was the way to please,
“And pure morality the keeping free
“From all the stains of vulgar villany.
“But Richard, dear enthusiast! shunn'd reproach,
“He let no stain upon his name encroach;
“But fled the hated vice, was kind and just,
“That all must love him, and that all might trust.
“And thought that virtue was the way to please,
“And pure morality the keeping free
“From all the stains of vulgar villany.
“But Richard, dear enthusiast! shunn'd reproach,
“He let no stain upon his name encroach;
“But fled the hated vice, was kind and just,
“That all must love him, and that all might trust.
“Free, sad discourse was ours; we often sigh'd
“To think we could not in some truths confide;
“Our father's final words gave no content,
“We found not what his self-reliance meant:
“To fix our faith some grave relations sought,
“Doctrines and creeds of various kind they brought,
“And we as children heard what they as doctors taught.
“To think we could not in some truths confide;
“Our father's final words gave no content,
“We found not what his self-reliance meant:
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“Doctrines and creeds of various kind they brought,
“And we as children heard what they as doctors taught.
“Some to the priest referr'd us, in whose book
“No unbeliever could resisting look;
“Others to some great preacher's, who could tame
“The fiercest mind, and set the cold on flame;
“For him no rival in dispute was found
“Whom he could not confute or not confound.
“No unbeliever could resisting look;
“Others to some great preacher's, who could tame
“The fiercest mind, and set the cold on flame;
“For him no rival in dispute was found
“Whom he could not confute or not confound.
“Some mystics told us of the sign and seal,
“And what the spirit would in time reveal,
“If we had grace to wait, if we had hearts to feel:
“Others, to reason trusting, said, ‘Believe
“‘As she directs, and what she proves receive;’
“While many told us, ‘It is all but guess,
“‘Stick to your church, and calmly acquiesce.’
“And what the spirit would in time reveal,
“If we had grace to wait, if we had hearts to feel:
“Others, to reason trusting, said, ‘Believe
“‘As she directs, and what she proves receive;’
“While many told us, ‘It is all but guess,
“‘Stick to your church, and calmly acquiesce.’
“Thus, doubting, wearied, hurried, and perplex'd,
“This world was lost in thinking of the next:
“When spoke my brother—‘From my soul I hate
“‘This clash of thought, this ever-doubting state;
“‘For ever seeking certainty, yet blind
“‘In our research, and puzzled when we find.
“‘Could not some spirit, in its kindness, steal
“‘Back to our world, and some dear truth reveal?
“‘Say there is danger,—if it could be done,
“‘Sure one would venture—I would be the one;
“‘And when a spirit—much as spirits might—
“‘I would to thee communicate my light!’
“This world was lost in thinking of the next:
“When spoke my brother—‘From my soul I hate
“‘This clash of thought, this ever-doubting state;
“‘For ever seeking certainty, yet blind
“‘In our research, and puzzled when we find.
“‘Could not some spirit, in its kindness, steal
“‘Back to our world, and some dear truth reveal?
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“‘Sure one would venture—I would be the one;
“‘And when a spirit—much as spirits might—
“‘I would to thee communicate my light!’
“I sought my daring brother to oppose,
“But awful gladness in my bosom rose:
“I fear'd my wishes; but through all my frame
“A bold and elevating terror came:
“Yet with dissembling prudence I replied,
“‘Know we the laws that may be thus defied?
“‘Should the free spirit to th' embodied tell
“‘The precious secret, would it not rebel?’
“Yet while I spoke I felt a pleasing glow
“Suffuse my cheek at what I long'd to know;
“And I, like Eve transgressing, grew more bold,
“And wish'd to hear a spirit and behold.
“But awful gladness in my bosom rose:
“I fear'd my wishes; but through all my frame
“A bold and elevating terror came:
“Yet with dissembling prudence I replied,
“‘Know we the laws that may be thus defied?
“‘Should the free spirit to th' embodied tell
“‘The precious secret, would it not rebel?’
“Yet while I spoke I felt a pleasing glow
“Suffuse my cheek at what I long'd to know;
“And I, like Eve transgressing, grew more bold,
“And wish'd to hear a spirit and behold.
“‘I have no friend,’ said he, ‘to not one man
“‘Can I appear: but, love! to thee I can:
“‘Who first shall die’—I wept, but—‘I agree
“‘To all thou say'st, dear Richard! and would be
“‘The first to wing my way, and bring my news to thee.’
“‘Can I appear: but, love! to thee I can:
“‘Who first shall die’—I wept, but—‘I agree
“‘To all thou say'st, dear Richard! and would be
“‘The first to wing my way, and bring my news to thee.’
“Long we conversed, but not till we perceived
“A gathering gloom—Our freedom gain'd, we grieved;
“Above the vulgar, as we judged, in mind,
“Below in peace, more sad as more refined;
“'T was joy, 'twas sin—Offenders at the time,
“We felt the hurried pleasure of our crime
“With pain that crime creates, and this in both—
“Our mind united as the strongest oath.
“A gathering gloom—Our freedom gain'd, we grieved;
“Above the vulgar, as we judged, in mind,
“Below in peace, more sad as more refined;
“'T was joy, 'twas sin—Offenders at the time,
“We felt the hurried pleasure of our crime
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“Our mind united as the strongest oath.
“O, my dear George! in ceasing to obey,
“Misery and trouble meet us in our way!
“I felt as one intruding in a scene
“Where none should be, where none had ever been;
“Like our first parent, I was new to sin,
“But plainly felt its sufferings begin:
“In nightly dreams I walk'd on soil unsound,
“And in my day-dreams endless error found.
“Misery and trouble meet us in our way!
“I felt as one intruding in a scene
“Where none should be, where none had ever been;
“Like our first parent, I was new to sin,
“But plainly felt its sufferings begin:
“In nightly dreams I walk'd on soil unsound,
“And in my day-dreams endless error found.
“With this dear brother I was doom'd to part,
“Who, with a husband, shared a troubled heart:
“My lord I honour'd; but I never proved
“The madd'ning joy, the boast of some who loved:
“It was a marriage that our friends profess'd
“Would be most happy, and I acquiesced;
“And we were happy, for our love was calm,
“Not life's delicious essence, but its balm.
“My brother left us—dear unhappy boy!
“He never seem'd to taste of earthly joy,
“Never to live on earth, but ever strove
“To gain some tidings of a world above.
“Who, with a husband, shared a troubled heart:
“My lord I honour'd; but I never proved
“The madd'ning joy, the boast of some who loved:
“It was a marriage that our friends profess'd
“Would be most happy, and I acquiesced;
“And we were happy, for our love was calm,
“Not life's delicious essence, but its balm.
“My brother left us—dear unhappy boy!
“He never seem'd to taste of earthly joy,
“Never to live on earth, but ever strove
“To gain some tidings of a world above.
“Parted from him, I found no more to please,
“Ease was my object, and I dwelt in ease;
“And thus in quiet, not perhaps content,
“A year in wedlock, lingering time! was spent
“Ease was my object, and I dwelt in ease;
“And thus in quiet, not perhaps content,
“A year in wedlock, lingering time! was spent
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“One night I slept not, but I courted sleep,
“And forced my thoughts on tracks they could not keep;
“Till nature, wearied in the strife, reposed,
“And deep forgetfulness my wanderings closed.
“And forced my thoughts on tracks they could not keep;
“Till nature, wearied in the strife, reposed,
“And deep forgetfulness my wanderings closed.
“My lord was absent—distant from the bed
“A pendent lamp its soften'd lustre shed;
“But there was light that chased away the gloom,
“And brought to view each object in the room:
“These I observed ere yet I sunk in sleep,
“That, if disturb'd not, had been long and deep.
“A pendent lamp its soften'd lustre shed;
“But there was light that chased away the gloom,
“And brought to view each object in the room:
“These I observed ere yet I sunk in sleep,
“That, if disturb'd not, had been long and deep.
“I was awaken'd by some being nigh,
“It seem'd some voice, and gave a timid cry,—
“When sounds, that I describe not, slowly broke
“On my attention—‘Be composed, and look!’—
“I strove, and I succeeded; look'd with awe,
“But yet with firmness, and my brother saw.
“It seem'd some voice, and gave a timid cry,—
“When sounds, that I describe not, slowly broke
“On my attention—‘Be composed, and look!’—
“I strove, and I succeeded; look'd with awe,
“But yet with firmness, and my brother saw.
“George, why that smile?—By all that God has done,
“By the great Spirit, by the blessed Son,
“By the one holy Three, by the thrice holy One,
“I saw my brother,—saw him by my bed,
“And every doubt in full conviction fled!—
“It was his own mild spirit—He awhile
“Waited my calmness with benignant smile;
“So softly shines the veiled sun, till past
“The cloud, and light upon the world is cast:
“That look composed and soften'd I survey'd,
“And met the glance fraternal less afraid;
“Though in those looks was something of command,
“And traits of what I fear'd to understand.
“By the great Spirit, by the blessed Son,
“By the one holy Three, by the thrice holy One,
“I saw my brother,—saw him by my bed,
“And every doubt in full conviction fled!—
“It was his own mild spirit—He awhile
“Waited my calmness with benignant smile;
“So softly shines the veiled sun, till past
“The cloud, and light upon the world is cast:
“That look composed and soften'd I survey'd,
“And met the glance fraternal less afraid;
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“And traits of what I fear'd to understand.
“Then spoke the spirit—George, I pray, attend—
“‘First, let all doubts of thy religion end—
“‘The word reveal'd is true: enquire no more,
“‘Believe in meekness, and with thanks adore:
“‘Thy priest attend, but not in all rely,
“‘And to objectors seek for no reply:
“‘Truth, doubt, and error, will be mix'd below—
“‘Be thou content the greater truths to know,
“‘And in obedience rest thee—For thy life
“‘Thou needest counsel—now a happy wife,
“‘A widow soon! and then, my sister, then
“‘Think not of marriage, think no more of men;—
“‘Life will have comforts; thou wilt much enjoy
“‘Of moderate good, then do not this destroy;
“‘Fear much, and wed no more; by passion led,
“‘Shouldst thou again’—Art thou attending?—’wed,
“‘Care in thy ways will growl, and anguish haunt thy bed:
“‘A brother's warning on thy heart engrave:
“‘Thou art a mistress—then be not a slave!
“‘Shouldst thou again that hand in fondness give,
“‘What life of misery art thou doom'd to live!
“‘How wilt thou weep, lament, implore, complain!
“‘How wilt thou meet derision and disdain!
“‘And pray to Heaven in doubt, and kneel to man in vain!
“‘Thou read'st of woes to tender bosoms sent—
“‘Thine shall with tenfold agony be rent;
“‘Increase of anguish shall new years bestow,
“‘Pain shall on thought and grief on reason grow,
“‘And this th' advice I give increase the ill I show.’
“‘First, let all doubts of thy religion end—
“‘The word reveal'd is true: enquire no more,
“‘Believe in meekness, and with thanks adore:
“‘Thy priest attend, but not in all rely,
“‘And to objectors seek for no reply:
“‘Truth, doubt, and error, will be mix'd below—
“‘Be thou content the greater truths to know,
“‘And in obedience rest thee—For thy life
“‘Thou needest counsel—now a happy wife,
“‘A widow soon! and then, my sister, then
“‘Think not of marriage, think no more of men;—
“‘Life will have comforts; thou wilt much enjoy
“‘Of moderate good, then do not this destroy;
“‘Fear much, and wed no more; by passion led,
“‘Shouldst thou again’—Art thou attending?—’wed,
“‘Care in thy ways will growl, and anguish haunt thy bed:
“‘A brother's warning on thy heart engrave:
“‘Thou art a mistress—then be not a slave!
“‘Shouldst thou again that hand in fondness give,
“‘What life of misery art thou doom'd to live!
“‘How wilt thou weep, lament, implore, complain!
“‘How wilt thou meet derision and disdain!
“‘And pray to Heaven in doubt, and kneel to man in vain!
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“‘Thine shall with tenfold agony be rent;
“‘Increase of anguish shall new years bestow,
“‘Pain shall on thought and grief on reason grow,
“‘And this th' advice I give increase the ill I show.’
“‘A second marriage!—No!—by all that's dear!’
“I cried aloud—The spirit bade me hear.
“‘There will be trial,—how I must not say,
“‘Perhaps I cannot—listen, and obey!—
“‘Free is thy will—th' event I cannot see,
“‘Distinctly cannot, but thy will is free;
“‘Come, weep not, sister—spirits can but guess,
“‘And not ordain—but do not wed distress;
“‘For who would rashly venture on a snare?’
“I cried aloud—The spirit bade me hear.
“‘There will be trial,—how I must not say,
“‘Perhaps I cannot—listen, and obey!—
“‘Free is thy will—th' event I cannot see,
“‘Distinctly cannot, but thy will is free;
“‘Come, weep not, sister—spirits can but guess,
“‘And not ordain—but do not wed distress;
“‘For who would rashly venture on a snare?’
“‘I swear!’ I answer'd.—‘No, thou must not swear,’
“He said, or I had sworn; but still the vow
“Was past, was in my mind, and there is now:
“Never! O, never:—Why that sullen air?
“Think'st thou—ungenerous!—I would wed despair?
“He said, or I had sworn; but still the vow
“Was past, was in my mind, and there is now:
“Never! O, never:—Why that sullen air?
“Think'st thou—ungenerous!—I would wed despair?
“Was it not told me thus?—and then I cried,
“‘Art thou in bliss?’—but nothing he replied,
“Save of my fate, for that he came to show,
“Nor of aught else permitted me to know.
“‘Forewarn'd, forearm thee, and thy way pursue,
“‘Safe, if thou wilt, not flowery—now, adieu!’
“‘Art thou in bliss?’—but nothing he replied,
“Save of my fate, for that he came to show,
“Nor of aught else permitted me to know.
“‘Forewarn'd, forearm thee, and thy way pursue,
“‘Safe, if thou wilt, not flowery—now, adieu!’
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“‘Nay, go not thus,’ I cried, ‘for this will seem
“‘The work of sleep, a mere impressive dream;
“‘Give me some token, that I may indeed
“‘From the suggestions of my doubts be freed!’
“‘The work of sleep, a mere impressive dream;
“‘Give me some token, that I may indeed
“‘From the suggestions of my doubts be freed!’
“‘Be this a token—ere the week be fled
“‘Shall tidings greet thee from the newly dead.’
“‘Shall tidings greet thee from the newly dead.’
“‘Nay, but,’ I said, with courage not my own,
“‘O! be some signal of thy presence shown;
“‘Let not this visit with the rising day
“‘Pass, and be melted like a dream away.’
“‘O! be some signal of thy presence shown;
“‘Let not this visit with the rising day
“‘Pass, and be melted like a dream away.’
“‘O, woman! woman! ever anxious still
“‘To gain the knowledge, not to curb the will!
“‘Have I not promised?—Child of sin, attend—
“‘Make not a lying spirit of thy friend:
“‘Give me thy hand!’—I gave it, for my soul
“Was now grown ardent, and above control;
“Eager I stretch'd it forth, and felt the hold
“Of shadowy fingers, more than icy cold:
“A nameless pressure on my wrist was made,
“And instant vanish'd the beloved shade!
“Strange it will seem, but, ere the morning came,
“I slept, nor felt disorder in my frame:
“Then came a dream—I saw my father's shade,
“But not with awe like that my brother's made;
“And he began—‘What! made a convert, child?
“‘Have they my favourite by their creed beguiled?
“‘Thy brother's weakness I could well foresee,
“‘But had, my girl, more confidence in thee:
“‘Art thou, indeed, before their ark to bow?
“‘I smiled before, but I am angry now:
“‘Thee will they bind by threats, and thou wilt shake
“‘At tales of terror that the miscreants make:
“‘Between the bigot and enthusiast led,
“‘Thou hast a world of miseries to dread:
“‘Think for thyself, nor let the knaves or fools
“‘Rob thee of reason, and prescribe thee rules.’
“‘To gain the knowledge, not to curb the will!
“‘Have I not promised?—Child of sin, attend—
“‘Make not a lying spirit of thy friend:
“‘Give me thy hand!’—I gave it, for my soul
“Was now grown ardent, and above control;
“Eager I stretch'd it forth, and felt the hold
“Of shadowy fingers, more than icy cold:
“A nameless pressure on my wrist was made,
“And instant vanish'd the beloved shade!
“Strange it will seem, but, ere the morning came,
“I slept, nor felt disorder in my frame:
“Then came a dream—I saw my father's shade,
“But not with awe like that my brother's made;
“And he began—‘What! made a convert, child?
“‘Have they my favourite by their creed beguiled?
“‘Thy brother's weakness I could well foresee,
“‘But had, my girl, more confidence in thee:
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“‘I smiled before, but I am angry now:
“‘Thee will they bind by threats, and thou wilt shake
“‘At tales of terror that the miscreants make:
“‘Between the bigot and enthusiast led,
“‘Thou hast a world of miseries to dread:
“‘Think for thyself, nor let the knaves or fools
“‘Rob thee of reason, and prescribe thee rules.’
“Soon as I woke, and could my thoughts collect,
“What can I think, I cried, or what reject?
“Was it my brother? Aid me, power divine!
“Have I not seen him, left he not a sign?
“Did I not then the placid features trace
“That now remain—the air, the eye, the face?
“And then my father—but how different seem
“These visitations—this, indeed, a dream!
“What can I think, I cried, or what reject?
“Was it my brother? Aid me, power divine!
“Have I not seen him, left he not a sign?
“Did I not then the placid features trace
“That now remain—the air, the eye, the face?
“And then my father—but how different seem
“These visitations—this, indeed, a dream!
“Then for that token on my wrist—'tis here,
“And very slight to you it must appear;
“Here, I'll withdraw the bracelet—'tis a speck!
“No more! but 'tis upon my life a check.”—
“And very slight to you it must appear;
“Here, I'll withdraw the bracelet—'tis a speck!
“No more! but 'tis upon my life a check.”—
“O! lovely all, and like its sister arm!
“Call this a check, dear lady? 'tis a charm—
“A slight, an accidental mark—no more.”—
“Slight as it is, it was not there before:
“Then was there weakness, and I bound it—Nay!
“This is infringement—take those lips away!
“Call this a check, dear lady? 'tis a charm—
“A slight, an accidental mark—no more.”—
“Slight as it is, it was not there before:
“Then was there weakness, and I bound it—Nay!
“This is infringement—take those lips away!
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“On the fourth day came letters, and I cried,
“Richard is dead, and named the day he died:
“A proof of knowledge, true! but one, alas! of pride.
“The signs to me were brought, and not my lord,
“But I impatient waited not the word;
“And much he marvell'd, reading of the night
“In which th' immortal spirit took its flight.
“Richard is dead, and named the day he died:
“A proof of knowledge, true! but one, alas! of pride.
“The signs to me were brought, and not my lord,
“But I impatient waited not the word;
“And much he marvell'd, reading of the night
“In which th' immortal spirit took its flight.
“Yes! I beheld my brother at my bed,
“The hour he died! the instant he was dead—
“His presence now I see! now trace him as he fled.
“The hour he died! the instant he was dead—
“His presence now I see! now trace him as he fled.
“Ah! fly me, George, in very pity, fly;
“Thee I reject, but yield thee reasons why;
“Our fate forbids,—the counsel Heaven has sent
“We must adopt, or grievously repent;
“And I adopt”—George humbly bow'd, and sigh'd,
But, lost in thought, he look'd not nor replied;
Yet feebly utter'd in his sad adieu,
“I must not doubt thy truth, but perish if thou'rt true.”
But when he thought alone, his terror gone
Of the strange story, better views came on.
“Thee I reject, but yield thee reasons why;
“Our fate forbids,—the counsel Heaven has sent
“We must adopt, or grievously repent;
“And I adopt”—George humbly bow'd, and sigh'd,
But, lost in thought, he look'd not nor replied;
Yet feebly utter'd in his sad adieu,
“I must not doubt thy truth, but perish if thou'rt true.”
But when he thought alone, his terror gone
Of the strange story, better views came on.
“Nay, my enfeebled heart, be not dismay'd!
“A boy again, am I of ghosts afraid?
“Does she believe it? Say she does believe;
“Is she not born of error and of Eve?
“Oh! there is lively hope I may the cause retrieve.
“A boy again, am I of ghosts afraid?
“Does she believe it? Say she does believe;
“Is she not born of error and of Eve?
“Oh! there is lively hope I may the cause retrieve.
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“‘If you re-wed’—exclaim'd the Ghost—For what
“Puts he the case, if marry she will not?
“He knows her fate—but what am I about?
“Do I believe?—'t is certain I have doubt,
“And so has she,—what therefore will she do?
“She the predicted fortune will pursue,
“And by th' event will judge if her strange dream was true;
“The strong temptation to her thought applied
“Will gain new strength, and will not be denied;
“The very threat against the thing we love
“Will the vex'd spirit to resistance move;
“With vows to virtue weakness will begin,
“And fears of sinning let in thoughts of sin.’
“Puts he the case, if marry she will not?
“He knows her fate—but what am I about?
“Do I believe?—'t is certain I have doubt,
“And so has she,—what therefore will she do?
“She the predicted fortune will pursue,
“And by th' event will judge if her strange dream was true;
“The strong temptation to her thought applied
“Will gain new strength, and will not be denied;
“The very threat against the thing we love
“Will the vex'd spirit to resistance move;
“With vows to virtue weakness will begin,
“And fears of sinning let in thoughts of sin.’
Strong in her sense of weakness, now withdrew
The cautious lady from the lover's view;
But she perceived the looks of all were changed,—
Her kind old friends grew peevish and estranged:
A fretful spirit reign'd, and discontent
From room to room in sullen silence went;
And the kind widow was distress'd at heart
To think that she no comfort could impart:
“But he will go,” she said, “and he will strive
“In fields of glorious energy to drive
“Love from his bosom.—Yes, I then may stay,
‘And all will thank me on a future day.”
The cautious lady from the lover's view;
But she perceived the looks of all were changed,—
Her kind old friends grew peevish and estranged:
A fretful spirit reign'd, and discontent
From room to room in sullen silence went;
And the kind widow was distress'd at heart
To think that she no comfort could impart:
“But he will go,” she said, “and he will strive
“In fields of glorious energy to drive
“Love from his bosom.—Yes, I then may stay,
‘And all will thank me on a future day.”
So judged the lady, nor appear'd to grieve,
Till the young soldier came to take his leave;
But not of all assembled—No! he found
His gentle sisters all in sorrow drown'd;
With many a shaken hand, and many a kiss,
He cried, “Farewell! a solemn business this;
“Nay, Susan, Sophy!—heaven and earth, my dears!
“I am a soldier—what do I with tears?”
Till the young soldier came to take his leave;
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His gentle sisters all in sorrow drown'd;
With many a shaken hand, and many a kiss,
He cried, “Farewell! a solemn business this;
“Nay, Susan, Sophy!—heaven and earth, my dears!
“I am a soldier—what do I with tears?”
He sought his parents;—they together walk'd,
And of their son, his views and dangers, talk'd;
They knew not how to blame their friend, but still
They murmur'd, “She may save us if she will:
“Were not these visions working in her mind
“Strange things—'tis in her nature to be kind.”
And of their son, his views and dangers, talk'd;
They knew not how to blame their friend, but still
They murmur'd, “She may save us if she will:
“Were not these visions working in her mind
“Strange things—'tis in her nature to be kind.”
Their son appear'd.—He soothed them, and was bless'd,
But still the fondness of his soul confess'd.—
And where the lady?—To her room retired!
“Now show, dear son, the courage she required.”
But still the fondness of his soul confess'd.—
And where the lady?—To her room retired!
“Now show, dear son, the courage she required.”
George bow'd in silence, trying for assent
To his hard fate, and to his trial went:
Fond, but yet fix'd, he found her in her room;
Firm, and yet fearful, she beheld him come:
Nor sought he favour now—No! he would meet his doom.
To his hard fate, and to his trial went:
Fond, but yet fix'd, he found her in her room;
Firm, and yet fearful, she beheld him come:
Nor sought he favour now—No! he would meet his doom.
“Farewell! and, Madam, I beseech you pray
“That this sad spirit soon may pass away;
“That sword or ball would to the dust restore
“This body, that the soul may grieve no more
“For love rejected.—O! that I could quit
“The life I lothe, who am for nothing fit,
“No, not to die!”—“Unhappy, wilt thou make
“The house all wretched for thy passion's sake?
“And most its grieving object?”—
“That this sad spirit soon may pass away;
“That sword or ball would to the dust restore
“This body, that the soul may grieve no more
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“The life I lothe, who am for nothing fit,
“No, not to die!”—“Unhappy, wilt thou make
“The house all wretched for thy passion's sake?
“And most its grieving object?”—
“Grieving?—No!
“Or as a conqueror mourns a dying foe,
“That makes his triumph sure.—Couldst thou deplore
“The evil done, the pain would be no more;
“But an accursed dream has steel'd thy breast,
“And all the woman in thy soul suppress'd.”—
“Or as a conqueror mourns a dying foe,
“That makes his triumph sure.—Couldst thou deplore
“The evil done, the pain would be no more;
“But an accursed dream has steel'd thy breast,
“And all the woman in thy soul suppress'd.”—
“Oh! it was vision, George; a vision true
“As ever seer or holy prophet knew.”—
“As ever seer or holy prophet knew.”—
“Can spirits, lady, though they might alarm,
“Make an impression on that lovely arm?
“A little cold the cause, a little heat,
“Or vein minute, or artery's morbid beat,
“Even beauty these admit.”—
“Make an impression on that lovely arm?
“A little cold the cause, a little heat,
“Or vein minute, or artery's morbid beat,
“Even beauty these admit.”—
“I did behold
“My brother's form.”—
“My brother's form.”—
“Yes, so thy Fancy told,
“When in the morning she her work survey'd,
“And call'd the doubtful memory to her aid.”—
“When in the morning she her work survey'd,
“And call'd the doubtful memory to her aid.”—
“Nay, think! the night he died—the very night!”—
“'T is very true, and so perchance he might,
“But in thy mind—not, lady, in thy sight!
“Thou wert not well; forms delicately made
“These dreams and fancies easily invade;
“The mind and body feel the slow disease,
“And dreams are what the troubled fancy sees.”—
“O! but how strange that all should be combined!”—
“True; but such combinations we may find;
“A dream's predicted number gain'd a prize,
“Yet dreams make no impression on the wise,
“Though some chance good, some lucky gain may rise.”—
“'T is very true, and so perchance he might,
“But in thy mind—not, lady, in thy sight!
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“These dreams and fancies easily invade;
“The mind and body feel the slow disease,
“And dreams are what the troubled fancy sees.”—
“O! but how strange that all should be combined!”—
“True; but such combinations we may find;
“A dream's predicted number gain'd a prize,
“Yet dreams make no impression on the wise,
“Though some chance good, some lucky gain may rise.”—
“O! but those words, that voice so truly known!”—
“No doubt, dear lady, they were all thine own;
“Memory for thee thy brother's form portray'd;
“It was thy fear the awful warning made:
“Thy former doubts of a religious kind
“Account for all these wanderings of the mind.”—
“No doubt, dear lady, they were all thine own;
“Memory for thee thy brother's form portray'd;
“It was thy fear the awful warning made:
“Thy former doubts of a religious kind
“Account for all these wanderings of the mind.”—
“But then, how different when my father came,
“These could not in their nature be the same!”—
“These could not in their nature be the same!”—
“Yes, all are dreams; but some as we awake
“Fly off at once, and no impression make;
“Others are felt, and ere they quit the brain
“Make such impression that they come again;
“As half familiar thoughts, and half unknown,
“And scarcely recollected as our own;
“For half a day abide some vulgar dreams,
“And give our grandams and our nurses themes;
“Others, more strong, abiding figures draw
“Upon the brain, and we assert ‘I saw;’
“And then the fancy on the organs place
“A powerful likeness of a form and face.
“Fly off at once, and no impression make;
“Others are felt, and ere they quit the brain
“Make such impression that they come again;
“As half familiar thoughts, and half unknown,
“And scarcely recollected as our own;
“For half a day abide some vulgar dreams,
“And give our grandams and our nurses themes;
“Others, more strong, abiding figures draw
“Upon the brain, and we assert ‘I saw;’
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“A powerful likeness of a form and face.
“Yet more—in some strong passion's troubled reign,
“Or when the fever'd blood inflames the brain,
“At once the outward and the inward eye
“The real object and the fancied spy;
“The eye is open, and the sense is true,
“And therefore they the outward object view;
“But while the real sense is fix'd on these,
“The power within its own creation sees;
“And these, when mingled in the mind, create
“Those striking visions which our dreamers state;
“For knowing that is true that met the sight,
“They think the judgment of the fancy right.
“Or when the fever'd blood inflames the brain,
“At once the outward and the inward eye
“The real object and the fancied spy;
“The eye is open, and the sense is true,
“And therefore they the outward object view;
“But while the real sense is fix'd on these,
“The power within its own creation sees;
“And these, when mingled in the mind, create
“Those striking visions which our dreamers state;
“For knowing that is true that met the sight,
“They think the judgment of the fancy right.
“Your frequent talk of dreams has made me turn
“My mind on them, and these the facts I learn.
“Or should you say, 't is not in us to take
“Heed in both ways, to sleep and be awake,
“Perhaps the things by eye and mind survey'd
“Are in their quick alternate efforts made;
“For by this mixture of the truth, the dream
“Will in the morning fresh and vivid seem.
“My mind on them, and these the facts I learn.
“Or should you say, 't is not in us to take
“Heed in both ways, to sleep and be awake,
“Perhaps the things by eye and mind survey'd
“Are in their quick alternate efforts made;
“For by this mixture of the truth, the dream
“Will in the morning fresh and vivid seem.
“Dreams are like portraits, and we find they please
“Because they are confess'd resemblances;
“But those strange night-mare visions we compare
“To waxen figures—they too real are,
“Too much a very truth, and are so just
“To life and death, they pain us or disgust.
“Because they are confess'd resemblances;
“But those strange night-mare visions we compare
“To waxen figures—they too real are,
“Too much a very truth, and are so just
“To life and death, they pain us or disgust.
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“Hence from your mind these idle visions shake,
“And O! my love, to happiness awake!”—
“And O! my love, to happiness awake!”—
“It was a warning, tempter! from the dead;
“And, wedding thee, I should to misery wed!”
“And, wedding thee, I should to misery wed!”
“False and injurious! What! unjust to thee?
“O! hear the vows of Love—it cannot be;
“What! I forbear to bless thee—I forego
“That first great blessing of existence? No!
“Did every ghost that terror saw arise
“With such prediction, I should say it lies:
“But none there are—a mighty gulf between
“Hides the ideal world from objects seen;
“We know not where unbodied spirits dwell,
“But this we know, they are invisible;—
“Yet I have one that fain would dwell with thee,
“And always with thy purer spirit be.”—
“O! hear the vows of Love—it cannot be;
“What! I forbear to bless thee—I forego
“That first great blessing of existence? No!
“Did every ghost that terror saw arise
“With such prediction, I should say it lies:
“But none there are—a mighty gulf between
“Hides the ideal world from objects seen;
“We know not where unbodied spirits dwell,
“But this we know, they are invisible;—
“Yet I have one that fain would dwell with thee,
“And always with thy purer spirit be.”—
“O! leave me, George!”—
“To take the field, and die,
“So leave thee, Lady? Yes, I will comply;
“Thou art too far above me—ghosts withstand
“My hopes in vain, but riches guard thy hand,
“For I am poor—affection and a heart
“To thee devoted, I but these impart;
“Then bid me go, I will thy words obey,
“But let not visions drive thy friend away.”—
“So leave thee, Lady? Yes, I will comply;
“Thou art too far above me—ghosts withstand
“My hopes in vain, but riches guard thy hand,
“For I am poor—affection and a heart
“To thee devoted, I but these impart;
“Then bid me go, I will thy words obey,
“But let not visions drive thy friend away.”—
“Hear me, O! hear me—shall I wed my son?”—
“I am in fondness and obedience one;
“And I will reverence, honour, love, adore,
“Be all that fondest sons can be—and more;
“And shall thy son, if such he be, proceed
“To fierce encounters, and in battle bleed?
“No: thou canst weep!”—
“I am in fondness and obedience one;
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“Be all that fondest sons can be—and more;
“And shall thy son, if such he be, proceed
“To fierce encounters, and in battle bleed?
“No: thou canst weep!”—
“O! leave me, I entreat;
“Leave me a moment—we shall quickly meet.”—
“Leave me a moment—we shall quickly meet.”—
“No! here I kneel, a beggar at thy feet.”—
He said, and knelt—with accents, softer still,
He woo'd the weakness of a failing will,
And erring judgment—took her hand, and cried,
“Withdraw it not!—O! let it thus abide,
“Pledge of thy love—upon thy act depend
“My joy, my hope,—thus they begin or end!
“Withdraw it not.”—He saw her looks express'd
Favour and grace—the hand was firmer press'd;
Signs of opposing fear no more were shown,
And, as he press'd, he felt it was his own.
He said, and knelt—with accents, softer still,
He woo'd the weakness of a failing will,
And erring judgment—took her hand, and cried,
“Withdraw it not!—O! let it thus abide,
“Pledge of thy love—upon thy act depend
“My joy, my hope,—thus they begin or end!
“Withdraw it not.”—He saw her looks express'd
Favour and grace—the hand was firmer press'd;
Signs of opposing fear no more were shown,
And, as he press'd, he felt it was his own.
Soon through the house was known the glad assent,
The night so dreaded was in comfort spent;
War was no more, the destined knot was tied,
And the fond widow made a fearful bride.
The night so dreaded was in comfort spent;
War was no more, the destined knot was tied,
And the fond widow made a fearful bride.
Let mortal frailty judge how mortals frail
Thus in their strongest resolutions fail,
And though we blame, our pity will prevail.
Thus in their strongest resolutions fail,
And though we blame, our pity will prevail.
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Yet, with that Ghost—for so she thought—in view!
When she believed that all he told was true;
When every threat was to her mind recall'd,
Till it became affrighten'd and appall'd;
When Reason pleaded, Think! forbear! refrain!
And when, though trifling, stood that mystic stain,
Predictions, warnings, threats, were present all in vain.
When she believed that all he told was true;
When every threat was to her mind recall'd,
Till it became affrighten'd and appall'd;
When Reason pleaded, Think! forbear! refrain!
And when, though trifling, stood that mystic stain,
Predictions, warnings, threats, were present all in vain.
Th' exulting youth a mighty conqueror rose,
And who hereafter shall his will oppose?
And who hereafter shall his will oppose?
Such is our tale; but we must yet attend
Our weak, kind widow to her journey's end;
Upon her death-bed laid, confessing to a friend
Her full belief, for to the hour she died
This she profess'd:—
Our weak, kind widow to her journey's end;
Upon her death-bed laid, confessing to a friend
Her full belief, for to the hour she died
This she profess'd:—
“The truth I must not hide,
“It was my brother's form, and in the night he died:
“In sorrow and in shame has pass'd my time,
“All I have suffer'd follow from my crime;
“I sinn'd with warning—when I gave my hand
“A power within said, urgently,—Withstand!
“And I resisted—O! my God, what shame,
“What years of torment from that frailty came!
“It was my brother's form, and in the night he died:
“In sorrow and in shame has pass'd my time,
“All I have suffer'd follow from my crime;
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“A power within said, urgently,—Withstand!
“And I resisted—O! my God, what shame,
“What years of torment from that frailty came!
“That husband-son!—I will my fault review
“What did he not that men or monsters do?
“His day of love, a brief autumnal day,
“Ev'n in its dawning hasten'd to decay;
“Doom'd from our odious union to behold
“How cold he grew, and then how worse than cold;
“Eager he sought me, eagerly to shun,
“Kneeling he woo'd me, but he scorn'd me, won;
“The tears he caused served only to provoke
“His wicked insult o'er the heart he broke;
“My fond compliance served him for a jest,
“And sharpen'd scorn—‘I ought to be distress'd;
“‘Why did I not with my chaste ghost comply!’
“And with upbraiding scorn he told me why.
“O! there was grossness in his soul: his mind
“Could not be raised, nor soften'd, nor refined.
“What did he not that men or monsters do?
“His day of love, a brief autumnal day,
“Ev'n in its dawning hasten'd to decay;
“Doom'd from our odious union to behold
“How cold he grew, and then how worse than cold;
“Eager he sought me, eagerly to shun,
“Kneeling he woo'd me, but he scorn'd me, won;
“The tears he caused served only to provoke
“His wicked insult o'er the heart he broke;
“My fond compliance served him for a jest,
“And sharpen'd scorn—‘I ought to be distress'd;
“‘Why did I not with my chaste ghost comply!’
“And with upbraiding scorn he told me why.
“O! there was grossness in his soul: his mind
“Could not be raised, nor soften'd, nor refined.
“Twice he departed in his rage, and went
“I know not where, nor how his days were spent;
“Twice he return'd a suppliant wretch, and craved,
“Mean as profuse, the trifle I had saved.
“I know not where, nor how his days were spent;
“Twice he return'd a suppliant wretch, and craved,
“Mean as profuse, the trifle I had saved.
“I have had wounds, and some that never heal,
“What bodies suffer, and what spirits feel;
“But he is gone who gave them, he is fled
“To his account! and my revenge is dead:
“Yet is it duty, though with shame, to give
“My sex a lesson—let my story live;
“For if no ghost the promised visit paid,
“Still was a deep and strong impression made,
“That wisdom had approved, and prudence had obey'd;
“But from another world that warning came,
“And O! in this be ended all my shame!
“Like the first being of my sex I fell,
“Tempted, and with the tempter doom'd to dwell—
“He was the master-fiend, and where he reign'd was hell.”
“What bodies suffer, and what spirits feel;
“But he is gone who gave them, he is fled
“To his account! and my revenge is dead:
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“My sex a lesson—let my story live;
“For if no ghost the promised visit paid,
“Still was a deep and strong impression made,
“That wisdom had approved, and prudence had obey'd;
“But from another world that warning came,
“And O! in this be ended all my shame!
“Like the first being of my sex I fell,
“Tempted, and with the tempter doom'd to dwell—
“He was the master-fiend, and where he reign'd was hell.”
This was her last, for she described no more
The rankling feelings of a mind so sore,
But died in peace.—One moral let us draw,—
Be it a ghost or not the lady saw:—
The rankling feelings of a mind so sore,
But died in peace.—One moral let us draw,—
Be it a ghost or not the lady saw:—
If our discretion tells us how to live,
We need no ghost a helping hand to give;
But if discretion cannot us restrain,
It then appears a ghost would come in vain.
We need no ghost a helping hand to give;
But if discretion cannot us restrain,
It then appears a ghost would come in vain.
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BOOK XVII. THE WIDOW.
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The Morning Walk—Village Scenery—The Widow's Dwelling —Her Story related—The first Husband—His Indulgence —Its Consequence—Dies—The second—His Authority—Its Effects—His Death—A third Husband —Determinately indulgent—He dies also—The Widow's Retirement.
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Richard one morning—it was custom now—
Walked and conversed with labourers at the plough,
With threshers hastening to their daily task,
With woodmen resting o'er the enlivening flask,
And with the shepherd, watchful of his fold
Beneath the hill, and pacing in the cold:
Further afield he sometimes would proceed,
And take a path wherever it might lead.
Walked and conversed with labourers at the plough,
With threshers hastening to their daily task,
With woodmen resting o'er the enlivening flask,
And with the shepherd, watchful of his fold
Beneath the hill, and pacing in the cold:
Further afield he sometimes would proceed,
And take a path wherever it might lead.
It led him far about to Wickham Green,
Where stood the mansion of the village queen;
Her garden yet its wintry blossoms bore,
And roses graced the windows and the door—
That lasting kind, that through the varying year
Or in the bud or in the bloom appear;
All flowers that now the gloomy days adorn
Rose on the view, and smiled upon that morn:
Richard a damsel at the window spied,
Who kindly drew a useless veil aside,
And show'd a lady who was sitting by,
So pensive, that he almost heard her sigh:
Full many years she could, no question, tell,
But in her mourning look'd extremely well.
Where stood the mansion of the village queen;
Her garden yet its wintry blossoms bore,
And roses graced the windows and the door—
That lasting kind, that through the varying year
Or in the bud or in the bloom appear;
All flowers that now the gloomy days adorn
Rose on the view, and smiled upon that morn:
Richard a damsel at the window spied,
Who kindly drew a useless veil aside,
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So pensive, that he almost heard her sigh:
Full many years she could, no question, tell,
But in her mourning look'd extremely well.
“In truth,” said Richard, when he told at night
His tale to George, “it was a pleasant sight;
“She looked like one who could, in tender tone,
“Say, ‘Will you let a lady sigh alone?
“‘See! Time has touched me gently in his race,
“‘And left no odious furrows in my face;
“‘See, too, this house and garden, neat and trim,
“‘Kept for its master—will you stand for him?’
His tale to George, “it was a pleasant sight;
“She looked like one who could, in tender tone,
“Say, ‘Will you let a lady sigh alone?
“‘See! Time has touched me gently in his race,
“‘And left no odious furrows in my face;
“‘See, too, this house and garden, neat and trim,
“‘Kept for its master—will you stand for him?’
“Say this is vain and foolish if you please,
“But I believe her thoughts resembled these:
“‘Come!’ said her looks, ‘and we will kindly take
“‘The visit kindness prompted you to make.’
“And I was sorry that so much good play
“Of eye and attitude was thrown away
“On one who has his lot, on one who had his day.”
“But I believe her thoughts resembled these:
“‘Come!’ said her looks, ‘and we will kindly take
“‘The visit kindness prompted you to make.’
“And I was sorry that so much good play
“Of eye and attitude was thrown away
“On one who has his lot, on one who had his day.”
“Your pity, brother,” George, with smile, replied,
“You may dismiss, and with it send your pride:
“No need of pity, when the gentle dame
“Has thrice resign'd and re-assumed her name;
“And be not proud—for, though it might be thine,
“She would that hand to humbler men resign.
“You may dismiss, and with it send your pride:
“No need of pity, when the gentle dame
“Has thrice resign'd and re-assumed her name;
“And be not proud—for, though it might be thine,
“She would that hand to humbler men resign.
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“Young she is not,—it would be passing strange
“If a young beauty thrice her name should change
“Yes! she has years beyond your reckoning seen—
“Smiles and a window years and wrinkles screen;
“But she, in fact, has that which may command
“The warm admirer and the willing hand:
“What is her fortune we are left to guess,
“But good the sign—she does not much profess;
“Poor she is not,—and there is that in her
“That easy men to strength of mind prefer;
“She may be made, with little care and skill,
“Yielding her own, t' adopt a husband's will:
“Women there are, who if a man will take
“The helm and steer—will no resistance make;
“Who, if neglected, will the power assume,
“And then what wonder if the shipwreck come?
“If a young beauty thrice her name should change
“Yes! she has years beyond your reckoning seen—
“Smiles and a window years and wrinkles screen;
“But she, in fact, has that which may command
“The warm admirer and the willing hand:
“What is her fortune we are left to guess,
“But good the sign—she does not much profess;
“Poor she is not,—and there is that in her
“That easy men to strength of mind prefer;
“She may be made, with little care and skill,
“Yielding her own, t' adopt a husband's will:
“Women there are, who if a man will take
“The helm and steer—will no resistance make;
“Who, if neglected, will the power assume,
“And then what wonder if the shipwreck come?
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“Queens they will be, if man allow the means,
“And give the power to these domestic queens;
“Whom, if he rightly trains, he may create
“And make obedient members of his state.”
“And give the power to these domestic queens;
“Whom, if he rightly trains, he may create
“And make obedient members of his state.”
Harriet at school was very much the same
As other misses, and so home she came,
Like other ladies, there to live and learn,
To wait her season, and to take her turn.
As other misses, and so home she came,
Like other ladies, there to live and learn,
To wait her season, and to take her turn.
Their husbands maids as priests their livings gain
The best, they find, are hardest to obtain;
On those that offer both awhile debate—
“I need not take it, it is not so late;
“Better will come if we will longer stay,
“And strive to put ourselves in fortune's way:”
And thus they wait, till many years are past,
For what comes slowly—but it comes at last.
The best, they find, are hardest to obtain;
On those that offer both awhile debate—
“I need not take it, it is not so late;
“Better will come if we will longer stay,
“And strive to put ourselves in fortune's way:”
And thus they wait, till many years are past,
For what comes slowly—but it comes at last.
Harriet was wedded,—but it must be said,
The vow'd obedience was not duly paid:
Hers was an easy man,—it gave him pain
To hear a lady murmur and complain:
He was a merchant, whom his father made
Rich in the gains of a successful trade:
A lot more pleasant, or a view more fair,
Has seldom fallen to a youthful pair.
The vow'd obedience was not duly paid:
Hers was an easy man,—it gave him pain
To hear a lady murmur and complain:
He was a merchant, whom his father made
Rich in the gains of a successful trade:
A lot more pleasant, or a view more fair,
Has seldom fallen to a youthful pair.
But what is faultless in a world like this?
In every station something seems amiss:
The lady, married, found the house too small—
“Two shabby parlours, and that ugly hall!
“Had we a cottage somewhere, and could meet
“One's friends and favourites in one's snug retreat;
“Or only join a single room to these,
“It would be living something at our ease,
“And have one's self, at home, the comfort that one sees.”
In every station something seems amiss:
163
“Two shabby parlours, and that ugly hall!
“Had we a cottage somewhere, and could meet
“One's friends and favourites in one's snug retreat;
“Or only join a single room to these,
“It would be living something at our ease,
“And have one's self, at home, the comfort that one sees.”
Such powers of reason, and of mind such strength,
Fought with man's fear, and they prevail'd at length:
The room was built,—and Harriet did not know
A prettier dwelling, either high or low;
But Harriet loved such conquests, loved to plead
With her reluctant man, and to succeed;
It was such pleasure to prevail o'er one
Who would oppose the thing that still was done,
Who never gain'd the race, but yet would groan and run.
Fought with man's fear, and they prevail'd at length:
The room was built,—and Harriet did not know
A prettier dwelling, either high or low;
But Harriet loved such conquests, loved to plead
With her reluctant man, and to succeed;
It was such pleasure to prevail o'er one
Who would oppose the thing that still was done,
Who never gain'd the race, but yet would groan and run.
But there were times when love and pity gave
Whatever thoughtless vanity could crave:
She now the carriage chose with freshest name,
And was in quite a fever till it came;
But can a carriage be alone enjoy'd?
The pleasure not partaken is destroy'd;
“I must have some good creature to attend
“On morning visits as a kind of friend.”
Whatever thoughtless vanity could crave:
She now the carriage chose with freshest name,
And was in quite a fever till it came;
But can a carriage be alone enjoy'd?
The pleasure not partaken is destroy'd;
“I must have some good creature to attend
“On morning visits as a kind of friend.”
A courteous maiden then was found to sit
Beside the lady, for her purpose fit,
Who had been train'd in all the soothing ways
And servile duties from her early days;
One who had never from her childhood known
A wish fulfill'd, a purpose of her own:
Her part it was to sit beside the dame,
And give relief in every want that came;
To soothe the pride, to watch the varying look,
And bow in silence to the dumb rebuke.
Beside the lady, for her purpose fit,
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And servile duties from her early days;
One who had never from her childhood known
A wish fulfill'd, a purpose of her own:
Her part it was to sit beside the dame,
And give relief in every want that came;
To soothe the pride, to watch the varying look,
And bow in silence to the dumb rebuke.
This supple being strove with all her skill
To draw her master's to her lady's will;
For they were like the magnet and the steel,
At times so distant that they could not feel;
Then would she gently move them, till she saw
That to each other they began to draw;
And then would leave them, sure on her return
In Harriet's joy her conquest to discern.
To draw her master's to her lady's will;
For they were like the magnet and the steel,
At times so distant that they could not feel;
Then would she gently move them, till she saw
That to each other they began to draw;
And then would leave them, sure on her return
In Harriet's joy her conquest to discern.
She was a mother now, and grieved to find
The nursery window caught the eastern wind;
What could she do with fears like these oppress'd?
She built a room all window'd to the west;
For sure in one so dull, so bleak, so old,
She and her children must expire with cold:
Meantime the husband murmur'd—“So he might;
“She would be judged by Cousins—Was it right?”
The nursery window caught the eastern wind;
What could she do with fears like these oppress'd?
She built a room all window'd to the west;
For sure in one so dull, so bleak, so old,
She and her children must expire with cold:
Meantime the husband murmur'd—“So he might;
“She would be judged by Cousins—Was it right?”
Water was near them, and her mind afloat,
The lady saw a cottage and a boat,
And thought what sweet excursions they might make,
How they might sail, what neighbours they might take,
And nicely would she deck the lodge upon the lake.
The lady saw a cottage and a boat,
And thought what sweet excursions they might make,
How they might sail, what neighbours they might take,
And nicely would she deck the lodge upon the lake.
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She now prevail'd by habit; had her will,
And found her patient husband sad and still:
Yet this displeased; she gain'd, indeed, the prize,
But not the pleasure of her victories;
Was she a child to be indulged? He knew
She would have right, but would have reason too.
And found her patient husband sad and still:
Yet this displeased; she gain'd, indeed, the prize,
But not the pleasure of her victories;
Was she a child to be indulged? He knew
She would have right, but would have reason too.
Now came the time, when in her husband's face
Care, and concern, and caution, she could trace;
His troubled features gloom and sadness bore,
Less he resisted, but he suffer'd more;
His nerves were shook like hers; in him her grief
Had much of sympathy, but no relief.
Care, and concern, and caution, she could trace;
His troubled features gloom and sadness bore,
Less he resisted, but he suffer'd more;
His nerves were shook like hers; in him her grief
Had much of sympathy, but no relief.
She could no longer read, and therefore kept
A girl to give her stories while she wept;
Better for Lady Julia's woes to cry,
Than have her own for ever in her eye:
Her husband grieved, and o'er his spirits came
Gloom; and disease attack'd his slender frame;
He felt a loathing for the wretched state
Of his concerns, so sad, so complicate;
Grief and confusion seized him in the day,
And the night pass'd in agony away:
“My ruin comes!” was his awakening thought,
And vainly through the day was comfort sought;
“There, take my all!” he said, and in his dream
Heard the door bolted, and his children scream.
And he was right, for not a day arose
That he exclaim'd not, “Will it never close?”
“Would it were come!”—but still he shifted on,
Till health, and hope, and life's fair views were gone.
A girl to give her stories while she wept;
Better for Lady Julia's woes to cry,
Than have her own for ever in her eye:
Her husband grieved, and o'er his spirits came
Gloom; and disease attack'd his slender frame;
He felt a loathing for the wretched state
Of his concerns, so sad, so complicate;
Grief and confusion seized him in the day,
And the night pass'd in agony away:
“My ruin comes!” was his awakening thought,
And vainly through the day was comfort sought;
“There, take my all!” he said, and in his dream
Heard the door bolted, and his children scream.
And he was right, for not a day arose
That he exclaim'd not, “Will it never close?”
“Would it were come!”—but still he shifted on,
Till health, and hope, and life's fair views were gone.
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Fretful herself, he of his wife in vain
For comfort sought.—“He would be well again;
“Time would disorders of such nature heal!
“O! if he felt what she was doom'd to feel;
“Such sleepless nights! such broken rest! her frame
“Rack'd with diseases that she could not name!
“With pangs like hers no other was oppress'd!”
Weeping, she said, and sigh'd herself to rest.
For comfort sought.—“He would be well again;
“Time would disorders of such nature heal!
“O! if he felt what she was doom'd to feel;
“Such sleepless nights! such broken rest! her frame
“Rack'd with diseases that she could not name!
“With pangs like hers no other was oppress'd!”
Weeping, she said, and sigh'd herself to rest.
The suffering husband look'd the world around,
And saw no friend: on him misfortune frown'd;
Him self-reproach tormented; sorely tried,
By threats he mourn'd, and by disease he died
And saw no friend: on him misfortune frown'd;
Him self-reproach tormented; sorely tried,
By threats he mourn'd, and by disease he died
As weak as wailing infancy or age,
How could the widow with the world engage?
Fortune not now the means of comfort gave,
Yet all her comforts Harriet wept to have.
How could the widow with the world engage?
Fortune not now the means of comfort gave,
Yet all her comforts Harriet wept to have.
“My helpless babes,” she said, “will nothing know,”
Yet not a single lesson would bestow;
Her debts would overwhelm her, that was sure,
But one privation would she not endure;
“We shall want bread! the thing is past a doubt.”—
“Then part with Cousins!”—“Can I do without?”—
“Dismiss your servants!”—“Spare me them, I pray!”—
“At least your carriage!”—“What will people say?”—
“That useless boat, that folly on the lake!”—
“Oh! but what cry and scandal will it make?”
Yet not a single lesson would bestow;
Her debts would overwhelm her, that was sure,
But one privation would she not endure;
“We shall want bread! the thing is past a doubt.”—
“Then part with Cousins!”—“Can I do without?”—
“Dismiss your servants!”—“Spare me them, I pray!”—
“At least your carriage!”—“What will people say?”—
“That useless boat, that folly on the lake!”—
“Oh! but what cry and scandal will it make?”
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It was so hard on her, who not a thing
Had done such mischief on their heads to bring;
This was her comfort, this she would declare,
And then slept soundly on her pillow'd chair:
When not asleep, how restless was the soul
Above advice, exempted from control;
For ever begging all to be sincere,
And never willing any truth to hear;
A yellow paleness o'er her visage spread,
Her fears augmented as her comforts fled;
Views dark and dismal to her mind appear'd,
And death she sometimes woo'd, and always fear'd.
Had done such mischief on their heads to bring;
This was her comfort, this she would declare,
And then slept soundly on her pillow'd chair:
When not asleep, how restless was the soul
Above advice, exempted from control;
For ever begging all to be sincere,
And never willing any truth to hear;
A yellow paleness o'er her visage spread,
Her fears augmented as her comforts fled;
Views dark and dismal to her mind appear'd,
And death she sometimes woo'd, and always fear'd.
Among the clerks there was a thoughtful one,
Who still believed that something might be done;
All in his view was not so sunk and lost,
But of a trial things would pay the cost:
He judged the widow, and he saw the way
In which her husband suffer'd her to stray;
He saw entangled and perplex'd affairs,
And Time's sure hand at work on their repairs;
Children he saw, but nothing could he see
Why he might not their careful father be;
And looking keenly round him, he believed
That what was lost might quickly be retrieved.
Who still believed that something might be done;
All in his view was not so sunk and lost,
But of a trial things would pay the cost:
He judged the widow, and he saw the way
In which her husband suffer'd her to stray;
He saw entangled and perplex'd affairs,
And Time's sure hand at work on their repairs;
Children he saw, but nothing could he see
Why he might not their careful father be;
And looking keenly round him, he believed
That what was lost might quickly be retrieved.
Now thought our clerk—“I must not mention love,
“That she at least must seem to disapprove;
“But I must fear of poverty enforce,
“And then consent will be a thing of course.
“That she at least must seem to disapprove;
“But I must fear of poverty enforce,
“And then consent will be a thing of course.
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“Madam!” said he, “with sorrow I relate,
“That our affairs are in a dreadful state;
“I call'd on all our friends, and they declared
“They dared not meddle—not a creature dared;
“But still our perseverance chance may aid,
“And though I'm puzzled, I am not afraid;
“If you, dear lady, will attention give
“To me, the credit of the house shall live;
“Do not, I pray you, my proposal blame,
“It is my wish to guard your husband's fame,
“And ease your trouble; then your cares resign
“To my discretion—and, in short, be mine.”
“That our affairs are in a dreadful state;
“I call'd on all our friends, and they declared
“They dared not meddle—not a creature dared;
“But still our perseverance chance may aid,
“And though I'm puzzled, I am not afraid;
“If you, dear lady, will attention give
“To me, the credit of the house shall live;
“Do not, I pray you, my proposal blame,
“It is my wish to guard your husband's fame,
“And ease your trouble; then your cares resign
“To my discretion—and, in short, be mine.”
“Yours! O! my stars!—Your goodness, sir, deserves
“My grateful thanks—take pity on my nerves;
“I shake and tremble at a thing so new,
“And fear 't is what a lady should not do;
“And then to marry upon ruin's brink
“In all this hurry—what will people think?”
“My grateful thanks—take pity on my nerves;
“I shake and tremble at a thing so new,
“And fear 't is what a lady should not do;
“And then to marry upon ruin's brink
“In all this hurry—what will people think?”
“Nay, there's against us neither rule nor law,
“And people's thinking is not worth a straw;
“Those who are prudent, have too much to do
“With their own cares to think of me and you;
“And those who are not, are so poor a race,
“That what they utter can be no disgrace:—
“Come! let us now embark, when time and tide
“Invite to sea, in happy hour decide;
“If yet we linger, both are sure to fail,
“The turning waters and the varying gale;
“Trust me, our vessel shall be ably steer'd,
“Nor will I quit her, till the rocks are clear'd.”
“And people's thinking is not worth a straw;
“Those who are prudent, have too much to do
“With their own cares to think of me and you;
“And those who are not, are so poor a race,
“That what they utter can be no disgrace:—
“Come! let us now embark, when time and tide
“Invite to sea, in happy hour decide;
169
“The turning waters and the varying gale;
“Trust me, our vessel shall be ably steer'd,
“Nor will I quit her, till the rocks are clear'd.”
Allured and frighten'd, soften'd and afraid,
The widow doubted, ponder'd, and obey'd:
So were they wedded, and the careful man
His reformation instantly began;
Began his state with vigour to reform,
And made a calm by laughing at the storm.
The widow doubted, ponder'd, and obey'd:
So were they wedded, and the careful man
His reformation instantly began;
Began his state with vigour to reform,
And made a calm by laughing at the storm.
Th' attendant-maiden he dismiss'd—for why?
She might on him and love like his rely;
She needed none to form her children's mind,
That duty nature to her care assign'd;
In vain she mourn'd, it was her health he prized,
And hence enforced the measures he advised:
She wanted air; and walking, she was told,
Was safe, was pleasant!—he the carriage sold;
He found a tenant who agreed to take
The boat and cottage on the useless lake;
The house itself had now superfluous room,
And a rich lodger was induced to come.
She might on him and love like his rely;
She needed none to form her children's mind,
That duty nature to her care assign'd;
In vain she mourn'd, it was her health he prized,
And hence enforced the measures he advised:
She wanted air; and walking, she was told,
Was safe, was pleasant!—he the carriage sold;
He found a tenant who agreed to take
The boat and cottage on the useless lake;
The house itself had now superfluous room,
And a rich lodger was induced to come.
The lady wonder'd at the sudden change,
That yet was pleasant, that was very strange;
When every deed by her desire was done,
She had no day of comfort—no, not one;
When nothing moved or stopp'd at her request,
Her heart had comfort, and her temper rest;
For all was done with kindness,—most polite
Was her new lord, and she confess'd it right;
For now she found that she could gaily live
On what the chance of common life could give:
And her sick mind was cured of every ill,
By finding no compliance with her will;
For when she saw that her desires were vain,
She wisely thought it foolish to complain.
That yet was pleasant, that was very strange;
170
She had no day of comfort—no, not one;
When nothing moved or stopp'd at her request,
Her heart had comfort, and her temper rest;
For all was done with kindness,—most polite
Was her new lord, and she confess'd it right;
For now she found that she could gaily live
On what the chance of common life could give:
And her sick mind was cured of every ill,
By finding no compliance with her will;
For when she saw that her desires were vain,
She wisely thought it foolish to complain.
Born for her man, she gave a gentle sigh
To her lost power, and grieved not to comply;
Within, without, the face of things improved,
And all in order and subjection moved.
As wealth increased, ambition now began
To swell the soul of the aspiring man;
In some few years he thought to purchase land,
And build a seat that hope and fancy plann'd;
To this a name his youthful bride should give!
Harriet, of course, not many years would live;
Then he would farm, and every soil should show
The tree that best upon the place would grow:
He would, moreover, on the Bench debate
On sundry questions—when a magistrate;
Would talk of all that to the state belongs,
The rich man's duties, and the poor man's wrongs;
He would with favourites of the people rank,
And him the weak and the oppress'd should thank.
To her lost power, and grieved not to comply;
Within, without, the face of things improved,
And all in order and subjection moved.
As wealth increased, ambition now began
To swell the soul of the aspiring man;
In some few years he thought to purchase land,
And build a seat that hope and fancy plann'd;
To this a name his youthful bride should give!
Harriet, of course, not many years would live;
Then he would farm, and every soil should show
The tree that best upon the place would grow:
He would, moreover, on the Bench debate
On sundry questions—when a magistrate;
Would talk of all that to the state belongs,
The rich man's duties, and the poor man's wrongs;
He would with favourites of the people rank,
And him the weak and the oppress'd should thank.
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'T is true those children, orphans then, would need
Help in a world of trouble to succeed;
And they should have it.—He should then possess
All that man needs for earthly happiness.
Help in a world of trouble to succeed;
And they should have it.—He should then possess
All that man needs for earthly happiness.
“Proud words, and vain!” said Doctor Young; and proud
They are; and vain, were by our clerk allow'd;
For, while he dream'd, there came both pain and cough,
And fever never tamed, and bore him off;
Young as he was, and planning schemes to live
With more delight than man's success can give;
Building a mansion in his fancy vast,
Beyond the Gothic pride of ages past!
While this was plann'd, but ere a place was sought,
The timber season'd, or the quarry wrought,
Came Death's dread summons, and the man was laid
In the poor house the simple sexton made.
They are; and vain, were by our clerk allow'd;
For, while he dream'd, there came both pain and cough,
And fever never tamed, and bore him off;
Young as he was, and planning schemes to live
With more delight than man's success can give;
Building a mansion in his fancy vast,
Beyond the Gothic pride of ages past!
While this was plann'd, but ere a place was sought,
The timber season'd, or the quarry wrought,
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In the poor house the simple sexton made.
But he had time for thought when he was ill,
And made his lady an indulgent will:
'T is said he gave, in parting, his advice,
“It is sufficient to be married twice:”
To which she answer'd, as 'tis said, again,
“There's none will have you, if you're poor and plain;
“And if you're rich and handsome, there is none
“Will take refusal—let the point alone.”
And made his lady an indulgent will:
'T is said he gave, in parting, his advice,
“It is sufficient to be married twice:”
To which she answer'd, as 'tis said, again,
“There's none will have you, if you're poor and plain;
“And if you're rich and handsome, there is none
“Will take refusal—let the point alone.”
Be this or true or false, it is her praise
She mourn'd correctly all the mourning days;
But grieve she did not; for the canker grief
Soils the complexion, and is beauty's thief;
Nothing, indeed, so much will discompose
Our public mourning as our private woes;
When tender thoughts a widow's bosom probe,
She thinks not then how graceful sits the robe;
But our nice widow look'd to every fold,
And every eye its beauty might behold!
It was becoming; she composed her face,
She look'd serenely, and she mourn'd with grace.
She mourn'd correctly all the mourning days;
But grieve she did not; for the canker grief
Soils the complexion, and is beauty's thief;
Nothing, indeed, so much will discompose
Our public mourning as our private woes;
When tender thoughts a widow's bosom probe,
She thinks not then how graceful sits the robe;
But our nice widow look'd to every fold,
And every eye its beauty might behold!
It was becoming; she composed her face,
She look'd serenely, and she mourn'd with grace.
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Some months were pass'd, but yet there wanted three
Of the full time when widows wives may be;
One trying year, and then the mind is freed,
And man may to the vacant throne succeed.
Of the full time when widows wives may be;
One trying year, and then the mind is freed,
And man may to the vacant throne succeed.
There was a tenant—he, to wit, who hired
That cot and lake, that were so much admired;
A man of spirit, one who doubtless meant,
Though he delay'd awhile, to pay his rent;
The widow's riches gave her much delight,
And some her claims, and she resolved to write:—
That cot and lake, that were so much admired;
A man of spirit, one who doubtless meant,
Though he delay'd awhile, to pay his rent;
The widow's riches gave her much delight,
And some her claims, and she resolved to write:—
“He knew her grievous loss, how every care
“Devolved on her, who had indeed her share;
“She had no doubt of him,—but was as sure
“As that she breathed her money was secure;
“But she had made a rash and idle vow
“To claim her dues, and she must keep it now:
“So if it suited—”
“Devolved on her, who had indeed her share;
“She had no doubt of him,—but was as sure
“As that she breathed her money was secure;
“But she had made a rash and idle vow
“To claim her dues, and she must keep it now:
“So if it suited—”
And for this there came
A civil answer to the gentle dame:
Within the letter were excuses, thanks,
And clean bank paper from the best of banks;
There were condolence, consolation, praise,
With some slight hints of danger in delays;
With these good things were others from the lake,
Perch that were wish'd to salmon for her sake,
And compliment as sweet as new-born hope could make.
A civil answer to the gentle dame:
Within the letter were excuses, thanks,
And clean bank paper from the best of banks;
There were condolence, consolation, praise,
With some slight hints of danger in delays;
With these good things were others from the lake,
Perch that were wish'd to salmon for her sake,
And compliment as sweet as new-born hope could make.
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This led to friendly visits, social calls,
And much discourse of races, rambles, balls;
But all in proper bounds, and not a word
Before its time—the man was not absurd,
Nor was he cold; but when she might expect,
A letter came, and one to this effect:—
And much discourse of races, rambles, balls;
But all in proper bounds, and not a word
Before its time—the man was not absurd,
Nor was he cold; but when she might expect,
A letter came, and one to this effect:—
“That if his eyes had not his love convey'd,
“They had their master shamefully betray'd;
“But she must know the flame, that he was sure,
“Nor she could doubt, would long as life endure:
“Both were in widow'd state, and both possess'd
“Of ample means to make their union bless'd;
“That she had been confined, he knew for truth,
“And begg'd her to have pity on her youth;
“Youth, he would say, and he desired his wife
“To have the comforts of an easy life:
“She loved a carriage, loved a decent seat
“To which they might at certain times retreat;
“Servants indeed were sorrows,—yet a few
“They still must add, and do as others do:
“She too would some attendant damsel need,
“To hear, to speak, to travel, or to read:”
In short, the man his remedies assign'd
For his foreknown diseases in the mind:—
“First,” he presumed, “that in a nervous case
“Nothing was better than a change of place:”
He added, too,—“'Twas well that he could prove
“That his was pure, disinterested love;
“Not as when lawyers couple house and land
“In such a way as none can understand;
“No! thanks to Him that every good supplied,
“He had enough, and wanted nought beside.
“Merit was all.”—
“They had their master shamefully betray'd;
“But she must know the flame, that he was sure,
“Nor she could doubt, would long as life endure:
“Both were in widow'd state, and both possess'd
“Of ample means to make their union bless'd;
“That she had been confined, he knew for truth,
“And begg'd her to have pity on her youth;
“Youth, he would say, and he desired his wife
“To have the comforts of an easy life:
“She loved a carriage, loved a decent seat
“To which they might at certain times retreat;
“Servants indeed were sorrows,—yet a few
“They still must add, and do as others do:
“She too would some attendant damsel need,
“To hear, to speak, to travel, or to read:”
In short, the man his remedies assign'd
For his foreknown diseases in the mind:—
“First,” he presumed, “that in a nervous case
“Nothing was better than a change of place:”
He added, too,—“'Twas well that he could prove
“That his was pure, disinterested love;
“Not as when lawyers couple house and land
“In such a way as none can understand;
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“He had enough, and wanted nought beside.
“Merit was all.”—
“Well! now, she would protest,
“This was a letter prettily express'd.”
To every female friend away she flew
To ask advice, and say, “What shall I do?”
She kiss'd her children,—and she said, with tears,
“I wonder what is best for you, my dears?
“How can I, darlings, to your good attend
“Without the help of some experienced friend,
“Who will protect us all, or, injured, will defend?”
“This was a letter prettily express'd.”
To every female friend away she flew
To ask advice, and say, “What shall I do?”
She kiss'd her children,—and she said, with tears,
“I wonder what is best for you, my dears?
“How can I, darlings, to your good attend
“Without the help of some experienced friend,
“Who will protect us all, or, injured, will defend?”
The Widow then ask'd counsel of her heart,
In vain, for that had nothing to impart;
But yet with that, or something for her guide,
She to her swain thus guardedly replied:—
In vain, for that had nothing to impart;
But yet with that, or something for her guide,
She to her swain thus guardedly replied:—
“She must believe he was sincere, for why
“Should one who needed nothing deign to lie?
“But though she could and did his truth admit,
“She could not praise him for his taste a bit;
“And yet men's tastes were various, she confess'd,
“And none could prove his own to be the best;
“It was a vast concern, including all
“That we can happiness or comfort call;
“And yet she found that those who waited long
“Before their choice, had often chosen wrong;
“Nothing, indeed, could for her loss atone,
“But 'twas the greater that she lived alone;
“She, too, had means, and therefore what the use
“Of more, that still more trouble would produce?
“And pleasure too she own'd, as well as care,
“Of which, at present, she had not her share.
“Should one who needed nothing deign to lie?
“But though she could and did his truth admit,
“She could not praise him for his taste a bit;
“And yet men's tastes were various, she confess'd,
“And none could prove his own to be the best;
“It was a vast concern, including all
“That we can happiness or comfort call;
“And yet she found that those who waited long
“Before their choice, had often chosen wrong;
“Nothing, indeed, could for her loss atone,
“But 'twas the greater that she lived alone;
“She, too, had means, and therefore what the use
“Of more, that still more trouble would produce?
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“Of which, at present, she had not her share.
“The things he offered, she must needs confess,
“They were all women's wishes, more or less;
“But were expensive; though a man of sense
“Would by his prudence lighten the expense:
“Prudent he was, but made a sad mistake
“When he proposed her faded face to take;
“And yet, 't is said, there's beauty that will last
“When the rose withers and the bloom be past.
“They were all women's wishes, more or less;
“But were expensive; though a man of sense
“Would by his prudence lighten the expense:
“Prudent he was, but made a sad mistake
“When he proposed her faded face to take;
“And yet, 't is said, there's beauty that will last
“When the rose withers and the bloom be past.
“One thing displeased her,—that he could suppose
“He might so soon his purposes disclose;
“Yet had she hints of such intent before,
“And would excuse him if he wrote no more;
“What would the world?—and yet she judged them fools
“Who let the world's suggestions be their rules;
“What would her friends?—Yet in her own affairs
“It was her business to decide, not theirs:
“Adieu! then, sir,” she added; “thus you find
“The changeless purpose of a steady mind,
“In one now left alone, but to her fate resign'd.”
“He might so soon his purposes disclose;
“Yet had she hints of such intent before,
“And would excuse him if he wrote no more;
177
“Who let the world's suggestions be their rules;
“What would her friends?—Yet in her own affairs
“It was her business to decide, not theirs:
“Adieu! then, sir,” she added; “thus you find
“The changeless purpose of a steady mind,
“In one now left alone, but to her fate resign'd.”
The marriage follow'd; and th' experienced dame
Consider'd what the conduct that became
A thrice-devoted lady—She confess'd
That when indulged she was but more distress'd;
And by her second husband when controll'd,
Her life was pleasant, though her love was cold;
“Then let me yield,” she said, and with a sigh,
“Let me to wrong submit, with right comply.”
Alas! obedience may mistake, and they
Who reason not will err when they obey;
And fated was the gentle dame to find
Her duty wrong, and her obedience blind.
Consider'd what the conduct that became
A thrice-devoted lady—She confess'd
That when indulged she was but more distress'd;
And by her second husband when controll'd,
Her life was pleasant, though her love was cold;
“Then let me yield,” she said, and with a sigh,
“Let me to wrong submit, with right comply.”
Alas! obedience may mistake, and they
Who reason not will err when they obey;
And fated was the gentle dame to find
Her duty wrong, and her obedience blind.
The man was kind, but would have no dispute;
His love and kindness both were absolute:
She needed not her wishes to express
To one who urged her on to happiness;
For this he took her to the lakes and seas;
To mines and mountains, nor allow'd her ease,
She must be pleased, he said, and he must live to please.
His love and kindness both were absolute:
She needed not her wishes to express
To one who urged her on to happiness;
For this he took her to the lakes and seas;
To mines and mountains, nor allow'd her ease,
She must be pleased, he said, and he must live to please.
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He hurried north and south, and east and west;
When age required, they would have time to rest:
He in the richest dress her form array'd,
And cared not what he promised, what he paid;
She should share all his pleasures as her own,
And see whatever could be sought or shown.
When age required, they would have time to rest:
He in the richest dress her form array'd,
And cared not what he promised, what he paid;
She should share all his pleasures as her own,
And see whatever could be sought or shown.
This run of pleasure for a time she bore,
And then affirm'd that she could taste no more:
She loved it while its nature it retain'd,
But made a duty, it displeased and pain'd:
“Have we not means?” the joyous husband cried;
“But I am wearied out,” the wife replied;
“Wearied with pleasure! Thing till now unheard—
“Are all that sweeten trouble to be fear'd?
“'T is but the sameness tires you,—cross the seas,
“And let us taste the world's varieties.
And then affirm'd that she could taste no more:
She loved it while its nature it retain'd,
But made a duty, it displeased and pain'd:
“Have we not means?” the joyous husband cried;
“But I am wearied out,” the wife replied;
“Wearied with pleasure! Thing till now unheard—
“Are all that sweeten trouble to be fear'd?
“'T is but the sameness tires you,—cross the seas,
“And let us taste the world's varieties.
“'T is said, in Paris that a man may live
“In all the luxuries a world can give,
“And in a space confined to narrow bound
“All the enjoyments of our life are found;
“There we may eat and drink, may dance and dress,
“And in its very essence joy possess;
“May see a moving crowd of lovely dames,
“May win a fortune at your favourite games;
“May hear the sounds that ravish human sense,
“And all without receding foot from thence.”
“In all the luxuries a world can give,
“And in a space confined to narrow bound
“All the enjoyments of our life are found;
“There we may eat and drink, may dance and dress,
“And in its very essence joy possess;
“May see a moving crowd of lovely dames,
“May win a fortune at your favourite games;
“May hear the sounds that ravish human sense,
“And all without receding foot from thence.”
The conquer'd wife, resistless and afraid,
To the strong call a sad obedience paid.
To the strong call a sad obedience paid.
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As we an infant in its pain, with sweets
Loved once, now loath'd, torment him till he eats,
Who on the authors of his new distress
Looks trembling with disgusted weariness,
So Harriet felt, so look'd, and seem'd to say,
“O! for a day of rest, a holiday!”
Loved once, now loath'd, torment him till he eats,
Who on the authors of his new distress
Looks trembling with disgusted weariness,
So Harriet felt, so look'd, and seem'd to say,
“O! for a day of rest, a holiday!”
At length, her courage rising with her fear,
She said, “Our pleasures may be bought too dear!”
She said, “Our pleasures may be bought too dear!”
To this he answer'd—“Dearest! from thy heart
“Bid every fear of evil times depart;
“I ever trusted in the trying hour
“To my good stars, and felt the ruling power;
“When want drew nigh, his threat'ning speed was stopp'd,
“Some virgin aunt, some childless uncle dropp'd;
“In all his threats I sought expedients new,
“And my last, best resource was found in you.”
“Bid every fear of evil times depart;
“I ever trusted in the trying hour
“To my good stars, and felt the ruling power;
“When want drew nigh, his threat'ning speed was stopp'd,
“Some virgin aunt, some childless uncle dropp'd;
“In all his threats I sought expedients new,
“And my last, best resource was found in you.”
Silent and sad the wife beheld her doom,
And sat her down to see the ruin come;
And meet the ills that rise where money fails,
Debts, threats and duns, bills, bailiffs, writs and jails.
And sat her down to see the ruin come;
And meet the ills that rise where money fails,
Debts, threats and duns, bills, bailiffs, writs and jails.
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These was she spared; ere yet by want oppress'd
Came one more fierce than bailiff in arrest;
Amid a scene where Pleasure never came,
Though never ceased the mention of his name,
The husband's heated blood received the breath
Of strong disease, that bore him to his death.
Came one more fierce than bailiff in arrest;
Amid a scene where Pleasure never came,
Though never ceased the mention of his name,
The husband's heated blood received the breath
Of strong disease, that bore him to his death.
Her all collected,—whether great or small
The sum, I know not, but collected all,—
The widow'd lady to her cot retired,
And there she lives delighted and admired:
Civil to all, compliant and polite,
Disposed to think “whatever is, is right:”
She wears the widow's weeds, she gives the widow's mite.
At home awhile, she in the autumn finds
The sea an object for reflecting minds,
And change for tender spirits; there she reads,
And weeps in comfort in her graceful weeds.
The sum, I know not, but collected all,—
The widow'd lady to her cot retired,
And there she lives delighted and admired:
Civil to all, compliant and polite,
Disposed to think “whatever is, is right:”
She wears the widow's weeds, she gives the widow's mite.
At home awhile, she in the autumn finds
The sea an object for reflecting minds,
And change for tender spirits; there she reads,
And weeps in comfort in her graceful weeds.
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What gives our tale its moral? Here we find
That wives like this are not for rule design'd,
Nor yet for blind submission; happy they,
Who, while they feel it pleasant to obey,
Have yet a kind companion at their side
Who in their journey will his power divide,
Or yield the reins, and bid the lady guide;
Then points the wonders of the way, and makes
The duty pleasant that she undertakes;
He shows her objects as they move along,
And gently rules the movements that are wrong;
He tells her all the skilful driver's art,
And smiles to see how well she acts her part;
Nor praise denies to courage or to skill,
In using power that he resumes at will.
That wives like this are not for rule design'd,
Nor yet for blind submission; happy they,
Who, while they feel it pleasant to obey,
Have yet a kind companion at their side
Who in their journey will his power divide,
Or yield the reins, and bid the lady guide;
Then points the wonders of the way, and makes
The duty pleasant that she undertakes;
He shows her objects as they move along,
And gently rules the movements that are wrong;
He tells her all the skilful driver's art,
And smiles to see how well she acts her part;
Nor praise denies to courage or to skill,
In using power that he resumes at will.
183
BOOK XVIII. ELLEN.
184
A Morning Ride—A Purchase of the Squire—The Way to it described—The former Proprietor—Richard's Return—Enquiries respecting a Lady whom he had seen—Her History related—Her Attachment to a Tutor—They are parted—Impediments removed—How removed in vain— Fate of the Lover—Of Ellen.
185
Bleak was the morn—said Richard, with a sigh,
“I must depart!”—“That, Brother, I deny,”
Said George—“You may; but I perceive not why.”
“I must depart!”—“That, Brother, I deny,”
Said George—“You may; but I perceive not why.”
This point before had been discuss'd, but still
The guest submitted to the ruling will;
But every day gave rise to doubt and fear,—
He heard not now, as he was wont to hear,
That all was well!—though little was express'd,
It seem'd to him the writer was distress'd;
Restrain'd! there was attempt and strife to please,
Pains and endeavour—not Matilda's ease;—
Not the pure lines of love! the guileless friend
In all her freedom—What could this portend?
“Fancy!” said George, “the self-tormentor's pain”—
And Richard still consented to remain
The guest submitted to the ruling will;
But every day gave rise to doubt and fear,—
He heard not now, as he was wont to hear,
That all was well!—though little was express'd,
It seem'd to him the writer was distress'd;
Restrain'd! there was attempt and strife to please,
Pains and endeavour—not Matilda's ease;—
Not the pure lines of love! the guileless friend
In all her freedom—What could this portend?
“Fancy!” said George, “the self-tormentor's pain”—
And Richard still consented to remain
186
“Ride you this fair cool morning?” said the Squire:
“Do—for a purchase I have made enquire,
“And with you take a will complacently t' admire:
“Southward at first, dear Richard, make your way,
“Cross Hilton Bridge, move on through Breken Clay,
“At Dunham Wood turn duly to the east,
“And there your eyes upon the ocean feast;
“Then ride above the cliff, or ride below,
“You'll be enraptured, for your taste I know;
“It is a prospect that a man might stay
“To his bride hastening on his wedding-day;
“At Tilburn Sluice once more ascend, and view
“A decent house; an ample garden too,
“And planted well behind—a lively scene, and new;
“A little taste, a little pomp display'd,
“By a dull man, who had retired from trade
“To enjoy his leisure—Here he came prepared
“To farm, nor cost in preparation spared;
“But many works he purchased, some he read,
“And often rose with projects in his head,
“Of crops in courses raised, of herds by matching bred.
“We had just found these little humours out,
“Just saw—he saw not—what he was about;
“Just met as neighbours, still disposed to meet,
“Just learn'd the current tales of Dowling Street,
“And were just thinking of our female friends,
“Saying—‘You know not what the man intends,
“‘A rich, kind, hearty’—and it might be true
“Something he wish'd but had not time to do;
“A cold ere yet the falling leaf! of small
“Effect till then, was fatal in the fall;—
“And of that house was his possession brief—
“Go; and guard well against the falling leaf.
“Do—for a purchase I have made enquire,
“And with you take a will complacently t' admire:
“Southward at first, dear Richard, make your way,
“Cross Hilton Bridge, move on through Breken Clay,
“At Dunham Wood turn duly to the east,
“And there your eyes upon the ocean feast;
“Then ride above the cliff, or ride below,
“You'll be enraptured, for your taste I know;
“It is a prospect that a man might stay
“To his bride hastening on his wedding-day;
“At Tilburn Sluice once more ascend, and view
“A decent house; an ample garden too,
“And planted well behind—a lively scene, and new;
“A little taste, a little pomp display'd,
“By a dull man, who had retired from trade
“To enjoy his leisure—Here he came prepared
“To farm, nor cost in preparation spared;
“But many works he purchased, some he read,
“And often rose with projects in his head,
“Of crops in courses raised, of herds by matching bred.
“We had just found these little humours out,
“Just saw—he saw not—what he was about;
“Just met as neighbours, still disposed to meet,
“Just learn'd the current tales of Dowling Street,
“And were just thinking of our female friends,
“Saying—‘You know not what the man intends,
“‘A rich, kind, hearty’—and it might be true
“Something he wish'd but had not time to do;
187
“Effect till then, was fatal in the fall;—
“And of that house was his possession brief—
“Go; and guard well against the falling leaf.
“But hear me, Richard, looking to my ease,
“Try if you can find something that will please;
“Faults if you see, and such as must abide,
“Say they are small, or say that I can hide;
“But faults that I can change, remove, or mend,
“These like a foe detect—or like a friend.
“Try if you can find something that will please;
“Faults if you see, and such as must abide,
“Say they are small, or say that I can hide;
“But faults that I can change, remove, or mend,
“These like a foe detect—or like a friend.
“Mark well the rooms, and their proportions learn,
“In each some use, some elegance discern;
“Observe the garden, its productive wall,
“And find a something to commend in all;
“Then should you praise them in a knowing way,
“I'll take it kindly—that is well—be gay.
“Nor pass the pebbled cottage as you rise
“Above the sluice, till you have fix'd your eyes
“On the low woodbined window, and have seen,
“So fortune favour you, the ghost within;
“Take but one look, and then your way pursue,
“It flies all strangers, and it knows not you.”
“In each some use, some elegance discern;
“Observe the garden, its productive wall,
“And find a something to commend in all;
“Then should you praise them in a knowing way,
“I'll take it kindly—that is well—be gay.
“Nor pass the pebbled cottage as you rise
“Above the sluice, till you have fix'd your eyes
“On the low woodbined window, and have seen,
“So fortune favour you, the ghost within;
“Take but one look, and then your way pursue,
“It flies all strangers, and it knows not you.”
Richard return'd, and by his Brother stood,
Not in a pensive, not in pleasant mood;
But by strong feeling into stillness wrought,
As nothing thinking, or with too much thought
Or like a man who means indeed to speak,
But would his hearer should his purpose seek.
Not in a pensive, not in pleasant mood;
But by strong feeling into stillness wrought,
As nothing thinking, or with too much thought
Or like a man who means indeed to speak,
But would his hearer should his purpose seek.
188
When George—“What is it, Brother, you would hide?
“Or what confess?”—“Who is she?” he replied,
“That angel whom I saw, to whom is she allied?
“Of this fair being let me understand,
“And I will praise your purchase, house and land.
“Or what confess?”—“Who is she?” he replied,
“That angel whom I saw, to whom is she allied?
“Of this fair being let me understand,
“And I will praise your purchase, house and land.
“Hers was that cottage on the rising ground,
“West of the waves, and just beyond their sound;
“'T is larger than the rest, and whence, indeed,
“You might expect a lady to proceed;
“But O! this creature, far as I could trace,
“Will soon be carried to another place.
“Fair, fragile thing! I said, when first my eye
“Caught hers, wilt thou expand thy wings and fly?
“Or wilt thou vanish? beauteous spirit, stay!—
“For will it not (I question'd) melt away?
“No! it was mortal—I unseen was near,
“And saw the bosom's sigh, the standing tear!
“She thought profoundly, for I stay'd to look,
“And first she read, then laid aside her book;
“Then on her hand reclined her lovely head,
“And seem'd unconscious of the tear she shed.
“West of the waves, and just beyond their sound;
“'T is larger than the rest, and whence, indeed,
“You might expect a lady to proceed;
“But O! this creature, far as I could trace,
“Will soon be carried to another place.
“Fair, fragile thing! I said, when first my eye
“Caught hers, wilt thou expand thy wings and fly?
“Or wilt thou vanish? beauteous spirit, stay!—
“For will it not (I question'd) melt away?
“No! it was mortal—I unseen was near,
“And saw the bosom's sigh, the standing tear!
“She thought profoundly, for I stay'd to look,
“And first she read, then laid aside her book;
“Then on her hand reclined her lovely head,
“And seem'd unconscious of the tear she shed.
“‘Art thou so much,’ I said, ‘to grief a prey?’
“Till pity pain'd me, and I rode away.
“Till pity pain'd me, and I rode away.
“Tell me, my Brother, is that sorrow dread
“For the great change that bears her to the dead?
“Has she connections? does she love?—I feel
“Pity and grief, wilt thou her woes reveal?”
“For the great change that bears her to the dead?
“Has she connections? does she love?—I feel
“Pity and grief, wilt thou her woes reveal?”
189
“They are not lasting, Richard, they are woes
“Chastised and meek! she sings them to repose;
“If not, she reasons; if they still remain,
“She finds resource, that none shall find in vain.
“Chastised and meek! she sings them to repose;
“If not, she reasons; if they still remain,
“She finds resource, that none shall find in vain.
“Whether disease first grew upon regret,
“Or nature gave it, is uncertain yet,
“And must remain; the frame was slightly made,
“That grief assail'd, and all is now decay'd!
“Or nature gave it, is uncertain yet,
“And must remain; the frame was slightly made,
“That grief assail'd, and all is now decay'd!
“But though so willing from the world to part,
“I must not call her case a broken heart:
“Nor dare I take upon me to maintain
“That hearts once broken never heal again.”
“I must not call her case a broken heart:
“Nor dare I take upon me to maintain
“That hearts once broken never heal again.”
She was an only daughter, one whose sire
Loved not that girls to knowledge should aspire;
But he had sons, and Ellen quickly caught
Whatever they were by their masters taught;
This, when the father saw—“It is the turn
“Of her strange mind,” said he, “but let her learn;
“'Tis almost pity with that shape and face—
“But is a fashion, and brings no disgrace;
“Women of old wrote verse, or for the stage
“Brought forth their works! they now are reasoners sage,
“And with severe pursuits dare grapple and engage.
“If such her mind, I shall in vain oppose;
“If not, her labours of themselves will close.”
Loved not that girls to knowledge should aspire;
But he had sons, and Ellen quickly caught
Whatever they were by their masters taught;
This, when the father saw—“It is the turn
“Of her strange mind,” said he, “but let her learn;
“'Tis almost pity with that shape and face—
“But is a fashion, and brings no disgrace;
“Women of old wrote verse, or for the stage
“Brought forth their works! they now are reasoners sage,
“And with severe pursuits dare grapple and engage.
“If such her mind, I shall in vain oppose;
“If not, her labours of themselves will close.”
190
Ellen, 'twas found, had skill without pretence,
And silenced envy by her meek good sense;
That Ellen learnt, her various knowledge proved.
Soft words and tender looks, that Ellen loved;
For he who taught her brothers found in her
A constant, ready, eager auditor;
This he perceived, nor could his joy disguise,
It tuned his voice, it sparkled in his eyes.
And silenced envy by her meek good sense;
That Ellen learnt, her various knowledge proved.
Soft words and tender looks, that Ellen loved;
For he who taught her brothers found in her
A constant, ready, eager auditor;
This he perceived, nor could his joy disguise,
It tuned his voice, it sparkled in his eyes.
Not very young, nor very handsome he,
But very fit an Abelard to be;
His manner and his meekness hush'd alarm
In all but Ellen—Ellen felt the charm;
Hers was fond “filial love,” she found delight
To have her mind's dear father in her sight;
But soon the borrow'd notion she resign'd!
He was no father—even to the mind.
But very fit an Abelard to be;
His manner and his meekness hush'd alarm
In all but Ellen—Ellen felt the charm;
Hers was fond “filial love,” she found delight
To have her mind's dear father in her sight;
But soon the borrow'd notion she resign'd!
He was no father—even to the mind.
But Ellen had her comforts—“He will speak,”
She said, “for he beholds me fond and weak;
“Fond, and he therefore may securely plead,—
“Weak, I have therefore of his firmness need;
“With whom my father will his Ellen trust,
“Because he knows him to be kind and just.”
She said, “for he beholds me fond and weak;
“Fond, and he therefore may securely plead,—
“Weak, I have therefore of his firmness need;
“With whom my father will his Ellen trust,
“Because he knows him to be kind and just.”
Alas! too well the conscious lover knew
The parent's mind, and well the daughter's too;
He felt of duty the imperious call,
Beheld his danger, and must fly or fall.
What would the parent, what his pupils think?
O! he was standing on perdition's brink:
In his dilemma flight alone remain'd,
And could he fly whose very soul was chain'd?
He knew she loved; she tried not to conceal
A hope she thought that virtue's self might feel.
The parent's mind, and well the daughter's too;
He felt of duty the imperious call,
Beheld his danger, and must fly or fall.
What would the parent, what his pupils think?
O! he was standing on perdition's brink:
191
And could he fly whose very soul was chain'd?
He knew she loved; she tried not to conceal
A hope she thought that virtue's self might feel.
Ever of her and her frank heart afraid,
Doubting himself, he sought in absence, aid,
And had resolved on flight, but still the act delay'd;
At last so high his apprehension rose,
That he would both his love and labour close.
Doubting himself, he sought in absence, aid,
And had resolved on flight, but still the act delay'd;
At last so high his apprehension rose,
That he would both his love and labour close.
“While undisclosed my fear each instant grows,
“And I lament the guilt that no one knows,
“Success undoes me, and the view that cheers
“All other men, all dark to me appears!”
“And I lament the guilt that no one knows,
“Success undoes me, and the view that cheers
“All other men, all dark to me appears!”
Thus as he thought, his Ellen at his side
Her soothing softness to his grief applied;
With like effect as water cast on flame,
For he more heated and confused became,
And broke in sorrow from the wondering maid,
Who was at once offended and afraid;
Yet “Do not go!” she cried, and was awhile obey'd.
Her soothing softness to his grief applied;
With like effect as water cast on flame,
For he more heated and confused became,
And broke in sorrow from the wondering maid,
Who was at once offended and afraid;
Yet “Do not go!” she cried, and was awhile obey'd.
“Art thou then ill, dear friend?” she ask'd, and took
His passive hand—“How very pale thy look!
“And thou art cold, and tremblest—pray thee tell
“Thy friend, thy Ellen, is her master well?
“And let her with her loving care attend
“To all that vexes and disturbs her friend.”
His passive hand—“How very pale thy look!
“And thou art cold, and tremblest—pray thee tell
“Thy friend, thy Ellen, is her master well?
“And let her with her loving care attend
“To all that vexes and disturbs her friend.”
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“Nay, my dear lady! we have all our cares,
“And I am troubled with my poor affairs:
“Thou canst not aid me, Ellen; could it be
“And might it, doubtless, I would fly to thee;
“But we have sundry duties, and must all,
“Hard as it may be, go where duties call—
“Suppose the trial were this instant thine,
“Could'st thou the happiest of thy views resign
“At duty's strong command?”—“If thou wert by,”
Said the unconscious maiden, “I would try!”—
And as she sigh'd she heard the soft responsive sigh.
“And I am troubled with my poor affairs:
“Thou canst not aid me, Ellen; could it be
“And might it, doubtless, I would fly to thee;
“But we have sundry duties, and must all,
“Hard as it may be, go where duties call—
“Suppose the trial were this instant thine,
“Could'st thou the happiest of thy views resign
“At duty's strong command?”—“If thou wert by,”
Said the unconscious maiden, “I would try!”—
And as she sigh'd she heard the soft responsive sigh.
And then assuming steadiness, “Adieu!”
He cried, and from the grieving Ellen flew;
And to her father with a bleeding heart
He went, his grief and purpose to impart;
Told of his health, and did in part confess
That he should love the noble maiden less.
He cried, and from the grieving Ellen flew;
And to her father with a bleeding heart
He went, his grief and purpose to impart;
Told of his health, and did in part confess
That he should love the noble maiden less.
The parent's pride to sudden rage gave way—
“And the girl loves! that plainly you would say—
“And you with honour, in your pride, retire!—
“Sir, I your prudence envy and admire.”
“And the girl loves! that plainly you would say—
“And you with honour, in your pride, retire!—
“Sir, I your prudence envy and admire.”
But here the father saw the rising frown,
And quickly let his lofty spirit down.
And quickly let his lofty spirit down.
“Forgive a parent!—I may well excuse
“A girl who could perceive such worth, and choose
“To make it hers; we must not look to meet
“All we might wish;—Is age itself discreet?
“Where conquest may not be, 'tis prudence to retreat.”
“A girl who could perceive such worth, and choose
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“All we might wish;—Is age itself discreet?
“Where conquest may not be, 'tis prudence to retreat.”
Then with the kindness worldly minds assume,
He praised the self-pronounced and rigorous doom;
He wonder'd not that one so young should love,
And much he wish'd he could the choice approve;
Much he lamented such a mind to lose,
And begg'd to learn if he could aid his views,
If such were form'd—then closed the short account,
And to a shilling paid the full amount.
He praised the self-pronounced and rigorous doom;
He wonder'd not that one so young should love,
And much he wish'd he could the choice approve;
Much he lamented such a mind to lose,
And begg'd to learn if he could aid his views,
If such were form'd—then closed the short account,
And to a shilling paid the full amount.
So Cecil left the mansion, and so flew
To foreign shores, without an interview;
He must not say, I love—he could not say, Adieu!
To foreign shores, without an interview;
He must not say, I love—he could not say, Adieu!
Long was he absent; as a guide to youth,
With grief contending, and in search of truth,
In courting peace, and trying to forget
What was so deeply interesting yet.
With grief contending, and in search of truth,
In courting peace, and trying to forget
What was so deeply interesting yet.
A friend in England gave him all the news,
A sad indulgence that he would not lose;
He told how Ellen suffer'd, how they sent
The maid from home in sullen discontent,
With some relation on the Lakes to live,
In all the sorrow such retirements give;
And there she roved among the rocks, and took
Moss from the stone, and pebbles from the brook;
Gazed on the flies that settled on the flowers,
And so consumed her melancholy hours.
A sad indulgence that he would not lose;
He told how Ellen suffer'd, how they sent
The maid from home in sullen discontent,
With some relation on the Lakes to live,
In all the sorrow such retirements give;
And there she roved among the rocks, and took
Moss from the stone, and pebbles from the brook;
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And so consumed her melancholy hours.
Again he wrote—The father then was dead,
And Ellen to her native village fled,
With native feeling—there she oped her door,
Her heart, her purse, and comforted the poor,
The sick, the sad,—and there she pass'd her days,
Deserving much, but never seeking praise,
Her task to guide herself, her joy the fallen to raise.
Nor would she nicely faults and merits weigh,
But loved the impulse of her soul t' obey;
The prayers of all she heard, their sufferings view'd,
Nor turn'd from any, save when Love pursued;
For though to love disposed, to kindness prone,
She thought of Cecil, and she lived alone.
And Ellen to her native village fled,
With native feeling—there she oped her door,
Her heart, her purse, and comforted the poor,
The sick, the sad,—and there she pass'd her days,
Deserving much, but never seeking praise,
Her task to guide herself, her joy the fallen to raise.
Nor would she nicely faults and merits weigh,
But loved the impulse of her soul t' obey;
The prayers of all she heard, their sufferings view'd,
Nor turn'd from any, save when Love pursued;
For though to love disposed, to kindness prone,
She thought of Cecil, and she lived alone.
Thus heard the lover of the life she pass'd
Till his return,—and he return'd at last;
For he had saved, and was a richer man
Than when to teach and study he began;
Something his father left, and he could fly
To the loved country where he wish'd to die.
Till his return,—and he return'd at last;
For he had saved, and was a richer man
Than when to teach and study he began;
Something his father left, and he could fly
To the loved country where he wish'd to die.
“And now,” he said, “this maid with gentle mind
“May I not hope to meet, as good, as kind,
“As in the days when first her friend she knew
“And then could trust—and he indeed is true?
“She knew my motives, and she must approve
“The man who dared to sacrifice his love
“And fondest hopes to virtue: virtuous she,
“Nor can resent that sacrifice in me.”
“May I not hope to meet, as good, as kind,
“As in the days when first her friend she knew
“And then could trust—and he indeed is true?
“She knew my motives, and she must approve
“The man who dared to sacrifice his love
“And fondest hopes to virtue: virtuous she,
“Nor can resent that sacrifice in me.”
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He reason'd thus, but fear'd, and sought the friend
In his own country, where his doubts must end;
They then together to her dwelling came,
And by a servant sent her lover's name,
A modest youth, whom she before had known,
His favourite then, and doubtless then her own.
In his own country, where his doubts must end;
They then together to her dwelling came,
And by a servant sent her lover's name,
A modest youth, whom she before had known,
His favourite then, and doubtless then her own.
They in the carriage heard the servants speak
At Ellen's door—“A maid so heavenly meek,
“Who would all pain extinguish! Yet will she
“Pronounce my doom, I feel the certainty!”—
“Courage!” the friend exclaim'd, “the lover's fear
“Grows without ground;” but Cecil would not hear;
He seem'd some dreadful object to explore,
And fix'd his fearful eye upon the door,
Intensely longing for reply—the thing
That must to him his future fortune bring;
And now it brought! like Death's cold hand it came—
“The lady was a stranger to the name!”
Backward the lover in the carriage fell,
Weak, but not fainting—“All,” said he, “is well!
“Return with me—I have no more to seek!”
And this was all the woful man would speak.
At Ellen's door—“A maid so heavenly meek,
“Who would all pain extinguish! Yet will she
“Pronounce my doom, I feel the certainty!”—
“Courage!” the friend exclaim'd, “the lover's fear
“Grows without ground;” but Cecil would not hear;
He seem'd some dreadful object to explore,
And fix'd his fearful eye upon the door,
Intensely longing for reply—the thing
That must to him his future fortune bring;
And now it brought! like Death's cold hand it came—
“The lady was a stranger to the name!”
Backward the lover in the carriage fell,
Weak, but not fainting—“All,” said he, “is well!
“Return with me—I have no more to seek!”
And this was all the woful man would speak.
Quickly he settled all his worldly views,
And sail'd from home, his fiercer pains to lose
And nurse the milder—now with labour less
He might his solitary world possess,
And taste the bitter-sweet of love in idleness.
And sail'd from home, his fiercer pains to lose
And nurse the milder—now with labour less
He might his solitary world possess,
And taste the bitter-sweet of love in idleness.
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Greece was the land he chose; a mind decay'd
And ruin'd there through glorious ruin stray'd,
There read, and walk'd, and mused,—there loved, and wept, and pray'd.
Nor would he write, nor suffer hope to live,
But gave to study all his mind could give;
Till, with the dead conversing, he began
To lose the habits of a living man,
Save that he saw some wretched, them he tried
To soothe,—some doubtful, them he strove to guide;
Nor did he lose the mind's ennobling joy
Of that new state that death must not destroy;
What Time had done we know not,—Death was nigh,
To his first hopes the lover gave a sigh,
But hopes more new and strong confirm'd his wish to die.
And ruin'd there through glorious ruin stray'd,
There read, and walk'd, and mused,—there loved, and wept, and pray'd.
Nor would he write, nor suffer hope to live,
But gave to study all his mind could give;
Till, with the dead conversing, he began
To lose the habits of a living man,
Save that he saw some wretched, them he tried
To soothe,—some doubtful, them he strove to guide;
Nor did he lose the mind's ennobling joy
Of that new state that death must not destroy;
What Time had done we know not,—Death was nigh,
To his first hopes the lover gave a sigh,
But hopes more new and strong confirm'd his wish to die.
Meantime poor Ellen in her cottage thought
“That he would seek her—sure she should be sought;
“She did not mean—It was an evil hour,
“Her thoughts were guardless, and beyond her power;
“And for one speech, and that in rashness made!
“Have I no friend to soothe him and persuade?
“He must not leave me—He again will come,
“And we shall have one hope, one heart, one home!”
“That he would seek her—sure she should be sought;
“She did not mean—It was an evil hour,
“Her thoughts were guardless, and beyond her power;
“And for one speech, and that in rashness made!
“Have I no friend to soothe him and persuade?
“He must not leave me—He again will come,
“And we shall have one hope, one heart, one home!”
But when she heard that he on foreign ground
Sought his lost peace, hers never more was found;
But still she felt a varying hope that love
Would all these slight impediments remove;—
“Has he no friend to tell him that our pride
“Resents a moment and is satisfied?
“Soon as the hasty sacrifice is made,
“A look will soothe us, and a tear persuade;
“Have I no friend to say ‘Return again,
“‘Reveal your wishes, and relieve her pain?’”
Sought his lost peace, hers never more was found;
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Would all these slight impediments remove;—
“Has he no friend to tell him that our pride
“Resents a moment and is satisfied?
“Soon as the hasty sacrifice is made,
“A look will soothe us, and a tear persuade;
“Have I no friend to say ‘Return again,
“‘Reveal your wishes, and relieve her pain?’”
With suffering mind the maid her prospects view'd,
That hourly varied with the varying mood;
As pass'd the day, the week, the month, the year,
The faint hope sicken'd, and gave place to fear.
That hourly varied with the varying mood;
As pass'd the day, the week, the month, the year,
The faint hope sicken'd, and gave place to fear.
No Cecil came!—“Come, peevish and unjust!”
Sad Ellen cried, “why cherish this disgust?
“Thy Ellen's voice could charm thee once, but thou
“Canst nothing see or hear of Ellen now!”
Sad Ellen cried, “why cherish this disgust?
“Thy Ellen's voice could charm thee once, but thou
“Canst nothing see or hear of Ellen now!”
Yes! she was right; the grave on him was closed,
And there the lover and the friend reposed.
The news soon reach'd her, and she then replied
In his own manner—“I am satisfied!”
And there the lover and the friend reposed.
The news soon reach'd her, and she then replied
In his own manner—“I am satisfied!”
To her a lover's legacy is paid,
The darling wealth of the devoted maid;
From this her best and favourite books she buys,
From this are doled the favourite charities;
And when a tale or face affects her heart,
This is the fund that must relief impart.
The darling wealth of the devoted maid;
From this her best and favourite books she buys,
From this are doled the favourite charities;
And when a tale or face affects her heart,
This is the fund that must relief impart.
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Such have the ten last years of Ellen been!
Her very last that sunken eye has seen!
That half angelic being still must fade
Till all the angel in the mind be made;—
And now the closing scene will shortly come—
She cannot visit sorrow at her home;
But still she feeds the hungry, still prepares
The usual softeners of the peasant's cares:
And though she prays not with the dying now
She teaches them to die, and shows them how.
“Such is my tale, dear Richard, but that told
Her very last that sunken eye has seen!
That half angelic being still must fade
Till all the angel in the mind be made;—
And now the closing scene will shortly come—
She cannot visit sorrow at her home;
But still she feeds the hungry, still prepares
The usual softeners of the peasant's cares:
And though she prays not with the dying now
She teaches them to die, and shows them how.
“I must all comments on the text withhold;
“What is the sin of grief I cannot tell,
“Nor of the sinners who have loved too well;
“But to the cause of mercy I incline,
“Or, O! my Brother, what a fate is mine!”
199
BOOK XIX. WILLIAM BAILEY.
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Discourse on Jealousy—Of unsuspicious Men—Visit William and his Wife—His Dwelling—Story of William and Fanny—Character of both—Their Contract—Fanny's Visit to an Aunt—Its Consequences—Her Father's Expectation —His Death—William a Wanderer—His Mode of Living—The Acquaintance he forms—Travels across the Kingdom—Whom he finds—The Event of their Meeting.
201
The letters Richard in a morning read
To quiet and domestic comforts led;
And George, who thought the world could not supply
Comfort so pure, reflected with a sigh;
Then would pursue the subject, half in play,
Half earnest, till the sadness wore away.
To quiet and domestic comforts led;
And George, who thought the world could not supply
Comfort so pure, reflected with a sigh;
Then would pursue the subject, half in play,
Half earnest, till the sadness wore away.
They spoke of Passion's errors, Love's disease,
His pains, afflictions, wrongs, and jealousies;
Of Herod's vile commandment—that his wife
Should live no more, when he no more had life;
He could not bear that royal Herod's spouse
Should, as a widow, make her second vows;
Or that a mortal with his queen should wed,
Or be the rival of the mighty dead.
His pains, afflictions, wrongs, and jealousies;
Of Herod's vile commandment—that his wife
Should live no more, when he no more had life;
He could not bear that royal Herod's spouse
Should, as a widow, make her second vows;
Or that a mortal with his queen should wed,
Or be the rival of the mighty dead.
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“Herods,” said Richard, “doubtless may be found,
“But haply do not in the world abound;
“Ladies, indeed, a dreadful lot would have,
“If jealousy could act beyond the grave:
“No doubt Othellos every place supply,
“Though every Desdemona does not die;
“But there are lovers in the world, who live
“Slaves to the sex, and every fault forgive.”
“But haply do not in the world abound;
“Ladies, indeed, a dreadful lot would have,
“If jealousy could act beyond the grave:
“No doubt Othellos every place supply,
“Though every Desdemona does not die;
“But there are lovers in the world, who live
“Slaves to the sex, and every fault forgive.”
“I know,” said George, “a happy man and kind,
“Who finds his wife is all he wish'd to find,—
“A mild, good man, who, if he nothing sees,
“Will suffer nothing to disturb his ease;
“Who, ever yielding both to smiles and sighs,
“Admits no story that a wife denies,—
“She guides his mind, and she directs his eyes.
“Who finds his wife is all he wish'd to find,—
“A mild, good man, who, if he nothing sees,
“Will suffer nothing to disturb his ease;
“Who, ever yielding both to smiles and sighs,
“Admits no story that a wife denies,—
“She guides his mind, and she directs his eyes.
“Richard, there dwells within a mile a pair
“Of good examples,—I will guide you there:
“Such man is William Bailey,—but his spouse
“Is virtue's self since she had made her vows:
“I speak of ancient stories, long worn out,
“That honest William would not talk about;
“But he will sometimes check her starting tear,
“And call her self-correction too severe.
“In their own inn the gentle pair are placed,
“Where you behold the marks of William's taste.
“They dwell in plenty, in respect, and peace,
“Landlord and lady of the Golden Fleece:
“Public indeed their calling,—but there come
“No brawl, no revel to that decent room;
“All there is still, and comely to behold,
“Mild as the fleece, and pleasant as the gold;
“But mild and pleasant as they now appear,
“They first experienced many a troubled year;
“And that, if known, might not command our praise,
“Like the smooth tenor of their present days.
“Of good examples,—I will guide you there:
“Such man is William Bailey,—but his spouse
“Is virtue's self since she had made her vows:
“I speak of ancient stories, long worn out,
“That honest William would not talk about;
“But he will sometimes check her starting tear,
“And call her self-correction too severe.
“In their own inn the gentle pair are placed,
“Where you behold the marks of William's taste.
“They dwell in plenty, in respect, and peace,
“Landlord and lady of the Golden Fleece:
“Public indeed their calling,—but there come
“No brawl, no revel to that decent room;
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“Mild as the fleece, and pleasant as the gold;
“But mild and pleasant as they now appear,
“They first experienced many a troubled year;
“And that, if known, might not command our praise,
“Like the smooth tenor of their present days.
“Our hostess, now so grave and steady grown,
“Has had some awkward trials of her own:
“She was not always so resign'd and meek,—
“Yet can I little of her failings speak;
“Those she herself will her misfortunes deem,
“And slides discreetly from the dubious theme;
“But you shall hear the tale that I will tell,
“When we have seen the mansion where they dwell.”
“Has had some awkward trials of her own:
“She was not always so resign'd and meek,—
“Yet can I little of her failings speak;
“Those she herself will her misfortunes deem,
“And slides discreetly from the dubious theme;
“But you shall hear the tale that I will tell,
“When we have seen the mansion where they dwell.”
They saw the mansion,—and the couple made
Obeisance due, and not without parade:
“His honour, still obliging, took delight
“To make them pleasant in each other's sight;
“It was their duty—they were very sure
“It was their pleasure.”
Obeisance due, and not without parade:
“His honour, still obliging, took delight
“To make them pleasant in each other's sight;
“It was their duty—they were very sure
“It was their pleasure.”
This they could endure,
Nor turn'd impatient—In the room around
Were care and neatness: instruments were found
For sacred music, books with prints and notes
By learned men and good, whom William quotes
In mode familiar—Beveridge, Doddridge, Hall,
Pyle, Whitby, Hammond—he refers to all.
Nor turn'd impatient—In the room around
Were care and neatness: instruments were found
For sacred music, books with prints and notes
By learned men and good, whom William quotes
In mode familiar—Beveridge, Doddridge, Hall,
Pyle, Whitby, Hammond—he refers to all.
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Next they beheld his garden, fruitful, nice,
And, as he said, his little paradise.
And, as he said, his little paradise.
In man and wife appear'd some signs of pride,
Which they perceived not, or they would not hide,—
“Their honest saving, their good name, their skill,
“His honour's land, which they had grace to till;
“And more his favour shown, with all their friends' good will.”
Which they perceived not, or they would not hide,—
“Their honest saving, their good name, their skill,
“His honour's land, which they had grace to till;
“And more his favour shown, with all their friends' good will.”
This past, the visit was with kindness closed,
And George was ask'd to do as he proposed.
And George was ask'd to do as he proposed.
“Richard,” said he, “though I myself explore
“With no distaste the annals of the poor,
“And may with safety to a brother show
“What of my humble friends I chance to know,
“Richard, there are who call the subjects low.
“With no distaste the annals of the poor,
“And may with safety to a brother show
“What of my humble friends I chance to know,
“Richard, there are who call the subjects low.
“The host and hostess of the Fleece—'t is base—
“Would I could cast some glory round the place!
“Would I could cast some glory round the place!
“The lively heroine once adorn'd a farm,—
“And William's virtue has a kind of charm:
“Nor shall we, in our apprehension, need
“Riches or rank—I think I may proceed:
“Virtue and worth there are who will not see
“In humble dress, but low they cannot be.”
“And William's virtue has a kind of charm:
“Nor shall we, in our apprehension, need
“Riches or rank—I think I may proceed:
“Virtue and worth there are who will not see
“In humble dress, but low they cannot be.”
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The youth's addresses pleased his favourite maid,—
They wish'd for union, but were both afraid;
They saw the wedded poor,—and fear the bliss delay'd:
Yet they appear'd a happier lass and swain
Than those who will not reason or refrain.
They wish'd for union, but were both afraid;
They saw the wedded poor,—and fear the bliss delay'd:
Yet they appear'd a happier lass and swain
Than those who will not reason or refrain.
William was honest, simple, gentle, kind,
Laborious, studious, and to thrift inclined;
More neat than youthful peasant in his dress,
And yet so careful, that it cost him less:
He kept from inns, though doom'd an inn to keep,
And all his pleasures and pursuits were cheap:
Yet would the youth perform a generous deed,
When reason saw or pity felt the need;
He of his labour and his skill would lend,
Nay, of his money, to a suffering friend.
Laborious, studious, and to thrift inclined;
More neat than youthful peasant in his dress,
And yet so careful, that it cost him less:
He kept from inns, though doom'd an inn to keep,
And all his pleasures and pursuits were cheap:
Yet would the youth perform a generous deed,
When reason saw or pity felt the need;
He of his labour and his skill would lend,
Nay, of his money, to a suffering friend.
William had manual arts,—his room was graced
With carving quaint, that spoke the master's taste;
But if that taste admitted some dispute,
He charm'd the nymphs with flageolet and flute.
With carving quaint, that spoke the master's taste;
But if that taste admitted some dispute,
He charm'd the nymphs with flageolet and flute.
Constant at church, and there a little proud,
He sang with boldness, and he read aloud;
Self-taught to write, he his example took
And form'd his letters from a printed book.
He sang with boldness, and he read aloud;
Self-taught to write, he his example took
And form'd his letters from a printed book.
I've heard of ladies who profess'd to see
In a man's writing what his mind must be;
As Doctor Spurzheim's pupils, when they look
Upon a skull, will read it as a book—
Our talents, tendencies, and likings trace,
And find for all the measure and the place:
Strange times! when thus we are completely read
By man or woman, by the hand or head!
Believe who can—but William's even mind
All who beheld might in his writing find;
His not the scratches where we try in vain
Meaning and words to construe or explain.
In a man's writing what his mind must be;
As Doctor Spurzheim's pupils, when they look
Upon a skull, will read it as a book—
206
And find for all the measure and the place:
Strange times! when thus we are completely read
By man or woman, by the hand or head!
Believe who can—but William's even mind
All who beheld might in his writing find;
His not the scratches where we try in vain
Meaning and words to construe or explain.
But with our village hero to proceed,—
He read as learned clerks are wont to read;
Solemn he was in tone, and slow in pace,
By nature gifted both with strength and grace.
He read as learned clerks are wont to read;
Solemn he was in tone, and slow in pace,
By nature gifted both with strength and grace.
Black parted locks his polish'd forehead press'd;
His placid looks an easy mind confess'd:
His smile content, and seldom more, convey'd;
Not like the smile of fair illusive maid,
When what she feels is hid, and what she wills betray'd.
His placid looks an easy mind confess'd:
His smile content, and seldom more, convey'd;
Not like the smile of fair illusive maid,
When what she feels is hid, and what she wills betray'd.
The lighter damsels call'd his manner prim,
And laugh'd at virtue so array'd in him;
But they were wanton, as he well replied,
And hoped their own would not be strongly tried:
Yet was he full of glee, and had his strokes
Of rustic wit, his repartees and jokes;
Nor was averse, ere yet he pledged his love,
To stray with damsels in the shady grove;
When he would tell them, as they walk'd along,
How the birds sang, and imitate their song:
In fact, our rustic had his proper taste,
Was with peculiar arts and manners graced—
And Absolon had been, had Absolon been chaste.
And laugh'd at virtue so array'd in him;
But they were wanton, as he well replied,
And hoped their own would not be strongly tried:
Yet was he full of glee, and had his strokes
Of rustic wit, his repartees and jokes;
Nor was averse, ere yet he pledged his love,
To stray with damsels in the shady grove;
When he would tell them, as they walk'd along,
How the birds sang, and imitate their song:
In fact, our rustic had his proper taste,
207
And Absolon had been, had Absolon been chaste.
Frances, like William, felt her heart incline
To neat attire—but Frances would be fine:
Though small the farm, the farmer's daughter knew
Her rank in life, and she would have it too:
This, and this only, gave the lover pain,
He thought it needless, and he judged it vain:
Advice in hints he to the fault applied,
And talk'd of sin, of vanity, and pride.
To neat attire—but Frances would be fine:
Though small the farm, the farmer's daughter knew
Her rank in life, and she would have it too:
This, and this only, gave the lover pain,
He thought it needless, and he judged it vain:
Advice in hints he to the fault applied,
And talk'd of sin, of vanity, and pride.
“And what is proud,” said Frances, “but to stand
“Singing at church, and sawing thus your hand?
“Looking at heaven above, as if to bring
“The holy angels down to hear you sing?
“And when you write, you try with all your skill,
“And cry, no wonder that you wrote so ill!
“For you were ever to yourself a rule,
“And humbly add, you never were at school—
“Is that not proud?—And I have heard beside,
“The proudest creatures have the humblest pride:
“If you had read the volumes I have hired,
“You'd see your fault, nor try to be admired;
“For they who read such books can always tell
“The fault within, and read the mind as well.”
“Singing at church, and sawing thus your hand?
“Looking at heaven above, as if to bring
“The holy angels down to hear you sing?
“And when you write, you try with all your skill,
“And cry, no wonder that you wrote so ill!
“For you were ever to yourself a rule,
“And humbly add, you never were at school—
“Is that not proud?—And I have heard beside,
“The proudest creatures have the humblest pride:
“If you had read the volumes I have hired,
“You'd see your fault, nor try to be admired;
“For they who read such books can always tell
“The fault within, and read the mind as well.”
William had heard of hiring books before,
He knew she read, and he enquired no more;
On him the subject was completely lost,
What he regarded was the time and cost;
Yet that was trifling—just a present whim,
“Novels and stories! what were they to him?”
He knew she read, and he enquired no more;
On him the subject was completely lost,
What he regarded was the time and cost;
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“Novels and stories! what were they to him?”
With such slight quarrels, or with those as slight,
They lived in love, and dream'd of its delight.
Her duties Fanny knew, both great and small,
And she with diligence observed them all;
If e'er she fail'd a duty to fulfil,
'T was childish error, not rebellious will;
For her much reading, though it touch'd her heart,
Could neither vice nor indolence impart.
They lived in love, and dream'd of its delight.
Her duties Fanny knew, both great and small,
And she with diligence observed them all;
If e'er she fail'd a duty to fulfil,
'T was childish error, not rebellious will;
For her much reading, though it touch'd her heart,
Could neither vice nor indolence impart.
Yet, when from William and her friends retired,
She found her reading had her mind inspired
With hopes and thoughts of high mysterious things,
Such as the early dream of kindness brings;
And then she wept, and wonder'd as she read,
And new emotions in her heart were bred:
She sometimes fancied that when love was true
'T was more than she and William ever knew;
More than the shady lane in summer-eve,
More than the sighing when he took his leave;
More than his preference when the lads advance
And choose their partners for the evening dance;
Nay, more than midnight thoughts and morning dreams,
Or talk when love and marriage are the themes;
In fact, a something not to be defined,
Of all subduing, all commanding kind,
That fills the fondest heart, that rules the proudest mind.
She found her reading had her mind inspired
With hopes and thoughts of high mysterious things,
Such as the early dream of kindness brings;
And then she wept, and wonder'd as she read,
And new emotions in her heart were bred:
She sometimes fancied that when love was true
'T was more than she and William ever knew;
More than the shady lane in summer-eve,
More than the sighing when he took his leave;
More than his preference when the lads advance
And choose their partners for the evening dance;
Nay, more than midnight thoughts and morning dreams,
Or talk when love and marriage are the themes;
In fact, a something not to be defined,
Of all subduing, all commanding kind,
That fills the fondest heart, that rules the proudest mind.
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But on her lover Fanny still relied,
Her best companion, her sincerest guide,
On whom she could rely, in whom she would confide
Her best companion, her sincerest guide,
On whom she could rely, in whom she would confide
All jealous fits were past; in either now
Were tender wishes for the binding vow:
There was no secret one alone possess'd,
There was no hope that warm'd a single breast;
Both felt the same concerns their thoughts employ,
And neither knew one solitary joy
Were tender wishes for the binding vow:
There was no secret one alone possess'd,
There was no hope that warm'd a single breast;
Both felt the same concerns their thoughts employ,
And neither knew one solitary joy
Then why so easy, William? why consent
To wait so long? thou wilt at last repent;
“Within a month,” do Care and Prudence say,
If all be ready, linger not a day;
Ere yet the choice be made, on choice debate,
But having chosen, dally not with fate.
To wait so long? thou wilt at last repent;
“Within a month,” do Care and Prudence say,
If all be ready, linger not a day;
Ere yet the choice be made, on choice debate,
But having chosen, dally not with fate.
While yet to wait the pair were half content,
And half disposed their purpose to repent,
A spinster-aunt, in some great baron's place,
Would see a damsel, pride of all her race:
And Fanny, flatter'd by the matron's call,
Obey'd her aunt, and long'd to see the Hall;
For halls and castles in her fancy wrought,
And she accounts of love and wonder sought;
There she expected strange events to learn,
And take in tender secrets fond concern;
There she expected lovely nymphs to view,
Perhaps to hear and meet their lovers too;
The Julias, tender souls! the Henrys kind and true:
There she expected plottings to detect,
And—but I know not what she might expect—
All she was taught in books to be her guide,
And all that nature taught the nymph beside.
And half disposed their purpose to repent,
A spinster-aunt, in some great baron's place,
Would see a damsel, pride of all her race:
And Fanny, flatter'd by the matron's call,
Obey'd her aunt, and long'd to see the Hall;
For halls and castles in her fancy wrought,
And she accounts of love and wonder sought;
There she expected strange events to learn,
And take in tender secrets fond concern;
There she expected lovely nymphs to view,
Perhaps to hear and meet their lovers too;
The Julias, tender souls! the Henrys kind and true:
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And—but I know not what she might expect—
All she was taught in books to be her guide,
And all that nature taught the nymph beside.
Now that good dame had in the castle dwelt
So long that she for all its people felt;
She kept her sundry keys, and ruled o'er all,
Female and male, domestics in the hall;
By her lord trusted, worthy of her trust,
Proud but obedient, bountiful but just.
So long that she for all its people felt;
She kept her sundry keys, and ruled o'er all,
Female and male, domestics in the hall;
By her lord trusted, worthy of her trust,
Proud but obedient, bountiful but just.
She praised her lucky stars, that in her place
She never found neglect, nor felt disgrace:
To do her duty was her soul's delight,
This her inferiors would to theirs excite,
This her superiors notice and requite;
To either class she gave the praises due,
And still more grateful as more favour'd grew.
Her lord and lady were of peerless worth,
In power unmatch'd, in glory and in birth;
And such the virtue of the noble race,
It reach'd the meanest servant in the place;
All, from the chief attendant on my lord
To the groom's helper, had her civil word;
From Miss Montregor, who the ladies taught,
To the rude lad who in the garden wrought;
From the first favourite to the meanest drudge,
Were no such women, heaven should be her judge;
Whatever stains were theirs, let them reside
In that pure place, and they were mundified;
The sun of favour on their vileness shone,
And all their faults like morning mists were gone.
She never found neglect, nor felt disgrace:
To do her duty was her soul's delight,
This her inferiors would to theirs excite,
This her superiors notice and requite;
To either class she gave the praises due,
And still more grateful as more favour'd grew.
Her lord and lady were of peerless worth,
In power unmatch'd, in glory and in birth;
And such the virtue of the noble race,
It reach'd the meanest servant in the place;
All, from the chief attendant on my lord
To the groom's helper, had her civil word;
From Miss Montregor, who the ladies taught,
To the rude lad who in the garden wrought;
From the first favourite to the meanest drudge,
Were no such women, heaven should be her judge;
Whatever stains were theirs, let them reside
In that pure place, and they were mundified;
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And all their faults like morning mists were gone.
There was Lord Robert! could she have her choice,
From the world's masters he should have her voice;
So kind and gracious in his noble ways,
It was a pleasure speaking in his praise:
And Lady Catherine,—O! a prince's pride
Might by one smile of hers be gratified;
With her would monarchs all their glory share,
And in her presence banish all their care.
From the world's masters he should have her voice;
So kind and gracious in his noble ways,
It was a pleasure speaking in his praise:
And Lady Catherine,—O! a prince's pride
Might by one smile of hers be gratified;
With her would monarchs all their glory share,
And in her presence banish all their care.
Such was the matron, and to her the maid
Was by her lover carefully convey'd.
Was by her lover carefully convey'd.
When William first the invitation read
It some displeasure in his spirit bred,
Not that one jealous thought the man possess'd,
He was by fondness, not by fear distress'd;
But when his Fanny to his mind convey'd
The growing treasures of the ancient maid,
The thirty years, come June, of service past,
Her lasting love, her life that would not last;
Her power! her place! what interest! what respect
She had acquired—and shall we her neglect?
It some displeasure in his spirit bred,
Not that one jealous thought the man possess'd,
He was by fondness, not by fear distress'd;
But when his Fanny to his mind convey'd
The growing treasures of the ancient maid,
The thirty years, come June, of service past,
Her lasting love, her life that would not last;
Her power! her place! what interest! what respect
She had acquired—and shall we her neglect?
“No, Frances, no!” he answer'd, “you are right;
“But things appear in such a different light!”
Her parents blest her, and, as well became
Their love, advised her, that they might not blame
They said, “If she should earl or countess meet,
“She should be humble, cautious, and discreet;
“Humble, but not abased, remembering all
“Are kindred sinners,—children of the fall;
“That from the earth our being we receive,
“And are all equal when the earth we leave.”
“But things appear in such a different light!”
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Their love, advised her, that they might not blame
They said, “If she should earl or countess meet,
“She should be humble, cautious, and discreet;
“Humble, but not abased, remembering all
“Are kindred sinners,—children of the fall;
“That from the earth our being we receive,
“And are all equal when the earth we leave.”
They then advised her in a modest way
To make replies to what my Lord might say;
Her aunt would aid her, who was now become
With nobles noble, and with lords at home.
To make replies to what my Lord might say;
Her aunt would aid her, who was now become
With nobles noble, and with lords at home.
So went the pair; and William told at night
Of a reception gracious and polite;
He spake of galleries long and pictures tall,
The handsome parlours, the prodigious hall;
The busts, the statues, and the floors of stone,
The storied arras, and the vast saloon,
In which was placed an Indian chest and screen,
With figures such as he had never seen:
He told of these as men enraptured tell,
And gave to all their praise, and all was well.
Of a reception gracious and polite;
He spake of galleries long and pictures tall,
The handsome parlours, the prodigious hall;
The busts, the statues, and the floors of stone,
The storied arras, and the vast saloon,
In which was placed an Indian chest and screen,
With figures such as he had never seen:
He told of these as men enraptured tell,
And gave to all their praise, and all was well.
Left by the lover, the desponding maid
Was of the matron's ridicule afraid;
But when she heard a welcome frank and kind,
The wonted firmness repossess'd her mind;
Pleased by the looks of love her aunt display'd,
Her fond professions, and her kind parade.
Was of the matron's ridicule afraid;
But when she heard a welcome frank and kind,
The wonted firmness repossess'd her mind;
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Her fond professions, and her kind parade.
In her own room, and with her niece apart,
She gave up all the secrets of her heart;
And, grown familiar, bid her Fanny come,
Partake her cheer, and make herself at home.
She gave up all the secrets of her heart;
And, grown familiar, bid her Fanny come,
Partake her cheer, and make herself at home.
Shut in that room, upon its cheerful board
She laid the comforts of no vulgar hoard;
Then press'd the damsel both with love and pride,—
For both she felt—and would not be denied.
She laid the comforts of no vulgar hoard;
Then press'd the damsel both with love and pride,—
For both she felt—and would not be denied.
Grace she pronounced before and after meat,
And blest her God that she could talk and eat;
Then with new glee she sang her patron's praise—
“He had no paltry arts, no pimping ways;
“She had the roast and boil'd of every day,
“That sent the poor with grateful hearts away;
“And she was grateful—Come, my darling, think
“Of them you love the best, and let us drink.”
And blest her God that she could talk and eat;
Then with new glee she sang her patron's praise—
“He had no paltry arts, no pimping ways;
“She had the roast and boil'd of every day,
“That sent the poor with grateful hearts away;
“And she was grateful—Come, my darling, think
“Of them you love the best, and let us drink.”
And now she drank the healths of those above,
Her noble friends, whom she must ever love;
But not together, not the young and old,
But one by one, the number duly told;
And told their merits too—there was not one
Who had not said a gracious thing or done;
Nor could she praise alone, but she would take
A cheerful glass for every favourite's sake,—
And all were favourites—till the rosy cheek
Spoke for the tongue that nearly ceased to speak;
That rosy cheek that now began to shine,
And show the progress of the rosy wine:
But there she ended—felt the singing head,
Then pray'd as custom will'd, and so to bed.
Her noble friends, whom she must ever love;
But not together, not the young and old,
But one by one, the number duly told;
And told their merits too—there was not one
Who had not said a gracious thing or done;
Nor could she praise alone, but she would take
A cheerful glass for every favourite's sake,—
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Spoke for the tongue that nearly ceased to speak;
That rosy cheek that now began to shine,
And show the progress of the rosy wine:
But there she ended—felt the singing head,
Then pray'd as custom will'd, and so to bed.
The morn was pleasant, and the ancient maid
With her fair niece about the mansion stray'd:
There was no room without th' appropriate tale
Of blood and murder, female sprite or male;
There was no picture that th' historic dame
Pass'd by and gave not its peculiar fame;
The births, the visits, weddings, burials, all
That chanced for ages at the noble Hall.
With her fair niece about the mansion stray'd:
There was no room without th' appropriate tale
Of blood and murder, female sprite or male;
There was no picture that th' historic dame
Pass'd by and gave not its peculiar fame;
The births, the visits, weddings, burials, all
That chanced for ages at the noble Hall.
These and each revolution she could state,
And give strange anecdotes of love and hate;
This was her first delight, her pride, her boast,
She told of many an heiress, many a toast,
Of Lady Ellen's flight, of Lord Orlando's ghost;
The maid turn'd pale, and what should then ensue
But wine and cake—the dame was frighten'd too.
And give strange anecdotes of love and hate;
This was her first delight, her pride, her boast,
She told of many an heiress, many a toast,
Of Lady Ellen's flight, of Lord Orlando's ghost;
The maid turn'd pale, and what should then ensue
But wine and cake—the dame was frighten'd too.
The aunt and niece now walk'd about the grounds,
And sometimes met the gentry in their rounds;
“Do let us turn!” the timid girl exclaim'd—
“Turn!” said the aunt, “of what are you ashamed?
“What is there frightful in such looks as those?
“What is it, child, you fancy or suppose?
“Look at Lord Robert, see if you can trace
“More than true honour in that handsome face!
And sometimes met the gentry in their rounds;
“Do let us turn!” the timid girl exclaim'd—
“Turn!” said the aunt, “of what are you ashamed?
“What is there frightful in such looks as those?
“What is it, child, you fancy or suppose?
“Look at Lord Robert, see if you can trace
“More than true honour in that handsome face!
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“What! you must think, by blushing in that way,
“My lord has something about love to say;
“But I assure you that he never spoke
“Such things to me in earnest or in joke,
“And yet I meet him in all sorts of times,
“When wicked men are thinking of their crimes.
“My lord has something about love to say;
“But I assure you that he never spoke
“Such things to me in earnest or in joke,
“And yet I meet him in all sorts of times,
“When wicked men are thinking of their crimes.
“There! let them pass”—“Why, yes, indeed 'tis true
“That was a look, and was design'd for you;
“But what the wonder when the sight is new?
“For my lord's virtue you may take my word,
“He would not do a thing that was absurd.”
“That was a look, and was design'd for you;
“But what the wonder when the sight is new?
“For my lord's virtue you may take my word,
“He would not do a thing that was absurd.”
A month had pass'd; “And when will Fanny come?”
The lover ask'd, and found the parents dumb:
They had not heard for more than half the space,
And the poor maiden was in much disgrace;
Silence so long they could not understand,
And this of one who wrote so neat a hand;
Their sister sure would send were aught amiss,
But youth is thoughtless—there is hope in this.
The lover ask'd, and found the parents dumb:
They had not heard for more than half the space,
And the poor maiden was in much disgrace;
Silence so long they could not understand,
And this of one who wrote so neat a hand;
Their sister sure would send were aught amiss,
But youth is thoughtless—there is hope in this.
As time elapsed, their wonder changed to woe,
William would lose another day, and go;
Yet if she should be wilful and remain,
He had no power to take her home again:
But he would go!—He went and he return'd,—
And in his look the pair his tale discern'd:
Stupid in grief, it seem'd not that he knew
How he came home, or what he should pursue:
Fanny was gone!—her aunt was sick in bed,
Dying, she said—none cared if she were dead;
Her charge, his darling, was decoy'd, was fled!
But at what time, and whither, and with whom,
None seem'd to know—all surly, shy, or dumb.
William would lose another day, and go;
Yet if she should be wilful and remain,
He had no power to take her home again:
But he would go!—He went and he return'd,—
And in his look the pair his tale discern'd:
Stupid in grief, it seem'd not that he knew
How he came home, or what he should pursue:
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Dying, she said—none cared if she were dead;
Her charge, his darling, was decoy'd, was fled!
But at what time, and whither, and with whom,
None seem'd to know—all surly, shy, or dumb.
Each blamed himself, all blamed the erring maid,
They vow'd revenge; they cursed their fate, and pray'd.
Moved by his grief, the father sought the place,
Ask'd for his girl, and talk'd of her disgrace;
Spoke of the villain, on whose cursed head
He pray'd that vengeance might be amply shed;
Then sought his sister, and beheld her grief,
Her pain, her danger,—this was no relief.
They vow'd revenge; they cursed their fate, and pray'd.
Moved by his grief, the father sought the place,
Ask'd for his girl, and talk'd of her disgrace;
Spoke of the villain, on whose cursed head
He pray'd that vengeance might be amply shed;
Then sought his sister, and beheld her grief,
Her pain, her danger,—this was no relief.
“Where is my daughter? bring her to my sight!”—
“Brother, I'm rack'd and tortured day and night.”—
“Talk not to me! what grief have you to tell,
“Is your soul rack'd, or is your bosom hell?
“Where is my daughter?”—“She would take her oath
“For her right doing, for she knew them both,
“And my young lord was honour.”—“Woman, cease!
“And give your guilty conscience no such peace—
“You've sold the wretched girl, you have betray'd your niece.”—
“The Lord be good! and O! the pains that come
“In limb and body—Brother, get you home!
“Your voice runs through me,—every angry word,
“If he should hear it, would offend my lord.”
“Brother, I'm rack'd and tortured day and night.”—
“Talk not to me! what grief have you to tell,
“Is your soul rack'd, or is your bosom hell?
“Where is my daughter?”—“She would take her oath
“For her right doing, for she knew them both,
“And my young lord was honour.”—“Woman, cease!
“And give your guilty conscience no such peace—
“You've sold the wretched girl, you have betray'd your niece.”—
“The Lord be good! and O! the pains that come
“In limb and body—Brother, get you home!
“Your voice runs through me,—every angry word,
“If he should hear it, would offend my lord.”
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“Has he a daughter? let her run away
“With a poor dog, and hear what he will say!
“No matter what, I'll ask him for his son”—
“And so offend? now, brother, pray be gone!”
“With a poor dog, and hear what he will say!
“No matter what, I'll ask him for his son”—
“And so offend? now, brother, pray be gone!”
My lord appear'd, perhaps by pity moved,
And kindly said he no such things approved,
Nay, he was angry with the foolish boy,
Who might his pleasures at his ease enjoy;
The thing was wrong—he hoped the farm did well,
The angry father doom'd the farm to hell;
He then desired to see the villain-son,
Though my lord warn'd him such excess to shun;
Told him he pardon'd, though he blamed such rage,
And bade him think upon his state and age.
And kindly said he no such things approved,
Nay, he was angry with the foolish boy,
Who might his pleasures at his ease enjoy;
The thing was wrong—he hoped the farm did well,
The angry father doom'd the farm to hell;
He then desired to see the villain-son,
Though my lord warn'd him such excess to shun;
Told him he pardon'd, though he blamed such rage,
And bade him think upon his state and age.
“Think! yes, my lord! but thinking drives me mad—
“Give me my child!—Where is she to be had?
“I'm old and poor, but I with both can feel,
“And so shall he that could a daughter steal!
“Think you, my lord, I can be so bereft,
“And feel no vengeance for the villain's theft?
“Old if I am, could I the robber meet,
“I'd lay his breathless body at my feet—
“Was that a smile, my lord? think you your boy
“Will both the father and the child destroy?”
My lord replied—“I'm sorry from my soul!
“But boys are boys, and there is no control.”
“Give me my child!—Where is she to be had?
“I'm old and poor, but I with both can feel,
“And so shall he that could a daughter steal!
“Think you, my lord, I can be so bereft,
“And feel no vengeance for the villain's theft?
“Old if I am, could I the robber meet,
“I'd lay his breathless body at my feet—
“Was that a smile, my lord? think you your boy
“Will both the father and the child destroy?”
My lord replied—“I'm sorry from my soul!
“But boys are boys, and there is no control.”
“So, for your great ones, Justice slumbers then!
‘If men are poor they must not feel as men—
“Will your son marry?”—“Marry!” said my lord,
“Your daughter?—marry—no, upon my word!”
‘If men are poor they must not feel as men—
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“Your daughter?—marry—no, upon my word!”
“What then, our stations differ!—but your son
“Thought not of that—his crime has made them one,
“In guilt united—She shall be his wife,
“Or I th' avenger that will take his life!”
“Thought not of that—his crime has made them one,
“In guilt united—She shall be his wife,
“Or I th' avenger that will take his life!”
“Old man, I pity and forgive you; rest
“In hope and comfort,—be not so distress'd,
“Things that seem bad oft happen for the best;
“The girl has done no more than thousands do,
“Nor has the boy—they laugh at me and you.”—
“And this my vengeance—curse him!”—“Nay, forbear;
“I spare your frenzy, in compassion spare.”
“In hope and comfort,—be not so distress'd,
“Things that seem bad oft happen for the best;
“The girl has done no more than thousands do,
“Nor has the boy—they laugh at me and you.”—
“And this my vengeance—curse him!”—“Nay, forbear;
“I spare your frenzy, in compassion spare.”
“Spare me, my lord! and what have I to dread?
“O! spare not, heaven, the thunder o'er his head—
“The bolt he merits!”
“O! spare not, heaven, the thunder o'er his head—
“The bolt he merits!”
Such was his redress;
And he return'd, to brood upon distress.
And he return'd, to brood upon distress.
And what of William?—William from the time
Appear'd partaker both of grief and crime;
He cared for nothing, nothing he pursued,
But walk'd about in melancholy mood:
He ceased to labour,—all he loved before
He now neglected, and would see no more.
He said his flute brought only to his mind
When he was happy, and his Fanny kind;
And his loved walks, and every object near,
And every evening-sound she loved to hear;
The shady lane, broad heath, and starry sky,
Brought home reflections, and he wish'd to die:
Yet there he stray'd, because he wish'd to shun
The world he hated, where his part was done;
As if, though lingering on the earth, he there
Had neither hope nor calling, tie nor care.
Appear'd partaker both of grief and crime;
He cared for nothing, nothing he pursued,
But walk'd about in melancholy mood:
He ceased to labour,—all he loved before
He now neglected, and would see no more.
He said his flute brought only to his mind
When he was happy, and his Fanny kind;
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And every evening-sound she loved to hear;
The shady lane, broad heath, and starry sky,
Brought home reflections, and he wish'd to die:
Yet there he stray'd, because he wish'd to shun
The world he hated, where his part was done;
As if, though lingering on the earth, he there
Had neither hope nor calling, tie nor care.
At length a letter from the daughter came,
‘Frances’ subscribed, and that the only name;
She “pitied much her parents, spoke of fate,
“And begg'd them to forget her, not to hate;
“Said she had with her all the world could give,
“And only pray'd that they in peace should live,—
“That which is done, is that we're born to do,
“This she was taught, and she believed it true:
“True that she lived in pleasure and delight,
“But often dream'd and saw the farm by night;—
“The boarded room that she had kept so neat,
“And all her roses in the window-seat;—
“The pear-tree shade, the jasmine's lovely gloom,
“With its long twigs that blossom'd in the room;
“But she was happy, and the tears that fell
“As she was writing had no grief to tell;
“We weep when we are glad, we sigh when we are well.”
‘Frances’ subscribed, and that the only name;
She “pitied much her parents, spoke of fate,
“And begg'd them to forget her, not to hate;
“Said she had with her all the world could give,
“And only pray'd that they in peace should live,—
“That which is done, is that we're born to do,
“This she was taught, and she believed it true:
“True that she lived in pleasure and delight,
“But often dream'd and saw the farm by night;—
“The boarded room that she had kept so neat,
“And all her roses in the window-seat;—
“The pear-tree shade, the jasmine's lovely gloom,
“With its long twigs that blossom'd in the room;
“But she was happy, and the tears that fell
“As she was writing had no grief to tell;
“We weep when we are glad, we sigh when we are well.”
A bill inclosed, that they beheld with pain
And indignation, they return'd again;
There was no mention made of William's name,
Check'd as she was by pity, love, and shame.
And indignation, they return'd again;
There was no mention made of William's name,
Check'd as she was by pity, love, and shame.
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William, who wrought for bread, and never sought
More than the day demanded when he wrought,
Was to a sister call'd, of all his race
The last, and dying in a distant place;
In tender terror he approach'd her bed,
Beheld her sick, and buried her when dead:
He was her heir, and what she left was more
Than he required, who was content before.
More than the day demanded when he wrought,
Was to a sister call'd, of all his race
The last, and dying in a distant place;
In tender terror he approach'd her bed,
Beheld her sick, and buried her when dead:
He was her heir, and what she left was more
Than he required, who was content before.
With their minds' sufferings, age, and growing pain,
That ancient couple could not long remain,
Nor long remain'd; and in their dying groan
The suffering youth perceived himself alone;
For of his health or sickness, peace or care,
He knew not one in all the world to share;
Now every scene would sad reflections give,
And most his home, and there he could not live;
There every walk would now distressing prove,
And of his loss remind him, and his love.
That ancient couple could not long remain,
Nor long remain'd; and in their dying groan
The suffering youth perceived himself alone;
For of his health or sickness, peace or care,
He knew not one in all the world to share;
Now every scene would sad reflections give,
And most his home, and there he could not live;
There every walk would now distressing prove,
And of his loss remind him, and his love.
With the small portion by his sister left
He roved about as one of peace bereft,
And by the body's movements hoped to find
A kind of wearied stillness in the mind,
And sooner bring it to a sleepy state,
As rocking infants will their pains abate.
He roved about as one of peace bereft,
And by the body's movements hoped to find
A kind of wearied stillness in the mind,
And sooner bring it to a sleepy state,
As rocking infants will their pains abate.
Thus careless, lost, unheeding where he went,
Nine weary years the wandering lover spent.
Nine weary years the wandering lover spent.
His sole employment, all that could amuse,
Was his companions on the road to choose;
With such he travell'd through the passing day,
Friends of the hour, and walkers by the way;
And from the sick, the poor, the halt, the blind,
He learn'd the sorrows of his suffering kind.
Was his companions on the road to choose;
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Friends of the hour, and walkers by the way;
And from the sick, the poor, the halt, the blind,
He learn'd the sorrows of his suffering kind.
He learn'd of many how unjust their fate,
For their connexions dwelt in better state;
They had relations famous, great or rich,
Learned or wise, they never scrupled which;
But while they cursed these kindred churls, would try
To build their fame, and for their glory lie.
For their connexions dwelt in better state;
They had relations famous, great or rich,
Learned or wise, they never scrupled which;
But while they cursed these kindred churls, would try
To build their fame, and for their glory lie.
Others delighted in misfortunes strange,
The sports of fortune in her love for change.
The sports of fortune in her love for change.
Some spoke of wonders they before had seen,
When on their travels they had wandering been;
How they had sail'd the world about, and found
The sailing plain, although the world was round;
How they beheld for months th' unsetting sun,
What deeds they saw! what they themselves had done!—
What leaps at Rhodes!—what glory then they won!
When on their travels they had wandering been;
How they had sail'd the world about, and found
The sailing plain, although the world was round;
How they beheld for months th' unsetting sun,
What deeds they saw! what they themselves had done!—
What leaps at Rhodes!—what glory then they won!
There were who spoke in terms of high disdain
Of their contending against power in vain,
Suffering from tyranny of law long borne,
And life's best spirits in contentions worn:
Happy in this, th' oppressors soon will die,
Each with the vex'd and suffering man to lie—
And thus consoled exclaim, “And is not sorrow dry?”
Of their contending against power in vain,
Suffering from tyranny of law long borne,
And life's best spirits in contentions worn:
Happy in this, th' oppressors soon will die,
Each with the vex'd and suffering man to lie—
And thus consoled exclaim, “And is not sorrow dry?”
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But vice offended: when he met with those
Who could a deed of violence propose,
And cry, “Should they what we desire possess?
“Should they deprive us, and their laws oppress?”
William would answer, “Ours is not redress:”—
“Would you oppression then for ever feel?”
“'T is not my choice; but yet I must not steal:”—
“So, first they cheat us, and then make their laws
“To guard their treasures and to back their cause:
“What call you then, my friend, the rights of man?”—
“To get his bread,” said William, “if he can;
“And if he cannot, he must then depend
“Upon a Being he may make his friend:”—
“Make,” they replied; and conference had end.
Who could a deed of violence propose,
And cry, “Should they what we desire possess?
“Should they deprive us, and their laws oppress?”
William would answer, “Ours is not redress:”—
“Would you oppression then for ever feel?”
“'T is not my choice; but yet I must not steal:”—
“So, first they cheat us, and then make their laws
“To guard their treasures and to back their cause:
“What call you then, my friend, the rights of man?”—
“To get his bread,” said William, “if he can;
“And if he cannot, he must then depend
“Upon a Being he may make his friend:”—
“Make,” they replied; and conference had end.
But female vagrants would at times express
A new-born pleasure at the mild address;
His modest wish, he clothed in accent meek,
That they would comfort in religion seek.
A new-born pleasure at the mild address;
His modest wish, he clothed in accent meek,
That they would comfort in religion seek.
“I am a sinful being!” William cried;
“Then, what am I?” the conscious heart replied:
And oft-times ponder'd in a pensive way,
“He is not happy, yet he loves to pray.”
“Then, what am I?” the conscious heart replied:
And oft-times ponder'd in a pensive way,
“He is not happy, yet he loves to pray.”
But some would freely on his thoughts intrude,
And thrust themselves 'twixt him and solitude:
They would his faith and of its strength demand,
And all his soul's prime motions understand:
How! they would say, such woe and such belief,
Such trust in heaven, and yet on earth such grief!
Thou art almost, my friend,—thou art not all,
Thou hast not yet the self-destroying call;
Thou hast a carnal wish, perhaps a will
Not yet subdued,—the root is growing still:
There is the strong man yet that keeps his own,
Who by a stronger must be overthrown;
There is the burden that must yet be gone,
And then the pilgrim may go singing on.
And thrust themselves 'twixt him and solitude:
They would his faith and of its strength demand,
And all his soul's prime motions understand:
How! they would say, such woe and such belief,
Such trust in heaven, and yet on earth such grief!
223
Thou hast not yet the self-destroying call;
Thou hast a carnal wish, perhaps a will
Not yet subdued,—the root is growing still:
There is the strong man yet that keeps his own,
Who by a stronger must be overthrown;
There is the burden that must yet be gone,
And then the pilgrim may go singing on.
William to this would seriously incline,
And to their comforts would his heart resign;
It soothed, it raised him,—he began to feel
Th' enlivening warmth of methodistic zeal;
He learn'd to know the brethren by their looks—
He sought their meetings, he perused their books;
But yet was not within the pale and yoke,
And as a novice of experience spoke;
But felt the comfort, and began to pray
For such companions on the king's highway.
And to their comforts would his heart resign;
It soothed, it raised him,—he began to feel
Th' enlivening warmth of methodistic zeal;
He learn'd to know the brethren by their looks—
He sought their meetings, he perused their books;
But yet was not within the pale and yoke,
And as a novice of experience spoke;
But felt the comfort, and began to pray
For such companions on the king's highway.
William had now across the kingdom sped,
To th' Eastern ocean from St. David's Head;
And wandering late, with various thoughts oppress'd
'Twas midnight ere he reach'd his place of rest,—
A village inn, that one wayfaring friend
Could from experience safely recommend,
Where the kind hostess would be more intent
On what he needed than on what he spent;
Her husband, once a heathen, she subdued,
And with religious fear his mind imbued;
Though his conviction came too late to save
An erring creature from an early grave.
To th' Eastern ocean from St. David's Head;
And wandering late, with various thoughts oppress'd
'Twas midnight ere he reach'd his place of rest,—
A village inn, that one wayfaring friend
Could from experience safely recommend,
Where the kind hostess would be more intent
On what he needed than on what he spent;
Her husband, once a heathen, she subdued,
And with religious fear his mind imbued;
Though his conviction came too late to save
An erring creature from an early grave.
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Since that event, the cheerful widow grew
In size and substance,—her the brethren knew—
And many friends were hers, and lovers not a few;
But either love no more could warm her heart,
Or no man came who could the warmth impart.
In size and substance,—her the brethren knew—
And many friends were hers, and lovers not a few;
But either love no more could warm her heart,
Or no man came who could the warmth impart.
William drew near, and saw the comely look
Of the good lady, bending o'er her book;
Hymns it appear'd,—for now a pleasing sound
Seem'd as a welcome in his wanderings found:
He enter'd softly, not as they who think
That they may act the ruffian if they drink,
And who conceive, that for their paltry pence
They may with rules of decency dispense;
Far unlike these was William,—he was kind,
Exacting nothing, and to all resign'd.
Of the good lady, bending o'er her book;
Hymns it appear'd,—for now a pleasing sound
Seem'd as a welcome in his wanderings found:
He enter'd softly, not as they who think
That they may act the ruffian if they drink,
And who conceive, that for their paltry pence
They may with rules of decency dispense;
Far unlike these was William,—he was kind,
Exacting nothing, and to all resign'd.
He saw the hostess reading,—and their eyes
Met in good will, and something like surprise:
It was not beauty William saw, but more,
Something like that which he had loved before—
Something that brought his Fanny to his view,
In the dear time when she was good and true;
And his, it seem'd, were features that were seen
With some emotion—she was not serene:
And both were moved to ask what looks like those could mean.
At first she colour'd to the deepest red,
That hurried off, till all the rose was fled;
She call'd a servant, whom she sent to rest,
Then made excuse to her attentive guest;
She own'd the thoughts confused,—'twas very true,
He brought a dear departed friend in view:
Then, as he listen'd, bade him welcome there
With livelier looks and more engaging air,
And stirr'd the fire of ling, and brush'd the wicker chair,
Waiting his order with the cheerful look,
That proved how pleasant were the pains she took.
Met in good will, and something like surprise:
It was not beauty William saw, but more,
Something like that which he had loved before—
Something that brought his Fanny to his view,
In the dear time when she was good and true;
And his, it seem'd, were features that were seen
With some emotion—she was not serene:
And both were moved to ask what looks like those could mean.
At first she colour'd to the deepest red,
That hurried off, till all the rose was fled;
She call'd a servant, whom she sent to rest,
Then made excuse to her attentive guest;
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He brought a dear departed friend in view:
Then, as he listen'd, bade him welcome there
With livelier looks and more engaging air,
And stirr'd the fire of ling, and brush'd the wicker chair,
Waiting his order with the cheerful look,
That proved how pleasant were the pains she took.
He was refresh'd.—They spake on various themes—
Our early pleasures, Reason's first-drawn schemes,
Youth's strong illusions, Love's delirious dreams:
Then from her book he would presume to ask
A song of praise, and she perform'd the task:
The clock struck twelve.—He started—“Must I go?”
His looks spoke plainly, and the lady's, “No:”
So down he sat,—and when the clock struck one
There was no start, no effort to be gone:
Nor stay'd discourse.
Our early pleasures, Reason's first-drawn schemes,
Youth's strong illusions, Love's delirious dreams:
Then from her book he would presume to ask
A song of praise, and she perform'd the task:
The clock struck twelve.—He started—“Must I go?”
His looks spoke plainly, and the lady's, “No:”
So down he sat,—and when the clock struck one
There was no start, no effort to be gone:
Nor stay'd discourse.
“And so your loves were cross'd,
“And the loved object to your wishes lost?
“But was she faithless, or were you to blame?
“I wish I knew her—Will you tell her name?”
“And the loved object to your wishes lost?
“But was she faithless, or were you to blame?
“I wish I knew her—Will you tell her name?”
“Excuse me—that would hurt her if alive;
“And, if no more, why should her fault survive?”
“And, if no more, why should her fault survive?”
“But love you still?”—
“Alas! I feel I do,
“When I behold her very looks in you!”
“When I behold her very looks in you!”
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“Yet, if the frail one's name must not be known,
“My friendly guest may trust me with his own.”
“My friendly guest may trust me with his own.”
This done, the lady paused, and then replied,—
“It grieves me much to see your spirit tried;—
“But she was like me,—how I came to know
“The lamb that stray'd I will hereafter show;—
“We were indeed as sisters.—Should I state
“Her quiet end, you would no longer hate:
“I see your heart,—and I shall quickly prove,
“Though she deserved not, yet she prized your love:
“Long as she breathed was heard her William's name—
“And such affection half absolves her shame
“It grieves me much to see your spirit tried;—
“But she was like me,—how I came to know
“The lamb that stray'd I will hereafter show;—
“We were indeed as sisters.—Should I state
“Her quiet end, you would no longer hate:
“I see your heart,—and I shall quickly prove,
“Though she deserved not, yet she prized your love:
“Long as she breathed was heard her William's name—
“And such affection half absolves her shame
“Weep not, but hear me, how I came to know
“Thee and thy Frances—this to heaven I owe;
“And thou shalt view the pledge, the very ring,
“The birth-day token—well you know the thing;
“‘This,’ if I ever—thus I was to speak,
“As she had spoken—but I see you weak:
“She was not worthy—”
“Thee and thy Frances—this to heaven I owe;
“And thou shalt view the pledge, the very ring,
“The birth-day token—well you know the thing;
“‘This,’ if I ever—thus I was to speak,
“As she had spoken—but I see you weak:
“She was not worthy—”
“O! you cannot tell
“By what accursed means my Fanny fell!
“What bane, compulsion, threats—for she was pure;
“But from such toils what being is secure?
“Force, not persuasion, robb'd me—”
“By what accursed means my Fanny fell!
“What bane, compulsion, threats—for she was pure;
“But from such toils what being is secure?
“Force, not persuasion, robb'd me—”
“You are right;
“So has she told me, in her Maker's sight:
“She loved not vice—”
“So has she told me, in her Maker's sight:
227
“O! no,—her heart approved
“All that her God commanded to be loved;
“And she is gone—”
“All that her God commanded to be loved;
“And she is gone—”
“Consider! death alone
Could for the errors of her life atone.”
Could for the errors of her life atone.”
“Speak not of them; I would she knew how dear
“I hold her yet!—But dost thou give the tear
“To my loved Frances?—No! I cannot part
“With one who has her face, who has her heart;
“With looks so pleasing, when I thee behold,
“She lives—that bosom is no longer cold—
“Then tell me—Art thou not—in pity speak—
“One whom I sought, while living meant to seek—
“Art thou my Fanny?—Let me not offend,—
“Be something to me—be a sufferer's friend—
“Be more—be all!—The precious truth confess—
“Art thou not Frances?”—
“I hold her yet!—But dost thou give the tear
“To my loved Frances?—No! I cannot part
“With one who has her face, who has her heart;
“With looks so pleasing, when I thee behold,
“She lives—that bosom is no longer cold—
“Then tell me—Art thou not—in pity speak—
“One whom I sought, while living meant to seek—
“Art thou my Fanny?—Let me not offend,—
“Be something to me—be a sufferer's friend—
“Be more—be all!—The precious truth confess—
“Art thou not Frances?”—
“O, my William! yes!
“But spare me, spare thyself, and suffer less:
“In my best days, the spring-time of my life,
“I was not worthy to be William's wife;
“A widow now—not poor, indeed—not cast
“In outer darkness—sorrowing for the past,
“And for the future hoping—but no more:
“Let me the pledges of thy love restore,
“And give the ring thou gavest—let it be
“A token still of my regard for thee,
“But only that,—and to a worthier now
“Consign the gift.”—
“But spare me, spare thyself, and suffer less:
“In my best days, the spring-time of my life,
“I was not worthy to be William's wife;
“A widow now—not poor, indeed—not cast
“In outer darkness—sorrowing for the past,
“And for the future hoping—but no more:
“Let me the pledges of thy love restore,
“And give the ring thou gavest—let it be
“A token still of my regard for thee,
228
“Consign the gift.”—
“The only worthy thou!’
Replied the lover; and what more express'd
May be omitted—here our tale shall rest.
Replied the lover; and what more express'd
May be omitted—here our tale shall rest.
This pair, our host and hostess of the Fleece,
Command some wealth, and smile at its increase
Saving and civil, cautious and discreet,
All sects and parties in their mansion meet;
There from their chapels teachers go to share
The creature-comforts,—mockery grins not there;
There meet the wardens at their annual feast,
With annual pun—“the parish must be fleeced;”
There traders find a parlour cleanly swept
For their reception, and in order kept;
And there the sons of labour, poor, but free,
Sit and enjoy their hour of liberty.
Command some wealth, and smile at its increase
Saving and civil, cautious and discreet,
All sects and parties in their mansion meet;
There from their chapels teachers go to share
The creature-comforts,—mockery grins not there;
There meet the wardens at their annual feast,
With annual pun—“the parish must be fleeced;”
There traders find a parlour cleanly swept
For their reception, and in order kept;
And there the sons of labour, poor, but free,
Sit and enjoy their hour of liberty.
So live the pair,—and life's disasters seem
In their unruffled calm a troubled dream;
In comfort runs the remnant of their life—
He the fond husband, she the faithful wife.
In their unruffled calm a troubled dream;
In comfort runs the remnant of their life—
He the fond husband, she the faithful wife.
229
BOOK XX THE CATHEDRAL-WALK.
230
George in his hypochondriac State—A Family Mansion now a Farm-house—The Company there—Their Conversation —Subjects afforded by the Pictures—Doubts if Spirits can appear—Arguments—Facts—The Relation of an old Lady —Her Walks in a Cathedral—Appearance there.
231
In their discourse again the Brothers dwelt
On early subjects—what they once had felt,
Once thought of things mysterious;—themes that all
With some degree of reverence recall.
George then reverted to the days of old,
When his heart fainted, and his hope was cold;
When by the power of fancy he was sway'd,
And every impulse of the mind obey'd.
On early subjects—what they once had felt,
Once thought of things mysterious;—themes that all
With some degree of reverence recall.
George then reverted to the days of old,
When his heart fainted, and his hope was cold;
When by the power of fancy he was sway'd,
And every impulse of the mind obey'd.
“Then, my dear Richard,” said the Squire, “my case
“Was call'd consumptive—I must seek a place
“And soil salubrious, thither must repair,
“And live on asses' milk and milder air.
“My uncle bought a farm, and on the land
“The fine old mansion yet was left to stand,
“Not in this state, but old and much decay'd;
“Of this a part was habitable made;
“The rest—who doubts?—was by the spirits seized,
“Ghosts of all kinds, who used it as they pleased.
“Was call'd consumptive—I must seek a place
“And soil salubrious, thither must repair,
“And live on asses' milk and milder air.
“My uncle bought a farm, and on the land
“The fine old mansion yet was left to stand,
“Not in this state, but old and much decay'd;
“Of this a part was habitable made;
232
“Ghosts of all kinds, who used it as they pleased.
“The worthy Farmer tenant yet remain'd,
“Of good report—he had a fortune gain'd;
“And his three daughters at their school acquired
“The air and manner that their swains admired:
“The mother-gossip and these daughters three
“Talk'd of genteel and social company;
“And while the days were fine, and walks were clean,
“A fresh assemblage day by day were seen.
“Of good report—he had a fortune gain'd;
“And his three daughters at their school acquired
“The air and manner that their swains admired:
“The mother-gossip and these daughters three
“Talk'd of genteel and social company;
“And while the days were fine, and walks were clean,
“A fresh assemblage day by day were seen.
“There were the Curate's gentle maids, and some
“From all the neighbouring villages would come;
“There, as I stole the yew-tree shades among,
“I saw the parties walking, old and young,
“Where I was nothing—if perceived, they said,
“‘The man is harmless, be not you afraid—
“‘A poor young creature, who, they say, is cross'd
“‘In love, and has in part his senses lost;
“‘His health for certain, and he comes to spend
“‘His time with us; we hope our air will mend
“‘A frame so weaken'd, for the learned tribe
“‘A change of air for stubborn ills prescribe;
“‘And doing nothing often has prevail'd
“‘When ten physicians have prescribed and fail'd;
“‘Not that for air or change there's much to say,
“‘But nature then has time to take her way;
“‘And so we hope our village will restore
“‘This man to health that he possess'd before.
“‘He loves the garden avenues, the gloom
“‘Of the old chambers, of the tap'stried room,
“‘And we no notice take,—we let him go and come.’
“From all the neighbouring villages would come;
“There, as I stole the yew-tree shades among,
“I saw the parties walking, old and young,
“Where I was nothing—if perceived, they said,
“‘The man is harmless, be not you afraid—
“‘A poor young creature, who, they say, is cross'd
“‘In love, and has in part his senses lost;
“‘His health for certain, and he comes to spend
“‘His time with us; we hope our air will mend
“‘A frame so weaken'd, for the learned tribe
“‘A change of air for stubborn ills prescribe;
“‘And doing nothing often has prevail'd
“‘When ten physicians have prescribed and fail'd;
“‘Not that for air or change there's much to say,
“‘But nature then has time to take her way;
“‘And so we hope our village will restore
“‘This man to health that he possess'd before.
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“‘Of the old chambers, of the tap'stried room,
“‘And we no notice take,—we let him go and come.’
“So spake a gay young damsel; but she knew
“Not all the truth,—in part her tale was true.
“Much it amused me in the place to be
“This harmless cipher, seeming not to see,
“Yet seeing all,—unnoticed to appear,
“Yet noting all; and not disposed to hear,
“But to go forth,—break in on no one's plan,
“And hear them speak of the forsaken man.
“Not all the truth,—in part her tale was true.
“Much it amused me in the place to be
“This harmless cipher, seeming not to see,
“Yet seeing all,—unnoticed to appear,
“Yet noting all; and not disposed to hear,
“But to go forth,—break in on no one's plan,
“And hear them speak of the forsaken man.
“In scenes like these, a mansion so decay'd,
“With blighted trees in hoary moss array'd,
“And ivy'd walls around, for many an hour
“I walk'd alone, and felt their witching power;
“So others felt;—the young of either sex
“Would in these walks their timid minds perplex
“By meeting terrors, and the old appear'd,
“Their fears upbraiding, like the young who fear'd;
“Among them all some sad discourse at night
“Was sure to breed a terrified delight:
“Some luckless one of the attentive dames
‘Had figures seen like those within the frames,
‘Figures of lords who once the land possess'd,
“And who could never in their coffins rest;
“Unhappy spirits! who could not abide
“The loss of all their consequence and pride,
“'Twas death in all his power, their very names had died.
“With blighted trees in hoary moss array'd,
“And ivy'd walls around, for many an hour
“I walk'd alone, and felt their witching power;
“So others felt;—the young of either sex
“Would in these walks their timid minds perplex
“By meeting terrors, and the old appear'd,
“Their fears upbraiding, like the young who fear'd;
“Among them all some sad discourse at night
“Was sure to breed a terrified delight:
“Some luckless one of the attentive dames
‘Had figures seen like those within the frames,
‘Figures of lords who once the land possess'd,
“And who could never in their coffins rest;
234
“The loss of all their consequence and pride,
“'Twas death in all his power, their very names had died.
“These tales of terror views terrific bred,
“And sent the hearers trembling to their bed.”
“And sent the hearers trembling to their bed.”
In an autumnal evening, cool and still,
The sun just dropp'd beneath a distant hill,
The children gazing on the quiet scene,
Then rose in glory night's majestic queen;
And pleasant was the checker'd light and shade
Her golden beams and maple shadows made;
An ancient tree that in the garden grew,
And that fair picture on the gravel threw.
The sun just dropp'd beneath a distant hill,
The children gazing on the quiet scene,
Then rose in glory night's majestic queen;
And pleasant was the checker'd light and shade
Her golden beams and maple shadows made;
An ancient tree that in the garden grew,
And that fair picture on the gravel threw.
Then all was silent, save the sounds that make
Silence more awful, while they faintly break;
The frighten'd bat's low shriek, the beetle's hum,
With nameless sounds we know not whence they come.
Silence more awful, while they faintly break;
The frighten'd bat's low shriek, the beetle's hum,
With nameless sounds we know not whence they come.
Such was the evening; and that ancient seat
The scene where then some neighbours chanced to meet;
Up to the door led broken steps of stone,
Whose dewy surface in the moonlight shone,
On vegetation, that with progress slow,
Where man forbears to fix his foot, will grow;
The window's depth and dust repell'd the ray
Of the moon's light and of the setting day;
Pictures there were, and each display'd a face
And form that gave their sadness to the place;
The frame and canvass show'd that worms unseen,
Save in their works, for years had working been;
A fire of brushwood on the irons laid
All the dull room in fitful views display'd,
And with its own wild light in fearful forms array'd.
The scene where then some neighbours chanced to meet;
Up to the door led broken steps of stone,
Whose dewy surface in the moonlight shone,
On vegetation, that with progress slow,
Where man forbears to fix his foot, will grow;
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Of the moon's light and of the setting day;
Pictures there were, and each display'd a face
And form that gave their sadness to the place;
The frame and canvass show'd that worms unseen,
Save in their works, for years had working been;
A fire of brushwood on the irons laid
All the dull room in fitful views display'd,
And with its own wild light in fearful forms array'd.
In this old Hall, in this departing day,
Assembled friends and neighbours, grave and gay,
When one good lady at a picture threw
A glance that caused enquiry,—“Tell us who?”
Assembled friends and neighbours, grave and gay,
When one good lady at a picture threw
A glance that caused enquiry,—“Tell us who?”
“That was a famous warrior; one, they said,
“That by a spirit was awhile obey'd;
“In all his dreadful battles he would say,
“‘Or win or lose, I shall escape to-day;’
“And though the shot as thick as hail came round,
“On no occasion he received a wound;
“He stood in safety, free from all alarm,
“Protected, Heaven forgive him! by his charm:
“But he forgot the date, till came the hour
“When he no more had the protecting power;
“And then he bade his friends around farewell!
“‘I fall!’ he cried, and in the instant fell.
“That by a spirit was awhile obey'd;
“In all his dreadful battles he would say,
“‘Or win or lose, I shall escape to-day;’
“And though the shot as thick as hail came round,
“On no occasion he received a wound;
“He stood in safety, free from all alarm,
“Protected, Heaven forgive him! by his charm:
“But he forgot the date, till came the hour
“When he no more had the protecting power;
“And then he bade his friends around farewell!
“‘I fall!’ he cried, and in the instant fell.
“Behold those infants in the frame beneath!
“A witch offended wrought their early death;
“She form'd an image, made as wax to melt,
“And each the wasting of the figure felt;
“The hag confess'd it when she came to die,
“And no one living can the truth deny.
“A witch offended wrought their early death;
“She form'd an image, made as wax to melt,
“And each the wasting of the figure felt;
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“And no one living can the truth deny.
“But see a beauty in King William's days
“With that long waist, and those enormous stays;
“She had three lovers, and no creature knew
“The one preferr'd, or the discarded two;
“None could the secret of her bosom see;
“Loving, poor maid, th' attention of the three,
“She kept such equal weight in either scale,
“'Twas hard to say who would at last prevail;
“Thus you may think in either heart arose
“A jealous anger, and the men were foes;
“Each with himself concluded, two aside,
“The third may make the lovely maid his bride:
“This caused their fate.—It was on Thursday night
“The deed was done, and bloody was the fight;
“Just as she went, poor thoughtless girl! to prayers
“Ran wild the maid with horror up the stairs;
“Pale as a ghost, but not a word she said,
“And then the lady utter'd, ‘Coates is dead!’
“With that long waist, and those enormous stays;
“She had three lovers, and no creature knew
“The one preferr'd, or the discarded two;
“None could the secret of her bosom see;
“Loving, poor maid, th' attention of the three,
“She kept such equal weight in either scale,
“'Twas hard to say who would at last prevail;
“Thus you may think in either heart arose
“A jealous anger, and the men were foes;
“Each with himself concluded, two aside,
“The third may make the lovely maid his bride:
“This caused their fate.—It was on Thursday night
“The deed was done, and bloody was the fight;
“Just as she went, poor thoughtless girl! to prayers
“Ran wild the maid with horror up the stairs;
“Pale as a ghost, but not a word she said,
“And then the lady utter'd, ‘Coates is dead!’
“Then the poor damsel found her voice and cried,
“‘Ran through the body, and that instant died!
“‘But he pronounced your name, and so was satisfied.’
“A second fell, and he who did survive
“Was kept by skill and sovereign drugs alive;
“‘O! would she see me!’ he was heard to say,
“‘No! I'll torment him to his dying day!’
“The maid exclaim'd, and every Thursday night
“Her spirit came his wretched soul to fright;
“Once as she came he cried aloud, ‘Forgive!’
“‘Never!’ she answer'd, ‘never while you live,
“‘Nor when you die, as long as time endures;
“‘You have my torment been, and I'll be yours!’
“That is the lady! and the man confess'd
“Her vengeful spirit would not let him rest.”
“‘Ran through the body, and that instant died!
“‘But he pronounced your name, and so was satisfied.’
“A second fell, and he who did survive
“Was kept by skill and sovereign drugs alive;
“‘O! would she see me!’ he was heard to say,
“‘No! I'll torment him to his dying day!’
“The maid exclaim'd, and every Thursday night
“Her spirit came his wretched soul to fright;
237
“‘Never!’ she answer'd, ‘never while you live,
“‘Nor when you die, as long as time endures;
“‘You have my torment been, and I'll be yours!’
“That is the lady! and the man confess'd
“Her vengeful spirit would not let him rest.”
“But are there Ghosts?” exclaim'd a timid maid;
“My father tells me not to be afraid;
“He cries when buried we are safe enough,
“And calls such stories execrable stuff.”
“My father tells me not to be afraid;
“He cries when buried we are safe enough,
“And calls such stories execrable stuff.”
“Your father, child,” the former lady cried,
“Has learning much, but he has too much pride;
“It is impossible for him to tell
“What things in nature are impossible,
“Or out of nature, or to prove to whom
“Or for what purposes a ghost may come;
“It may not be intelligence to bring,
“But to keep up a notion of the thing;
“And though from one such fact there may arise
“A hundred wild improbabilities,
“Yet had there never been the truth, I say,
“The very lies themselves had died away.”
“Has learning much, but he has too much pride;
“It is impossible for him to tell
“What things in nature are impossible,
“Or out of nature, or to prove to whom
“Or for what purposes a ghost may come;
“It may not be intelligence to bring,
“But to keep up a notion of the thing;
“And though from one such fact there may arise
“A hundred wild improbabilities,
“Yet had there never been the truth, I say,
“The very lies themselves had died away.”
“True,” said a friend; “Heaven doubtless may dispense
“A kind of dark and clouded evidence;
“God has not promised that he will not send
“A spirit freed to either foe or friend;
“He may such proof, and only such bestow,
“Though we the certain truth can never know;
“And therefore though such floating stories bring
“No strong or certain vouchers of the thing,
“Still would I not, presuming, pass my word
“That all such tales were groundless and absurd.”
“A kind of dark and clouded evidence;
“God has not promised that he will not send
“A spirit freed to either foe or friend;
“He may such proof, and only such bestow,
“Though we the certain truth can never know;
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“No strong or certain vouchers of the thing,
“Still would I not, presuming, pass my word
“That all such tales were groundless and absurd.”
“But you will grant,” said one who sate beside,
“That all appear so when with judgment tried?”
“That all appear so when with judgment tried?”
“For that concession, madam, you may call,
“When we have sate in judgment upon all.”
“When we have sate in judgment upon all.”
An ancient lady, who with pensive smile
Had heard the stories, and been mute the while,
Now said, “Our prudence had been better shown
“By leaving uncontested things unknown;
“Yet if our children must such stories hear,
“Let us provide some antidotes to fear:
“For all such errors in the minds of youth,
“In any mind, the only cure is Truth;
“And truths collected may in time decide
“Upon such facts, or prove, at least, a guide:
“If then permitted I will fairly state
“One fact, nor doubt the story I relate;
“I for your perfect acquiescence call,
“'Tis of myself I tell.”—“O! tell us all!”
Said every being there: then silent was the Hall.
Had heard the stories, and been mute the while,
Now said, “Our prudence had been better shown
“By leaving uncontested things unknown;
“Yet if our children must such stories hear,
“Let us provide some antidotes to fear:
“For all such errors in the minds of youth,
“In any mind, the only cure is Truth;
“And truths collected may in time decide
“Upon such facts, or prove, at least, a guide:
“If then permitted I will fairly state
“One fact, nor doubt the story I relate;
“I for your perfect acquiescence call,
“'Tis of myself I tell.”—“O! tell us all!”
Said every being there: then silent was the Hall.
“Early in life, beneath my parent's roof,
“Of man's true honour I had noble proof;
“A generous lover who was worthy found,
“Where half his sex are hollow and unsound.
“Of man's true honour I had noble proof;
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“Where half his sex are hollow and unsound.
“My father fail'd in trade, and sorrowing died,
“When all our loss a generous youth supplied;
“And soon the time drew on when he should say,
“‘O! fix the happy, fix the early day!’
“Nor meant I to oppose his wishes, or delay:
“But then came fever, slight at first indeed,
“Then hastening on and threatening in its speed;
“It mock'd the powers of medicine; day by day
“I saw those helpers sadly walk away;—
“So came the hand-like cloud, and with such power
“And with such speed, that brought the mighty shower.
“Him nursed I dying, and we freely spoke
“Of what might follow the expected stroke;
“We talk'd of spirits, of their unknown powers,
“And dared to dwell on what the fate of ours;
“But the dread promise, to appear again,
“Could it be done, I sought not to obtain;
“But yet we were presuming,—‘Could it be,’
“He said, ‘O Emma! I would come to thee!’
“When all our loss a generous youth supplied;
“And soon the time drew on when he should say,
“‘O! fix the happy, fix the early day!’
“Nor meant I to oppose his wishes, or delay:
“But then came fever, slight at first indeed,
“Then hastening on and threatening in its speed;
“It mock'd the powers of medicine; day by day
“I saw those helpers sadly walk away;—
“So came the hand-like cloud, and with such power
“And with such speed, that brought the mighty shower.
“Him nursed I dying, and we freely spoke
“Of what might follow the expected stroke;
“We talk'd of spirits, of their unknown powers,
“And dared to dwell on what the fate of ours;
“But the dread promise, to appear again,
“Could it be done, I sought not to obtain;
“But yet we were presuming,—‘Could it be,’
“He said, ‘O Emma! I would come to thee!’
“At his last hour his reason, late astray,
“Again return'd t'illuminate his way.
“Again return'd t'illuminate his way.
“In the last night, my mother long had kept
Unwearied watch, and now reclined and slept;
“The nurse was dreaming in a distant chair,
“And I had knelt to soothe him with a prayer;
“When, with a look of that peculiar kind,
“That gives its purpose to the fellow mind,
“His manner spoke—‘Confide—be not afraid—
“‘I shall remember,’—this was all convey'd,—
“‘I know not what awaits departed man,
“‘But this believe—I meet thee if I can.’
Unwearied watch, and now reclined and slept;
“The nurse was dreaming in a distant chair,
“And I had knelt to soothe him with a prayer;
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“That gives its purpose to the fellow mind,
“His manner spoke—‘Confide—be not afraid—
“‘I shall remember,’—this was all convey'd,—
“‘I know not what awaits departed man,
“‘But this believe—I meet thee if I can.’
“I wish'd to die,—and grief, they say, will kill,
“But you perceive 'tis slowly if it will;
“That I was wretched you may well believe—
“I judged it right, and was resolved to grieve:
“I lost my mother when there lived not one,
“Man, woman, child, whom I would seek or shun.
“But you perceive 'tis slowly if it will;
“That I was wretched you may well believe—
“I judged it right, and was resolved to grieve:
“I lost my mother when there lived not one,
“Man, woman, child, whom I would seek or shun.
“The Dean, my uncle, with congenial gloom,
“Said, ‘Will you share a melancholy home?’
“For he bewail'd a wife, as I deplored
“My fate, and bliss that could not be restored.
“Said, ‘Will you share a melancholy home?’
“For he bewail'd a wife, as I deplored
“My fate, and bliss that could not be restored.
“In his Cathedral's gloom I pass'd my time,
“Much in devotion, much in thought sublime;
“There oft I paced the aisles, and watch'd the glow
“Of the sun setting on the stones below,
“And saw the failing light, that strove to pass
“Through the dim coating of the storied glass,
“Nor fell within, but till the day was gone
“The red faint fire upon the window shone.
“I took the key, and oft-times chose to stay
“Till all was vanish'd of the tedious day,
“Till I perceived no light, nor heard a sound,
“That gave me notice of a world around.
“Much in devotion, much in thought sublime;
“There oft I paced the aisles, and watch'd the glow
“Of the sun setting on the stones below,
“And saw the failing light, that strove to pass
“Through the dim coating of the storied glass,
“Nor fell within, but till the day was gone
“The red faint fire upon the window shone.
“I took the key, and oft-times chose to stay
“Till all was vanish'd of the tedious day,
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“That gave me notice of a world around.
“Then had I grief's proud thoughts, and said, in tone
“Of exultation, ‘World, I am alone!
“‘I care not for thee, thou art vile and base,
“‘And I shall leave thee for a nobler place.’
“Of exultation, ‘World, I am alone!
“‘I care not for thee, thou art vile and base,
“‘And I shall leave thee for a nobler place.’
“So I the world abused,—in fact, to me
“Urbane and civil as a world could be:
“Nor should romantic grievers thus complain,
“Although but little in the world they gain,
“But let them think if they have nothing done
“To make this odious world so sad a one,
“Or what their worth and virtue that should make
“This graceless world so pleasant for their sake.
“Urbane and civil as a world could be:
“Nor should romantic grievers thus complain,
“Although but little in the world they gain,
“But let them think if they have nothing done
“To make this odious world so sad a one,
“Or what their worth and virtue that should make
“This graceless world so pleasant for their sake.
“But to my tale:—Behold me as I tread
“The silent mansions of the favour'd dead,
“Who sleep in vaulted chambers, till their clay
“In quiet dissolution melts away
“In this their bodies' home—The spirits, where are they?
“‘And where his spirit?—Doors and walls impede
“‘The embodied spirit, not the spirit freed:’
“And, saying this, I at the altar knelt,
“And painful joys and rapturous anguish felt;
“Till strong bold hopes possess'd me, and I cried,
“‘Even at this instant is he at my side;’
“Yes, now, dear spirit! art thou by to prove
“That mine is lasting, mine the loyal love!
“The silent mansions of the favour'd dead,
“Who sleep in vaulted chambers, till their clay
“In quiet dissolution melts away
“In this their bodies' home—The spirits, where are they?
“‘And where his spirit?—Doors and walls impede
“‘The embodied spirit, not the spirit freed:’
“And, saying this, I at the altar knelt,
“And painful joys and rapturous anguish felt;
“Till strong bold hopes possess'd me, and I cried,
“‘Even at this instant is he at my side;’
“Yes, now, dear spirit! art thou by to prove
“That mine is lasting, mine the loyal love!
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“Thus have I thought, returning to the Dean,
“As one who had some glorious vision seen:
“He ask'd no question, but would sit and weep,
“And cry, in doleful tone, ‘I cannot sleep!’
“As one who had some glorious vision seen:
“He ask'd no question, but would sit and weep,
“And cry, in doleful tone, ‘I cannot sleep!’
“In dreams the chosen of my heart I view'd,
“And thus th' impression day by day renew'd
“I saw him always, always loved to see,
“For when alone he was my company:
“In company with him alone I seem'd,
“And, if not dreaming, was as one who dream'd.
“And thus th' impression day by day renew'd
“I saw him always, always loved to see,
“For when alone he was my company:
“In company with him alone I seem'd,
“And, if not dreaming, was as one who dream'd.
“Thus, robb'd of sleep, I found, when evening came,
“A pleasing torpor steal upon my frame;
“But still the habit drew my languid feet
“To the loved darkness of the favourite seat;
“And there, by silence and by sadness press'd
“I felt a world my own, and was at rest.
“A pleasing torpor steal upon my frame;
“But still the habit drew my languid feet
“To the loved darkness of the favourite seat;
“And there, by silence and by sadness press'd
“I felt a world my own, and was at rest.
“One night, when urged with more than usual zeal,
“And feeling all that such enthusiasts feel,
“I paced the altar by, the pillars round,
“And knew no terror in the sacred ground;—
“For mine were thoughts that banish'd all such fear,—
“I wish'd, I long'd to have that form appear;
“And, as I paced the sacred aisles, I cried,
“‘Let not thy Emma's spirit be denied
“‘The sight of thine; or, if I may not see,
“‘Still by some token let her certain be!’
“And feeling all that such enthusiasts feel,
“I paced the altar by, the pillars round,
“And knew no terror in the sacred ground;—
“For mine were thoughts that banish'd all such fear,—
“I wish'd, I long'd to have that form appear;
“And, as I paced the sacred aisles, I cried,
“‘Let not thy Emma's spirit be denied
“‘The sight of thine; or, if I may not see,
“‘Still by some token let her certain be!’
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“At length the anxious thoughts my strength subdued,
“And sleep o'erpower'd me in my solitude;
“Then was I dreaming of unearthly race,
“The glorious inmates of a blessed place;
“Where lofty minds celestial views explore,
“Heaven's bliss enjoy, and heaven's great King adore;
“Him there I sought whom I had loved so well—
“For sure he dwelt where happy spirits dwell!
“And sleep o'erpower'd me in my solitude;
“Then was I dreaming of unearthly race,
“The glorious inmates of a blessed place;
“Where lofty minds celestial views explore,
“Heaven's bliss enjoy, and heaven's great King adore;
“Him there I sought whom I had loved so well—
“For sure he dwelt where happy spirits dwell!
“While thus engaged, I started at a sound,
“Of what I knew not, but I look'd around;
“For I was borne on visionary wings,
“And felt no dread of sublunary things;
“But rising, walk'd—A distant window threw
“A weak, soft light, that help'd me in my view;
“Something with anxious heart I hoped to see,
“And pray'd, ‘O! God of all things, let it be!
“‘For all are thine, were made by thee, and thou
“‘Canst both the meeting and the means allow;
“‘Thou canst make clear my sight, or thou canst make
“‘More gross the form that his loved mind shall take,
“‘Canst clothe his spirit for my fleshly sight,
“‘Or make my earthly sense more pure and bright.’
“Of what I knew not, but I look'd around;
“For I was borne on visionary wings,
“And felt no dread of sublunary things;
“But rising, walk'd—A distant window threw
“A weak, soft light, that help'd me in my view;
“Something with anxious heart I hoped to see,
“And pray'd, ‘O! God of all things, let it be!
“‘For all are thine, were made by thee, and thou
“‘Canst both the meeting and the means allow;
“‘Thou canst make clear my sight, or thou canst make
“‘More gross the form that his loved mind shall take,
“‘Canst clothe his spirit for my fleshly sight,
“‘Or make my earthly sense more pure and bright.’
“So was I speaking, when without a sound
“There was a movement in the sacred ground:
“I saw a figure rising, but could trace
“No certain features, no peculiar face;
“But I prepared my mind that form to view,
“Nor felt a doubt,—he promised, and was true!
“I should embrace his angel, and my clay,
“And what was mortal in me, melt away.
“There was a movement in the sacred ground:
“I saw a figure rising, but could trace
“No certain features, no peculiar face;
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“Nor felt a doubt,—he promised, and was true!
“I should embrace his angel, and my clay,
“And what was mortal in me, melt away.
“O! that ecstatic horror in my frame,
“That o'er me thus, a favour'd mortal, came!
“Bless'd beyond mortals,—and the body now
“I judged would perish, though I knew not how;
“The gracious power around me could translate
“And make me pass to that immortal state:
“Thus shall I pay the debt that must be paid,
“And dying live, nor be by death delay'd;
“And when so changed, I should with joy sustain
“The heavenly converse, and with him remain.
“That o'er me thus, a favour'd mortal, came!
“Bless'd beyond mortals,—and the body now
“I judged would perish, though I knew not how;
“The gracious power around me could translate
“And make me pass to that immortal state:
“Thus shall I pay the debt that must be paid,
“And dying live, nor be by death delay'd;
“And when so changed, I should with joy sustain
“The heavenly converse, and with him remain.
“I saw the distant shade, and went with awe,
“But not with terror, to the form I saw:
“Yet slowly went, for he I did believe
“Would meet, and soul to soul his friend receive;
“So on I drew, concluding in my mind,
“I cannot judge what laws may spirits bind;
“Though I dissolve, and mingle with the blest,
“I am a new and uninstructed guest,
“And ere my love can speak, he should be first address'd.
“But not with terror, to the form I saw:
“Yet slowly went, for he I did believe
“Would meet, and soul to soul his friend receive;
“So on I drew, concluding in my mind,
“I cannot judge what laws may spirits bind;
“Though I dissolve, and mingle with the blest,
“I am a new and uninstructed guest,
“And ere my love can speak, he should be first address'd.
“Thus I began to speak,—my new-born pride,
“My love, and daring hope, the words supplied:—
“‘Dear, happy shade! companion of the good,
“‘The just, the pure, do I on thee intrude?
“‘Art thou not come my spirit to improve,
“‘To form, instruct, and fit me for thy love,
“‘And, as in love we parted, to restore
“‘The blessing lost, and then to part no more?
“‘Let me with thee in thy pure essence dwell,
“‘Nor go to bid them of my house farewell,
“‘But thine be ever!’—How shall I relate
“Th' event that finish'd this ecstatic state?
“Yet let me try.—It turn'd, and I beheld
“A hideous form, that hope and zeal expell'd:
“In a dim light the horrid shape appear'd,
“That wisdom would have fled, and courage fear'd,
“Pale, and yet bloated, with distorted eyes
“Distant and deep, a mouth of monstrous size,
“That would in day's broad glare a simple maid surprise:
“He heard my words, and cried, with savage shout,
“‘Bah!—bother!—blarney!—What is this about?’
“My love, and daring hope, the words supplied:—
“‘Dear, happy shade! companion of the good,
“‘The just, the pure, do I on thee intrude?
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“‘To form, instruct, and fit me for thy love,
“‘And, as in love we parted, to restore
“‘The blessing lost, and then to part no more?
“‘Let me with thee in thy pure essence dwell,
“‘Nor go to bid them of my house farewell,
“‘But thine be ever!’—How shall I relate
“Th' event that finish'd this ecstatic state?
“Yet let me try.—It turn'd, and I beheld
“A hideous form, that hope and zeal expell'd:
“In a dim light the horrid shape appear'd,
“That wisdom would have fled, and courage fear'd,
“Pale, and yet bloated, with distorted eyes
“Distant and deep, a mouth of monstrous size,
“That would in day's broad glare a simple maid surprise:
“He heard my words, and cried, with savage shout,
“‘Bah!—bother!—blarney!—What is this about?’
“Love, lover, longing, in an instant fled,
“Now I had vice and impudence to dread;
“And all my high-wrought fancies died away,
“To woman's trouble, terror, and dismay.
“Now I had vice and impudence to dread;
“And all my high-wrought fancies died away,
“To woman's trouble, terror, and dismay.
“‘What,’ said the wretch, ‘what is it you would have?
“‘Would'st hang a man for peeping in a grave?
“‘Search me yourself, and try if you can feel
“‘Aught I have taken,—there was nought to steal:
“‘'T was told they buried with the corpse enough
“‘To pay the hazard,—I have made the proof,
“‘Nor gain'd a tester.—What I tell is true;
“‘But I'm no fool, to be betray'd by you,—
“‘I'll hazard nothing, curse me if I do!’
“‘Would'st hang a man for peeping in a grave?
“‘Search me yourself, and try if you can feel
“‘Aught I have taken,—there was nought to steal:
“‘'T was told they buried with the corpse enough
“‘To pay the hazard,—I have made the proof,
“‘Nor gain'd a tester.—What I tell is true;
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“‘I'll hazard nothing, curse me if I do!’
“The light increased, and plainly now appear'd
“A knavish fool whom I had often fear'd,
“But hid the dread; and I resolved at least
“Not to expose it to the powerful beast.
“A knavish fool whom I had often fear'd,
“But hid the dread; and I resolved at least
“Not to expose it to the powerful beast.
“‘Come, John, I said, suppressing fear and doubt,
“‘Walk on before, and let a lady out!’—
“‘Lady!’ the wretch replied, with savage grin,
“‘Apply to him that let the lady in:
“‘What! you would go, I take it, to the Dean,
“‘And tell him what your ladyship has seen.’
“‘Walk on before, and let a lady out!’—
“‘Lady!’ the wretch replied, with savage grin,
“‘Apply to him that let the lady in:
“‘What! you would go, I take it, to the Dean,
“‘And tell him what your ladyship has seen.’
“When thus the fool exposed the knave, I saw
“The means of holding such a mind in awe,
“And gain my safety by his dread of law.
“The means of holding such a mind in awe,
“And gain my safety by his dread of law.
“‘Alas!’ I cried, ‘I fear the Dean like you,
“‘For I transgress, and am in trouble too:
“‘If it be known that we are here, as sure
“‘As here we are we must the law endure:
“‘Each other's counsel therefore let us keep,
“‘And each steal homeward to our beds and sleep.’
“‘For I transgress, and am in trouble too:
“‘If it be known that we are here, as sure
“‘As here we are we must the law endure:
“‘Each other's counsel therefore let us keep,
“‘And each steal homeward to our beds and sleep.’
“‘Steal!’ said the ruffian's conscience.—‘Well, agreed;
“‘Steal on, and let us to the door proceed:’—
“Yet, ere he moved, he stood awhile, and took
“Of my poor form a most alarming look;
“‘But, hark!’ I cried, and he to move began,—
“Escape alone engaged the dreadful man:
“With eager hand I oped the ponderous door—
“The wretch rush'd by me, and was heard no more.
“‘Steal on, and let us to the door proceed:’—
“Yet, ere he moved, he stood awhile, and took
“Of my poor form a most alarming look;
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“Escape alone engaged the dreadful man:
“With eager hand I oped the ponderous door—
“The wretch rush'd by me, and was heard no more.
“So I escaped,—and when my dreams came on,
“I check'd the madness by the thoughts of John:
“Yet say I not what can or cannot be,
“But give the story of my Ghost and me.”
“I check'd the madness by the thoughts of John:
“Yet say I not what can or cannot be,
“But give the story of my Ghost and me.”
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BOOK XXI. SMUGGLERS AND POACHERS.
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A Widow at the Hall—Enquiry of Richard—Relation of two Brothers—Their different Character—Disposition —Mode of thinking—James a Servant—Robert joins the Smugglers—Rachel at the Hall—James attached to her —Trade fails—Robert a Poacher—Is in Danger—How released—James and Rachel—Revenge excited—Association formed—Attack resolved—Preparation made for Resistance—A night Adventure—Reflections.
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There was a Widow in the village known
To our good Squire, and he had favour shown
By frequent bounty.—She as usual came,
And Richard saw the worn and weary frame,
Pale cheek, and eye subdued, of her whose mind
Was grateful still, and glad a friend to find,
Though to the world long since and all its hopes resign'd:
Her easy form, in rustic neatness clad,
Was pleasing still! but she for ever sad.
To our good Squire, and he had favour shown
By frequent bounty.—She as usual came,
And Richard saw the worn and weary frame,
Pale cheek, and eye subdued, of her whose mind
Was grateful still, and glad a friend to find,
Though to the world long since and all its hopes resign'd:
Her easy form, in rustic neatness clad,
Was pleasing still! but she for ever sad.
“Deep is her grief!” said Richard,—“truly deep,
“And very still, and therefore seems to sleep;
“To borrow simile, to paint her woes,
“Theirs, like the river's motion, seems repose,
“Making no petty murmuring,—settled slow,
“They never waste, they never overflow.
“Rachel is one of those—for there are some
“Who look for nothing in their days to come,
“No good nor evil, neither hope nor fear,
“Nothing remains or cheerful or severe;
“One day is like the past, the year's sweet prime
“Like the sad fall,—for Rachel heeds not time:
“Nothing remains to agitate her breast,
“Spent is the tempest, and the sky at rest;
“But while it raged her peace its ruin met,
“And now the sun is on her prospects set;—
“Leave her, and let us her distress explore,
“She heeds it not—she has been left before.”
There were two lads call'd Shelley hither brought,
“And very still, and therefore seems to sleep;
“To borrow simile, to paint her woes,
“Theirs, like the river's motion, seems repose,
“Making no petty murmuring,—settled slow,
“They never waste, they never overflow.
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“Who look for nothing in their days to come,
“No good nor evil, neither hope nor fear,
“Nothing remains or cheerful or severe;
“One day is like the past, the year's sweet prime
“Like the sad fall,—for Rachel heeds not time:
“Nothing remains to agitate her breast,
“Spent is the tempest, and the sky at rest;
“But while it raged her peace its ruin met,
“And now the sun is on her prospects set;—
“Leave her, and let us her distress explore,
“She heeds it not—she has been left before.”
But whence we know not—it was never sought;
Their wandering mother left them, left her name,
And the boys throve and valiant men became:
Handsome, of more than common size, and tall,
And no one's kindred, seem'd beloved of all;
All seem'd alliance by their deeds to prove,
And loved the youths who could not claim their love.
One was call'd James, the more sedate and grave,
The other Robert—names their neighbours gave;
They both were brave, but Robert loved to run
And meet his danger—James would rather shun
The dangerous trial, but whenever tried
He all his spirit to the act applied.
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James would his man and the occasion know;
For that was quick and prompt—this temperate and slow.
Robert would all things he desired pursue,
James would consider what was best to do;
All spoke of Robert as a man they loved,
And most of James as valued and approved.
Both had some learning: Robert his acquired
By quicker parts, and was by praise inspired;
James, as he was in his acquirements slow,
Would learn the worth of what he tried to know.
In fact, this youth was generous—that was just;
The one you loved, the other you would trust:
Yet him you loved you would for truth approve,
And him you trusted you would likewise love.
Such were the brothers—James had found his way
To Nether Hall, and there inclined to stay;
He could himself command, and therefore could obey:
He with the keeper took his daily round,
A rival grew, and some unkindness found;
But his superior farm'd! the place was void,
And James guns, dogs, and dignity enjoy'd.
Robert had scorn of service: he would be
A slave to no man—happy were the free,
And only they;—by such opinions led,
Robert to sundry kinds of trade was bred;
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An active partner in a lawless trade;
Fond of adventure, wanton as the wave,
He loved the danger and the law to brave;
But these were chance-adventures, known to few,—
Not that the hero cared what people knew.
The brothers met not often—When they met
James talk'd of honest gains and scorn of debt,
Of virtuous labour, of a sober life,
And what with credit would support a wife.
But Robert answer'd,—“How can men advise
“Who to a master let their tongue and eyes?
“Whose words are not their own? whose foot and hand
“Run at a nod, or act upon command?
“Who cannot eat or drink, discourse or play,
“Without requesting others that they may?
“Who to a master let their tongue and eyes?
“Whose words are not their own? whose foot and hand
“Run at a nod, or act upon command?
“Who cannot eat or drink, discourse or play,
“Without requesting others that they may?
“Debt you would shun; but what advice to give
“Who owe your service every hour you live!
“Let a bell sound, and from your friends you run,
“Although the darling of your heart were one;
“But if the bondage fits you, I resign
“You to your lot—I am content with mine!”
Thus would the Lads their sentiments express,
“Who owe your service every hour you live!
“Let a bell sound, and from your friends you run,
“Although the darling of your heart were one;
“But if the bondage fits you, I resign
“You to your lot—I am content with mine!”
And part in earnest, part in playfulness;
Till Love, controller of all hearts and eyes,
Breaker of bonds, of friendship's holy ties,
Awakener of new wills and slumbering sympathies,
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That form, those cheeks, that faultless face display'd,
That child of gracious nature, ever neat
And never fine; a flow'ret simply sweet,
Seeming at least unconscious she was fair;
Meek in her spirit, timid in her air,
And shrinking from his glance if one presumed
To come too near the beauty as it bloom'd.
Robert beheld her in her father's cot
Day after day, and bless'd his happy lot;
He look'd indeed, but he could not offend
By gentle looks—he was her father's friend:
She was accustom'd to that tender look,
And frankly gave the hand he fondly took;
She loved his stories, pleased she heard him play,
Pensive herself, she loved to see him gay,
And if they loved not yet, they were in Love's highway.
But Rachel now to womanhood was grown,
And would no more her faith and fondness own;
She call'd her latent prudence to her aid,
And grew observant, cautious, and afraid;
She heard relations of her lover's guile,
And could believe the danger of his smile:
With art insidious rival damsels strove
To show how false his speech, how feign'd his love;
And though her heart another story told,
Her speech grew cautious, and her manner cold.
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And gain'd a place of credit at the Hall;
Where James beheld her seated in that place,
With a child's meekness, and an angel's face;
Her temper soft, her spirit firm, her words
Simple and few as simple truth affords.
James could but love her,—he at church had seen
The tall, fair maid, had met her on the green,
Admiring always, nor surprised to find
Her figure often present to his mind;
But now he saw her daily, and the sight
Gave him new pleasure and increased delight.
But James, still prudent and reserved, though sure
The love he felt was love that would endure,
Would wait awhile, observing what was fit,
And meet, and right, nor would himself commit:
Then was he flatter'd,—James in time became
Rich, both as slayer of the Baron's game,
And as protector,—not a female dwelt
In that demesne who had not feign'd or felt
Regard for James; and he from all had praise
Enough a young man's vanity to raise;
With all these pleasures he of course must part,
When Rachel reign'd sole empress of his heart.
Robert was now deprived of that delight
He once experienced in his mistress' sight;
For, though he now his frequent visits paid,
He saw but little of the cautious maid:
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Grew dull, and he the wonted haunts forsook;
His flute and song he left, his book and pen,
And sought the meetings of adventurous men.
There was a love-born sadness in his breast,
That wanted stimulus to bring on rest;
These simple pleasures were no more of use,
And danger only could repose produce;
He join'd th' associates in their lawless trade,
And was at length of their profession made.
He saw connected with th' adventurous crew
Those whom he judged were sober men and true;
He found that some, who should the trade prevent,
Gave it by purchase their encouragement;
He found that contracts could be made with those
Who had their pay these dealers to oppose;
And the good ladies whom at church he saw
With looks devout, of reverence and awe,
Could change their feelings as they change their place,
And, whispering, deal for spicery and lace:
And thus the craft and avarice of these
Urged on the youth, and gave his conscience ease.
Him loved the maiden Rachel, fondly loved,
As many a sigh and tear in absence proved,
And many a fear for dangers that she knew,
And many a doubt what one so gay might do:
Of guilt she thought not,—she had often heard
They bought and sold, and nothing wrong appear'd;
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There was some ill,—but he, she knew, was good:
It was a traffic—but was done by night—
If wrong, how trade? why secrecy, if right?
But Robert's conscience, she believed, was pure—
And that he read his Bible she was sure.
James, better taught, in confidence declared
His grief for what his guilty brother dared:
He sigh'd to think how near he was akin
To one reduced by godless men to sin;
Who, being always of the law in dread,
To other crimes were by the danger led—
And crimes with like excuse.—The Smuggler cries,
“What guilt is his who pays for what he buys?”
The Poacher questions, with perverted mind,
“Were not the gifts of Heaven for all design'd?”
This cries, “I sin not—take not till I pay;”—
That, “my own hand brought down my proper prey:”—
And while to such fond arguments they cling,
How fear they God? how honour they the king?
Such men associate, and each other aid,
Till all are guilty, rash, and desperate made;
Till to some lawless deed the wretches fly,
And in the act, or for the acting, die.
The maid was frighten'd,—but, if this was true,
Robert for certain no such danger knew;
He always pray'd ere he a trip began,
And was too happy for a wicked man:
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So kind to all men, so disposed to pray,
How could he give his heart to such an evil way?
Yet she had fears,—for she could not believe
That James could lie, or purpose to deceive;
But still she found, though not without respect
For one so good, she must the man reject;
For, simple though she was, full well she knew
What this strong friendship led him to pursue;
And, let the man be honest as the light,
Love warps the mind a little from the right;
And she proposed, against the trying day,
What in the trial she should think and say.
And now, their love avow'd, in both arose
Fear and disdain—the orphan pair were foes.
Robert, more generous of the two, avow'd
His scorn, defiance, and contempt aloud.
James talk'd of pity in a softer tone,
To Rachel speaking, and with her alone:
He knew full well, he said, to what must come
His wretched brother, what would be his doom:
Thus he her bosom fenced with dread about;
But love he could not with his skill drive out.
Still he affected something,—and that skill
Made the love wretched, though it could not kill;
And Robert fail'd, though much he tried, to prove
He had no guilt—She granted he had love.
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When the stern keeper told of stolen game:
Throughout the woods the poaching dogs had been,
And from him nothing should the robbers screen,
From him and law,—he would all hazards run,
Nor spare a poacher, were his brother one,—
Love, favour, interest, tie of blood should fail,
Till vengeance bore him bleeding to the jail.
Poor Rachel shudder'd,—smuggling she could name
Without confusion, for she felt not shame;
But poachers were her terror, and a wood
Which they frequented had been mark'd by blood;
And though she thought her Robert was secure
In better thoughts, yet could she not be sure.
James now was urgent,—it would break his heart
With hope, with her, and with such views to part,
When one so wicked would her hand possess,
And he a brother!—that was his distress,
And must be hers,—She heard him, and she sigh'd,
Looking in doubt,—but nothing she replied
There was a generous feeling in her mind,
That told her this was neither good nor kind:
James caused her terror, but he did no more—
Her love was now as it had been before.
Their traffic fail'd,—and the adventurous crew
No more their profitless attempts renew:
Dig they will not, and beg they might in vain—
Had they not pride, and what can then remain?
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Escaped at least the danger of the snare;
Woods of their feather'd beauty were bereft,
The beauteous victims of the silent theft;
The well-known shops received a large supply,
That they who could not kill at least might buy.
James was enraged, enraged his lord, and both
Confirm'd their threatening with a vengeful oath:
Fresh aid was sought,—and nightly on the lands
Walk'd on their watch the strong, determined bands:
Pardon was offer'd, and a promised pay
To him who would the desperate gang betray.
Nor fail'd the measure,—on a certain night
A few were seized—the rest escaped by flight;
Yet they resisted boldly ere they fled,
And blows were dealt around, and blood was shed;
Two groaning helpers on the earth were laid,
When more arrived the lawful cause to aid:
Then four determined men were seized and bound,
And Robert in this desperate number found:
In prison fetter'd, he deplored his fate,
And cursed the folly he perceived too late.
James was a favourite with his lord,—the zeal
He show'd was such as masters ever feel:
If he for vengeance on a culprit cried,
Or if for mercy, still his lord complied;
And now, 't was said, he will for mercy plead,
For his own brother's was the guilty deed:
True, the hurt man is in a mending way,
But must be crippled to his dying day.
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He would not stay it, if he did not force;
He could his witness, if he pleased, withdraw,
Or he could arm with certain death the law:
This he attested to the maid, and true,
If this he could not, yet he much could do.
How suffer'd then that maid,—no thought she had,
No view of days to come, that was not sad;
As sad as life with all its hopes resign'd,
As sad as aught but guilt can make mankind.
With bitter grief the pleasures she review'd
Of early hope, with innocence pursued,
When she began to love, and he was fond and good.
He now must die, she heard from every tongue—
Die, and so thoughtless! perish, and so young!
Brave, kind, and generous, tender, constant, true,
And he must die—then will I perish too!
A thousand acts in every age will prove
Women are valiant in a cause they love;
If fate the favour'd swain in danger place,
They heed not danger—perils they embrace;
They dare the world's contempt, they brave their name's disgrace;
They on the ocean meet its wild alarms,
They search the dungeon with extended arms;
The utmost trial of their faith they prove,
And yield the lover to assert their love.
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Mercy he sold, and she must pay the price:
If his good lord forbore to urge their fate,
And he the utmost of their guilt to state,
The felons might their forfeit lives redeem,
And in their country's cause regain esteem;
But never more that man, whom he had shame
To call his brother, must she see or name.
Rachel was meek, but she had firmness too,
And reason'd much on what she ought to do:
In Robert's place, she knew what she should choose—
But life was not the thing she fear'd to lose:
She knew that she could not their contract break,
Nor for her life a new engagement make;
But he was man, and guilty,—death so near
Might not to his as to her mind appear;
And he might wish, to spare that forfeit life,
The maid he loved might be his brother's wife,
Although that brother was his bitter foe,
And he must all the sweets of life forego.
This would she try,—intent on this alone,
She could assume a calm and settled tone:
She spake with firmness,—“I will Robert see,
“Know what he wishes, and what I must be;”
For James had now discover'd to the maid
His inmost heart, and how he must be paid,
If he his lord would soften, and would hide
The facts that must the culprit's fate decide.
“Go not,” he said,—for she her full intent
Proclaim'd—To go she purposed, and she went:
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The secret wishes of her friend to learn.
She saw him fetter'd, full of grief, alone,
Still as the dead, and he suppress'd a groan
At her appearance—Now she pray'd for strength;
And the sad couple could converse at length.
It was a scene that shook her to repeat,—
Life fought with love, both powerful, and both sweet.
“Wilt thou die, Robert, or preserve thy life?
“Shall I be thine own maid, or James's wife?”
“His wife!—No!—never will I thee resign—
“No, Rachel, no!”—“Then am I ever thine:
“I know thee rash and guilty,—but to thee
“I pledged my vow, and thine will ever be:
“Yet think again,—the life that God has lent
“Is thine, but not to cast away—Consent,
“If 'tis thy wish; for this I made my way
“To thy distress—Command, and I obey.”
“Perhaps my brother may have gain'd thy heart!”—
“Then why this visit, if I wish'd to part?
“Was it, ah, man ungrateful! wise to make
“Effort like this, to hazard for thy sake
“A spotless reputation, and to be
“A suppliant to that stern man for thee?
“But I forgive,—thy spirit has been tried,
“And thou art weak, but still thou must decide.
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“Without the loving heart, the obedient hand?
“I ask thee, Robert, lover, canst thou part
“With this poor hand, when master of the heart?—
“He answer'd, Yes!—I tarry thy reply,
“Resign'd with him to live, content with thee to die.”
Assured of this, with spirits low and tame,
Here life so purchased—there a death of shame;
Death once his merriment, but now his dread,
And he with terror thought upon the dead:
“O! sure 'tis better to endure the care
“And pain of life, than go we know not where:—
“And is there not the dreaded hell for sin,
“Or is it only this I feel within?
“That, if it lasted, no man would sustain,
“But would by any change relieve the pain:
“Forgive me, love! it is a loathsome thing
“To live not thine; but still this dreaded sting
“Of death torments me,—I to nature cling.—
“Go, and be his—but love him not, be sure—
“Go, love him not,—and I will life endure:
“He, too, is mortal!”—Rachel deeply sigh'd,
But would no more converse: she had complied,
And was no longer free—she was his brother's bride.
“Farewell!” she said, with kindness, but not fond,
Feeling the pressure of the recent bond,
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Advice to one who so desired to live:
She then departed, join'd the attending guide,
Reflected—wept—was sad—was satisfied.
James on her worth and virtue could depend,—
He listen'd gladly to her story's end:
Again he promised Robert's life to save,
And claim'd the hand that she in payment gave.
Robert, when death no longer was in view,
Scorn'd what was done, but could not this undo:
The day appointed for the trial near
He view'd with shame, and not unmix'd with fear,—
James might deceive him; and, if not, the schemes
Of men may fail.—Can I depend on James?
He might; for now the grievous price was paid—
James to the altar led the victim maid,
And gave the trembling girl his faithful word
For Robert's safety, and so gave my lord.
But this, and all the promise hope could give,
Gilded not life,—it was not joy to live;
There was no smile in Rachel, nothing gay,
The hours pass'd off, but never danced away.
When drew the gloomy day for trial near
There came a note to Robert,—“Banish fear!”
He knew whence safety came,—his terror fled,
But rage and vengeance fill'd his soul instead.
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The day of trial on their hopes might close:
They had no brothers, none to intercede
For them, their friends suspected, and in need;
Scatter'd, they judged, and could unite no more,—
Not so,—they then were at the prison door.
For some had met who sought the haunts they loved,
And were to pity and to vengeance moved:
Their fellows perish! and they see their fall,—
Why not attempt the steep but guardless wall?
Attempt was made, his part assign'd each man,
And they succeeded in the desperate plan;
In truth, a purposed mercy smoothed their way
But that they knew not—all triumphant they.
Safe in their well-known haunts, they all prepared
To plan anew, and show how much they dared.
With joy the troubled heart of Robert beat,
For life was his, and liberty was sweet;
He look'd around in freedom—in delight?
O! no—his Rachel was another's right!
“Right!—has he then preserved me in the day
“Of my distress?—He has the lovely pay!
“But I no freedom at the slave's request,
“The price I paid shall then be repossess'd!
“Alas! her virtue and the law prevent,
“Force cannot be, and she will not consent;
“But were that brother gone!—A brother? No!
“A circumventor!—and the wretch shall go!
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“Ungovern'd, guideless, drifting in the wind,
“And I am all a tempest, whirl'd around
“By dreadful thoughts, that fright me and confound;—
“I would I saw him on the earth laid low!
“I wish the fate, but must not give the blow!”
So thinks a man when thoughtful; he prefers
A life of peace till man his anger stirs,
Then all the efforts of his reason cease,
And he forgets how pleasant was that peace;
Till the wild passions what they seek obtain,
And then he sinks into his calm again.
Now met the lawless clan,—in secret met,
And down at their convivial board were set;
The plans in view to past adventures led,
And the past conflicts present anger bred;
They sigh'd for pleasures gone, they groan'd for heroes dead:
Their ancient stores were rifled,—strong desires
Awaked, and wine rekindled latent fires.
It was a night such bold desires to move,
Strong winds and wintry torrents fill'd the grove;
The crackling boughs that in the forest fell,
The cawing rooks, the cur's affrighten'd yell;
The scenes above the wood, the floods below,
Were mix'd, and none the single sound could know;
“Loud blow the blasts,” they cried, “and call us as they blow.”
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What had been done in better times of old;
How they had conquer'd all opposed to them,
By force in part, in part by stratagem;
And as the tales inflamed the fiery crew,
What had been done they then prepared to do;
“'T is a last night!” they said—the angry blast
And roaring floods seem'd answering, “'T is a last!”
James knew they met, for he had spies about,
Grave, sober men, whom none presumed to doubt;
For if suspected they had soon been tried
Where fears are evidence, and doubts decide:
But these escaped.—Now James companions took,
Sturdy and bold, with terror-stirring look;
He had before, by informations led,
Left the afflicted partner of his bed;
Awaked his men, and through plantations wide,
Deep woods, and trackless ling, had been their guide;
And then return'd to wake the pitying wife,
And hear her tender terrors for his life.
But in this night a sure informer came,
They were assembled who attack'd his game;
Who more than once had through the park made way,
And slain the dappled breed, or vow'd to slay;
The trembling spy had heard the solemn vow,
And need and vengeance both inspired them now
The keeper early had retired to rest
For brief repose;—sad thoughts his mind possess'd;
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And ask'd in fancy's terror, “Is he dead?”
There was a call below, when James awoke,
Rose from his bed, and arms to aid him took,
Not all defensive!—there his helpers stood,
Arm'd like himself, and hastening to the wood.
“Why this?” he said, for Rachel pour'd her tears
Profuse, that spoke involuntary fears:
“Sleep, that so early thou for us may'st wake,
“And we our comforts in return may take;
“Sleep, and farewell!” he said, and took his way,
And the sad wife in neither could obey;
She slept not nor well fared, but restless dwelt
On her past life, and past afflictions felt:
The man she loved, the brother and the foe
Of him she married!—It had wrought her woe;
Not that she loved, but pitied, and that now
Was, so she fear'd, infringement of her vow:
James too was civil, though she must confess
That his was not her kind of happiness;
That he would shoot the man who shot a hare
Was what her timid conscience could not bear;
But still she loved him—wonder'd where he stray'd
In this loud night! and if he were afraid.
More than one hour she thought, and dropping then
In sudden sleep, cried loudly, “Spare him, men!
“And do no murder!”—then awaked she rose,
And thought no more of trying for repose.
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That nature mingles might be heard around;
But none from man,—man's feeble voice was hush'd,
Where rivers swelling roar'd, and woods were crush'd;
Hurried by these, the wife could sit no more,
But must the terrors of the night explore.
Softly she left her door, her garden gate,
And seem'd as then committed to her fate;
To every horrid thought and doubt a prey,
She hurried on, already lost her way;
Oft as she glided on in that sad night,
She stopp'd to listen, and she look'd for light;
An hour she wander'd, and was still to learn
Aught of her husband's safety or return:
A sudden break of heavy clouds could show
A place she knew not, but she strove to know;
Still further on she crept with trembling feet,
With hope a friend, with fear a foe to meet:
And there was something fearful in the sight,
And in the sound of what appear'd to-night;
For now, of night and nervous terror bred,
Arose a strong and superstitious dread;
She heard strange noises, and the shapes she saw
Of fancied beings bound her soul in awe.
The moon was risen, and she sometimes shone
Through thick white clouds, that flew tumultuous on
Passing beneath her with an eagle's speed,
That her soft light imprison'd and then freed;
The fitful glimmering through the hedge-row green
Gave a strange beauty to the changing scene;
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Their mingled voice that to the spirit went.
To these she listen'd; but new sounds were heard,
And sight more startling to her soul appear'd;
There were low lengthen'd tones with sobs between,
And near at hand, but nothing yet was seen;
She hurried on, and “Who is there?” she cried,
“A dying wretch!” was from the earth replied.
It was her lover—was the man she gave,
The price she paid, himself from death to save;
With whom, expiring, she must kneel and pray,
While the soul flitted from the shivering clay
That press'd the dewy ground, and bled its life away!
This was the part that duty bad her take,
Instant and ere her feelings were awake;
But now they waked to anguish; there came then,
Hurrying with lights, loud-speaking, eager men.
“And here, my lord, we met—And who is here?
“The keeper's wife—Ah! woman, go not near!
“There lies the man that was the head of all—
“See, in his temples went the fatal ball!
“And James that instant, who was then our guide,
“Felt in his heart the adverse shot and died!
“It was a sudden meeting, and the light
“Of a dull moon made indistinct our fight;
“He foremost fell!—But see, the woman creeps
“Like a lost thing, that wanders as she sleeps.
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“That other dead! and that her action shows.
“Rachel! why look you at your mortal foe?—
“She does not hear us—Whither will she go?”
Now, more attentive, on the dead they gazed,
And they were brothers: sorrowing and amazed,
On all a momentary silence came,
A common softness, and a moral shame.
“Seized you the poachers?” said my lord.—They fled,
“And we pursued not—one of them was dead,
“And one of us: they hurried through the wood,
“Two lives were gone, and we no more pursued.
“Two lives of men, of valiant brothers lost!
“Enough, my lord, do hares and pheasants cost!”
So many thought, and there is found a heart
To dwell upon the deaths on either part;
Since this their morals have been more correct,
The cruel spirit in the place is check'd;
His lordship holds not in such sacred care,
Nor takes such dreadful vengeance for a hare;
The smugglers fear, the poacher stands in awe
Of Heaven's own act, and reverence the law;
There was, there is, a terror in the place
That operates on man's offending race;
Such acts will stamp their moral on the soul,
And while the bad they threaten and control,
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Yours is the right, the safe, the certain way,
'T is wisdom to be good, 't is virtue to obey.
So Rachel thinks, the pure, the good, the meek,
Whose outward acts the inward purpose speak;
As men will children at their sports behold,
And smile to see them, though unmoved and cold,
Smile at the recollected games, and then
Depart and mix in the affairs of men:
So Rachel looks upon the world, and sees
It cannot longer pain her, longer please,
But just detain the passing thought, or cause
A gentle smile of pity or applause;
And then the recollected soul repairs
Her slumbering hope, and heeds her own affairs.
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BOOK XXII. THE VISIT CONCLUDED.
278
Richard prepares to depart—Visits the Rector—His Reception —Visit to the Sisters—Their present Situation—The Morning of the last Day—The Conference of the Brothers —Their Excursion—Richard dissatisfied—The Brother expostulates—The End of their Ride and of the Day's Business—Conclusion.
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“No letters, Tom?” said Richard—“None to-day.”
“Excuse me, Brother, I must now away;
“Matilda never in her life so long
“Deferr'd—Alas! there must be something wrong!”
“Excuse me, Brother, I must now away;
“Matilda never in her life so long
“Deferr'd—Alas! there must be something wrong!”
“Comfort!” said George, and all he could he lent;
“Wait till your promised day, and I consent;
“Two days, and those of hope, may cheerfully be spent.
“Wait till your promised day, and I consent;
“Two days, and those of hope, may cheerfully be spent.
“And keep your purpose, to review the place,
“My choice; and I beseech you do it grace:
“Mark each apartment, their proportions learn,
“And either use or elegance discern;
“Look o'er the land, the gardens, and their wall,
“Find out the something to admire in all;
“And should you praise them in a knowing style,
“I'll take it kindly—it is well—a smile.”
“My choice; and I beseech you do it grace:
“Mark each apartment, their proportions learn,
“And either use or elegance discern;
“Look o'er the land, the gardens, and their wall,
“Find out the something to admire in all;
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“I'll take it kindly—it is well—a smile.”
Richard must now his morning visits pay,
And bid farewell! for he must go away.
And bid farewell! for he must go away.
He sought the Rector first, not lately seen,
For he had absent from his parish been;
“Farewell!” the younger man with feeling cried,
“Farewell!” the cold but worthy priest replied;
“When do you leave us?”—“I have days but two:”
“'Tis a short time—but, well—adieu, adieu!”
For he had absent from his parish been;
“Farewell!” the younger man with feeling cried,
“Farewell!” the cold but worthy priest replied;
“When do you leave us?”—“I have days but two:”
“'Tis a short time—but, well—adieu, adieu!”
“Now here is one,” said Richard, as he went
To the next friend in pensive discontent,
“With whom I sate in social, friendly ease,
“Whom I respected, whom I wish'd to please;
“Whose love profess'd, I question'd not was true,
“And now to hear his heartless, ‘Well, adieu!’
To the next friend in pensive discontent,
“With whom I sate in social, friendly ease,
“Whom I respected, whom I wish'd to please;
“Whose love profess'd, I question'd not was true,
“And now to hear his heartless, ‘Well, adieu!’
“But 'tis not well—and he a man of sense,
“Grave, but yet looking strong benevolence;
“Whose slight acerbity and roughness told
“To his advantage; yet the man is cold;
“Nor will he know, when rising in the morn,
“That such a being to the world was born.
“Grave, but yet looking strong benevolence;
“Whose slight acerbity and roughness told
“To his advantage; yet the man is cold;
“Nor will he know, when rising in the morn,
“That such a being to the world was born.
“Are such the friendships we contract in life?
“Oh! give me then the friendship of a wife!
“Adieus, nay, parting-pains to us are sweet,
“They make so glad the moments when we meet.
“For though we look not for regard intense,
“Or warm professions in a man of sense,
“Yet in the daily intercourse of mind
“I thought that found which I desired to find,
“Feeling and frankness—thus it seem'd to me,
“And such farewell!—Well, Rector, let it be!”
“Oh! give me then the friendship of a wife!
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“They make so glad the moments when we meet.
“For though we look not for regard intense,
“Or warm professions in a man of sense,
“Yet in the daily intercourse of mind
“I thought that found which I desired to find,
“Feeling and frankness—thus it seem'd to me,
“And such farewell!—Well, Rector, let it be!”
Of the fair Sisters then he took his leave,
Forget he could not, he must think and grieve,
Must the impression of their wrongs retain,
Their very patience adding to his pain;
And still the better they their sorrows bore,
His friendly nature made him feel them more.
Forget he could not, he must think and grieve,
Must the impression of their wrongs retain,
Their very patience adding to his pain;
And still the better they their sorrows bore,
His friendly nature made him feel them more.
He judged they must have many a heavy hour
When the mind suffers from a want of power;
When troubled long we find our strength decay'd,
And cannot then recall our better aid;
For to the mind, ere yet that aid has flown,
Grief has possess'd, and made it all his own;
And patience suffers, till, with gather'd might,
The scatter'd forces of the soul unite.
When the mind suffers from a want of power;
When troubled long we find our strength decay'd,
And cannot then recall our better aid;
For to the mind, ere yet that aid has flown,
Grief has possess'd, and made it all his own;
And patience suffers, till, with gather'd might,
The scatter'd forces of the soul unite.
But few and short such times of suffering were
In Lucy's mind, and brief the reign of care.
Jane had, indeed, her flights, but had in them
What we could pity but must not condemn;
For they were always pure and oft sublime,
And such as triumph'd over earth and time,
Thoughts of eternal love that souls possess,
Foretaste divine of heaven's own happiness.
In Lucy's mind, and brief the reign of care.
Jane had, indeed, her flights, but had in them
What we could pity but must not condemn;
For they were always pure and oft sublime,
And such as triumph'd over earth and time,
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Foretaste divine of heaven's own happiness.
Oft had he seen them, and esteem had sprung
In his free mind for maids so sad and young,
So good and grieving, and his place was high
In their esteem, his friendly brother's nigh,
But yet beneath; and when he said adieu!
Their tone was kind, and was responsive too.
In his free mind for maids so sad and young,
So good and grieving, and his place was high
In their esteem, his friendly brother's nigh,
But yet beneath; and when he said adieu!
Their tone was kind, and was responsive too.
Parting was painful; when adieu he cried,
“You will return?” the gentle girls replied;
“You must return! your Brother knows you now,
“But to exist without you knows not how;
“Has he not told us of the lively joy
“He takes—forgive us—in the Brother-boy?
“He is alone and pensive; you can give
“Pleasure to one by whom a number live
“In daily comfort—sure for this you met,
“That for his debtors you might pay a debt—
“The poor are call'd ungrateful, but you still
“Will have their thanks for this—indeed you will.”
“You will return?” the gentle girls replied;
“You must return! your Brother knows you now,
“But to exist without you knows not how;
“Has he not told us of the lively joy
“He takes—forgive us—in the Brother-boy?
“He is alone and pensive; you can give
“Pleasure to one by whom a number live
“In daily comfort—sure for this you met,
“That for his debtors you might pay a debt—
“The poor are call'd ungrateful, but you still
“Will have their thanks for this—indeed you will.”
Richard but little said, for he of late
Held with himself contention and debate.
Held with himself contention and debate.
“My Brother loves me, his regard I know,
“But will not such affection weary grow?
“He kindly says, ‘Defer the parting day,’
“But yet may wish me in his heart away;
“Nothing but kindness I in him perceive,
“In me 't is kindness then to take my leave;
“Why should I grieve if he should weary be?
“There have been visiters who wearied me;
“He yet may love, and we may part in peace,
“Nay, in affection—novelty must cease—
“Man is but man; the thing he most desires
“Pleases awhile—then pleases not—then tires;
“George to his former habits and his friends
“Will now return—and so my visit ends.”
“But will not such affection weary grow?
“He kindly says, ‘Defer the parting day,’
“But yet may wish me in his heart away;
“Nothing but kindness I in him perceive,
“In me 't is kindness then to take my leave;
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“There have been visiters who wearied me;
“He yet may love, and we may part in peace,
“Nay, in affection—novelty must cease—
“Man is but man; the thing he most desires
“Pleases awhile—then pleases not—then tires;
“George to his former habits and his friends
“Will now return—and so my visit ends.”
Thus Richard communed with his heart; but still
He found opposed his reason and his will,
Found that his thoughts were busy in this train,
And he was striving to be calm in vain.
He found opposed his reason and his will,
Found that his thoughts were busy in this train,
And he was striving to be calm in vain.
These thoughts were passing while he yet forbore
To leave the friends whom he might see no more.
To leave the friends whom he might see no more.
Then came a chubby child and sought relief,
Sobbing in all the impotence of grief;
A full fed girl she was, with ruddy cheek,
And features coarse, that grosser feelings speak,
To whom another miss, with passions strong,
And slender fist, had done some baby-wrong.
On Lucy's gentle mind had Barlow wrought
To teach this child, whom she had labouring taught
With unpaid love—this unproductive brain
Would little comprehend, and less retain.
Sobbing in all the impotence of grief;
A full fed girl she was, with ruddy cheek,
And features coarse, that grosser feelings speak,
To whom another miss, with passions strong,
And slender fist, had done some baby-wrong.
On Lucy's gentle mind had Barlow wrought
To teach this child, whom she had labouring taught
With unpaid love—this unproductive brain
Would little comprehend, and less retain.
A farmer's daughter, with redundant health,
And double Lucy's weight and Lucy's wealth,
Had won the man's regard, and he with her
Possess'd the treasure vulgar minds prefer;
A man of thrift, and thriving, he possess'd
What he esteem'd of earthly good the best;
And Lucy's well-stored mind had not a charm
For this true lover of the well-stock'd farm,
This slave to petty wealth and rustic toil,
This earth-devoted wooer of the soil:—
But she with meekness took the wayward child,
And sought to make the savage nature mild.
And double Lucy's weight and Lucy's wealth,
Had won the man's regard, and he with her
Possess'd the treasure vulgar minds prefer;
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What he esteem'd of earthly good the best;
And Lucy's well-stored mind had not a charm
For this true lover of the well-stock'd farm,
This slave to petty wealth and rustic toil,
This earth-devoted wooer of the soil:—
But she with meekness took the wayward child,
And sought to make the savage nature mild.
But Jane her judgment with decision gave—
“Train not an idiot to oblige a slave.”
“Train not an idiot to oblige a slave.”
And where is Bloomer? Richard would have said,
But he was cautious, feeling, and afraid;
And little either of the hero knew,
And little sought—he might be married too.
But he was cautious, feeling, and afraid;
And little either of the hero knew,
And little sought—he might be married too.
Now to his home, the morning visits past,
Return'd the guest—that evening was his last.
He met his Brother, and they spoke of those
From whom his comforts in the village rose;
Spoke of the favourites, whom so good and kind
It was peculiar happiness to find:
Then for the sisters in their griefs they felt,
And, sad themselves, on saddening subjects dwelt.
Return'd the guest—that evening was his last.
He met his Brother, and they spoke of those
From whom his comforts in the village rose;
Spoke of the favourites, whom so good and kind
It was peculiar happiness to find:
Then for the sisters in their griefs they felt,
And, sad themselves, on saddening subjects dwelt.
But George was willing all this woe to spare,
And let to-morrow be to-morrow's care:
He of his purchase talk'd—a thing of course,
As men will boldly praise a new-bought horse.
Richard was not to all its beauty blind,
And promised still to seek, with hope to find:
“The price indeed—”
And let to-morrow be to-morrow's care:
He of his purchase talk'd—a thing of course,
As men will boldly praise a new-bought horse.
Richard was not to all its beauty blind,
And promised still to seek, with hope to find:
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“Yes, that,” said George, “is high;
“But if I bought not, one was sure to buy,
“Who might the social comforts we enjoy,
“And every comfort lessen or destroy.
“But if I bought not, one was sure to buy,
“Who might the social comforts we enjoy,
“And every comfort lessen or destroy.
“We must not always reckon what we give,
“But think how precious 'tis in peace to live;
“Some neighbour Nimrod might in very pride
‘Have stirr'd my anger, and have then defied;
“Or worse, have loved, and teased me to excess
‘By his kind care to give me happiness;
“Or might his lady and her daughters bring,
“To raise my spirits, to converse, and sing:
“'T was not the benefit alone I view'd,
“But thought what horrid things I might exclude.
“But think how precious 'tis in peace to live;
“Some neighbour Nimrod might in very pride
‘Have stirr'd my anger, and have then defied;
“Or worse, have loved, and teased me to excess
‘By his kind care to give me happiness;
“Or might his lady and her daughters bring,
“To raise my spirits, to converse, and sing:
“'T was not the benefit alone I view'd,
“But thought what horrid things I might exclude.
“Some party man might here have sat him down,
“Some country champion, railing at the crown,
“Or some true courtier, both prepared to prove,
“Who loved not them, could not their country love:
“If we have value for our health and ease,
“Should we not buy off enemies like these?”
“Some country champion, railing at the crown,
“Or some true courtier, both prepared to prove,
“Who loved not them, could not their country love:
“If we have value for our health and ease,
“Should we not buy off enemies like these?”
So pass'd the evening in a quiet way,
When, lo! the morning of the parting day
When, lo! the morning of the parting day
Each to the table went with clouded look,
And George in silence gazed upon a book;
Something that chance had offer'd to his view,—
He knew not what, or cared not, if he knew.
And George in silence gazed upon a book;
Something that chance had offer'd to his view,—
He knew not what, or cared not, if he knew.
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Richard his hand upon a paper laid,—
His vacant eye upon the carpet stray'd;
His tongue was talking something of the day,
And his vex'd mind was wandering on his way.
His vacant eye upon the carpet stray'd;
His tongue was talking something of the day,
And his vex'd mind was wandering on his way.
They spake by fits,—but neither had concern
In the replies,—they nothing wish'd to learn,
Nor to relate; each sat as one who tries
To baffle sadnesses and sympathies:
Each of his Brother took a steady view,—
As actor he, and as observer too.
In the replies,—they nothing wish'd to learn,
Nor to relate; each sat as one who tries
To baffle sadnesses and sympathies:
Each of his Brother took a steady view,—
As actor he, and as observer too.
Richard, whose heart was ever free and frank,
Had now a trial, and before it sank:
He thought his Brother—parting now so near—
Appear'd not as his Brother should appear;
He could as much of tenderness remark
When parting for a ramble in the park.
Had now a trial, and before it sank:
He thought his Brother—parting now so near—
Appear'd not as his Brother should appear;
He could as much of tenderness remark
When parting for a ramble in the park.
“Yet, is it just?” he thought; “and would I see
“My Brother wretched but to part with me?
“What can he further in my mind explore?
“He saw enough, and he would see no more:
“Happy himself, he wishes now to slide
“Back to his habits—He is satisfied;
“But I am not—this cannot be denied.
“He has been kind,—so let me think him still;
“Yet he expresses not a wish, a will
“To meet again!”—And thus affection strove
With pride, and petulance made war on love:
He thought his Brother cool—he knew him kind—
And there was sore division in his mind.
“My Brother wretched but to part with me?
“What can he further in my mind explore?
“He saw enough, and he would see no more:
“Happy himself, he wishes now to slide
“Back to his habits—He is satisfied;
“But I am not—this cannot be denied.
“He has been kind,—so let me think him still;
“Yet he expresses not a wish, a will
“To meet again!”—And thus affection strove
With pride, and petulance made war on love:
He thought his Brother cool—he knew him kind—
And there was sore division in his mind.
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“Hours yet remain,—'tis misery to sit
“With minds for conversation all unfit;
“No evil can from change of place arise,
“And good will spring from air and exercise:
“Suppose I take the purposed ride with you,
“And guide your jaded praise to objects new,
“That buyers see?”—
“With minds for conversation all unfit;
“No evil can from change of place arise,
“And good will spring from air and exercise:
“Suppose I take the purposed ride with you,
“And guide your jaded praise to objects new,
“That buyers see?”—
And Richard gave assent
Without resistance, and without intent:
He liked not nor declined,—and forth the Brothers went.
“Come, my dear Richard! let us cast away
“All evil thoughts,—let us forget the day,
“And fight like men with grief till we like boys are gay.”
Without resistance, and without intent:
He liked not nor declined,—and forth the Brothers went.
“Come, my dear Richard! let us cast away
“All evil thoughts,—let us forget the day,
“And fight like men with grief till we like boys are gay.”
Thus George,—and even this in Richard's mind
Was judged an effort rather wise than kind;
This flow'd from something he observed of late,
And he could feel it, but he could not state:
He thought some change appear'd,—yet fail'd to prove,
Even as he tried, abatement in the love;
But in his Brother's manner was restraint
That he could feel, and yet he could not paint.
Was judged an effort rather wise than kind;
This flow'd from something he observed of late,
And he could feel it, but he could not state:
He thought some change appear'd,—yet fail'd to prove,
Even as he tried, abatement in the love;
But in his Brother's manner was restraint
That he could feel, and yet he could not paint.
That they should part in peace full well he knew,
But much he fear'd to part with coolness too:
George had been peevish when the subject rose,
And never fail'd the parting to oppose;
Name it, and straight his features cloudy grew
To stop the journey as the clouds will do;—
And thus they rode along in pensive mood,
Their thoughts pursuing, by their cares pursued.
But much he fear'd to part with coolness too:
George had been peevish when the subject rose,
And never fail'd the parting to oppose;
Name it, and straight his features cloudy grew
To stop the journey as the clouds will do;—
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Their thoughts pursuing, by their cares pursued.
“Richard,” said George, “I see it is in vain
“By love or prayer my Brother to retain;
“And, truth to tell, it was a foolish thing
“A man like thee from thy repose to bring
“Ours to disturb.—Say, how am I to live
“Without the comforts thou art wont to give?
“How will the heavy hours my mind afflict,—
“No one t' agree, no one to contradict,
“None to awake, excite me, or prevent,
“To hear a tale, or hold an argument,
“To help my worship in a case of doubt,
“And bring me in my blunders fairly out.
“Who now by manners lively or serene
“Comes between me and sorrow like a screen,
“And giving, what I look'd not to have found,
“A care, an interest in the world around?”
“By love or prayer my Brother to retain;
“And, truth to tell, it was a foolish thing
“A man like thee from thy repose to bring
“Ours to disturb.—Say, how am I to live
“Without the comforts thou art wont to give?
“How will the heavy hours my mind afflict,—
“No one t' agree, no one to contradict,
“None to awake, excite me, or prevent,
“To hear a tale, or hold an argument,
“To help my worship in a case of doubt,
“And bring me in my blunders fairly out.
“Who now by manners lively or serene
“Comes between me and sorrow like a screen,
“And giving, what I look'd not to have found,
“A care, an interest in the world around?”
Silent was Richard, striving to adjust
His thoughts for speech,—for speak, he thought, he must:
Something like war within his bosom strove—
His mild, kind nature, and his proud self-love:
Grateful he was, and with his courage meek,—
But he was hurt, and he resolved to speak.
His thoughts for speech,—for speak, he thought, he must:
Something like war within his bosom strove—
His mild, kind nature, and his proud self-love:
Grateful he was, and with his courage meek,—
But he was hurt, and he resolved to speak.
“Yes, my dear Brother! from my soul I grieve
“Thee and the proofs of thy regard to leave:
“Thou hast been all that I could wish,—my pride
“Exults to find that I am thus allied:
“Yet to express a feeling, how it came,
“The pain it gives, its nature and its name,
“I know not,—but of late, I will confess,
“Not that thy love is little, but is less.
“Thee and the proofs of thy regard to leave:
“Thou hast been all that I could wish,—my pride
“Exults to find that I am thus allied:
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“The pain it gives, its nature and its name,
“I know not,—but of late, I will confess,
“Not that thy love is little, but is less.
“Hadst thou received me in thy present mood,
“Sure I had held thee to be kind and good;
“But thou wert all the warmest heart could state,
“Affection dream, or hope anticipate;
“I must have wearied thee, yet day by day,—
“‘Stay!’ said my Brother, and 't was good to stay;
“But now, forgive me, thinking I perceive
“Change undefined, and as I think I grieve.
“Sure I had held thee to be kind and good;
“But thou wert all the warmest heart could state,
“Affection dream, or hope anticipate;
“I must have wearied thee, yet day by day,—
“‘Stay!’ said my Brother, and 't was good to stay;
“But now, forgive me, thinking I perceive
“Change undefined, and as I think I grieve.
“Have I offended?—Proud although I be,
“I will be humble, and concede to thee:
“Have I intruded on thee when thy mind
“Was vex'd, and then to solitude inclined?
“Oh! there are times when all things will molest
“Minds so disposed, so heavy, so oppress'd;
“And thine, I know, is delicate and nice,
“Sickening at folly, and at war with vice:
“Then, at a time when thou wert vex'd with these,
“I have intruded, let affection tease,
“And so offended.”—
“I will be humble, and concede to thee:
“Have I intruded on thee when thy mind
“Was vex'd, and then to solitude inclined?
“Oh! there are times when all things will molest
“Minds so disposed, so heavy, so oppress'd;
“And thine, I know, is delicate and nice,
“Sickening at folly, and at war with vice:
“Then, at a time when thou wert vex'd with these,
“I have intruded, let affection tease,
“And so offended.”—
“Richard, if thou hast,
“'T is at this instant, nothing in the past:
“No! thou art all a Brother's love would choose;
“And, having lost thee, I shall interest lose
“In all that I possess: I pray thee tell
“Wherein thy host has fail'd to please thee well,—
“Do I neglect thy comforts?”—
“'T is at this instant, nothing in the past:
“No! thou art all a Brother's love would choose;
“And, having lost thee, I shall interest lose
“In all that I possess: I pray thee tell
“Wherein thy host has fail'd to please thee well,—
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“Oh! not thou,
“But art thyself uncomfortable now,
“And 't is from thee and from thy looks I gain
“This painful knowledge—'t is my Brother's pain;
“And yet, that something in my spirit lives,
“Something that spleen excites and sorrow gives,
“I may confess,—for not in thee I trace
“Alone this change, it is in all the place:
“Smile if thou wilt in scorn, for I am glad
“A smile at any rate is to be had.
“But art thyself uncomfortable now,
“And 't is from thee and from thy looks I gain
“This painful knowledge—'t is my Brother's pain;
“And yet, that something in my spirit lives,
“Something that spleen excites and sorrow gives,
“I may confess,—for not in thee I trace
“Alone this change, it is in all the place:
“Smile if thou wilt in scorn, for I am glad
“A smile at any rate is to be had.
“But there is Jacques, who ever seem'd to treat
“Thy Brother kindly as we chanced to meet;
“Nor with thee only pleased our worthy guide,
“But in the hedge-row path and green-wood side,
“There he would speak with that familiar ease
“That makes a trifle, makes a nothing please.
“Thy Brother kindly as we chanced to meet;
“Nor with thee only pleased our worthy guide,
“But in the hedge-row path and green-wood side,
“There he would speak with that familiar ease
“That makes a trifle, makes a nothing please.
“But now to my farewell,—and that I spoke
“With honest sorrow,—with a careless look,
“Gazing unalter'd on some stupid prose—
“His sermon for the Sunday I suppose,—
“‘Going?’ said he: ‘why then the Squire and you
“‘Will part at last—You're going?—Well, adieu!’
“With honest sorrow,—with a careless look,
“Gazing unalter'd on some stupid prose—
“His sermon for the Sunday I suppose,—
“‘Going?’ said he: ‘why then the Squire and you
“‘Will part at last—You're going?—Well, adieu!’
‘True, we were not in friendship bound like those
“Who will adopt each other's friends and foes,
“Without esteem or hatred of their own,—
“But still we were to intimacy grown;
“And sure of Jacques when I had taken leave
“It would have grieved me,—and it ought to grieve;
“But I in him could not affection trace,—
“Careless he put his sermons in their place,
“With no more feeling than his sermon-case.
“Who will adopt each other's friends and foes,
“Without esteem or hatred of their own,—
“But still we were to intimacy grown;
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“It would have grieved me,—and it ought to grieve;
“But I in him could not affection trace,—
“Careless he put his sermons in their place,
“With no more feeling than his sermon-case.
“Not so those generous Girls beyond the brook,—
“It quite unmann'd me as my leave I took.
“It quite unmann'd me as my leave I took.
“But, my dear Brother! when I take at night,
“In my own home, and in their mother's sight,
“By turns my children, or together see
“A pair contending for the vacant knee,
“When to Matilda I begin to tell
“What in my visit first and last befel—
“Of this your village, of her tower and spire,
“And, above all, her Rector and her Squire,
“How will the tale be marr'd when I shall end—
“I left displeased the Brother and the Friend!”
“In my own home, and in their mother's sight,
“By turns my children, or together see
“A pair contending for the vacant knee,
“When to Matilda I begin to tell
“What in my visit first and last befel—
“Of this your village, of her tower and spire,
“And, above all, her Rector and her Squire,
“How will the tale be marr'd when I shall end—
“I left displeased the Brother and the Friend!”
“Nay, Jacques is honest—Marry, he was then
“Engaged—What! part an author and his pen?
“Just in the fit, and when th' inspiring ray
“Shot on his brain, t' arrest it in its way!
“Come, thou shalt see him in an easier vein,
“Nor of his looks nor of his words complain:
“Art thou content?”—
“Engaged—What! part an author and his pen?
“Just in the fit, and when th' inspiring ray
“Shot on his brain, t' arrest it in its way!
“Come, thou shalt see him in an easier vein,
“Nor of his looks nor of his words complain:
“Art thou content?”—
If Richard had replied,
‘I am,’ his manner had his words belied:
Even from his Brother's cheerfulness he drew
Something to vex him—what, he scarcely knew:
So he evading said, “My evil fate
“Upon my comforts throws a gloom of late:
“Matilda writes not; and, when last she wrote,
“I read no letter—'t was a trader's note,—
“‘Yours I received,’ and all that formal prate
“That is so hateful—that she knows I hate.
‘I am,’ his manner had his words belied:
Even from his Brother's cheerfulness he drew
Something to vex him—what, he scarcely knew:
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“Upon my comforts throws a gloom of late:
“Matilda writes not; and, when last she wrote,
“I read no letter—'t was a trader's note,—
“‘Yours I received,’ and all that formal prate
“That is so hateful—that she knows I hate.
“Dejection reigns, I feel, but cannot tell
“Why upon me the dire infection fell:
“Madmen may say that they alone are sane,
“And all beside have a distemper'd brain;
“Something like this I feel,—and I include
“Myself among the frantic multitude:
“But, come, Matilda writes, although but ill,
“And home has health, and that is comfort still.
“Why upon me the dire infection fell:
“Madmen may say that they alone are sane,
“And all beside have a distemper'd brain;
“Something like this I feel,—and I include
“Myself among the frantic multitude:
“But, come, Matilda writes, although but ill,
“And home has health, and that is comfort still.
George stopp'd his horse, and with the kindest look
Spoke to his Brother,—earnestly he spoke,
As one who to his friend his heart reveals,
And all the hazard with the comfort feels.
Spoke to his Brother,—earnestly he spoke,
As one who to his friend his heart reveals,
And all the hazard with the comfort feels.
“Soon as I loved thee, Richard,—and I loved
“Before my reason had the will approved,
“Who yet right early had her sanction lent,
“And with affection in her verdict went,—
“So soon I felt, that thus a friend to gain,
“And then to lose, is but to purchase pain:
“Daily the pleasure grew, then sad the day
“That takes it all in its increase away!
“Before my reason had the will approved,
“Who yet right early had her sanction lent,
“And with affection in her verdict went,—
“So soon I felt, that thus a friend to gain,
“And then to lose, is but to purchase pain:
“Daily the pleasure grew, then sad the day
“That takes it all in its increase away!
“Patient thou wert, and kind,—but well I knew
“The husband's wishes, and the father's too;
“I saw how check'd they were, and yet in secret grew;
“Once and again, I urged thee to delay
“Thy purposed journey, still deferr'd the day,
“And still on its approach the pain increased,
“Till my request and thy compliance ceased;
“I could not further thy affection task,
“Nor more of one so self-resisting ask;
“But yet to lose thee, Richard, and with thee
“All hope of social joys—it cannot be.
“Nor could I bear to meet thee as a boy
“From school, his parents, to obtain a joy,
‘That lessens day by day, and one will soon destroy
“The husband's wishes, and the father's too;
“I saw how check'd they were, and yet in secret grew;
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“Thy purposed journey, still deferr'd the day,
“And still on its approach the pain increased,
“Till my request and thy compliance ceased;
“I could not further thy affection task,
“Nor more of one so self-resisting ask;
“But yet to lose thee, Richard, and with thee
“All hope of social joys—it cannot be.
“Nor could I bear to meet thee as a boy
“From school, his parents, to obtain a joy,
‘That lessens day by day, and one will soon destroy
“No! I would have thee, Brother, all my own,
“To grow beside me as my trees have grown;
“For ever near me, pleasant in my sight,
“And in my mind, my pride and my delight.
“To grow beside me as my trees have grown;
“For ever near me, pleasant in my sight,
“And in my mind, my pride and my delight.
“Yet will I tell thee, Richard; had I found
“Thy mind dependent and thy heart unsound,
“Hadst thou been poor, obsequious, and disposed
“With any wish or measure to have closed,
“Willing on me and gladly to attend,
“The younger brother, the convenient friend;
“Thy speculation its reward had made
“Like other ventures—thou hadst gain'd in trade;
“What reason urged, or Jacques esteem'd thy due,
“Thine had it been, and I, a trader too,
“Had paid my debt, and home my Brother sent,
“Nor glad nor sorry that he came or went;
“Who to his wife and children would have told,
“They had an uncle, and the man was old;
“Till every girl and boy had learn'd to prate
“Of Uncle George, his gout, and his estate.
“Thus had we parted; but as now thou art,
“I must not lose thee—No! I cannot part;
“Is it in human nature to consent
“To give up all the good that Heaven has lent,
“All social ease and comfort to forego,
“And live again the solitary? No!
“Thy mind dependent and thy heart unsound,
“Hadst thou been poor, obsequious, and disposed
“With any wish or measure to have closed,
“Willing on me and gladly to attend,
“The younger brother, the convenient friend;
“Thy speculation its reward had made
“Like other ventures—thou hadst gain'd in trade;
“What reason urged, or Jacques esteem'd thy due,
“Thine had it been, and I, a trader too,
“Had paid my debt, and home my Brother sent,
“Nor glad nor sorry that he came or went;
“Who to his wife and children would have told,
“They had an uncle, and the man was old;
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“Of Uncle George, his gout, and his estate.
“Thus had we parted; but as now thou art,
“I must not lose thee—No! I cannot part;
“Is it in human nature to consent
“To give up all the good that Heaven has lent,
“All social ease and comfort to forego,
“And live again the solitary? No!
“We part no more, dear Richard! thou wilt need
“Thy Brother's help to teach thy boys to read;
“And I should love to hear Matilda's psalm,
“To keep my spirit in a morning calm,
“And feel the soft devotion that prepares
“The soul to rise above its earthly cares;
“Then thou and I, an independent two,
“May have our parties, and defend them too;
“Thy liberal notions, and my loyal fears,
“Will give us subjects for our future years;
“We will for truth alone contend and read,
“And our good Jacques shall oversee our creed.
“Thy Brother's help to teach thy boys to read;
“And I should love to hear Matilda's psalm,
“To keep my spirit in a morning calm,
“And feel the soft devotion that prepares
“The soul to rise above its earthly cares;
“Then thou and I, an independent two,
“May have our parties, and defend them too;
“Thy liberal notions, and my loyal fears,
“Will give us subjects for our future years;
“We will for truth alone contend and read,
“And our good Jacques shall oversee our creed.
“Such were my views; and I had quickly made
“Some bold attempts my Brother to persuade
“To think as I did; but I knew too well
“Whose now thou wert, with whom thou wert to dwell;
“And why, I said, return him doubtful home,
“Six months to argue if he then would come
“Some six months after? and, beside, I know
“That all the happy are of course the slow;
“And thou at home art happy, there wilt stay,
“Dallying 'twixt will and will-not many a day,
“And fret the gloss of hope, and hope itself away.
“Some bold attempts my Brother to persuade
“To think as I did; but I knew too well
“Whose now thou wert, with whom thou wert to dwell;
“And why, I said, return him doubtful home,
“Six months to argue if he then would come
“Some six months after? and, beside, I know
“That all the happy are of course the slow;
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“Dallying 'twixt will and will-not many a day,
“And fret the gloss of hope, and hope itself away.
“Jacques is my friend; to him I gave my heart,
“You see my Brother, see I would not part;
“Wilt thou an embassy of love disdain?
“Go to this sister, and my views explain;
“Gloss o'er my failings, paint me with a grace
“That Love beholds, put meaning in my face;
“Describe that dwelling; talk how well we live,
“And all its glory to our village give;
“Praise the kind Sisters whom we love so much,
“And thine own virtues like an artist touch.
“You see my Brother, see I would not part;
“Wilt thou an embassy of love disdain?
“Go to this sister, and my views explain;
“Gloss o'er my failings, paint me with a grace
“That Love beholds, put meaning in my face;
“Describe that dwelling; talk how well we live,
“And all its glory to our village give;
“Praise the kind Sisters whom we love so much,
“And thine own virtues like an artist touch.
“Tell her, and here my secret purpose show,
“That no dependence shall my sister know;
“Hers all the freedom that she loves shall be,
“And mine the debt,—then press her to agree;
“Say, that my Brother's wishes wait on hers,
“And his affection what she wills prefers.
“That no dependence shall my sister know;
“Hers all the freedom that she loves shall be,
“And mine the debt,—then press her to agree;
“Say, that my Brother's wishes wait on hers,
“And his affection what she wills prefers.
“Forgive me, Brother,—these my words and more
“Our friendly Rector to Matilda bore;
“At large, at length, were all my views explain'd,
“And to my joy my wishes I obtain'd.
“Our friendly Rector to Matilda bore;
“At large, at length, were all my views explain'd,
“And to my joy my wishes I obtain'd.
“Dwell in that house, and we shall still be near,
“Absence and parting I no more shall fear;
“Dwell in thy home, and at thy will exclude
“All who shall dare upon thee to intrude.
“Absence and parting I no more shall fear;
“Dwell in thy home, and at thy will exclude
“All who shall dare upon thee to intrude.
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“Again thy pardon,—'twas not my design
“To give surprise; a better view was mine;
“But let it pass—and yet I wish'd to see
“That meeting too: and happy may it be!”
“To give surprise; a better view was mine;
“But let it pass—and yet I wish'd to see
“That meeting too: and happy may it be!”
Thus George had spoken, and then look'd around,
And smiled as one who then his road had found;
“Follow!” he cried, and briskly urged his horse:
Richard was puzzled, but obey'd of course;
He was affected like a man astray,
Lost, but yet knowing something of the way;
Till a wood clear'd, that still conceal'd the view,
Richard the purchase of his Brother knew;
And something flash'd upon his mind not clear,
But much with pleasure mix'd, in part with fear;
As one who wandering through a stormy night
Sees his own home, and gladdens at the sight,
Yet feels some doubt if fortune had decreed
That lively pleasure in such time of need;
So Richard felt—but now the mansion came
In view direct,—he knew it for the same;
There too the garden walk, the elms design'd
To guard the peaches from the eastern wind;
And there the sloping glass, that when he shines
Gives the sun's vigour to the ripening vines.—
And smiled as one who then his road had found;
“Follow!” he cried, and briskly urged his horse:
Richard was puzzled, but obey'd of course;
He was affected like a man astray,
Lost, but yet knowing something of the way;
Till a wood clear'd, that still conceal'd the view,
Richard the purchase of his Brother knew;
And something flash'd upon his mind not clear,
But much with pleasure mix'd, in part with fear;
As one who wandering through a stormy night
Sees his own home, and gladdens at the sight,
Yet feels some doubt if fortune had decreed
That lively pleasure in such time of need;
So Richard felt—but now the mansion came
In view direct,—he knew it for the same;
There too the garden walk, the elms design'd
To guard the peaches from the eastern wind;
And there the sloping glass, that when he shines
Gives the sun's vigour to the ripening vines.—
“It is my Brother's!”—
“No!” he answers, “No!
“'T is to thy own possession that we go;
“It is thy wife's, and will thy children's be,
“Earth, wood, and water!—all for thine and thee;
“Bought in thy name—Alight, my friend, and come,
“I do beseech thee, to thy proper home;
“There wilt thou soon thy own Matilda view—
“She knows our deed, and she approves it too;
“Before her all our views and plans were laid,
“And Jacques was there t' explain and to persuade.
“Here, on this lawn, thy boys and girls shall run,
“And play their gambols when their tasks are done;
“There, from that window, shall their mother view
“The happy tribe, and smile at all they do;
“While thou, more gravely, hiding thy delight,
“Shalt cry, ‘O! childish!’ and enjoy the sight.
“'T is to thy own possession that we go;
“It is thy wife's, and will thy children's be,
“Earth, wood, and water!—all for thine and thee;
“Bought in thy name—Alight, my friend, and come,
“I do beseech thee, to thy proper home;
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“She knows our deed, and she approves it too;
“Before her all our views and plans were laid,
“And Jacques was there t' explain and to persuade.
“Here, on this lawn, thy boys and girls shall run,
“And play their gambols when their tasks are done;
“There, from that window, shall their mother view
“The happy tribe, and smile at all they do;
“While thou, more gravely, hiding thy delight,
“Shalt cry, ‘O! childish!’ and enjoy the sight.
“Well, my dear Richard, there's no more to say—
“Stay, as you will—do any thing—but stay;
“Be, I dispute not, steward—what you will,
“Take your own name, but be my Brother still.
“Stay, as you will—do any thing—but stay;
“Be, I dispute not, steward—what you will,
“Take your own name, but be my Brother still.
“And hear me, Richard! if I should offend,
“Assume the patron, and forget the friend;
“If aught in word or manner I express
“That only touches on thy happiness:
“If I be peevish, humoursome, unkind,
“Spoil'd as I am by each subservient mind;
“For I am humour'd by a tribe who make
“Me more capricious for the pains they take
“To make me quiet; shouldst thou ever feel
“A wound from this, this leave not time to heal,
“But let thy wife her cheerful smile withhold,
“Let her be civil, distant, cautious, cold:
“Then shall I woo forgiveness, and repent,
“Nor bear to lose the blessings Heaven has lent.”
“Assume the patron, and forget the friend;
“If aught in word or manner I express
“That only touches on thy happiness:
“If I be peevish, humoursome, unkind,
“Spoil'd as I am by each subservient mind;
“For I am humour'd by a tribe who make
“Me more capricious for the pains they take
“To make me quiet; shouldst thou ever feel
“A wound from this, this leave not time to heal,
“But let thy wife her cheerful smile withhold,
“Let her be civil, distant, cautious, cold:
“Then shall I woo forgiveness, and repent,
“Nor bear to lose the blessings Heaven has lent.”
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But this was needless—there was joy of heart,
All felt the good that all desired t' impart;
Respect, affection, and esteem combined,
In sundry portions ruled in every mind.
And o'er the whole an unobtrusive air
Of pious joy, that urged the silent prayer,
And bless'd the new-born feelings—Here we close
Our Tale of Tales!—Health, reader, and repose!
All felt the good that all desired t' impart;
Respect, affection, and esteem combined,
In sundry portions ruled in every mind.
And o'er the whole an unobtrusive air
Of pious joy, that urged the silent prayer,
And bless'd the new-born feelings—Here we close
Our Tale of Tales!—Health, reader, and repose!
END OF THE SEVENTH VOLUME.
| The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Crabbe | |