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If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Poems, Volume 2 (of 3) - -Author: George Crabbe - -Release Date: January 22, 2016 [EBook #51003] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS, VOLUME 2 (OF 3) *** - - - - -Produced by Paul Marshall and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/Million Book Project) - - - - - -Transcriber's Notes: - Underscores "_" before and after a word or phrase indicate _italics_ - in the original text. - Equals signs "=" before and after a word or phrase indicate =bold= - in the original text. - Small capitals have been converted to BLOCK capitals. - Antiquated spellings have been preserved. - Typographical errors have been silently corrected but other variations - in spelling and punctuation remain unaltered. - Where double quotes have been repeated at the beginnings of - consecutive stanzas, they have been omitted for clarity. - -CAMBRIDGE ENGLISH CLASSICS - - Poems by George Crabbe - - - In Three Volumes - - - GEORGE CRABBE - Born, 1754 - Died, 1832 - - - _GEORGE CRABBE_ - - - POEMS - - - EDITED BY - ADOLPHUS WILLIAM WARD - Litt.D., Hon. LL.D., F.B.A. - Master of Peterhouse - - [Illustration] - - Volume II - - - CAMBRIDGE: - at the University Press - 1906 - - - - - CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS WAREHOUSE - C. F. CLAY, Manager. - _London:_ FETTER LANE, E.C. - _Glasgow:_ 50, WELLINGTON STREET. - - [Illustration] - - _Leipzig:_ F. A. BROCKHAUS. - _New York:_ THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. - _Bombay and Calcutta:_ MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD. - - [_All Rights reserved_] - - - - -PREFACE. - - -The poems contained in this volume, which comprise the whole of the -_Tales_ and the first eleven of the _Tales of the Hall_, are without -exception printed from the edition of 1823, the last of Crabbe’s -works published in this country in his lifetime. - -The _Variants_ in the _Tales_ are from the first edition (1812) and -from the ‘Original MS.’ readings given as footnotes in the younger -Crabbe’s edition of his father’s _Life and Poems_ (1834). The -_Variants_ in the _Tales of the Hall_ are from the first edition -(1819); from the ‘Original MS.’ readings as above; from the Crabbe -MSS. in the possession of the Cambridge University Press (which will -be described in the Preface to Vol. III, where a much fuller use will -be made of them), and from the MSS. in the valuable collection of Mrs -Mackay of Trowbridge, most kindly lent by her for examination and -use (to which the same remark applies). In the present volume will -also be found certain _Addenda_ to the _Variants_ in Vol. I, from the -‘Original MS.’ readings printed by the younger Crabbe. - -Among the _Errata_ in this volume are included a considerable number -of quotations from Shakespeare with wrong indications of acts or -scenes, and occasionally even of the plays from which the passages -are taken. A large proportion of the quotations are in themselves -imperfect, or otherwise incorrect. Perhaps it is stretching a -point to treat all these defects as oversights; sometimes Crabbe -may have made intentional changes, and more frequently he may have -been wilfully careless. No readings which he could have found in any -current edition of Shakespeare have been altered. - -In the preparation of the present volume, I have again enjoyed -the advantage of the friendly aid and cooperation of Mr A. T. -BARTHOLOMEW, to whom I am specially indebted for the compilation of -the _Variants_. Our joint efforts have been occasionally defeated -by the illegibility of passages in the Crabbe MSS. acquired by our -University Press. It is hoped that the third and concluding volume of -this edition, which will contain a considerable amount of previously -unpublished verse, will appear in the course of the summer. - - A. W. WARD. - - PETERHOUSE LODGE, CAMBRIDGE. - _March 19th, 1906._ - - - - - CONTENTS. - - TALES PAGE - I. THE DUMB ORATORS 13 - II. THE PARTING HOUR 27 - III. THE GENTLEMAN FARMER 41 - IV. PROCRASTINATION 56 - V. THE PATRON 67 - VI. THE FRANK COURTSHIP 87 - VII. THE WIDOW’S TALE 101 - VIII. THE MOTHER 113 - IX. ARABELLA 124 - X. THE LOVER’S JOURNEY 134 - XI. EDWARD SHORE 145 - XII. ’SQUIRE THOMAS 159 - XIII. JESSE AND COLIN 170 - XIV. THE STRUGGLES OF CONSCIENCE 185 - XV. THE ’SQUIRE AND THE PRIEST 199 - XVI. THE CONFIDANT 211 - XVII. RESENTMENT 228 - XVIII. THE WAGER 242 - XIX. THE CONVERT 251 - XX. THE BROTHERS 264 - XXI. THE LEARNED BOY 276 - - TALES OF THE HALL - I. THE HALL 302 - II. THE BROTHERS 312 - III. BOYS AT SCHOOL 319 - IV. ADVENTURES OF RICHARD 332 - V. RUTH 346 - VI. ADVENTURES OF RICHARD (_concluded_) 359 - VII. THE ELDER BROTHER 371 - VIII. THE SISTERS 394 - IX. THE PRECEPTOR HUSBAND 419 - X. THE OLD BACHELOR 430 - XI. THE MAID’S STORY 451 - - - - -TALES. - - -TO HER GRACE ISABELLA - -DUCHESS DOWAGER OF RUTLAND. - -MADAM, - -The dedication of works of literature to persons of superior worth -and eminence appears to have been a measure early adopted, and -continued to the present time; so that, whatever objections have been -made to the language of dedicators, such addresses must be considered -as perfectly consistent with reason and propriety; in fact, superior -rank and elevated situation in life naturally and justly claim such -respect and it is the prerogative of greatness to give countenance -and favour to all who appear to merit and to need them; it is -likewise the prerogative of every kind of superiority and celebrity, -of personal merit when peculiar or extraordinary, of dignity, -elegance, wealth, and beauty, certainly of superior intellect and -intellectual acquirements; every such kind of eminence has its -privilege, and, being itself an object of distinguished approbation, -it gains attention for whomsoever its possessor distinguishes and -approves. - -Yet the causes and motives for an address of this kind rest not -entirely with the merit of the patron, the feelings of the author -himself having their weight and consideration in the choice he makes; -he may have gratitude for benefits received, or pride not illaudable -in aspiring to the favour of those whose notice confers honour; or -he may entertain a secret but strong desire of seeing a name in the -entrance of his work which he is accustomed to utter with peculiar -satisfaction, and to hear mentioned with veneration and delight. - -Such, madam, are the various kinds of eminence for which an author -on these occasions would probably seek, and they meet in your grace; -such too are the feelings by which he would be actuated, and they -centre in me: let me therefore entreat your grace to take this book -into your favour and protection, and to receive it as an offering of -the utmost respect and duty, from, - - May it please Your Grace, - Your Grace’s - Most obedient, humble, - And devoted servant, - GEORGE CRABBE. - - Muston, July 31, 1812. - - - - -PREFACE. - - -That the appearance of the present work before the public is -occasioned by a favourable reception of the former two, I hesitate -not to acknowledge; because, while the confession may be regarded -as some proof of gratitude, or at least of attention from an author -to his readers, it ought not to be considered as an indication of -vanity. It is unquestionably very pleasant to be assured that our -labours are well received; but, nevertheless, this must not be taken -for a just and full criterion of their merit: publications of great -intrinsic value have been met with so much coolness, that a writer -who succeeds in obtaining some degree of notice should look upon -himself rather as one favoured than meritorious, as gaining a prize -from Fortune, and not a recompense for desert; and, on the contrary, -as it is well known that books of very inferior kind have been at -once pushed into the strong current of popularity, and are there -kept buoyant by the force of the stream, the writer who acquires not -this adventitious help may be reckoned rather as unfortunate than -undeserving; and from these opposite considerations it follows, that -a man may speak of his success without incurring justly the odium of -conceit, and may likewise acknowledge a disappointment without an -adequate cause for humiliation or self-reproach. - -But were it true that something of the complacency of -self-approbation would insinuate itself into an author’s mind with -the idea of success, the sensation would not be that of unalloyed -pleasure; it would perhaps assist him to bear, but it would not -enable him to escape, the mortification he must encounter from -censures, which, though he may be unwilling to admit, yet he finds -himself unable to confute; as well as from advice, which, at the same -time that he cannot but approve, he is compelled to reject. - -Reproof and advice, it is probable, every author will receive, if -we except those who merit so much of the former, that the latter is -contemptuously denied them; now of these, reproof, though it may -cause more temporary uneasiness, will in many cases create less -difficulty, since errors may be corrected when opportunity occurs; -but advice, I repeat, may be of such nature, that it will be painful -to reject, and yet impossible to follow it; and in this predicament -I conceive myself to be placed. There has been recommended to me, -and from authority which neither inclination nor prudence leads me -to resist, in any new work I might undertake, an unity of subject, -and that arrangement of my materials which connects the whole and -gives additional interest to every part; in fact, if not an Epic -Poem, strictly so denominated, yet such composition as would possess -a regular succession of events, and a catastrophe to which every -incident should be subservient, and which every character, in a -greater or less degree, should conspire to accomplish. - -In a Poem of this nature, the principal and inferior characters in -some degree resemble a general and his army, where no one pursues his -peculiar objects and adventures, [but] pursues them in unison with -the movements and grand purposes of the whole body; where there is a -community of interests and a subordination of actors; and it was upon -this view of the subject, and of the necessity for such distribution -of persons and events, that I found myself obliged to relinquish -an undertaking, for which the characters I could command, and the -adventures I could describe, were altogether unfitted. - -But if these characters which seemed to be at my disposal were not -such as would coalesce into one body, nor were of a nature to be -commanded by one mind, so neither on examination did they appear as -an unconnected multitude, accidentally collected, to be suddenly -dispersed; but rather beings of whom might be formed groups and -smaller societies, the relations of whose adventures and pursuits -might bear that kind of similitude to an Heroic Poem, which these -minor associations of men (as pilgrims on the way to their saint, -or parties in search of amusement, travellers excited by curiosity, -or adventurers in pursuit of gain) have in points of connexion and -importance with a regular and disciplined army. - -Allowing this comparison, it is manifest that while much is lost for -want of unity of subject and grandeur of design, something is gained -by greater variety of incident and more minute display of character, -by accuracy of description and diversity of scene: in these -narratives we pass from gay to grave, from lively to severe, not only -without impropriety, but with manifest advantage. In one continued -and connected Poem, the reader is, in general, highly gratified or -severely disappointed; by many independent narratives, he has the -renovation of hope, although he has been dissatisfied, and a prospect -of reiterated pleasure, should he find himself entertained. - -I mean not, however, to compare these different modes of writing -as if I were balancing their advantages and defects before I could -give preference to either; with me the way I take is not a matter of -choice, but of necessity; I present not my Tales to the reader as -if I had chosen the best method of ensuring his approbation, but as -using the only means I possessed of engaging his attention. - -It may probably be remarked that Tales, however dissimilar, might -have been connected by some associating circumstance to which the -whole number might bear equal affinity, and that examples of such -union are to be found in Chaucer, in Boccace, and other collectors -and inventors of Tales, which, considered in themselves, are -altogether independent; and to this idea I gave so much consideration -as convinced me that I could not avail myself of the benefit of -such artificial mode of affinity. To imitate the English poet, -characters must be found adapted to their several relations, and -this is a point of great difficulty and hazard; much allowance seems -to be required even for Chaucer himself, since it is difficult to -conceive that on any occasion the devout and delicate Prioress, the -courtly and valiant Knight, and “the poure good Man the persone of -a Towne,” would be the voluntary companions of the drunken Miller, -the licentious Sompnour, and “the Wanton Wife of Bath,” and enter -into that colloquial and travelling intimacy which, if a common -pilgrimage to the shrine of St. Thomas may be said to excuse, I know -nothing beside (and certainly nothing in these times) that would -produce such effect. Boccace, it is true, avoids all difficulty of -this kind, by not assigning to the ten relators of his hundred -Tales any marked or peculiar characters; nor, though there are male -and female in company, can the sex of the narrator be distinguished -in the narration. To have followed the method of Chaucer might have -been of use, but could scarcely be adopted, from its difficulty; and -to have taken that of the Italian writer would have been perfectly -easy, but could be of no service: the attempt at union therefore -has been relinquished, and these relations are submitted to the -public, connected by no other circumstance than their being the -productions of the same author, and devoted to the same purpose, the -entertainment of his readers. - -It has been already acknowledged, that these compositions have no -pretensions to be estimated with the more lofty and heroic kind -of poems, but I feel great reluctance in admitting that they have -not a fair and legitimate claim to the poetic character. In vulgar -estimation, indeed, all that is not prose passes for poetry, but -I have not ambition of so humble a kind as to be satisfied with a -concession which requires nothing in the poet, except his ability -for counting syllables, and I trust something more of the poetic -character will be allowed to the succeeding pages than what the -heroes of the Dunciad might share with the author; nor was I aware -that by describing, as faithfully as I could, men, manners, and -things, I was forfeiting a just title to a name which has been freely -granted to many whom to equal, and even to excel, is but very stinted -commendation. - -In this case it appears that the usual comparison between poetry and -painting entirely fails: the artist who takes an accurate likeness of -individuals, or a faithful representation of scenery, may not rank -so high in the public estimation as one who paints an historical -event, or an heroic action; but he is nevertheless a painter, and his -accuracy is so far from diminishing his reputation, that it procures -for him in general both fame and emolument; nor is it perhaps with -strict justice determined that the credit and reputation of those -verses which strongly and faithfully delineate character and manners, -should be lessened in the opinion of the public by the very accuracy -which gives value and distinction to the productions of the pencil. - -Nevertheless, it must be granted that the pretensions of any -composition to be regarded as poetry will depend upon that definition -of the poetic character which he who undertakes to determine the -question has considered as decisive; and it is confessed also that -one of great authority may be adopted, by which the verses now before -the reader, and many others which have probably amused and delighted -him, must be excluded: a definition like this will be found in the -words which the greatest of poets, not divinely inspired, has given -to the most noble and valiant Duke of Athens-- - - “The poet’s eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, - Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven; - And as Imagination bodies forth - The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen - Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing - A local habitation, and a name[1].” - -[1] Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act V. Scene 1. - -Hence we observe the poet is one who, in the excursions of his -fancy between heaven and earth, lights upon a kind of fairyland, in -which he places a creation of his own, where he embodies shapes, -and gives action and adventure to his ideal offspring; taking -captive the imagination of his readers, he elevates them above the -grossness of actual being, into the soothing and pleasant atmosphere -of supra-mundane existence: there he obtains for his visionary -inhabitants the interest that engages a reader’s attention without -ruffling his feelings, and excites that moderate kind of sympathy -which the realities of nature oftentimes fail to produce, either -because they are so familiar and insignificant that they excite no -determinate emotion, or are so harsh and powerful that the feelings -excited are grating and distasteful. - -Be it then granted that (as Duke Theseus observes) “such tricks -hath strong Imagination,” and that such poets “are of imagination -all compact;” let it be further conceded, that theirs is a higher -and more dignified kind of composition, nay, the only kind that -has pretensions to inspiration: still, that these poets should so -entirely engross the title as to exclude those who address their -productions to the plain sense and sober judgment of their readers, -rather than to their fancy and imagination, I must repeat that I am -unwilling to admit--because I conceive that, by granting such right -of exclusion, a vast deal of what has been hitherto received as -genuine poetry would no longer be entitled to that appellation. - -All that kind of satire wherein character is skillfully delineated -must (this criterion being allowed) no longer be esteemed as genuine -poetry; and for the same reason many affecting narratives which -are founded on real events, and borrow no aid whatever from the -imagination of the writer, must likewise be rejected: a considerable -part of the poems, as they have hitherto been denominated, of -Chaucer, are of this naked and unveiled character; and there are -in his Tales many pages of coarse, accurate, and minute, but very -striking description. Many small poems in a subsequent age, of most -impressive kind, are adapted and addressed to the common sense of -the reader, and prevail by the strong language of truth and nature; -they amused our ancestors, and they continue to engage our interest, -and excite our feelings, by the same powerful appeals to the heart -and affections. In times less remote, Dryden has given us much -of this poetry, in which the force of expression and accuracy of -description have neither needed nor obtained assistance from the -fancy of the writer; the characters in his Absalom and Achitophel are -instances of this, and more especially those of Doeg and Og in the -second part: these, with all their grossness, and almost offensive -accuracy, are found to possess that strength and spirit which has -preserved from utter annihilation the dead bodies of Tate, to whom -they were inhumanly bound, happily with a fate the reverse of that -caused by the cruelty of Mezentius; for there the living perished -in the putrefaction of the dead, and here the dead are preserved -by the vitality of the living. And, to bring forward one other -example, it will be found that Pope himself has no small portion of -this actuality of relation, this nudity of description, and poetry -without an atmosphere; the lines beginning, “In the worst inn’s worst -room,” are an example, and many others may be seen in his Satires, -Imitations, and above all in his Dunciad: the frequent absence of -those “Sports of Fancy,” and “Tricks of strong Imagination,” have -been so much observed, that some have ventured to question whether -even this writer were a poet; and though, as Dr. Johnson has -remarked, it would be difficult to form a definition of one in which -Pope should not be admitted, yet they who doubted his claim, had, -it is likely, provided for his exclusion by forming that kind of -character for their poet, in which this elegant versifier, for so he -must be then named, should not be comprehended. - -These things considered, an author will find comfort in his expulsion -from the rank and society of poets, by reflecting that men much his -superiors were likewise shut out, and more especially when he finds -also that men not much his superiors are entitled to admission. - -But in whatever degree I may venture to differ from any others in -my notions of the qualifications and character of the true poet, I -most cordially assent to their opinion who assert that his principal -exertions must be made to engage the attention of his readers; and -further, I must allow that the effect of poetry should be to lift -the mind from the painful realities of actual existence, from its -every-day concerns, and its perpetually occurring vexations, and -to give it repose by substituting objects in their place which it -may contemplate with some degree of interest and satisfaction; but -what is there in all this, which may not be effected by a fair -representation of existing character? nay, by a faithful delineation -of those painful realities, those every-day concerns, and those -perpetually-occurring vexations themselves, provided they be not -(which is hardly to be supposed) the very concerns and distresses of -the reader? for, when it is admitted that they have no particular -relation to him, but are the troubles and anxieties of other men, -they excite and interest his feelings as the imaginary exploits, -adventures, and perils of romance;--they soothe his mind, and keep -his curiosity pleasantly awake; they appear to have enough of -reality to engage his sympathy, but possess not interest sufficient -to create painful sensations. Fiction itself, we know, and every -work of fancy, must for a time have the effect of realities; nay, -the very enchanters, spirits, and monsters of Ariosto and Spenser -must be present in the mind of the reader while he is engaged by -their operations, or they would be as the objects and incidents of -a nursery tale to a rational understanding, altogether despised and -neglected: in truth, I can but consider this pleasant effect upon -the mind of a reader as depending neither upon the events related -(whether they be actual or imaginary), nor upon the characters -introduced (whether taken from life or fancy), but upon the manner -in which the poem itself is conducted; let that be judiciously -managed, and the occurrences actually copied from life will have the -same happy effect as the inventions of a creative fancy;--while, on -the other hand, the imaginary persons and incidents to which the -poet has given “a local habitation, and a name,” will make upon the -concurring feelings of the reader the same impressions with those -taken from truth and nature, because they will appear to be derived -from that source, and therefore of necessity will have a similar -effect. - -Having thus far presumed to claim for the ensuing pages the rank and -title of poetry, I attempt no more, nor venture to class or compare -them with any other kinds of poetical composition; their place will -doubtless be found for them. - -A principal view and wish of the poet must be to engage the mind of -his readers, as, failing in that point, he will scarcely succeed in -any other: I therefore willingly confess that much of my time and -assiduity has been devoted to this purpose; but, to the ambition of -pleasing, no other sacrifices have, I trust, been made, than of my -own labour and care. Nothing will be found that militates against the -rules of propriety and good manners, nothing that offends against -the more important precepts of morality and religion; and with this -negative kind of merit, I commit my book to the judgment and taste of -the reader--not being willing to provoke his vigilance by professions -of accuracy, nor to solicit his indulgence by apologies for mistakes. - - - - -TALE I. - -_THE DUMB ORATORS_; OR, THE BENEFIT OF SOCIETY. - - - [In] fair round belly with good capon lined, - With eyes severe . . . - Full of wise saws and modern instances. - _As you Like it_, Act II. Scene 7. - - Deep shame hath struck me dumb. - _King John_, Act IV. Scene 2. - - He gives the bastinado with his tongue, - Our ears are cudgell’d. - _King John_, Act IV. Scene 1. - - Let’s kill all the lawyers; - Now show yourselves men: ’tis for liberty: - We will not leave one lord or gentleman. - _2 Henry VI._ Act IV. Scene 2. - - And thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges. - _Twelfth Night_, Act V. Scene last. - - -TALE I. _THE DUMB ORATORS._ - - That all men would be cowards if they dare, - Some men we know have courage to declare; - And this the life of many an hero shows, - That like the tide, man’s courage ebbs and flows: - With friends and gay companions round them, then - Men boldly speak and have the hearts of men; - Who, with opponents seated, miss the aid - Of kind applauding looks, and grow afraid; - Like timid trav’llers in the night, they fear - Th’ assault of foes, when not a friend is near. 10 - In contest mighty and of conquest proud - Was Justice Bolt, impetuous, warm, and loud; - His fame, his prowess all the country knew, - And disputants, with one so fierce, were few. - He was a younger son, for law design’d, - With dauntless look and persevering mind; - While yet a clerk, for disputation famed, - No efforts tired him, and no conflicts tamed. - Scarcely he bade his master’s desk adieu, - When both his brothers from the world withdrew. 20 - An ample fortune he from them possess’d, - And was with saving care and prudence bless’d. - Now would he go and to the country give - Example how an English ’squire should live; - How bounteous, yet how frugal man may be, - By a well-order’d hospitality; - He would the rights of all so well maintain, - That none should idle be, and none complain. - All this and more he purposed--and what man - Could do, he did to realize his plan; 30 - But time convinced him that we cannot keep - A breed of reasoners like a flock of sheep; - For they, so far from following as we lead, - Make that a cause why they will not proceed. - Man will not follow where a rule is shown, - But loves to take a method of his own; - Explain the way with all your care and skill, - This will he quit, if but to prove he will.-- - Yet had our Justice honour--and the crowd, - Awed by his presence, their respect avow’d. 40 - In later years he found his heart incline, - More than in youth, to gen’rous food and wine; - But no indulgence check’d the powerful love - He felt to teach, to argue, and reprove. - Meetings, or public calls, he never miss’d-- - To dictate often, always to assist. - Oft he the clergy join’d, and not a cause - Pertain’d to them but he could quote the laws; - He upon tithes and residence display’d - A fund of knowledge for the hearer’s aid; 50 - And could on glebe and farming, wool and grain, - A long discourse, without a pause, maintain. - To his experience and his native sense - He join’d a bold imperious eloquence; - The grave, stern look of men inform’d and wise, } - A full command of feature, heart, and eyes, } - An awe-compelling frown, and fear-inspiring size. } - When at the table, not a guest was seen - With appetite so ling’ring, or so keen; - But when the outer man no more required, 60 - The inner waked, and he was man inspired. - His subjects then were those, a subject true - Presents in fairest form to public view; - Of Church and State, of Law, with mighty strength - Of words he spoke, in speech of mighty length; - And now, into the vale of years declined, - He hides too little of the monarch-mind; - He kindles anger by untimely jokes, - And opposition by contempt provokes; - Mirth he suppresses by his awful frown, 70 - And humble spirits, by disdain, keeps down; - Blamed by the mild, approved by the severe, - The prudent fly him, and the valiant fear. - For overbearing is his proud discourse, - And overwhelming of his voice the force; - And overpowering is he when he shows - What floats upon a mind that always overflows. - This ready man at every meeting rose, - Something to hint, determine, or propose; - And grew so fond of teaching, that he taught 80 - Those who instruction needed not or sought. - Happy our hero, when he could excite - Some thoughtless talker to the wordy fight: - Let him a subject at his pleasure choose, - Physic or Law, Religion or the Muse; - On all such themes he was prepared to shine, - Physician, poet, lawyer, and divine. - Hemm’d in by some tough argument, borne down - By press of language and the awful frown, - In vain for mercy shall the culprit plead; 90 - His crime is past, and sentence must proceed: - Ah! suffering man, have patience, bear thy woes-- - For lo! the clock--at ten the Justice goes. - This powerful man, on business or to please - A curious taste, or weary grown of ease, - On a long journey travell’d many a mile - Westward, and halted midway in our isle; - Content to view a city large and fair, - Though none had notice what a man was there! - Silent two days, he then began to long 100 - Again to try a voice so loud and strong; - To give his favourite topics some new grace, - And gain some glory in such distant place; - To reap some present pleasure, and to sow - Seeds of fair fame, in after-time to grow: - Here will men say, “We heard, at such an hour, - The best of speakers--wonderful his power.” - Inquiry made, he found that day would meet - A learned club, and in the very street: - Knowledge to gain and give, was the design; 110 - To speak, to hearken, to debate, and dine: - This pleased our traveller, for he felt his force - In either way, to eat or to discourse. - Nothing more easy than to gain access - To men like these, with his polite address: - So he succeeded, and first look’d around, - To view his objects and to take his ground; - And therefore silent chose awhile to sit, - Then enter boldly by some lucky hit, - Some observation keen or stroke severe, 120 - To cause some wonder or excite some fear. - Now, dinner past, no longer he suppress’d - His strong dislike to be a silent guest; - Subjects and words were now at his command-- - When disappointment frown’d on all he plann’d; - For, hark!--he heard, amazed, on every side, - His church insulted and her priests belied; - The laws reviled, the ruling power abused, - The land derided, and its foes excused:-- - He heard and ponder’d.--What, to men so vile, 130 - Should be his language? For his threat’ning style - They were too many;--if his speech were meek, - They would despise such poor attempts to speak: - At other times with every word at will, - He now sat lost, perplex’d, astonish’d, still. - Here were Socinians, Deists, and indeed } - All who, as foes to England’s church, agreed; } - But still with creeds unlike, and some without a creed: } - Here, too, fierce friends of liberty he saw, - Who own’d no prince and who obey no law; 140 - There were Reformers of each different sort, - Foes to the laws, the priesthood, and the court; - Some on their favourite plans alone intent, - Some purely angry and malevolent: - The rash were proud to blame their country’s laws; - The vain, to seem supporters of a cause; - One call’d for change that he would dread to see; - Another sigh’d for Gallic liberty! - And numbers joining with the forward crew, - For no one reason--but that numbers do. 150 - “How,” said the Justice, “can this trouble rise, - This shame and pain, from creatures I despise?” - And conscience answer’d--“The prevailing cause - Is thy delight in listening to applause; - Here, thou art seated with a tribe, who spurn - Thy favourite themes, and into laughter turn - Thy fears and wishes; silent and obscure, - Thyself, shalt thou the long harangue endure; - And learn, by feeling, what it is to force - On thy unwilling friends the long discourse. 160 - What though thy thoughts be just, and these, it seems, - Are traitors’ projects, idiots’ empty schemes: - Yet minds like bodies cramm’d, reject their food, - Nor will be forced and tortured for their good!” - At length, a sharp, shrewd, sallow man arose, - And begg’d he briefly might his mind disclose; - “It was his duty, in these worst of times, - T’ inform the govern’d of their rulers’ crimes.” - This pleasant subject to attend, they each - Prepared to listen, and forbore to teach. 170 - Then, voluble and fierce, the wordy man - Through a long chain of favourite horrors ran:-- - First, of the church, from whose enslaving power - He was deliver’d, and he bless’d the hour; - “Bishops and deans, and prebendaries all,” - He said, “were cattle fatt’ning in the stall; - Slothful and pursy, insolent and mean, - Were every bishop, prebendary, dean, - And wealthy rector; curates, poorly paid, - Were only dull;--he would not them upbraid.” 180 - From priests he turn’d to canons, creeds, and prayers, - Rubrics and rules, and all our church affairs; - Churches themselves, desk, pulpit, altar, all - The Justice reverenced--and pronounced their fall. - Then from religion Hammond turn’d his view, - To give our rulers the correction due; - Not one wise action had these triflers plann’d; - There was, it seem’d, no wisdom in the land; - Save in this patriot tribe, who meet at times - To show the statesman’s errors and his crimes. 190 - Now here was Justice Bolt compell’d to sit, - To hear the deist’s scorn, the rebel’s wit; - The fact mis-stated, the envenom’d lie, - And staring, spell-bound, made not one reply. - Then were our laws abused--and with the laws, - All who prepare, defend, or judge a cause: - “We have no lawyer whom a man can trust,” - Proceeded Hammond--“if the laws were just; - But they are evil; ’tis the savage state - Is only good, and ours sophisticate! 200 - See! the free creatures in their woods and plains, - Where without laws each happy monarch reigns, - King of himself--while we a number dread, - By slaves commanded and by dunces led; - Oh, let the name with either state agree-- - Savage our own we’ll name, and civil theirs shall be.” - The silent Justice still astonish’d sate, - And wonder’d much whom he was gazing at; - Twice he essay’d to speak--but in a cough - The faint, indignant, dying speech went off: 210 - “But who is this?” thought he--“a dæmon vile, - With wicked meaning and a vulgar style: - Hammond they call him; they can give the name - Of man to devils.--Why am I so tame? - Why crush I not the viper?”--Fear replied, - “Watch him awhile, and let his strength be tried; - He will be foil’d, if man; but if his aid - Be from beneath, ’tis well to be afraid.” - “We are call’d free!” said Hammond--“doleful times - When rulers add their insult to their crimes; 220 - For, should our scorn expose each powerful vice, - It would be libel, and we pay the price.” - Thus with licentious words the man went on, - Proving that liberty of speech was gone; - That all were slaves--nor had we better chance - For better times than as allies to France. - Loud groan’d the stranger--Why, he must relate, - And own’d, “In sorrow for his country’s fate.” - “Nay, she were safe,” the ready man replied, - “Might patriots rule her, and could reasoners guide; 230 - When all to vote, to speak, to teach, are free, - Whate’er their creeds or their opinions be; - When books of statutes are consumed in flames, - And courts and copyholds are empty names; - Then will be times of joy--but ere they come, - Havock, and war, and blood must be our doom.” - The man here paused--then loudly for reform - He call’d, and hail’d the prospect of the storm; - The wholesome blast, the fertilizing flood-- - Peace gain’d by tumult, plenty bought with blood: 240 - Sharp means, he own’d; but when the land’s disease - Asks cure complete, no med’cines are like these. - Our Justice now, more led by fear than rage, - Saw it in vain with madness to engage; - With imps of darkness no man seeks to fight, - Knaves to instruct, or set deceivers right. - Then, as the daring speech denounced these woes, - Sick at the soul, the grieving guest arose; - Quick on the board his ready cash he threw, - And from the dæmons to his closet flew. 250 - There when secured, he pray’d with earnest zeal, - That all they wish’d these patriot-souls might feel; - “Let them to France, their darling country, haste, - And all the comforts of a Frenchman taste; - Let them his safety, freedom, pleasure know, } - Feel all their rulers on the land bestow; } - And be at length dismiss’d by one unerring blow; } - Not hack’d and hew’d by one afraid to strike, - But shorn by that which shears all men alike; - Nor, as in Britain, let them curse delay } 260 - Of law, but borne without a form away-- } - Suspected, tried, condemn’d, and carted in a day; } - Oh! let them taste what they so much approve, - These strong fierce freedoms of the land they love[2].” - Home came our hero, to forget no more - The fear he felt and ever most deplore: - For, though he quickly join’d his friends again, - And could with decent force his themes maintain, - Still it occurr’d that, in a luckless time, - He fail’d to fight with heresy and crime; 270 - It was observed his words were not so strong, - His tones so powerful, his harangues so long, - As in old times--for he would often drop - The lofty look, and of a sudden stop; - When conscience whisper’d, that he once was still, - And let the wicked triumph at their will; - And therefore now, when not a foe was near, - He had no right so valiant to appear. - Some years had pass’d, and he perceived his fears - Yield to the spirit of his earlier years-- 280 - When at a meeting, with his friends beside, - He saw an object that awaked his pride; - His shame, wrath, vengeance, indignation--all - Man’s harsher feelings did that sight recall. - For lo! beneath him fix’d, our man of law - That lawless man the foe of order saw-- - Once fear’d, now scorn’d; once dreaded, now abhorr’d; - A wordy man, and evil every word. - Again he gazed--“It is,” said he, “the same; - Caught and secure: his master owes him shame:” 290 - So thought our hero, who each instant found - His courage rising, from the numbers round. - As when a felon has escaped and fled, - So long, that law conceives the culprit dead; - And back recall’d her myrmidons, intent - On some new game, and with a stronger scent; - Till she beholds him in a place, where none - Could have conceived the culprit would have gone; - There he sits upright in his seat, secure, - As one whose conscience is correct and pure; 300 - This rouses anger for the old offence, - And scorn for all such seeming and pretence: - So on this Hammond look’d our hero bold, - Rememb’ring well that vile offence of old; - And now he saw the rebel dared t’ intrude } - Among the pure, the loyal, and the good; } - The crime provoked his wrath, the folly stirr’d his blood. } - Nor wonder was it if so strange a sight - Caused joy with vengeance, terror with delight; - Terror like this a tiger might create, } 310 - A joy like that to see his captive state, } - At once to know his force and then decree his fate. } - Hammond, much praised by numerous friends, was come - To read his lectures, so admired at home: - Historic lectures, where he loved to mix - His free plain hints on modern politics. - Here, he had heard, that numbers had design, - Their business finish’d, to sit down and dine; - This gave him pleasure, for he judged it right - To show by day, that he could speak at night. 320 - Rash the design--for he perceived, too late, - Not one approving friend beside him sate; - The greater number, whom he traced around, - Were men in black, and he conceived they frown’d. - “I will not speak,” he thought; “no pearls of mine - Shall be presented to this herd of swine;” - Not this avail’d him, when he cast his eye - On Justice Bolt; he could not fight, nor fly. - He saw a man to whom he gave the pain, - Which now he felt must be return’d again; 330 - His conscience told him with what keen delight - He, at that time, enjoy’d a stranger’s fright; - That stranger now befriended--he alone, - For all his insult, friendless, to atone; - Now he could feel it cruel that a heart - Should be distress’d, and none to take its part; - “Though one by one,” said Pride, “I would defy } - Much greater men, yet meeting every eye, } - I do confess a fear--but he will pass me by.” } - Vain hope! the Justice saw the foe’s distress, 340 - With exultation he could not suppress; - He felt the fish was hook’d--and so forbore, - In playful spite, to draw it to the shore. - Hammond look’d round again; but none were near, - With friendly smile, to still his growing fear; - But all above him seem’d a solemn row - Of priests and deacons, so they seem’d below; - He wonder’d who his right-hand man might be-- - Vicar of Holt cum Uppingham was he; - And who the man of that dark frown possess’d-- 350 - Rector of Bradley and of Barton-west; - “A pluralist,” he growl’d--but check’d the word, - That warfare might not, by his zeal, be stirr’d. - But now began the man above to show - Fierce looks and threat’nings to the man below; - Who had some thoughts his peace by flight to seek-- - But how then lecture, if he dared not speak!-- - Now as the Justice for the war prepared, - He seem’d just then to question if he dared: - “He may resist, although his power be small, 360 - And growing desperate may defy us all; - One dog attack, and he prepares for flight-- - Resist another, and he strives to bite; - Nor can I say, if this rebellious cur - Will fly for safety, or will scorn to stir.” - Alarm’d by this, he lash’d his soul to rage, - Burn’d with strong shame, and hurried to engage. - As a male turkey straggling on the green, - When by fierce harriers, terriers, mongrels seen, - He feels the insult of the noisy train, 370 - And sculks aside, though moved by much disdain; - But when that turkey, at his own barn-door, - Sees one poor straying puppy and no more, - (A foolish puppy who had left the pack, - Thoughtless what foe was threat’ning at his back,) - He moves about, as ship prepared to sail, - He hoists his proud rotundity of tail, - The half-seal’d eyes and changeful neck he shows, - Where, in its quick’ning colours, vengeance glows; - From red to blue the pendant wattles turn, 380 - Blue mix’d with red, as matches when they burn; - And thus th’ intruding snarler to oppose, - Urged by enkindling wrath, he gobbling goes. - So look’d our hero in his wrath, his cheeks - Flush’d with fresh fires and glow’d in tingling streaks; - His breath by passion’s force awhile restrain’d, - Like a stopp’d current, greater force regain’d; - So spoke, so look’d he, every eye and ear - Were fix’d to view him, or were turn’d to hear. - “My friends, you know me, you can witness all, 390 - How, urged by passion, I restrain my gall; - And every motive to revenge withstand-- - Save when I hear abused my native land. - “Is it not known, agreed, confirm’d, confess’d, - That of all people, we are govern’d best? - We have the force of monarchies; are free, - As the most proud republicans can be; - And have those prudent counsels that arise - In grave and cautious aristocracies; - And live there those, in such all-glorious state, 400 - Traitors protected in the land they hate? - Rebels, still warring with the laws that give - To them subsistence?--Yes, such wretches live. - “Ours is a church reform’d, and now no more - Is aught for man to mend or to restore; - ’Tis pure in doctrines, ’tis correct in creeds, - Has nought redundant, and it nothing needs; - No evil is therein--no wrinkle, spot, - Stain, blame, or blemish:--I affirm there’s not. - “All this you know--now mark what once befell, 410 - With grief I bore it, and with shame I tell; - I was entrapp’d--yes, so it came to pass, - ’Mid heathen rebels, a tumultuous class; - Each to his country bore a hellish mind, - Each like his neighbour was of cursèd kind; - The land that nursed them they blasphemed; the laws, - Their sovereign’s glory, and their country’s cause; - And who their mouth, their master-fiend, and who - Rebellion’s oracle?----You, caitiff, you!” - He spoke, and standing stretch’d his mighty arm, 420 - And fix’d the man of words, as by a charm. - “How raved that railer! Sure some hellish power - Restrain’d my tongue in that delirious hour, - Or I had hurl’d the shame and vengeance due - On him, the guide of that infuriate crew; - But to mine eyes such dreadful looks appear’d, - Such mingled yell of lying words I heard, - That I conceived around were dæmons all, - And till I fled the house, I fear’d its fall. - “Oh! could our country from our coasts expel 430 - Such foes! to nourish those who wish her well: - This her mild laws forbid, but we may still - From us eject them by our sovereign will; - This let us do.”--He said, and then began - A gentler feeling for the silent man; - Ev’n in our hero’s mighty soul arose - A touch of pity for experienced woes; - But this was transient, and with angry eye - He sternly look’d, and paused for a reply. - ’Twas then the man of many words would speak-- 440 - But, in his trial, had them all to seek: - To find a friend he look’d the circle round, - But joy or scorn in every feature found; - He sipp’d his wine, but in those times of dread - Wine only adds confusion to the head; - In doubt he reason’d with himself--“And how - Harangue at night, if I be silent now?” - From pride and praise received he sought to draw - Courage to speak, but still remain’d the awe; - One moment rose he with a forced disdain, 450 - And then, abash’d, sunk sadly down again; - While in our hero’s glance he seem’d to read, - “Slave and insurgent! what hast thou to plead?”-- - By desperation urged, he now began: - “I seek no favour--I--the Rights of Man! - Claim; and I--nay!--but give me leave--and I - Insist--a man--that is--and, in reply, - I speak.”--Alas! each new attempt was vain: - Confused he stood, he sate, he rose again; - At length he growl’d defiance, sought the door, 460 - Cursed the whole synod, and was seen no more. - “Laud we,” said Justice Bolt, “the Powers above; - Thus could our speech the sturdiest foe remove.” - Exulting now he gain’d new strength of fame, - And lost all feelings of defeat and shame. - “He dared not strive, you witness’d--dared not lift - His voice, nor drive at his accursed drift: - So all shall tremble, wretches who oppose - Our church or state--thus be it to our foes.” - He spoke, and, seated with his former air, 470 - Look’d his full self, and fill’d his ample chair; - Took one full bumper to each favourite cause, } - And dwelt all night on politics and laws, } - With high applauding voice, that gain’d him high applause. } - -[2] The reader will perceive in these and the preceding verses -allusions to the state of France, as that country was circumstanced -some years since, rather than as it appears to be in the present -date; several years elapsing between the alarm of the loyal -magistrate on the occasion now related, and a subsequent event that -farther illustrates the remark with which the narrative commences. - - - - -TALE II. - -_THE PARTING HOUR._ - - - I did not take my leave of him, but had - Most pretty things to say: ere I could tell him - How I would think of him, at certain hours, - Such thoughts and such [. . . . . . . . . . . . . - . . . . . .] or ere I could - Give him that parting kiss, which I had set - Betwixt two charming words--comes in my father-- - _Cymbeline_, Act I. Scene 3. - - Grief hath changed me since you saw me last, - And careful hours with Time’s deformèd hand - Have written strange defeatures [in] my face. - _Comedy of Errors_, Act V. Scene 1. - - Oh! if thou be the same [Ægeon], speak, - And speak unto the same [Æmilia]. - _Comedy of Errors_, Act V. Scene 1. - - I ran it through, ev’n from my boyish days - To the very moment that [he bade] me tell it, - Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances, - Of moving accidents, by flood, and field; - Of being taken by [the] insolent foe - And sold to slavery. - _Othello_, Act I. Scene 3. - - An old man, broken with the storms of [state], - Is come to lay his weary bones among [ye]; - Give him a little earth for charity. - _Henry VIII._ Act IV. Scene 2. - - -TALE II. - -_THE PARTING HOUR._ - - Minutely trace man’s life; year after year, - Through all his days let all his deeds appear, - And then, though some may in that life be strange, - Yet there appears no vast nor sudden change; - The links that bind those various deeds are seen, - And no mysterious void is left between. - But let these binding links be all destroy’d, - All that through years he suffer’d or enjoy’d; - Let that vast gap be made, and then behold-- - This was the youth, and he is thus when old; 10 - Then we at once the work of Time survey, - And in an instant see a life’s decay: - Pain[s] mix’d with pity in our bosoms rise, - And sorrow takes new sadness from surprise. - Beneath yon tree, observe an ancient pair-- } - A sleeping man; a woman in her chair, } - Watching his looks with kind and pensive air; } - No wife, nor sister she, nor is the name - Nor kindred of this friendly pair the same; - Yet so allied are they, that few can feel 20 - Her constant, warm, unwearied, anxious zeal, - Their years and woes, although they long have loved, - Keep their good name and conduct unreproved; - Thus life’s small comforts they together share, - And while life lingers for the grave prepare. - No other subjects on their spirits press, - Nor gain such int’rest as the past distress; - Grievous events that from the mem’ry drive - Life’s common cares, and those alone survive, - Mix with each thought, in every action share, 30 - Darken each dream, and blend with every prayer. - To David Booth, his fourth and last-born boy, - Allen his name, was more than common joy; - And as the child grew up, there seem’d in him - A more than common life in every limb; - A strong and handsome stripling he became, - And the gay spirit answer’d to the frame; - A lighter, happier lad was never seen, - For ever easy, cheerful, or serene; - His early love he fix’d upon a fair 40 - And gentle maid--they were a handsome pair. - They at an infant-school together play’d, - Where the foundation of their love was laid; - The boyish champion would his choice attend - In every sport, in every fray defend. - As prospects open’d and as life advanced, - They walk’d together, they together danced; - On all occasions, from their early years, - They mix’d their joys and sorrows, hopes and fears; - Each heart was anxious, till it could impart 50 - Its daily feelings to its kindred heart; - As years increased, unnumber’d petty wars - Broke out between them; jealousies and jars; - Causeless indeed, and follow’d by a peace, - That gave to love--growth, vigour, and increase. - Whilst yet a boy, when other minds are void, - Domestic thoughts young Allen’s hours employ’d; - Judith in gaining hearts had no concern, - Rather intent the matron’s part to learn; - Thus early prudent and sedate they grew, 60 - While lovers, thoughtful--and, though children, true. - To either parents not a day appear’d, - When with this love they might have interfered: - Childish at first, they cared not to restrain; - And strong at last, they saw restriction vain; - Nor knew they when that passion to reprove-- - Now idle fondness, now resistless love. - So, while the waters rise, the children tread - On the broad estuary’s sandy bed; - But soon the channel fills, from side to side 70 - Comes danger rolling with the deep’ning tide; - Yet none who saw the rapid current flow - Could the first instant of that danger know. - The lovers waited till the time should come - When they together could possess a home: - In either house were men and maids unwed, - Hopes to be soothed, and tempers to be led. - Then Allen’s mother of his favourite maid - Spoke from the feelings of a mind afraid: - “Dress and amusements were her sole employ,” 80 - She said--“entangling her deluded boy;” - And yet, in truth, a mother’s jealous love - Had much imagined and could little prove; - Judith had beauty--and, if vain, was kind, - Discreet, and mild, and had a serious mind. - Dull was their prospect--when the lovers met, - They said, we must not--dare not venture yet: - “Oh! could I labour for thee,” Allen cried, - “Why should our friends be thus dissatisfied? - On my own arm I could depend, but they } 90 - Still urge obedience--must I yet obey?” } - Poor Judith felt the grief, but grieving begg’d delay. } - At length a prospect came that seem’d to smile, - And faintly woo them, from a Western Isle. - A kinsman there a widow’s hand had gain’d, - “Was old, was rich, and childless yet remain’d; - Would some young Booth to his affairs attend, - And wait awhile, he might expect a friend.” - The elder brothers, who were not in love, - Fear’d the false seas, unwilling to remove; 100 - But the young Allen, an enamour’d boy, - Eager an independence to enjoy, - Would through all perils seek it--by the sea-- - Through labour, danger, pain, or slavery. - The faithful Judith his design approved; - For both were sanguine, they were young and loved. - The mother’s slow consent was then obtain’d; - The time arrived, to part alone remain’d. - All things prepared, on the expected day - Was seen the vessel anchor’d in the bay. 110 - From her would seamen in the evening come, - To take th’ advent’rous Allen from his home; - With his own friends the final day he pass’d, - And every painful hour, except the last. - The grieving father urged the cheerful glass, - To make the moments with less sorrow pass; - Intent the mother look’d upon her son, - And wish’d th’ assent withdrawn, the deed undone; - The younger sister, as he took his way, - Hung on his coat, and begg’d for more delay: 120 - But his own Judith call’d him to the shore, - Whom he must meet, for they might meet no more;-- - And there he found her--faithful, mournful, true, - Weeping and waiting for a last adieu! - The ebbing tide had left the sand, and there - Moved with slow steps the melancholy pair: - Sweet were the painful moments--but how sweet, - And without pain, when they again should meet! - Now either spoke, as hope and fear impress’d - Each their alternate triumph in the breast. 130 - Distance alarm’d the maid--she cried, “’Tis far!” - And danger too--“it is a time of war. - Then, in those countries are diseases strange, - And women gay, and men are prone to change; - What, then, may happen in a year, when things - Of vast importance every moment brings! - But hark! an oar!” she cried, yet none appear’d-- - ’Twas love’s mistake, who fancied what it fear’d; - And she continued--“Do, my Allen, keep - Thy heart from evil, let thy passions sleep; 140 - Believe it good, nay glorious, to prevail, - And stand in safety where so many fail; - And do not, Allen, or for shame, or pride, - Thy faith abjure, or thy profession hide; - Can I believe _his_ love will lasting prove, - Who has no rev’rence for the God I love? - I know thee well! how good thou art and kind; - But strong the passions that invade thy mind.-- - Now, what to me hath Allen to commend?”-- - “Upon my mother,” said the youth, “attend; 150 - Forget her spleen, and in my place appear; - Her love to me will make my Judith dear: - Oft I shall think (such comfort lovers seek), - Who speaks of me, and fancy what they speak; - Then write on all occasions, always dwell - On hope’s fair prospects, and be kind and well, - And ever choose the fondest, tenderest style.” - She answer’d, “No,” but answer’d with a smile. - “And now, my Judith, at so sad a time, - Forgive my fear, and call it not my crime; 160 - When with our youthful neighbours ’tis thy chance - To meet in walks, the visit or the dance, - When every lad would on my lass attend, - Choose not a smooth designer for a friend; - That fawning Philip!--nay, be not severe, - A rival’s hope must cause a lover’s fear.” - Displeased she felt, and might in her reply - Have mix’d some anger, but the boat was nigh, - Now truly heard!--it soon was full in sight;-- - Now the sad farewell, and the long good-night; 170 - For, see!--his friends come hast’ning to the beach, - And now the gunwale is within the reach; - “Adieu!--farewell!--remember!”--and what more - Affection taught, was utter’d from the shore! - But Judith left them with a heavy heart, - Took a last view, and went to weep apart! - And now his friends went slowly from the place, - Where she stood still, the dashing oar to trace, - Till all were silent!--for the youth she pray’d, - And softly then return’d the weeping maid. 180 - They parted, thus by hope and fortune led, - And Judith’s hours in pensive pleasure fled. - But when return’d the youth?--the youth no more - Return’d exulting to his native shore. - But forty years were past, and then there came } - A worn-out man with wither’d limbs and lame, } - His mind oppress’d with woes, and bent with age his frame: } - Yes! old and grieved, and trembling with decay, } - Was Allen landing in his native bay, } - Willing his breathless form should blend with kindred clay. } - In an autumnal eve he left the beach, 191 - In such an eve he chanced the port to reach. - He was alone; he press’d the very place - Of the sad parting, of the last embrace: - There stood his parents, there retired the maid, - So fond, so tender, and so much afraid; - And on that spot, through many a year, his mind - Turn’d mournful back, half sinking, half resign’d. - No one was present; of its crew bereft, - A single boat was in the billows left; 200 - Sent from some anchor’d vessel in the bay, - At the returning tide to sail away. - O’er the black stern the moonlight softly play’d, - The loosen’d foresail flapping in the shade; - All silent else on shore; but from the town - A drowsy peal of distant bells came down; - From the tall houses here and there, a light - Served some confused remembrance to excite: - “There,” he observed, and new emotions felt, - “Was my first home--and yonder Judith dwelt; 210 - Dead! dead are all! I long--I fear to know,” - He said, and walk’d impatient, and yet slow. - Sudden there broke upon his grief a noise - Of merry tumult and of vulgar joys: - Seamen returning to their ship, were come, - With idle numbers straying from their home; - Allen among them mix’d, and in the old - Strove some familiar features to behold; - While fancy aided memory;--“Man! what cheer?” - A sailor cried; “Art thou at anchor here?” 220 - Faintly he answer’d, and then tried to trace - Some youthful features in some aged face; - A swarthy matron he beheld, and thought - She might unfold the very truths he sought; - Confused and trembling, he the dame address’d: - “The Booths! yet live they?” pausing and oppress’d; - Then spake again:--“Is there no ancient man, - David his name?--assist me, if you can.-- - Flemmings there were--and Judith, doth she live?” - The woman gazed, nor could an answer give; 230 - Yet wond’ring stood, and all were silent by, - Feeling a strange and solemn sympathy. - The woman musing said--“She knew full well - Where the old people came at last to dwell; - They had a married daughter and a son, - But they were dead, and now remain’d not one.” - “Yes,” said an elder, who had paused intent - On days long past, “there was a sad event;-- - One of these Booths--it was my mother’s tale-- - Here left his lass, I know not where to sail; 240 - She saw their parting, and observed the pain; - But never came th’ unhappy man again.” - “The ship was captured”--Allen meekly said, - “And what became of the forsaken maid?” - The woman answer’d: “I remember now, - She used to tell the lasses of her vow, - And of her lover’s loss, and I have seen - The gayest hearts grow sad where she has been; - Yet in her grief she married, and was made - Slave to a wretch, whom meekly she obey’d 250 - And early buried--but I know no more. - And hark! our friends are hast’ning to the shore.” - Allen soon found a lodging in the town, - And walk’d, a man unnoticed, up and down. - This house, and this, he knew, and thought a face - He sometimes could among a number trace; - Of names remember’d there remain’d a few, - But of no favourites, and the rest were new; - A merchant’s wealth, when Allen went to sea, - Was reckon’d boundless.--Could he living be? 260 - Or lived his son? for one he had, the heir - To a vast business, and a fortune fair. - No! but that heir’s poor widow, from her shed, - With crutches went to take her dole of bread. - There was a friend whom he had left a boy, - With hope to sail the master of a hoy; - Him, after many a stormy day, he found - With his great wish, his life’s whole purpose, crown’d. - This hoy’s proud captain look’d in Allen’s face;-- - “Yours is, my friend,” said he, “a woful case; 270 - We cannot all succeed; I now command - The Betsy sloop, and am not much at land; - But when we meet, you shall your story tell - Of foreign parts--I bid you now farewell!” - Allen so long had left his native shore, - He saw but few whom he had seen before; - The older people, as they met him, cast - A pitying look, oft speaking as they pass’d:-- - “The man is Allen Booth, and it appears - He dwelt among us in his early years; 280 - We see the name engraved upon the stones, - Where this poor wanderer means to lay his bones.” - Thus where he lived and loved--unhappy change!-- - He seems a stranger, and finds all are strange. - But now a widow, in a village near, - Chanced of the melancholy man to hear; - Old as she was, to Judith’s bosom came - Some strong emotions at the well-known name; - He was her much-loved Allen, she had stay’d - Ten troubled years, a sad afflicted maid; 290 - Then was she wedded, of his death assured, - And much of mis’ry in her lot endured; - Her husband died; her children sought their bread - In various places, and to her were dead. - The once fond lovers met; not grief nor age, - Sickness or pain, their hearts could disengage: - Each had immediate confidence; a friend - Both now beheld, on whom they might depend: - “Now is there one to whom I can express - My nature’s weakness and my soul’s distress.” 300 - Allen look’d up, and with impatient heart:-- - “Let me not lose thee--never let us part; - So Heaven this comfort to my sufferings give, - It is not all distress to think and live.” - Thus Allen spoke--for time had not removed - The charms attach’d to one so fondly loved; - Who with more health, the mistress of their cot, - Labours to soothe the evils of his lot. - To her, to her alone, his various fate, - At various times, ’tis comfort to relate; 310 - And yet his sorrow she too loves to hear - What wrings her bosom, and compels the tear. - First he related how he left the shore, - Alarm’d with fears that they should meet no more; - Then, ere the ship had reach’d her purposed course, - They met and yielded to the Spanish force; - Then ’cross th’ Atlantic seas they bore their prey, - Who grieving landed from their sultry bay; - And, marching many a burning league, he found - Himself a slave upon a miner’s ground: 320 - There a good priest his native language spoke, - And gave some ease to his tormenting yoke; - Kindly advanced him in his master’s grace, - And he was station’d in an easier place. - There, hopeless ever to escape the land, - He to a Spanish maiden gave his hand; - In cottage shelter’d from the blaze of day - He saw his happy infants round him play; - Where summer shadows, made by lofty trees, - Waved o’er his seat, and soothed his reveries; 330 - E’en then he thought of England, nor could sigh, - But his fond Isabel demanded, “Why?” - Grieved by the story, she the sigh repaid, - And wept in pity for the English maid: - Thus twenty years were pass’d, and pass’d his views - Of further bliss, for he had wealth to lose. - His friend now dead, some foe had dared to paint - “His faith as tainted: he his spouse would taint; - Make all his children infidels, and found - An English heresy on Christian ground.” 340 - “Whilst I was poor,” said Allen, “none would care - What my poor notions of religion were; - None ask’d me whom I worshipp’d, how I pray’d, - If due obedience to the laws were paid: - My good adviser taught me to be still, - Nor to make converts had I power or will. - I preached no foreign doctrine to my wife, - And never mention’d Luther in my life; - I, all they said, say what they would, allow’d, - And when the fathers bade me bow, I bow’d; 350 - Their forms I follow’d, whether well or sick, - And was a most obedient Catholic. - But I had money, and these pastors found - My notions vague, heretical, unsound: - A wicked book they seized; the very Turk - Could not have read a more pernicious work; - To me pernicious, who if it were good - Or evil question’d not, nor understood: - Oh! had I little but the book possess’d, - I might have read it, and enjoy’d my rest.” 360 - Alas! poor Allen, through his wealth was seen - Crimes that by poverty conceal’d had been: - Faults that in dusty pictures rest unknown - Are in an instant through the varnish shown. - He told their cruel mercy: how at last, - In Christian kindness for the merits past, - They spared his forfeit life, but bade him fly, - Or for his crime and contumacy die; - Fly from all scenes, all objects of delight; } - His wife, his children, weeping in his sight, } 370 - All urging him to flee, he fled, and cursed his flight.} - He next related how he found a way, - Guideless and grieving, to Campeachy Bay: - There in the woods he wrought, and there, among - Some lab’ring seamen, heard his native tongue. - The sound, one moment, broke upon his pain - With joyful force; he long’d to hear again; - Again he heard; he seized an offer’d hand, - “And when beheld you last our native land?” - He cry’d, “and in what county? quickly say!”-- 380 - The seamen answer’d, strangers all were they; - One only at his native port had been; - He, landing once, the quay and church had seen, - For that esteem’d; but nothing more he knew. - Still more to know, would Allen join the crew, - Sail where they sail’d; and, many a peril past, - They at his kinsman’s isle their anchor cast; - But him they found not, nor could one relate - Aught of his will, his wish, or his estate. - This grieved not Allen; then again he sail’d 390 - For England’s coast, again his fate prevail’d: - War raged, and he, an active man and strong, - Was soon impress’d, and served his country long. - By various shores he pass’d, on various seas, - Never so happy as when void of ease.-- - And then he told how, in a calm distress’d, - Day after day his soul was sick of rest; - When as a log upon the deep they stood, - Then roved his spirit to the inland wood; - Till, while awake, he dream’d, that on the seas 400 - Were his loved home, the hill, the stream, the trees. - He gazed, he pointed to the scenes:--“There stand - My wife, my children, ’tis my lovely land; - See! there my dwelling--oh! delicious scene - Of my best life--unhand me--are ye men?” - And thus the frenzy ruled him, till the wind - Brush’d the fond pictures from the stagnant mind. - He told of bloody fights, and how at length - The rage of battle gave his spirits strength. - ’Twas in the Indian seas his limb he lost, 410 - And he was left half-dead upon the coast; - But living gain’d, ’mid rich aspiring men, - A fair subsistence by his ready pen. - “Thus,” he continued, “pass’d unvaried years, - Without events producing hopes or fears.” - Augmented pay procured him decent wealth, - But years advancing undermined his health; - Then oft-times in delightful dream he flew - To England’s shore, and scenes his childhood knew: - He saw his parents, saw his fav’rite maid, 420 - No feature wrinkled, not a charm decay’d; - And, thus excited, in his bosom rose - A wish so strong, it baffled his repose; - Anxious he felt on English earth to lie; - To view his native soil, and there to die. - He then described the gloom, the dread he found, - When first he landed on the chosen ground, - Where undefined was all he hoped and fear’d, - And how confused and troubled all appear’d; - His thoughts in past and present scenes employ’d, 430 - All views in future blighted and destroy’d: - His were a medley of bewild’ring themes, - Sad as realities, and wild as dreams. - Here his relation closes, but his mind - Flies back again, some resting-place to find; - Thus silent, musing through the day, he sees - His children sporting by those lofty trees, - Their mother singing in the shady scene, - Where the fresh springs burst o’er the lively green;-- - So strong his eager fancy, he affrights 440 - The faithful widow by its powerful flights; - For what disturbs him he aloud will tell, - And cry--“’Tis she, my wife! my Isabel! - Where are my children?”--Judith grieves to hear - How the soul works in sorrows so severe; - Assiduous all his wishes to attend, - Deprived of much, he yet may boast a friend; - Watch’d by her care, in sleep, his spirit takes - Its flight, and watchful finds her when he wakes. - ’Tis now her office; her attention see! 450 - While her friend sleeps beneath that shading tree, - Careful she guards him from the glowing heat, - And pensive muses at her Allen’s feet. - And where is he? Ah! doubtless in those scenes - Of his best days, amid the vivid greens, - Fresh with unnumber’d rills, where ev’ry gale - Breathes the rich fragrance of the neighb’ring vale; - Smiles not his wife, and listens as there comes - The night-bird’s music from the thickening glooms? - And as he sits with all these treasures nigh, } 460 - Blaze not with fairy light the phosphor-fly, } - When like a sparkling gem it wheels illumined by? } - This is the joy that now so plainly speaks - In the warm transient flushing of his cheeks; - For he is list’ning to the fancied noise - Of his own children, eager in their joys: - All this he feels, a dream’s delusive bliss - Gives the expression, and the glow like this. - And now his Judith lays her knitting by, - These strong emotions in her friend to spy; 470 - For she can fully of their nature deem---- } - But see! he breaks the long-protracted theme, } - And wakes and cries--“My God! ’twas but a dream.” } - - - - -TALE III. - -_THE GENTLEMAN FARMER_. - - - Pause [there . . .] - And weigh thy value with an even hand; - If thou beest rated by thy estimation, - Thou dost deserve enough. - _Merchant of Venice_, Act II. Scene 7. - -Because I will not do them wrong to mistrust any, I will do myself -the right to trust none; and the fine is (for which I may go the -finer), I will live a bachelor. - - _Much Ado about Nothing_, Act I. Scene 1. - - Throw physic to the dogs, I’ll none of it. - _Macbeth_, Act V. Scene 3. - - His promises are, as he then was, mighty; - And his performance, as he now is, nothing. - _Henry VIII_. Act IV. Scene 2. - - -TALE III. - -_THE GENTLEMAN FARMER._ - - Gwyn was a farmer, whom the farmers all, - Who dwelt around, the Gentleman would call; - Whether in pure humility or pride, - They only knew, and they would not decide. - Far diff’rent he from that dull plodding tribe, - Whom it was his amusement to describe; - Creatures no more enliven’d than a clod, - But treading still as their dull fathers trod; - Who lived in times when not a man had seen - Corn sown by drill, or thresh’d by a machine: 10 - He was of those whose skill assigns the prize - For creatures fed in pens, and stalls, and sties; - And who, in places where improvers meet, - To fill the land with fatness, had a seat; - Who in large mansions live like petty kings, - And speak of farms but as amusing things; - Who plans encourage, and who journals keep, - And talk with lords about a breed of sheep. - Two are the species in this genus known; - One, who is rich in his profession grown, 20 - Who yearly finds his ample stores increase, - From fortune’s favours and a favouring lease; - Who rides his hunter, who his house adorns; - Who drinks his wine, and his disbursements scorns, - Who freely lives, and loves to show he can-- - This is the farmer, made the gentleman. - The second species from the world is sent, - Tired with its strife, or with his wealth content; - In books and men beyond the former read, - To farming solely by a passion led, 30 - Or by a fashion; curious in his land; - Now planning much, now changing what he plann’d; - Pleased by each trial, not by failures vex’d, - And ever certain to succeed the next; - Quick to resolve, and easy to persuade-- - This is the gentleman, a farmer made. - Gwyn was of these; he from the world withdrew - Early in life, his reasons known to few; - Some disappointment said, some pure good sense, - The love of land, the press of indolence; 40 - His fortune known, and coming to retire, - If not a farmer, men had call’d him ’squire. - Forty and five his years, no child or wife - Cross’d the still tenour of his chosen life; - Much land he purchased, planted far around, - And let some portions of superfluous ground - To farmers near him, not displeased to say, - “My tenants,” nor, “our worthy landlord,” they. - Fix’d in his farm, he soon display’d his skill - In small-boned lambs, the horse-hoe, and the drill; 50 - From these he rose to themes of nobler kind, - And show’d the riches of a fertile mind; - To all around their visits he repaid, - And thus his mansion and himself display’d. - His rooms were stately, rather fine than neat, - And guests politely call’d his house a seat; - At much expense was each apartment graced, - His taste was gorgeous, but it still was taste; - In full festoons the crimson curtains fell, - The sofas rose in bold elastic swell; 60 - Mirrors in gilded frames display’d the tints - Of glowing carpets and of colour’d prints; - The weary eye saw every object shine, - And all was costly, fanciful, and fine. - As with his friends he pass’d the social hours, - His generous spirit scorn’d to hide its powers; - Powers unexpected, for his eye and air - Gave no sure signs that eloquence was there; - Oft he began with sudden fire and force, - As loth to lose occasion for discourse; 70 - Some, ’tis observed, who feel a wish to speak, - Will a due place for introduction seek; - On to their purpose step by step they steal, - And all their way, by certain signals, feel; - Others plunge in at once, and never heed - Whose turn they take, whose purpose they impede; - Resolved to shine, they hasten to begin, - Of ending thoughtless--and of these was Gwyn. - And thus he spake: - ----“It grieves me to the soul - To see how man submits to man’s control; 80 - How overpower’d and shackled minds are led - In vulgar tracks, and to submission bred; - The coward never on himself relies, - But to an equal for assistance flies; - Man yields to custom as he bows to fate, - In all things ruled--mind, body, and estate; - In pain, in sickness, we for cure apply - To them we know not, and we know not why; - But that the creature has some jargon read, - And got some Scotchman’s system in his head; 90 - Some grave impostor, who will health insure, - Long as your patience or your wealth endure; - But mark them well, the pale and sickly crew, - They have not health, and can they give it you? - These solemn cheats their various methods choose; - A system fires them, as a bard his muse: - Hence wordy wars arise; the learn’d divide, - And groaning patients curse each erring guide. - “Next, our affairs are govern’d, buy or sell, - Upon the deed the law must fix its spell; 100 - Whether we hire or let, we must have still - The dubious aid of an attorney’s skill; - They take a part in every man’s affairs, - And in all business some concern is theirs; - Because mankind in ways prescribed are found, - Like flocks that follow on a beaten ground, - Each abject nature in the way proceeds, - That now to shearing, now to slaughter leads. - “Should you offend, though meaning no offence, - You have no safety in your innocence; 110 - The statute broken then is placed in view, - And men must pay for crimes they never knew. - Who would by law regain his plunder’d store, - Would pick up fallen merc’ry from the floor; - If he pursue it, here and there it slides; - He would collect it, but it more divides; - This part and this he stops, but still in vain, - It slips aside, and breaks in parts again; - Till, after time and pains, and care and cost, - He finds his labour and his object lost. 120 - “But most it grieves me, (friends alone are round,) - To see a man in priestly fetters bound; - Guides to the soul, these friends of Heaven contrive, - Long as man lives, to keep his fears alive; - Soon as an infant breathes, their rites begin; - Who knows not sinning, must be freed from sin; - Who needs no bond must yet engage in vows; - Who has no judgment, must a creed espouse: - Advanced in life, our boys are bound by rules, } - Are catechised in churches, cloisters, schools, } 130 - And train’d in thraldom to be fit for tools; } - The youth grown up, he now a partner needs, - And lo! a priest, as soon as he succeeds. - What man of sense can marriage-rites approve? - What man of spirit can be bound to love? - Forced to be kind! compell’d to be sincere! - Do chains and fetters make companions dear? - Pris’ners indeed we bind; but though the bond - May keep them safe, it does not make them fond: - The ring, the vow, the witness, licence, prayers, 140 - All parties known! made public all affairs! - Such forms men suffer, and from these they date - A deed of love begun with all they hate. - Absurd, that none the beaten road should shun, - But love to do what other dupes have done! - “Well, now your priest has made you one of twain, - Look you for rest? Alas! you look in vain. - If sick, he comes; you cannot die in peace, - Till he attends to witness your release; - To vex your soul, and urge you to confess 150 - The sins you feel, remember, or can guess; - Nay, when departed, to your grave he goes, - But there indeed he hurts not your repose. - “Such are our burthens; part we must sustain, - But need not link new grievance to the chain. - Yet men like idiots will their frames surround - With these vile shackles, nor confess they’re bound; - In all that most confines them they confide, - Their slavery boast, and make their bonds their pride; - E’en as the pressure galls them, they declare, 160 - (Good souls!) how happy and how free they are! - As madmen, pointing round their wretched cells, - Cry, ‘Lo! the palace where our honour dwells.’ - “Such is our state: but I resolve to live - By rules my reason and my feelings give; - No legal guards shall keep enthrall’d my mind, - No slaves command me, and no teachers blind. - “Tempted by sins, let me their strength defy, - But have no second in a surplice by - No bottle-holder, with officious aid, 170 - To comfort conscience, weaken’d and afraid: - Then if I yield, my frailty is not known; - And, if I stand, the glory is my own. - “When Truth and Reason are our friends, we seem - Alive! awake!--the superstitious dream. - “Oh! then, fair Truth, for thee alone I seek, - Friend to the wise, supporter of the weak; - From thee we learn whate’er is right and just; - Forms to despise, professions to distrust; - Creeds to reject, pretensions to deride, 180 - And, following thee, to follow none beside.” - Such was the speech; it struck upon the ear - Like sudden thunder, none expect to hear. - He saw men’s wonder with a manly pride, - And gravely smiled at guest electrified; - “A farmer this!” they said, “Oh! let him seek - That place where he may for his country speak; - On some great question to harangue for hours, - While speakers hearing, envy nobler powers!” - Wisdom like this, as all things rich and rare, 190 - Must be acquired with pains, and kept with care; - In books he sought it, which his friends might view, - When their kind host the guarding curtain drew. - There were historic works for graver hours, - And lighter verse, to spur the languid powers; - There metaphysics, logic there had place; - But of devotion not a single trace-- - Save what is taught in Gibbon’s florid page, - And other guides of this inquiring age; - There Hume appear’d, and, near, a splendid book 200 - Composed by Gay’s good Lord of Bolingbroke: - With these were mix’d the light, the free, the vain, - And from a corner peep’d the sage Tom Paine: - Here four neat volumes ‘Chesterfield’ were named, - For manners much and easy morals famed; - With chaste Memoirs of Females, to be read - When deeper studies had confused the head. - Such his resources, treasures where he sought - For daily knowledge till his mind was fraught: - Then, when his friends were present, for their use 210 - He would the riches he had stored produce; - He found his lamp burn clearer, when each day - He drew for all he purposed to display. - For these occasions, forth his knowledge sprung, - As mustard quickens on a bed of dung; - All was prepared, and guests allow’d the praise, - For what they saw he could so quickly raise. - Such this new friend; and, when the year came round, - The same impressive, reasoning sage was found: - Then, too, was seen the pleasant mansion graced 220 - With a fair damsel--his no vulgar taste: - The neat Rebecca--sly, observant, still; - Watching his eye, and waiting on his will; - Simple yet smart her dress, her manners meek, - Her smiles spoke for her, she would seldom speak; - But watch’d each look, each meaning to detect, - And (pleas’d with notice) felt for all neglect. - With her lived Gwyn a sweet harmonious life, - Who, forms excepted, was a charming wife. - The wives indeed, so made by vulgar law, 230 - Affected scorn, and censured what they saw; - And what they saw not, fancied; said ’twas sin, - And took no notice of the wife of Gwyn. - But he despised their rudeness, and would prove - Theirs was compulsion and distrust, not love; - “Fools as they were! could they conceive that rings - And parsons’ blessings were substantial things?” - They answer’d “Yes;” while he contemptuous spoke - Of the low notions held by simple folk; - Yet, strange that anger in a man so wise } 240 - Should from the notions of these fools arise; } - Can they so vex us, whom we so despise? } - Brave as he was, our hero felt a dread - Lest those who saw him kind should think him led; - If to his bosom fear a visit paid, - It was, lest he should be supposed afraid. - Hence sprang his orders; not that he desired - The things when done: obedience he required; - And thus, to prove his absolute command, - Ruled every heart, and moved each subject hand; 250 - Assent he ask’d for every word and whim, - To prove that _he alone was king of him_. - The still Rebecca, who her station knew, - With ease resign’d the honours not her due; - Well pleased, she saw that men her board would grace, - And wish’d not there to see a female face; - When by her lover she his spouse was styled, - Polite she thought it, and demurely smiled; - But when he wanted wives and maidens round - So to regard her, she grew grave, and frown’d; 260 - And sometimes whisper’d--“Why should you respect - These people’s notions, yet their forms reject?” - Gwyn, though from marriage bond and fetter free, - Still felt abridgment in his liberty; - Something of hesitation he betray’d, - And in her presence thought of what he said. - Thus fair Rebecca, though she walk’d astray, - His creed rejecting, judged it right to pray; - To be at church, to sit with serious looks, - To read her Bible and her Sunday-books. 270 - She hated all those new and daring themes, - And call’d his free conjectures “devil’s dreams;” - She honour’d still the priesthood in her fall, - And claim’d respect and reverence for them all; - Call’d them “of sin’s destructive power the foes, - And not such blockheads as he might suppose.” - Gwyn to his friends would smile, and sometimes say, - “’Tis a kind fool, why vex her in her way?” - Her way she took, and still had more in view, - For she contrived that he should take it too. 280 - The daring freedom of his soul, ’twas plain, - In part was lost in a divided reign: - A king and queen, who yet in prudence sway’d - Their peaceful state, and were in turn obey’d. - Yet such our fate that, when we plan the best, - Something arises to disturb our rest: - For, though in spirits high, in body strong, - Gwyn something felt--he knew not what--was wrong; - He wish’d to know, for he believed the thing, - If unremoved, would other evil bring: 290 - She must perceive, of late he could not eat, - And when he walk’d, he trembled on his feet; - He had forebodings, and he seem’d as one - Stopp’d on the road, or threatened by a dun; - He could not live, and yet, should he apply - To those physicians--he must sooner die.” - The mild Rebecca heard with some disdain, - And some distress, her friend and lord complain: - His death she fear’d not, but had painful doubt - What his distemper’d nerves might bring about; 300 - With power like hers she dreaded an ally, - And yet there was a person in her eye;-- - She thought, debated, fix’d--“Alas!” she said, - A case like yours must be no more delay’d. - You hate these doctors; well! but were a friend - And doctor one, your fears would have an end. - My cousin Mollet--Scotland holds him now-- - Is above all men skilful, all allow: - Of late a doctor, and within a while - He means to settle in this favour’d isle; 310 - Should he attend you, with his skill profound, - You must be safe, and shortly would be sound.” - When men in health against physicians rail, - They should consider that their nerves may fail; - Who calls a lawyer rogue, may find, too late, - On one of these depends his whole estate; - Nay, when the world can nothing more produce, - The priest, th’ insulted priest, may have his use. - Ease, health, and comfort, lift a man so high, - These powers are dwarfs that he can scarcely spy; 320 - Pain, sickness, languor, keep a man so low, - That these neglected dwarfs to giants grow. - Happy is he who through the medium sees - Of clear good sense--but Gwyn was not of these. - He heard and he rejoiced: “Ah! let him come, - And, till he fixes, make my house his home.” - Home came the doctor--he was much admired; - He told the patient what his case required; - His hours for sleep, his time to eat and drink; - When he should ride, read, rest, compose, or think. 330 - Thus join’d peculiar skill and art profound, - To make the fancy-sick no more than fancy-sound. - With such attention, who could long be ill? - Returning health proclaim’d the doctor’s skill. - Presents and praises from a grateful heart - Were freely offer’d on the patient’s part; - In high repute the doctor seem’d to stand, - But still had got no footing in the land; - And, as he saw the seat was rich and fair, - He felt disposed to fix his station there. 340 - To gain his purpose, he perform’d the part - Of a good actor, and prepared to start-- - Not like a traveller in a day serene, - When the sun shone and when the roads were clean; - Not like the pilgrim, when the morning gray, - The ruddy eve succeeding, sends his way; - But in a season when the sharp east wind - Had all its influence on a nervous mind. - When past the parlour’s front it fiercely blew, } - And Gwyn sat pitying every bird that flew, } 350 - This strange physician said--“Adieu! adieu! } - Farewell!--Heaven bless you!--if you should--but no, - You need not fear--farewell! ’tis time to go.” - The doctor spoke; and as the patient heard, - His old disorders (dreadful train!) appear’d; - He felt the tingling tremor, and the stress - Upon his nerves that he could not express; - Should his good friend forsake him, he perhaps - Might meet his death, and surely a relapse.” - So, as the doctor seem’d intent to part, 360 - He cried in terror--“Oh! be where thou art: - Come, thou art young, and unengaged; oh! come, - Make me thy friend, give comfort to mine home; - I have now symptoms that require thine aid, - Do, doctor, stay”--th’ obliging doctor stay’d. - Thus Gwyn was happy; he had now a friend, - And a meek spouse on whom he could depend. - But now, possess’d of male and female guide, - Divided power he thus must subdivide: - In earlier days he rode, or sat at ease 370 - Reclined, and having but himself to please; - Now, if he would a fav’rite nag bestride, - He sought permission--“Doctor, may I ride?”-- - (Rebecca’s eye her sovereign pleasure told,)-- - “I think you may; but, guarded from the cold, - Ride forty minutes.”--Free and happy soul! - He scorn’d submission, and a man’s control; - But where such friends in every care unite - All for his good, obedience is delight. - Now Gwyn, a sultan, bade affairs adieu, 380 - Led and assisted by the faithful two; - The favourite fair, Rebecca, near him sat, - And whisper’d whom to love, assist, or hate; - While the chief vizier eased his lord of cares, - And bore himself the burden of affairs. - No dangers could from such alliance flow, - But from that law that changes all below. - When wint’ry winds with leaves bestrew’d the ground, - And men were coughing all the village round; - When public papers of invasion told, 390 - Diseases, famines, perils new and old; - When philosophic writers fail’d to clear - The mind of gloom, and lighter works to cheer; - Then came fresh terrors on our hero’s mind-- - Fears unforeseen, and feelings undefined. - “In outward ills,” he cried, “I rest assured - Of my friend’s aid; they will in time be cured: - But can his art subdue, resist, control - These inward griefs and troubles of the soul? - Oh! my Rebecca! my disorder’d mind 400 - No help in study, none in thought can find; - What must I do, Rebecca?” She proposed - The parish-guide; but what could be disclosed - To a proud priest?--“No! him have I defied, - Insulted, slighted--shall he be my guide? - But one there is, and if report be just, - A wise good man, whom I may safely trust; - Who goes from house to house, from ear to ear, } - To make his truths, his Gospel truths, appear; } - True if indeed they be, ’tis time that I should hear. } 410 - Send for that man; and if report be just, - I, like Cornelius, will the teacher trust; - But, if deceiver, I the vile deceit - Shall soon discover, and discharge the cheat.” - To Doctor Mollet was the grief confess’d, - While Gwyn the freedom of his mind express’d; - Yet own’d it was to ills and errors prone, - And he for guilt and frailty must atone. - “My books, perhaps,” the wav’ring mortal cried, - “Like men deceive--I would be satisfied; 420 - And to my soul the pious man may bring - Comfort and light--do let me try the thing.” - The cousins met; what pass’d with Gwyn was told; - “Alas!” the doctor said; “how hard to hold - These easy minds, where all impressions made - At first sink deeply, and then quickly fade; - For while so strong these new-born fancies reign, - We must divert them, to oppose is vain. - You see him valiant now, he scorns to heed - The bigot’s threat’nings or the zealot’s creed; 430 - Shook by a dream, he next for truth receives - What frenzy teaches, and what fear believes; - And this will place him in the power of one - Whom we must seek, because we cannot shun.” - Wisp had been ostler at a busy inn, - Where he beheld and grew in dread of sin; - Then to a Baptists’ meeting found his way, - Became a convert, and was taught to pray; - Then preach’d; and, being earnest and sincere, - Brought other sinners to religious fear. 440 - Together grew his influence and his fame, - Till our dejected hero heard his name; - His little failings were a grain of pride, - Raised by the numbers he presumed to guide: - A love of presents, and of lofty praise - For his meek spirit and his humble ways; - But though this spirit would on flattery feed, - No praise could blind him and no arts mislead. - To him the doctor made the wishes known - Of his good patron, but concealed his own; 450 - He of all teachers had distrust and doubt, - And was reserved in what he came about; - Though on a plain and simple message sent, - He had a secret and a bold intent. - Their minds at first were deeply veil’d; disguise - Form’d the slow speech, and op’d the eager eyes; - Till by degrees sufficient light was thrown - On every view, and all the business shown. - Wisp, as a skilful guide who led the blind, } - Had powers to rule and awe the vapourish mind, } 460 - But not the changeful will, the wavering fear to bind; } - And, should his conscience give him leave to dwell - With Gwyn, and every rival power expel, - (A dubious point,) yet he, with every care, - Might soon the lot of the rejected share, - And other Wisps be found like him to reign, - And then be thrown upon the world again. - He thought it prudent, then, and felt it just, - The present guides of his new friend to trust; - True, he conceived, to touch the harder heart 470 - Of the cool doctor, was beyond his art; - But mild Rebecca he could surely sway, - While Gwyn would follow where she led the way: - So, to do good, (and why a duty shun, - Because rewarded for the good when done?) - He with his friends would join in all they plann’d, - Save when his faith or feelings should withstand; - There he must rest, sole judge of his affairs, - While they might rule exclusively in theirs. - When Gwyn his message to the teacher sent, 480 - He fear’d his friends would show their discontent; - And prudent seem’d it to th’ attendant pair, - Not all at once to show an aspect fair. - On Wisp they seem’d to look with jealous eye, - And fair Rebecca was demure and shy; - But by degrees the teacher’s worth they knew, - And were so kind, they seem’d converted too. - Wisp took occasion to the nymph to say, - “You must be married: will you name the day?” - She smiled,--“’Tis well; but, should he not comply, 490 - Is it quite safe th’ experiment to try?”-- - “My child,” the teacher said, “who feels remorse, - (And feels not he?) must wish relief of course; - And can he find it, while he fears the crime?-- - You must be married; will you name the time?” - Glad was the patron as a man could be, } - Yet marvell’d too, to find his guides agree; } - “But what the cause?” he cried; “’tis genuine love for me.” } - Each found his part, and let one act describe - The powers and honours of th’ accordant tribe:-- 500 - A man for favour to the mansion speeds, - And cons his threefold task as he proceeds; - To teacher Wisp he bows with humble air, - And begs his interest for a barn’s repair; - Then for the doctor he inquires, who loves - To hear applause for what his skill improves, - And gives, for praise, assent,--and to the fair - He brings of pullets a delicious pair; - Thus sees a peasant, with discernment nice, - A love of power, conceit, and avarice. 510 - Lo! now the change complete: the convert Gwyn - Has sold his books, and has renounced his sin; - Mollet his body orders, Wisp his soul, - And o’er his purse the lady takes control; - No friends beside he needs, and none attend-- - Soul, body, and estate, has each a friend; - And fair Rebecca leads a virtuous life-- - She rules a mistress, and she reigns a wife. - - - - -TALE IV. - -_PROCRASTINATION._ - - - Heaven witness - I have been to you [a true and humble wife.] - _Henry VIII_. Act II. Scene 4. - - Gentle lady, - When first I did impart my love to you, - I freely told you all the wealth I had. - _Merchant of Venice_, Act III. Scene 2. - - [The leisure and the fearful time] - Cuts off [the ceremonious] vows of love, - And ample interchange of sweet discourse, - Which so long sunder’d friends should dwell upon. - _Richard III_. Act V. Scene 3. - - I know thee not, old man; fall to thy prayers. - 2 _Henry IV_. Act V. Scene 5. - - Farewell, - Thou pure impiety [and] impious purity; - For thee I’ll lock up all the gates of love. - _Much Ado about Nothing_, Act IV. Scene 1. - - -TALE IV. - -_PROCRASTINATION._ - - Love will expire; the gay, the happy dream - Will turn to scorn, indiff’rence, or esteem. - Some favour’d pairs, in this exchange, are bless’d, - Nor sigh for raptures in a state of rest; - Others, ill match’d, with minds unpair’d, repent - At once the deed, and know no more content; - From joy to anguish they, in haste, decline, - And with their fondness, their esteem resign. - More luckless still their fate, who are the prey - Of long-protracted hope and dull delay; 10 - ’Mid plans of bliss the heavy hours pass on, - Till love is wither’d, and till joy is gone. - This gentle flame two youthful hearts possess’d, - The sweet disturber of unenvied rest: - The prudent Dinah was the maid beloved, - And the kind Rupert was the swain approved. - A wealthy aunt her gentle niece sustain’d, - He, with a father, at his desk remain’d; - The youthful couple, to their vows sincere, } - Thus loved expectant; year succeeding year, } 20 - With pleasant views and hopes, but not a prospect near. } - Rupert some comfort in his station saw, - But the poor virgin lived in dread and awe; - Upon her anxious looks the widow smiled, - And bade her wait, “for she was yet a child.” - She for her neighbour had a due respect, - Nor would his son encourage or reject; - And thus the pair, with expectations vain, - Beheld the seasons change and change again. - Meantime the nymph her tender tales perused, 30 - Where cruel aunts impatient girls refused; - While hers, though teasing, boasted to be kind, - And she, resenting, to be all resign’d. - The dame was sick, and, when the youth applied - For her consent, she groan’d, and cough’d, and cried; - Talk’d of departing, and again her breath - Drew hard, and cough’d, and talk’d again of death: - “Here you may live, my Dinah! here the boy - And you together my estate enjoy.” - Thus to the lovers was her mind express’d, 40 - Till they forbore to urge the fond request. - Servant, and nurse, and comforter, and friend, - Dinah had still some duty to attend; - But yet their walk, when Rupert’s evening call - Obtain’d an hour, made sweet amends for all; - So long they now each other’s thoughts had known, - That nothing seem’d exclusively their own; - But with the common wish, the mutual fear, - They now had travell’d to their thirtieth year. - At length a prospect open’d--but, alas! - Long time must yet before the union pass; 50 - Rupert was call’d in other clime, t’increase - Another’s wealth, and toil for future peace; - Loth were the lovers; but the aunt declared - ’Twas fortune’s call, and they must be prepared: - “You now are young, and for this brief delay, - And Dinah’s care, what I bequeath will pay; - All will be yours; nay, love, suppress that sigh; - The kind must suffer, and the best must die.” - Then came the cough, and strong the signs it gave - Of holding long contention with the grave. 60 - The lovers parted with a gloomy view, - And little comfort but that both were true; - He for uncertain duties doom’d to steer, - While hers remained too certain and severe. - Letters arrived, and Rupert fairly told - “His cares were many, and his hopes were cold; - The view more clouded, that was never fair, - And love alone preserved him from despair.” - In other letters brighter hopes he drew, 70 - “His friends were kind, and he believed them true.” - When the sage widow Dinah’s grief descried, - She wonder’d much why one so happy sigh’d; - Then bade her see how her poor aunt sustain’d - The ills of life, nor murmur’d nor complain’d. - To vary pleasures, from the lady’s chest - Were drawn the pearly string and tabby vest; - Beads, jewels, laces, all their value shown, - With the kind notice--“They will be your own.” - This hope, these comforts cherish’d day by day, 80 - To Dinah’s bosom made a gradual way; - Till love of treasure had as large a part - As love of Rupert in the virgin’s heart. - Whether it be that tender passions fail - From their own nature, while the strong prevail; - Or whether av’rice, like the poison-tree[3], - Kills all beside it, and alone will be: - Whatever cause prevail’d, the pleasure grew - In Dinah’s soul--she loved the hoards to view; - With lively joy those comforts she survey’d, 90 - And love grew languid in the careful maid. - Now the grave niece partook the widow’s cares; - Look’d to the great and ruled the small affairs; - Saw clean’d the plate, arranged the china show, - And felt her passion for a shilling grow. - Th’ indulgent aunt increased the maid’s delight, - By placing tokens of her wealth in sight; - She loved the value of her bonds to tell, - And spake of stocks, and how they rose and fell. - This passion grew, and gain’d at length such sway, 100 - That other passions shrank to make it way; - Romantic notions now the heart forsook, - She read but seldom, and she changed her book; - And for the verses she was wont to send, - Short was her prose, and she was Rupert’s friend. - Seldom she wrote, and then the widow’s cough, - And constant call, excused her breaking off; - Who now, oppress’d, no longer took the air, - But sate and dozed upon an easy chair. - The cautious doctor saw the case was clear, 110 - But judged it best to have companions near; - They came, they reason’d, they prescribed--at last, - Like honest men, they said their hopes were past; - Then came a priest--’tis comfort to reflect, - When all is over, there was no neglect; - And all was over--by her husband’s bones, - The widow rests beneath the sculptured stones, - That yet record their fondness and their fame, - While all they left the virgin’s care became: - Stock, bonds, and buildings;--it disturb’d her rest, 120 - To think what load of troubles she possess’d. - Yet, if a trouble, she resolved to take - Th’ important duty, for the donor’s sake; - She too was heiress to the widow’s taste, - Her love of hoarding, and her dread of waste. - Sometimes the past would on her mind intrude, - And then a conflict full of care ensued; - The thoughts of Rupert on her mind would press, - His worth she knew, but doubted his success; - Of old she saw him heedless; what the boy 130 - Forbore to save, the man would not enjoy; - Oft had he lost the chance that care would seize, - Willing to live, but more to live at ease; - Yet could she not a broken vow defend, - And Heav’n, perhaps, might yet enrich her friend. - Month after month was pass’d, and all were spent - In quiet comfort and in rich content: - Miseries there were, and woes the world around, - But these had not her pleasant dwelling found; - She knew that mothers grieved, and widows wept, 140 - And she was sorry, said her prayers, and slept. - Thus pass’d the seasons, and to Dinah’s board - Gave what the seasons to the rich afford; - For she indulged, nor was her heart so small, - That one strong passion should engross it all. - A love of splendour now with av’rice strove, - And oft appear’d to be the stronger love; - A secret pleasure fill’d the widow’s breast, - When she reflected on the hoards possess’d; - But livelier joy inspired th’ ambitious maid, 150 - When she the purchase of those hoards display’d. - In small but splendid room she loved to see - That all was placed in view and harmony; - There, as with eager glance she look’d around, - She much delight in every object found; - While books devout were near her--to destroy, - Should it arise, an overflow of joy. - Within that fair apartment, guests might see - The comforts cull’d for wealth by vanity. - Around the room an Indian paper blazed, 160 - With lively tint and figures boldly raised; - Silky and soft upon the floor below, - Th’ elastic carpet rose with crimson glow; - All things around implied both cost and care; - What met the eye was elegant or rare. - Some curious trifles round the room were laid, - By hope presented to the wealthy maid: - Within a costly case of varnish’d wood, - In level rows, her polish’d volumes stood; - Shown as a favour to a chosen few, 170 - To prove what beauty for a book could do; - A silver urn with curious work was fraught; - A silver lamp from Grecian pattern wrought; - Above her head, all gorgeous to behold, - A time-piece stood on feet of burnish’d gold; - A stag’s-head crest adorn’d the pictured case, - Through the pure crystal shone th’ enamell’d face; - And, while on brilliants moved the hands of steel, - It click’d from pray’r to pray’r, from meal to meal. - Here as the lady sate, a friendly pair 180 - Stept in t’ admire the view, and took their chair. - They then related how the young and gay - Were thoughtless wandering in the broad highway; - How tender damsels sail’d in tilted boats, - And laugh’d with wicked men in scarlet coats; - And how we live in such degen’rate times - That men conceal their wants, and show their crimes; - While vicious deeds are screen’d by fashion’s name, - And what was once our pride is now our shame. - Dinah was musing, as her friends discoursed, 190 - When these last words a sudden entrance forced - Upon her mind, and what was once her pride - And now her shame, some painful views supplied; - Thoughts of the past within her bosom press’d, - And there a change was felt, and was confess’d. - While thus the virgin strove with secret pain, - Her mind was wandering o’er the troubled main; - Still she was silent, nothing seem’d to see, - But sate and sigh’d in pensive reverie. - The friends prepared new subjects to begin, 200 - When tall Susannah, maiden starch, stalk’d in; - Not in her ancient mode, sedate and slow, - As when she came, the mind she knew to know; - Nor as, when list’ning half an hour before, - She twice or thrice tapp’d gently at the door; - But, all decorum cast in wrath aside, - “I think the devil’s in the man!” she cried; - “A huge tall sailor, with his tawny cheek, - And pitted face, will with my lady speak; - He grinn’d an ugly smile, and said he knew, 210 - Please you, my lady, ’twould be joy to you; - What must I answer?”--Trembling and distress’d - Sank the pale Dinah, by her fears oppress’d; - When thus alarm’d, and brooking no delay, - Swift to her room the stranger made his way. - “Revive, my love!” said he, “I’ve done thee harm, - Give me thy pardon,” and he look’d alarm; - Meantime the prudent Dinah had contrived - Her soul to question, and she then revived. - “See! my good friend,” and then she raised her head, } 220 - “The bloom of life, the strength of youth is fled; } - Living we die; to us the world is dead. } - We parted bless’d with health, and I am now - Age-struck and feeble, so I find art thou; - Thine eye is sunken, furrow’d is thy face, - And downward look’st thou--so we run our race; - And happier they, whose race is nearly run, - Their troubles over, and their duties done.”-- - “True, lady, true, we are not girl and boy; - But time has left us something to enjoy.”-- 230 - “What! thou hast learn’d my fortune?--yes, I live - To feel how poor the comforts wealth can give; - Thou too perhaps art wealthy; but our fate - Still mocks our wishes, wealth is come too late.”-- - “To me nor late nor early; I am come - Poor as I left thee to my native home: - Nor yet,” said Rupert, “will I grieve; ’tis mine - To share thy comforts, and the glory thine; - For thou wilt gladly take that generous part - That both exalts and gratifies the heart; 240 - While mine rejoices.”--“Heavens!” return’d the maid, - “This talk to one so wither’d and decayed? - No! all my care is now to fit my mind - For other spousal, and to die resign’d. - As friend and neighbour, I shall hope to see - These noble views, this pious love in thee; - That we together may the change await, - Guides and spectators in each other’s fate; - When fellow-pilgrims, we shall daily crave - The mutual prayer that arms us for the grave.” 250 - Half angry, half in doubt, the lover gazed - On the meek maiden, by her speech amazed. - “Dinah,” said he, “dost thou respect thy vows? - What spousal mean’st thou?--thou art Rupert’s spouse; - The chance is mine to take, and thine to give; - But trifling this, if we together live. - Can I believe, that, after all the past, - Our vows, our loves, thou wilt be false at last? - Something thou hast--I know not what--in view; - I find thee pious--let me find thee true.”-- 260 - “Ah! cruel this; but do, my friend, depart; - And to its feelings leave my wounded heart.”-- - “Nay, speak at once; and, Dinah, let me know, - Mean’st thou to take me, now I’m wreck’d, in tow? - Be fair; nor longer keep me in the dark; - Am I forsaken for a trimmer spark? - Heav’n’s spouse thou art not; nor can I believe - That God accepts her who will man deceive. - True, I am shatter’d; I have service seen, - And service done, and have in trouble been; 270 - My cheek (it shames me not) has lost its red, - And the brown buff is o’er my features spread; - Perchance my speech is rude; for I among - Th’ untamed have been, in temper and in tongue; - Have been trepann’d, have lived in toil and care, - And wrought for wealth I was not doom’d to share; - It touch’d me deeply, for I felt a pride - In gaining riches for my destined bride. - Speak, then, my fate; for these my sorrows past, - Time lost, youth fled, hope wearied, and at last 280 - This doubt of thee--a childish thing to tell, - But certain truth--my very throat they swell; - They stop the breath, and but for shame could I - Give way to weakness, and with passion cry; - These are unmanly struggles, but I feel - This hour must end them, and perhaps will heal.”-- - Here Dinah sigh’d as if afraid to speak-- - And then repeated--“They were frail and weak; - His soul she loved, and hoped he had the grace - To fix his thoughts upon a better place.” 290 - She ceased;--with steady glance, as if to see - The very root of this hypocrisy, - He her small fingers moulded in his hard - And bronzed broad hand; then told her, his regard, - His best respect were gone, but love had still - Hold in his heart, and govern’d yet the will-- - Or he would curse her;--saying this, he threw } - The hand in scorn away, and bade adieu } - To every lingering hope, with every care in view. } - Proud and indignant, suffering, sick, and poor, 300 - He grieved unseen, and spoke of love no more-- - Till all he felt in indignation died, - As hers had sunk in avarice and pride. - In health declining, as in mind distress’d, - To some in power his troubles he confess’d, - And shares a parish-gift;--at prayers he sees - The pious Dinah dropp’d upon her knees; - Thence as she walks the street with stately air, - As chance directs, oft meet the parted pair. - When he, with thickset coat of badge-man’s blue, 310 - Moves near her shaded silk of changeful hue; - When his thin locks of grey approach her braid, - A costly purchase made in beauty’s aid; - When his frank air, and his unstudied pace, } - Are seen with her soft manner, air, and grace. } - And his plain artless look with her sharp meaning face: } - It might some wonder in a stranger move, - How these together could have talk’d of love. - Behold them now!--see, there a tradesman stands, - And humbly hearkens to some fresh commands; 320 - He moves to speak, she interrupts him--“Stay,” - Her air expresses--“Hark to what I say!” - Ten paces off, poor Rupert on a seat - Has taken refuge from the noon-day heat, - His eyes on her intent, as if to find - What were the movements of that subtle mind; - How still! how earnest is he!--it appears - His thoughts are wand’ring through his earlier years; - Through years of fruitless labour, to the day - When all his earthly prospects died away. 330 - “Had I,” he thinks, “been wealthier of the two, } - Would she have found me so unkind, untrue? } - Or knows not man, when poor, what man when rich will do? } - Yes, yes! I feel that I had faithful proved, - And should have soothed and raised her, bless’d and loved.” - But Dinah moves--she had observed before - The pensive Rupert at an humble door. - Some thoughts of pity raised by his distress, - Some feeling touch of ancient tenderness; - Religion, duty, urged the maid to speak 340 - In terms of kindness to a man so weak; - But pride forbad, and to return would prove - She felt the shame of his neglected love; - Nor wrapp’d in silence could she pass, afraid - Each eye should see her, and each heart upbraid. - One way remain’d--the way the Levite took, - Who without mercy could on misery look, - (A way perceived by craft, approved by pride): - She cross’d, and pass’d him on the other side. - -[3] Allusion is here made, not to the well-known species of _sumach,_ -called the poison-oak, or _toxicodendron_, but to the _upas_, or -poison-tree of Java; whether it be real or imaginary, this is no -proper place for inquiry. - - - - -TALE V. - -_THE PATRON._ - - - It were all one, - That I should love a bright [particular] star, - And think to wed it; [he] is so much above me: - In [his] bright radiance and collateral heat - Must I be comforted, not in [his] sphere. - _All’s Well that Ends Well_, Act I. Scene 1. - - Poor wretches, that depend - On greatness’ favours, dream as I have done,-- - Wake, and find nothing. - _Cymbeline_, Act V. Scene 4. - - And since . . . - Th’ affliction of my mind amends, with which - I fear a madness held me. - _[The] Tempest_, Act V. - - -TALE V. - -_THE PATRON._ - - A borough-bailiff, who to law was train’d, - A wife and sons in decent state maintain’d; - He had his way in life’s rough ocean steer’d, - And many a rock and coast of danger clear’d; - He saw where others fail’d, and care had he - Others in him should not such failings see; - His sons in various busy states were placed, - And all began the sweets of gain to taste, - Save John, the younger; who, of sprightly parts, - Felt not a love for money-making arts. 10 - In childhood feeble, he, for country air, - Had long resided with a rustic pair; - All round whose room were doleful ballads, songs, - Of lovers’ sufferings and of ladies’ wrongs; - Of peevish ghosts who came at dark midnight, - For breach of promise guilty men to fright; - Love, marriage, murder, were the themes, with these, - All that on idle, ardent spirits seize; - Robbers at land and pirates on the main, - Enchanters foil’d, spells broken, giants slain; 20 - Legends of love, with tales of halls and bowers, } - Choice of rare songs, and garlands of choice flowers, } - And all the hungry mind without a choice devours. } - From village-children kept apart by pride, - With such enjoyments, and without a guide, - Inspired by feelings all such works infused, - John snatch’d a pen, and wrote as he perused: - With the like fancy he could make his knight - Slay half an host and put the rest to flight; - With the like knowledge, he could make him ride 30 - From isle to isle at Parthenissa’s side; - And with a heart yet free, no busy brain } - Form’d wilder notions of delight and pain, } - The raptures smiles create, the anguish of disdain. } - Such were the fruits of John’s poetic toil-- - Weeds, but still proofs of vigour in the soil. - He nothing purposed but with vast delight, - Let Fancy loose, and wonder’d at her flight; - His notions of poetic worth were high, - And of his own still-hoarded poetry.-- 40 - These to his father’s house he bore with pride, - A miser’s treasure, in his room to hide; - Till, spurr’d by glory, to a reading friend - He kindly show’d the sonnets he had penn’d. - With erring judgment, though with heart sincere, - That friend exclaim’d, “These beauties must appear.” - In Magazines they claim’d their share of fame, - Though undistinguish’d by their author’s name; - And with delight the young enthusiast found - The muse of ‘Marcus’ with applauses crown’d. 50 - This heard the father, and with some alarm; - “The boy,” said he, “will neither trade nor farm; - He for both law and physic is unfit; - Wit he may have, but cannot live on wit: - Let him his talents then to learning give, - Where verse is honour’d, and where poets live.” - John kept his terms at college unreproved, - Took his degree, and left the life he loved; - Not yet ordain’d, his leisure he employ’d - In the light labours he so much enjoy’d; 60 - His favourite notions and his daring views - Were cherish’d still, and he adored the Muse. - “A little time, and he should burst to light, - And admiration of the world excite; - And every friend, now cool and apt to blame - His fond pursuit, would wonder at his fame.” - When led by fancy, and from view retired, - He call’d before him all his heart desired; - “Fame shall be mine, then wealth shall I possess, - And beauty next an ardent lover bless; 70 - For me the maid shall leave her nobler state, - Happy to raise and share her poet’s fate.” - He saw each day his father’s frugal board - With simple fare by cautious prudence stored; - Where each indulgence was foreweigh’d with care, - And the grand maxims were to save and spare. - Yet in his walks, his closet, and his bed, - All frugal cares and prudent counsels fled; - And bounteous Fancy for his glowing mind - Wrought various scenes, and all of glorious kind; 80 - Slaves of the _ring_ and _lamp_! what need of you, - When Fancy’s self such magic deeds can do? - Though rapt in visions of no vulgar kind, - To common subjects stoop’d our poet’s mind; - And oft, when wearied with more ardent flight, - He felt a spur satiric song to write; - A rival burgess his bold muse attack’d, - And whipp’d severely for a well-known fact; - For, while he seem’d to all demure and shy, - Our poet gazed at what was passing by; 90 - And ev’n his father smiled when playful wit, - From his young bard, some haughty object hit. - From ancient times the borough where they dwelt - Had mighty contest at elections felt. - Sir Godfrey Ball, ’tis true, had held in pay - Electors many for the trying day; - But in such golden chains to bind them all - Required too much for e’en Sir Godfrey Ball. - A member died, and, to supply his place, - Two heroes enter’d for th’ important race; 100 - Sir Godfrey’s friend and Earl Fitzdonnel’s son, - Lord Frederick Damer, both prepared to run; - And partial numbers saw with vast delight - Their good young lord oppose the proud old knight. - Our poet’s father, at a first request, - Gave the young lord his vote and interest, - And, what he could, our poet; for he stung - The foe by verse satiric, said and sung. - Lord Frederick heard of all this youthful zeal, - And felt as lords upon a canvass feel; 110 - He read the satire, and he saw the use } - That such cool insult, and such keen abuse, } - Might on the wavering minds of voting men produce; } - Then, too, his praises were in contrast seen, - “A lord as noble as the knight was mean.” - “I much rejoice,” he cried, “such worth to find; - To this the world must be no longer blind; - His glory will descend from sire to son, - The Burns of English race, the happier Chatterton.” - Our poet’s mind, now hurried and elate, 120 - Alarm’d the anxious parent for his fate; - Who saw with sorrow, should their friend succeed, - That much discretion would the poet need. - Their friend succeeded, and repaid the zeal - The poet felt, and made opposers feel, - By praise (from lords how soothing and how sweet!) - And invitation to his noble seat. - The father ponder’d, doubtful if the brain - Of his proud boy such honour could sustain; - Pleased with the favours offer’d to a son, 130 - But seeing dangers few so ardent shun. - Thus, when they parted, to the youthful breast - The father’s fears were by his love impress’d: - “There you will find, my son, the courteous ease - That must subdue the soul it means to please; - That soft attention which ev’n beauty pays - To wake our passions, or provoke our praise; - There all the eye beholds will give delight, - Where every sense is flatter’d like the sight. - This is your peril; can you from such scene 140 - Of splendour part, and feel your mind serene, - And in the father’s humble state resume - The frugal diet and the narrow room?” - To this the youth with cheerful heart replied, - Pleased with the trial, but as yet untried; - And while professing patience, should he fail, - He suffer’d hope o’er reason to prevail. - Impatient, by the morning mail convey’d, - The happy guest his promised visit paid; - And now, arriving at the hall, he tried 150 - For air composed, serene and satisfied; - As he had practised in his room alone, - And there acquired a free and easy tone. - There he had said, “Whatever the degree - A man obtains, what more than man is he?” - And when arrived--“This room is but a room; - Can aught we see the steady soul o’ercome? - Let me in all a manly firmness show, - Upheld by talents, and their value know.” - This reason urged; but it surpass’d his skill 160 - To be in act as manly as in will: - When he his lordship and the lady saw, - Brave as he was, he felt oppress’d with awe; - And spite of verse, that so much praise had won, - The poet found he was the bailiff’s son. - But dinner came, and the succeeding hours - Fix’d his weak nerves, and raised his failing powers; - Praised and assured, he ventured once or twice - On some remark, and bravely broke the ice; - So that at night, reflecting on his words, 170 - He found in time, he might converse with lords. - Now was the sister of his patron seen-- - A lovely creature, with majestic mien; - Who, softly smiling while she look’d so fair, - Praised the young poet with such friendly air; - Such winning frankness in her looks express’d, - And such attention to her brother’s guest, - That so much beauty, join’d with speech so kind, - Raised strong emotions in the poet’s mind; - Till reason fail’d his bosom to defend 180 - From the sweet power of this enchanting friend.-- - Rash boy! what hope thy frantic mind invades? - What love confuses, and what pride persuades? - Awake to truth! shouldst thou deluded feed - On hopes so groundless, thou art mad indeed. - What say’st thou, wise-one? “that all-powerful love - Can fortune’s strong impediments remove; - Nor is it strange that worth should wed to worth, - The pride of genius with the pride of birth.” - While thou art dreaming thus, the beauty spies 190 - Love in thy tremor, passion in thine eyes; - And, with th’ amusement pleased, of conquest vain, - She seeks her pleasure, careless of thy pain; - She gives thee praise to humble and confound, - Smiles to ensnare, and flatters thee to wound. - Why has she said that in the lowest state - The noble mind insures a noble fate? - And why thy daring mind to glory call? - That thou may’st dare and suffer, soar and fall. - Beauties are tyrants, and if they can reign, 200 - They have no feeling for their subject’s pain; - Their victim’s anguish gives their charms applause, - And their chief glory is the woe they cause. - Something of this was felt, in spite of love, - Which hope, in spite of reason, would remove. - Thus lived our youth, with conversation, books, - And Lady Emma’s soul-subduing looks; - Lost in delight, astonish’d at his lot, } - All prudence banish’d, all advice forgot-- } - Hopes, fears, and every thought, were fix’d upon the spot.} 210 - ’Twas autumn yet, and many a day must frown - On Brandon-Hall, ere went my lord to town; - Meantime the father, who had heard his boy - Lived in a round of luxury and joy, - And, justly thinking that the youth was one - Who, meeting danger, was unskill’d to shun; - Knowing his temper, virtue, spirit, zeal, - How prone to hope and trust, believe and feel: - These on the parent’s soul their weight impress’d, - And thus he wrote the counsels of his breast. 220 - “John, thou’rt a genius; thou hast some pretence, - I think, to wit, but hast thou sterling sense? - That which, like gold, may through the world go forth, - And always pass for what ’tis truly worth? - Whereas this genius, like a bill, must take - Only the value our opinions make. - “Men famed for wit, of dangerous talents vain, - Treat those of common parts with proud disdain; - The powers that wisdom would, improving, hide, - They blaze abroad with inconsid’rate pride; 230 - While yet but mere probationers for fame, - They seize the honour they should then disclaim: - Honour so hurried to the light must fade; - The lasting laurels flourish in the shade. - “Genius is jealous; I have heard of some - Who, if unnoticed, grew perversely dumb; - Nay, different talents would their envy raise; - Poets have sicken’d at a dancer’s praise; - And one, the happiest writer of his time, - Grew pale at hearing Reynolds was sublime; 240 - That Rutland’s duchess wore a heavenly smile-- - And I, said he, neglected all the while! - “A waspish tribe are these, on gilded wings, - Humming their lays, and brandishing their stings; - And thus they move their friends and foes among, - Prepared for soothing or satiric song. - “Hear me, my boy; thou hast a virtuous mind-- - But be thy virtues of the sober kind; - Be not a Quixote, ever up in arms - To give the guilty and the great alarms: 250 - If never heeded, thy attack is vain; - And if they heed thee, they’ll attack again; - Then, too, in striking at that heedless rate, - Thou in an instant may’st decide thy fate. - “Leave admonition--let the vicar give - Rules how the nobles of his flock should live; - Nor take that simple fancy to thy brain, - That thou canst cure the wicked and the vain. - “Our Pope, they say, once entertain’d the whim, - Who fear’d not God should be afraid of him; 260 - But grant they fear’d him, was it further said, - That he reform’d the hearts he made afraid? - Did Chartres mend? Ward, Waters, and a score - Of flagrant felons, with his floggings sore? - Was Cibber silenced? No; with vigour bless’d, - And brazen front, half earnest, half in jest, - He dared the bard to battle, and was seen - In all his glory match’d with Pope and spleen; - Himself he stripp’d, the harder blow to hit, - Then boldly match’d his ribaldry with wit; 270 - The poet’s conquest Truth and Time proclaim, - But yet the battle hurt his peace and fame. - “Strive not too much for favour; seem at ease, - And rather pleased thyself, than bent to please: - Upon thy lord with decent care attend, - But not too near; thou canst not be a friend; - And favourite be not, ’tis a dangerous post-- - Is gain’d by labour, and by fortune lost. - Talents like thine may make a man approved, - But other talents trusted and beloved. 280 - Look round, my son, and thou wilt early see - The kind of man thou art not form’d to be. - “The real favourites of the great are they - Who to their views and wants attention pay, - And pay it ever; who, with all their skill, - Dive to the heart, and learn the secret will; - If that be vicious, soon can they provide - The favourite ill, and o’er the soul preside; - For vice is weakness, and the artful know - Their power increases as the passions grow; 290 - If indolent the pupil, hard their task; - Such minds will ever for amusement ask; - And great the labour for a man to choose - Objects for one whom nothing can amuse! - For ere those objects can the soul delight, - They must to joy the soul herself excite; - Therefore it is, this patient, watchful kind - With gentle friction stir the drowsy mind; - Fix’d on their end, with caution they proceed, - And sometimes give, and sometimes take the lead; 300 - Will now a hint convey, and then retire, - And let the spark awake the lingering fire; - Or seek new joys and livelier pleasures bring, - To give the jaded sense a quick’ning spring. - “These arts, indeed, my son must not pursue; - Nor must he quarrel with the tribe that do: - It is not safe another’s crimes to know, - Nor is it wise our proper worth to show.-- - ‘My lord,’ you say, ‘engaged me for that worth;’-- - True, and preserve it ready to come forth: 310 - If question’d, fairly answer--and, that done, - Shrink back, be silent, and thy father’s son; - For they who doubt thy talents scorn thy boast, - But they who grant them will dislike thee most. - Observe the prudent; they in silence sit, - Display no learning, and affect no wit; - They hazard nothing, nothing they assume, - But know the useful art of _acting dumb_. - Yet to their eyes each varying look appears, - And every word finds entrance at their ears. 320 - “Thou art religion’s advocate--take heed, - Hurt not the cause thy pleasure ’tis to plead; - With wine before thee, and with wits beside, - Do not in strength of reas’ning powers confide; - What seems to thee convincing, certain, plain, - They will deny, and dare thee to maintain; - And thus will triumph o’er thy eager youth, - While thou wilt grieve for so disgracing truth. - “With pain I’ve seen, these wrangling wits among, - Faith’s weak defenders, passionate and young; 330 - Weak thou art not, yet not enough on guard, - Where wit and humour keep their watch and ward: - Men gay and noisy will o’erwhelm thy sense, - Then loudly laugh at Truth’s and thy expense; - While the kind ladies will do all they can - To check their mirth, and cry, ‘_The good young man_!’ - “Prudence, my boy, forbids thee to commend - The cause or party of thy noble friend; - What are his praises worth, who must be known - To take a patron’s maxims for his own? 340 - When ladies sing, or in thy presence play, - Do not, dear John, in rapture melt away; - ’Tis not thy part, there will be list’ners round, - To cry ‘_divine_!’ and dote upon the sound; - Remember too, that though the poor have ears, - They take not in the music of the spheres; - They must not feel the warble and the thrill, - Or be dissolved in ecstacy at will; - Beside, ’tis freedom in a youth like thee - To drop his awe, and deal in ecstacy! 350 - “In silent ease, at least in silence, dine, - Nor one opinion start of food or wine: - Thou know’st that all the science thou canst boast - Is of thy father’s simple boil’d and roast; - Nor always these; he sometimes saved his cash, - By interlinear days of frugal hash. - Wine hadst thou seldom; wilt thou be so vain - As to decide on claret or champagne? - Dost thou from me derive this taste sublime, - Who order port the dozen at a time; 360 - When (every glass held precious in our eyes) - We judged the value by the bottle’s size? - Then, never merit for thy praise assume, - Its worth well knows each servant in the room. - “Hard, boy, thy task, to steer thy way among - That servile, supple, shrewd, insidious throng; - Who look upon thee as of doubtful race, - An interloper, one who wants a place: - Freedom with these let thy free soul condemn, - Nor with thy heart’s concerns associate them. 370 - “Of all be cautious--but be most afraid - Of the pale charms that grace my lady’s maid; - Of those sweet dimples, of that fraudful eye, } - The frequent glance, design’d for thee to spy; } - The soft bewitching look, the fond bewailing sigh. } - Let others frown and envy; she the while - (Insidious syren!) will demurely smile; - And, for her gentle purpose, every day - Inquire thy wants, and meet thee in thy way; - She has her blandishments, and, though so weak, 380 - Her person pleases, and her actions speak. - At first her folly may her aim defeat; - But kindness shown at length will kindness meet. - Have some offended? them will she disdain, - And, for thy sake, contempt and pity feign; - She hates the vulgar, she admires to look - On woods and groves, and dotes upon a book; - Let her once see thee on her features dwell, - And hear one sigh--then, liberty, farewell. - “But, John, remember, we cannot maintain 390 - A poor, proud girl, extravagant and vain. - “Doubt much of friendship: shouldst thou find a friend - Pleased to advise thee, anxious to commend; - Should he the praises he has heard report, - And confidence (in thee confiding) court; - Much of neglectful patrons should he say, - And then exclaim--‘How long must merit stay;’ - Then show how high thy modest hopes may stretch, - And point to stations far beyond thy reach: - Let such designer, by thy conduct, see 400 - (Civil and cool) he makes no dupe of thee; - And he will quit thee, as a man too wise - For him to ruin first, and then despise. - “Such are thy dangers;--yet, if thou canst steer - Past all the perils, all the quicksands clear, - Then may’st thou profit; but if storms prevail, - If foes beset thee, if thy spirits fail-- - No more of winds or waters be the sport, - But in thy father’s mansion find a port.” - Our poet read.--“It is, in truth,” said he, 410 - “Correct in part, but what is _this_ to me? - I love a foolish Abigail! in base - And sordid office! fear not such disgrace: - Am I so blind?”--“Or thou wouldst surely see - That lady’s fall, if she should stoop to thee.”-- - “The cases differ.”--“True! for what surprise - Could from thy marriage with the maid arise? - But through the island would the shame be spread, - Should the fair mistress deign with thee to wed.” - John saw not this; and many a week had pass’d, 420 - While the vain beauty held her victim fast; - The noble friend still condescension show’d, - And, as before, with praises overflow’d; - But his grave lady took a silent view - Of all that pass’d, and, smiling, pitied too. - Cold grew the foggy morn; the day was brief; - Loose on the cherry hung the crimson leaf; - The dew dwelt ever on the herb; the woods - Roar’d with strong blasts, with mighty showers the floods; - All green was vanish’d, save of pine and yew, 430 - That still display’d their melancholy hue; - Save the green holly with its berries red, - And the green moss that o’er the gravel spread. - To public views my lord must soon attend; - And soon the ladies--would they leave their friend? - The time was fix’d--approach’d--was near--was come, - The trying time that fill’d his soul with gloom. - Thoughtful our poet in the morning rose, - And cried, “One hour my fortune will disclose; - Terrific hour! from thee have I to date 440 - Life’s loftier views, or my degraded state; - For now to be what I have been before - Is so to fall, that I can rise no more.” - The morning meal was past, and all around - The mansion rang with each discordant sound; - Haste was in every foot, and every look - The trav’ller’s joy for London-journey spoke. - Not so our youth; whose feelings, at the noise - Of preparation, had no touch of joys; - He pensive stood, and saw each carriage drawn, 450 - With lackeys mounted, ready on the lawn. - The ladies came; and John in terror threw - One painful glance, and then his eyes withdrew; - Not with such speed, but he in other eyes - With anguish read--“I pity but despise-- - Unhappy boy! presumptuous scribbler!--you - To dream such dreams!--be sober, and adieu!” - Then came the noble friend--“And will my lord - Vouchsafe no comfort? drop no soothing word? - Yes, he must speak:” he speaks, “My good young friend,-- - You know my views; upon my care depend; 461 - My hearty thanks to your good father pay, - And be a student.--Harry, drive away.” - Stillness reign’d all around; of late so full, - The busy scene deserted now and dull. - Stern is his nature who forbears to feel - Gloom o’er his spirits on such trials steal; - Most keenly felt our poet as he went - From room to room without a fix’d intent; - “And here,” he thought, “I was caress’d; admired 470 - Were here my songs; she smiled, and I aspired: - The change how grievous!” As he mused, a dame - Busy and peevish to her duties came; - Aside the tables and the chairs she drew, - And sang and mutter’d in the poet’s view:-- - “This was her fortune; here they leave the poor; - Enjoy themselves, and think of us no more; - I had a promise--” here his pride and shame - Urged him to fly from this familiar dame; - He gave one farewell look, and by a coach 480 - Reach’d his own mansion at the night’s approach. - His father met him with an anxious air, - Heard his sad tale, and check’d what seem’d despair; - Hope was in him corrected, but alive; - My lord would something for a friend contrive; - His word was pledged; our hero’s feverish mind - Admitted this, and half his grief resign’d. - But when three months had fled, and every day - Drew from the sickening hopes their strength away, - The youth became abstracted, pensive, dull; 490 - He utter’d nothing, though his heart was full. - Teased by inquiring words and anxious looks, - And all forgetful of his muse and books, - Awake he mourn’d, but in his sleep perceived - A lovely vision that his pain relieved; - His soul transported, hail’d the happy seat, - Where once his pleasure was so pure and sweet; - Where joys departed came in blissful view, - Till reason wak’d, and not a joy he knew. - Questions now vex’d his spirit, most from those 500 - Who are called friends, because they are not foes. - “John!” they would say; he, starting, turn’d around; - “John!” there was something shocking in the sound; - Ill brook’d he then the pert familiar phrase, - The untaught freedom, and th’ inquiring gaze; - Much was his temper touch’d, his spleen provoked, - When ask’d how ladies talk’d, or walk’d, or look’d? - What said my lord of politics? how spent - He there his time? and was he glad he went?” - At length a letter came, both cool and brief, 510 - But still it gave the burthen’d heart relief: - Though not inspired by lofty hopes, the youth - Placed much reliance on Lord Frederick’s truth; - Summon’d to town, he thought the visit one - Where something fair and friendly would be done; - Although he judged not, as before his fall, - When all was love and promise at the hall. - Arrived in town, he early sought to know - The fate such dubious friendship would bestow; - At a tall building, trembling, he appear’d, 520 - And his low rap was indistinctly heard; - A well-known servant came--“A while,” said he, - “Be pleased to wait; my lord has company.” - Alone our hero sate; the news in hand, - Which, though he read, he could not understand. - Cold was the day; in days so cold as these - There needs a fire, where minds and bodies freeze; - The vast and echoing room, the polish’d grate, - The crimson chairs, the sideboard with its plate; - The splendid sofa, which, though made for rest, 530 - He then had thought it freedom to have press’d; - The shining tables, curiously inlaid, - Were all in comfortless proud style display’d; - And to the troubled feelings terror gave, - That made the once-dear friend the sick’ning slave. - “Was he forgotten?” Thrice upon his ear - Struck the loud clock, yet no relief was near; - Each rattling carriage, and each thundering stroke - On the loud door, the dream of fancy broke; - Oft as a servant chanced the way to come, 540 - “Brings he a message?” no! he pass’d the room. - At length ’tis certain; “Sir you will attend - At twelve on Thursday!” Thus the day had end. - Vex’d by these tedious hours of needless pain, - John left the noble mansion with disdain; - For there was something in that still, cold place, - That seem’d to threaten and portend disgrace. - Punctual again the modest rap declared - The youth attended; then was all prepared: - For the same servant, by his lord’s command, 550 - A paper offer’d to his trembling hand. - “No more!” he cried; “disdains he to afford - One kind expression, one consoling word?” - With troubled spirit he began to read - That “In the church my lord could not succeed;” - Who had “to peers of either kind applied, - And was with dignity and grace denied; - While his own livings were by men possess’d, - Not likely in their chancels yet to rest; - And therefore, all things weigh’d (as he, my lord, 560 - Had done maturely, and he pledged his word), - Wisdom it seem’d for John to turn his view - To busier scenes, and bid the church adieu!” - Here grieved the youth; he felt his father’s pride - Must with his own be shock’d and mortified; - But when he found his future comforts placed - Where he, alas! conceived himself disgraced-- - In some appointment on the London quays, - He bade farewell to honour and to ease; - His spirit fell; and, from that hour assured 570 - How vain his dreams, he suffer’d and was cured. - Our poet hurried on, with wish to fly - From all mankind, to be conceal’d, and die. - Alas! what hopes, what high romantic views } - Did that one visit to the soul infuse, } - Which cherish’d with such love, ’twas worse than death to lose! } - Still he would strive, though painful was the strife, - To walk in this appointed road of life; - On these low duties duteous he would wait, - And patient bear the anguish of his fate. 580 - Thanks to the patron, but of coldest kind, - Express’d the sadness of the poet’s mind; - Whose heavy hours were pass’d with busy men, - In the dull practice of th’ official pen; - Who to superiors must in time impart - (The custom this) his progress in their art. - But so had grief on his perception wrought, - That all unheeded were the duties taught; - No answers gave he when his trial came, - Silent he stood, but suffering without shame; 590 - And they observed that words severe or kind - Made no impression on his wounded mind; - For all perceived from whence his failure rose-- - Some grief whose cause he deign’d not to disclose. - A soul averse from scenes and works so new; - Fear, ever shrinking from the vulgar crew; - Distaste for each mechanic law and rule, - Thoughts of past honour and a patron cool; - A grieving parent, and a feeling mind, - Timid and ardent, tender and refined: 600 - These all with mighty force the youth assail’d, - Till his soul fainted, and his reason fail’d. - When this was known, and some debate arose - How they who saw it should the fact disclose, - He found their purpose, and in terror fled - From unseen kindness, with mistaken dread. - Meantime the parent was distress’d to find - His son no longer for a priest design’d; - But still he gain’d some comfort by the news - Of John’s promotion, though with humbler views; 610 - For he conceived that in no distant time - The boy would learn to scramble and to climb. - He little thought a son, his hope and pride, - His favour’d boy, was now a home denied: - Yes! while the parent was intent to trace - How men in office climb from place to place, - By day, by night, o’er moor and heath and hill, } - Roved the sad youth, with ever-changing will, } - Of every aid bereft, exposed to every ill. } - Thus as he sate, absorb’d in all the care 620 - And all the hope that anxious fathers share, - A friend abruptly to his presence brought, - With trembling hand, the subject of his thought, - Whom he had found afflicted and subdued - By hunger, sorrow, cold, and solitude. - Silent he enter’d the forgotten room - As ghostly forms may be conceived to come; - With sorrow-shrunken face and hair upright, - He look’d dismay, neglect, despair, affright; - But, dead to comfort, and on misery thrown, 630 - His parent’s loss he felt not, nor his own. - The good man, struck with horror, cried aloud, - And drew around him an astonish’d crowd; - The sons and servants to the father ran, - To share the feelings of the grieved old man. - “Our brother, speak!” they all exclaim’d; “explain - Thy grief, thy suffering;”--but they ask’d in vain: - The friend told all he knew; and all was known, - Save the sad causes whence the ills had grown. - But, if obscure the cause, they all agreed 640 - From rest and kindness must the cure proceed: - And he was cured; for quiet, love, and care, - Strove with the gloom, and broke on the despair. - Yet slow their progress; and, as vapours move - Dense and reluctant from the wintry grove; - All is confusion till the morning light - Gives the dim scene obscurely to the sight; - More and yet more defined the trunks appear, - Till the wild prospect stands distinct and clear-- - So the dark mind of our young poet grew 650 - Clear and sedate; the dreadful mist withdrew; - And he resembled that bleak wintry scene, - Sad, though unclouded; dismal, though serene. - At times he utter’d, “What a dream was mine! - And what a prospect! glorious and divine! - Oh! in that room, and on that night, to see - These looks, that sweetness beaming all on me; - That syren-flattery--and to send me then, - Hope-raised and soften’d, to those heartless men; - That dark-brow’d stern director, pleased to show 660 - Knowledge of subjects I disdain’d to know; - Cold and controlling--but ’tis gone, ’tis past; - I had my trial, and have peace at last.” - Now grew the youth resign’d; he bade adieu - To all that hope, to all that fancy drew; - His frame was languid, and the hectic heat - Flush’d on his pallid face, and countless beat - The quick’ning pulse, and faint the limbs that bore - The slender form that soon would breathe no more. - Then hope of holy kind the soul sustain’d, 670 - And not a lingering thought of earth remain’d; - Now Heaven had all, and he could smile at love, - And the wild sallies of his youth reprove; - Then could he dwell upon the tempting days, - The proud aspiring thought, the partial praise; - Victorious now, his worldly views were closed, - And on the bed of death the youth reposed. - The father grieved--but, as the poet’s heart - Was all unfitted for his earthly part; - As, he conceived, some other haughty fair 680 - Would, had he lived, have led him to despair; - As, with this fear, the silent grave shut out - All feverish hope, and all tormenting doubt; - While the strong faith the pious youth possess’d, - His hope enlivening, gave his sorrows rest: - Soothed by these thoughts, he felt a mournful joy - For his aspiring and devoted boy. - Meantime the news through various channels spread: - The youth, once favour’d with such praise, was dead. - “Emma,” the lady cried, “my words attend, 690 - Your syren-smiles have kill’d your humble friend; - The hope you raised can now delude no more, - Nor charms, that once inspired, can now restore.” - Faint was the flush of anger and of shame, - That o’er the cheek of conscious beauty came. - “You censure not,” said she, “the sun’s bright rays, - When fools imprudent dare the dangerous gaze; - And, should a stripling look till he were blind, - You would not justly call the light unkind.-- - But is he dead? and am I to suppose 700 - The power of poison in such looks as those?” - She spoke, and, pointing to the mirror, cast - A pleased gay glance, and curtsied as she pass’d. - My lord, to whom the poet’s fate was told, - Was much affected, for a man so cold. - “Dead!” said his lordship, “run distracted, mad! - Upon my soul I’m sorry for the lad; - And now, no doubt, th’ obliging world will say - That my harsh usage help’d him on his way. - What! I suppose, I should have nursed his muse, 710 - And with champagne have brighten’d up his views: - Then had he made me famed my whole life long, - And stunn’d my ears with gratitude and song. - Still, should the father hear that I regret - Our joint misfortune--Yes! I’ll not forget.”-- - Thus they.--The father to his grave convey’d - The son he loved, and his last duties paid. - “There lies my boy,” he cried, “of care bereft, - And, Heav’n be praised, I’ve not a genius left: - No one among ye, sons! is doom’d to live 720 - On high-raised hopes of what the great may give; - None, with exalted views and fortunes mean, - To die in anguish, or to live in spleen. - Your pious brother soon escaped the strife - Of such contention, but it cost his life; - You then, my sons, upon yourselves depend, - And in your own exertions find the friend.” - - - - -TALE VI. - -_THE FRANK COURTSHIP._ - - -Yes, faith; it is my cousin’s duty to make curtsy, and say, “Father, -as it please you;” but [yet] for all that, cousin, let him be a -handsome fellow, or else make another curtsy, and say, “Father, as it -pleases me.” - _Much Ado about Nothing,_ Act II. Scene 1. - - He cannot flatter, he! - An honest mind and plain--he must speak truth. - _King Lear_, Act II. Scene 2. - - God hath given you one face, and you make yourselves another; - you jig, you amble, [and you lisp, and] nick-name God’s creatures, - and make your wantonness your ignorance. - _Hamlet_, Act III. Scene 1. - - What fire is in mine ears? Can this be true? - [Stand I condemn’d] for pride and scorn so much? - _Much Ado about Nothing_, Act III. Scene 1. - - - - -TALE VI. - -_THE FRANK COURTSHIP._ - - - Grave Jonas Kindred, Sybil Kindred’s sire, - Was six feet high, and look’d six inches higher; - Erect, morose, determined, solemn, slow, - Who knew the man, could never cease to know; - His faithful spouse, when Jonas was not by, - Had a firm presence and a steady eye; - But with her husband dropp’d her look and tone, - And Jonas ruled unquestion’d and alone. - He read, and oft would quote the sacred words, - How pious husbands of their wives were lords; 10 - Sarah called Abraham lord! and who could be, - So Jonas thought, a greater man than he? - Himself he view’d with undisguised respect, - And never pardon’d freedom or neglect. - They had one daughter, and this favourite child - Had oft the father of his spleen beguiled; - Soothed by attention from her early years, - She gain’d all wishes by her smiles or tears: - But Sybil then was in that playful time, - When contradiction is not held a crime; 20 - When parents yield their children idle praise - For faults corrected in their after days. - Peace in the sober house of Jonas dwelt, - Where each his duty and his station felt: - Yet not that peace some favour’d mortals find, - In equal views and harmony of mind; - Not the soft peace that blesses those who love, - Where all with one consent in union move; - But it was that which one superior will - Commands, by making all inferiors still; 30 - Who bids all murmurs, all objections cease, - And with imperious voice announces--Peace! - They were, to wit, a remnant of that crew, - Who, as their foes maintain, their sovereign slew: - An independent race, precise, correct, - Who ever married in the kindred sect. - No son or daughter of their order wed - A friend to England’s king who lost his head; - Cromwell was still their saint, and, when they met, - They mourn’d that saints[4] were not our rulers yet. 40 - Fix’d were their habits; they arose betimes, - Then pray’d their hour, and sang their party-rhymes: - Their meals were plenteous, regular, and plain; - The trade of Jonas brought him constant gain; - Vender of hops and malt, of coals and corn-- - And, like his father, he was merchant born. - Neat was their house; each table, chair, and stool, - Stood in its place, or moving moved by rule; - No lively print or picture graced the room; - A plain brown paper lent its decent gloom; 50 - But here the eye, in glancing round, survey’d - A small recess that seem’d for china made; - Such pleasing pictures seem’d this pencill’d ware, - That few would search for nobler objects there-- - Yet, turn’d by chosen friends, and there appear’d - His stern, strong features, whom they all revered; - For there in lofty air was seen to stand - The bold protector of the conquer’d land; - Drawn in that look with which he wept and swore, - Turn’d out the members, and made fast the door, 60 - Ridding the house of every knave and drone; - Forced, though it grieved his soul, to rule alone. - The stern, still smile each friend, approving, gave; - Then turn’d the view, and all again were grave. - -[4] This appellation is here used not ironically, nor with malignity; -but it is taken merely to designate a morosely devout people, with -peculiar austerity of manners. - - There stood a clock, though small the owner’s need-- - For habit told when all things should proceed. - Few their amusements, but, when friends appear’d, - They with the world’s distress their spirits cheer’d; - The nation’s guilt, that would not long endure - The reign of men so modest and so pure. 70 - Their town was large, and seldom pass’d a day - But some had fail’d, and others gone astray; - Clerks had absconded, wives eloped, girls flown - To Gretna-Green, or sons rebellious grown; - Quarrels and fires arose;--and it was plain - The times were bad; the saints had ceased to reign! - A few yet lived to languish and to mourn - For good old manners, never to return. - Jonas had sisters, and of these was one - Who lost a husband and an only son: 80 - Twelve months her sables she in sorrow wore, - And mourn’d so long that she could mourn no more. - Distant from Jonas, and from all her race, - She now resided in a lively place; - There, by the sect unseen, at whist she play’d, - Nor was of churchmen or their church afraid. - If much of this the graver brother heard, - He something censured, but he little fear’d; - He knew her rich and frugal; for the rest, - He felt no care, or, if he felt, suppress’d; 90 - Nor, for companion when she ask’d her niece, - Had he suspicions that disturbed his peace; - Frugal and rich, these virtues as a charm - Preserved the thoughtful man from all alarm; - An infant yet, she soon would home return, - Nor stay the manners of the world to learn; - Meantime his boys would all his care engross, - And be his comforts if he felt the loss. - The sprightly Sybil, pleased and unconfined, - Felt the pure pleasure of the op’ning mind: 100 - All here was gay and cheerful--all at home - Unvaried quiet and unruffled gloom. - There were no changes, and amusements few; - Here, all was varied, wonderful, and new; - There were plain meals, plain dresses, and grave looks-- - Here, gay companions and amusing books; - And the young beauty soon began to taste - The light vocations of the scene she graced. - A man of business feels it as a crime - On calls domestic to consume his time; 110 - Yet this grave man had not so cold a heart, - But with his daughter he was grieved to part; - And he demanded that in every year - The aunt and niece should at his house appear. - “Yes! we must go, my child, and by our dress - A grave conformity of mind express; - Must sing at meeting, and from cards refrain, - The more t’ enjoy when we return again.” - Thus spake the aunt, and the discerning child - Was pleased to learn how fathers are beguiled. 120 - Her artful part the young dissembler took, - And from the matron caught th’ approving look. - When thrice the friends had met, excuse was sent - For more delay, and Jonas was content; - Till a tall maiden by her sire was seen, - In all the bloom and beauty of sixteen; - He gazed admiring;--she, with visage prim, - Glanced an arch look of gravity on him; - For she was gay at heart, but wore disguise, - And stood a vestal in her father’s eyes-- 130 - Pure, pensive, simple, sad; the damsel’s heart, - When Jonas praised, reproved her for the part; - For Sybil, fond of pleasure, gay and light, - Had still a secret bias to the right; - Vain as she was--and flattery made her vain-- - Her simulation gave her bosom pain. - Again return’d, the matron and the niece - Found the late quiet gave their joy increase; - The aunt, infirm, no more her visits paid, - But still with her sojourn’d the favourite maid. 140 - Letters were sent when franks could be procured; - And, when they could not, silence was endured. - All were in health, and, if they older grew, - It seem’d a fact that none among them knew; - The aunt and niece still led a pleasant life, - And quiet days had Jonas and his wife. - Near him a widow dwelt of worthy fame: - Like his her manners, and her creed the same. - The wealth her husband left her care retain’d - For one tall youth, and widow she remained; 150 - His love respectful all her care repaid, - Her wishes watch’d, and her commands obey’d. - Sober he was and grave from early youth, - Mindful of forms, but more intent on truth; - In a light drab he uniformly dress’d, - And look serene th’ unruffled mind express’d; - A hat with ample verge his brows o’erspread, - And his brown locks curl’d graceful on his head; - Yet might observers in his speaking eye } - Some observation, some acuteness spy; } 160 - The friendly thought it keen, the treacherous deem’d } - it sly. } - Yet not a crime could foe or friend detect; - His actions all were, like his speech, correct; - And they who jested on a mind so sound, - Upon his virtues must their laughter found: - ‘Chaste, sober, solemn,’ and ‘devout’ they named - Him who was thus, and not of _this_ ashamed. - Such were the virtues Jonas found in one - In whom he warmly wish’d to find a son. - Three years had pass’d since he had Sybil seen; 170 - But she was doubtless what she once had been-- - Lovely and mild, obedient and discreet: - The pair must love whenever they should meet; - Then, ere the widow or her son should choose - Some happier maid, he would explain his views. - Now she, like him, was politic and shrewd, - With strong desire of lawful gain embued; - To all he said, she bow’d with much respect, - Pleased to comply, yet seeming to reject; - Cool, and yet eager, each admired the strength 180 - Of the opponent, and agreed at length. - As a drawn battle shows to each a force, - Powerful as his, he honours it of course: - So in these neighbours, each the power discern’d, - And gave the praise that was to each return’d. - Jonas now ask’d his daughter; and the aunt, - Though loth to lose her, was obliged to grant.-- - But would not Sybil to the matron cling, - And fear to leave the shelter of her wing? - No! in the young there lives a love of change, 190 - And to the easy they prefer the strange! - Then too the joys she once pursued with zeal, - From whist and visits sprung, she ceased to feel; - When with the matrons Sybil first sat down, - To cut for partners and to stake her crown, - This to the youthful maid preferment seem’d, - Who thought [that] woman she was then esteem’d; - But in few years, when she perceived, indeed, - The real woman to the girl succeed, - No longer tricks and honours fill’d her mind, 200 - But other feelings, not so well defined. - She then reluctant grew, and thought it hard, - To sit and ponder o’er an ugly card; - Rather the nut-tree shade the nymph preferr’d, - Pleased with the pensive gloom and evening bird; - Thither, from company retired, she took - The silent walk, or read the fav’rite book. - The father’s letter, sudden, short, and kind, - Awaked her wonder, and disturb’d her mind; - She found new dreams upon her fancy seize, 210 - Wild roving thoughts and endless reveries. - The parting came;--and, when the aunt perceived - The tears of Sybil, and how much she grieved, - To love for her that tender grief she laid, - That various, soft, contending passions made. - When Sybil rested in her father’s arms, - His pride exulted in a daughter’s charms; - A maid accomplish’d he was pleased to find, - Nor seem’d the form more lovely than the mind. - But when the fit of pride and fondness fled, 220 - He saw his judgment by his hopes misled; - High were the lady’s spirits, far more free - Her mode of speaking than a maid’s should be; - Too much, as Jonas thought, she seem’d to know, - And all her knowledge was disposed to show: - “Too gay her dress, like theirs who idly dote - On a young coxcomb, or a coxcomb’s coat; - In foolish spirits when our friends appear, - And vainly grave when not a man is near.” - Thus Jonas, adding to his sorrow blame, 230 - And terms disdainful to his sister’s name:-- - “The sinful wretch has by her arts defiled - The ductile spirit of my darling child.” - “The maid is virtuous,” said the dame.--Quoth he, - “Let her give proof, by acting virtuously: - Is it in gaping when the elders pray? - In reading nonsense half a summer’s day? - In those mock forms that she delights to trace, - Or her loud laughs in Hezekiah’s face? - She--O Susannah!--to the world belongs; } 240 - She loves the follies of its idle throngs, } - And reads soft tales of love, and sings love’s } - soft’ning songs. } - But, as our friend is yet delay’d in town, - We must prepare her till the youth comes down; - You shall advise the maiden; I will threat; - Her fears and hopes may yield us comfort yet.” - Now the grave father took the lass aside, - Demanding sternly, “Wilt thou be a bride?” - She answer’d, calling up an air sedate, - “I have not vow’d against the holy state.” 250 - “No folly, Sybil,” said the parent; “know - What to their parents virtuous maidens owe: - A worthy, wealthy youth, whom I approve, - Must thou prepare to honour and to love. - Formal to thee his air and dress may seem, - But the good youth is worthy of esteem; - Shouldst thou with rudeness treat him, of disdain - Should he with justice or of slight complain, - Or of one taunting speech give certain proof: - Girl! I reject thee from my sober roof.” 260 - “My aunt,” said Sybil, “will with pride protect - One whom a father can for this reject; - Nor shall a formal, rigid, soul-less boy - My manners alter, or my views destroy!” - Jonas [then] lifted up his hands on high, } - And, utt’ring something ’twixt a groan and sigh, } - Left the determined maid her doubtful mother by. } - “Hear me,” she said; “incline thy heart, my child, - And fix thy fancy on a man so mild; - Thy father, Sybil, never could be moved 270 - By one who loved him, or by one he loved. - Union like ours is but a bargain made - By slave and tyrant--he will be obey’d, - Then calls the quiet comfort;--but thy youth - Is mild by nature, and as frank as truth.” - “But will he love?” said Sybil; “I am told - That these mild creatures are by nature cold.” - “Alas!” the matron answer’d, “much I dread - That dangerous love by which the young are led! - That love is earthy; you the creature prize, 280 - And trust your feelings and believe your eyes: - Can eyes and feelings inward worth descry? - No! my fair daughter, on our choice rely! - Your love, like that display’d upon the stage, - Indulged is folly, and opposed is rage;-- - More prudent love our sober couples show, - All that to mortal beings mortals owe. - All flesh is grass--before you give a heart, - Remember, Sybil, that in death you part; - And, should your husband die before your love, 290 - What needless anguish must a widow prove! - No! my fair child, let all such visions cease; - Yield but esteem, and only try for peace.” - “I must be loved,” said Sybil; “I must see - The man in terrors who aspires to me; - At my forbidding frown his heart must ache, - His tongue must falter, and his frame must shake; - And, if I grant him at my feet to kneel, - What trembling, fearful pleasure must he feel; - Nay, such the raptures that my smiles inspire, 300 - That reason’s self must for a time retire.” - “Alas! for good Josiah,” said the dame, - “These wicked thoughts would fill his soul with shame. - He kneel and tremble at a thing of dust! - He cannot, child.”--The child replied, “He must.” - They ceased; the matron left her with a frown; - So Jonas met her when the youth came down. - “Behold,” said he, “thy future spouse attends; - Receive him, daughter, as the best of friends; - Observe, respect him--humble be each word, 310 - That welcomes home thy husband and thy lord.” - Forewarn’d, thought Sybil, with a bitter smile, - I shall prepare my manner and my style. - Ere yet Josiah enter’d on his task, - The father met him:--“Deign to wear a mask - A few dull days, Josiah--but a few-- - It is our duty, and the sex’s due; - I wore it once, and every grateful wife - Repays it with obedience through her life: - Have no regard to Sybil’s dress, have none } 320 - To her pert language, to her flippant tone: } - Henceforward thou shalt rule unquestion’d and alone; } - And she thy pleasure in thy looks shall seek-- - How she shall dress, and whether she may speak.” - A sober smile return’d the youth, and said, - “Can I cause fear, who am myself afraid?” - Sybil, meantime, sat thoughtful in her room, - And often wonder’d--“Will the creature come? - Nothing shall tempt, shall force me to bestow - My hand upon him--yet I wish to know.” 330 - The door unclosed, and she beheld her sire - Lead in the youth, then hasten to retire. - “Daughter, my friend--my daughter, friend,” he cried, - And gave a meaning look, and stepp’d aside; - That look contain’d a mingled threat and prayer, - “Do take him, child--offend him, if you dare.” - The couple gazed--were silent; and the maid - Look’d in his face, to make the man afraid; - The man, unmoved, upon the maiden cast - A steady view--so salutation pass’d; 340 - But in this instant Sybil’s eye had seen - The tall fair person, and the still staid mien; - The glow that temp’rance o’er the cheek had spread, - Where the soft down half veil’d the purest red; - And the serene deportment that proclaim’d - A heart unspotted, and a life unblamed. - But then with these she saw attire too plain, - The pale brown coat, though worn without a stain; - The formal air, and something of the pride - That indicates the wealth it seems to hide; 350 - And looks that were not, she conceived, exempt - From a proud pity, or a sly contempt. - Josiah’s eyes had their employment too, - Engaged and soften’d by so bright a view: - A fair and meaning face, an eye of fire, - That check’d the bold, and made the free retire. - But then with these he mark’d the studied dress - And lofty air, that scorn or pride express; - With that insidious look, that seem’d to hide - In an affected smile the scorn and pride; 360 - And if his mind the virgin’s meaning caught, } - He saw a foe with treacherous purpose fraught-- } - Captive the heart to take, and to reject it caught. } - Silent they sate--thought Sybil, that he seeks - Something, no doubt; I wonder if he speaks. - Scarcely she wonder’d, when these accents fell - Slow in her ear--“Fair maiden, art thou well?”-- - “Art thou physician?” she replied; “my hand, - My pulse, at least, shall be at thy command.” - She said--and saw, surprised, Josiah kneel, 370 - And gave his lips the offer’d pulse to feel; - The rosy colour rising in her cheek - Seem’d that surprise, unmix’d with wrath, to speak; - Then sternness she assumed, and--“Doctor, tell, - Thy words cannot alarm me--am I well?” - “Thou art,” said he; “and yet thy dress so light, - I do conceive, some danger must excite.” - “In whom?” said Sybil, with a look demure; - “In more,” said he, “than I expect to cure. - I, in thy light luxuriant robe, behold } - Want and excess, abounding and yet cold: } - Here needed, there display’d, in many a wanton fold; } - Both health and beauty, learned authors show, - From a just medium in our clothing flow.” - “Proceed, good doctor; if so great my need, - What is thy fee? Good doctor! pray proceed.” - “Large is my fee, fair lady, but I take - None till some progress in my cure I make. - Thou hast disease, fair maiden; thou art vain; - Within that face sit insult and disdain; 390 - Thou art enamour’d of thyself; my art - Can see the naughty malice of thy heart; - With a strong pleasure would thy bosom move, - Were I to own thy power, and ask thy love; - And such thy beauty, damsel, that I might, } - But for thy pride, feel danger in thy sight, } - And lose my present peace in dreams of vain delight.” } - “And can thy patients,” said the nymph, “endure - Physic like this? and will it work a cure?” - “Such is my hope, fair damsel; thou, I find, 400 - Hast the true tokens of a noble mind; - But the world wins thee, Sybil, and thy joys - Are placed in trifles, fashions, follies, toys; - Thou hast sought pleasure in the world around, - That in thine own pure bosom should be found. - Did all that world admire thee, praise and love, - Could it the least of nature’s pains remove? - Could it for errors, follies, sins atone, - Or give thee comfort, thoughtful and alone? - It has, believe me, maid, no power to charm 410 - Thy soul from sorrow, or thy flesh from harm: - Turn then, fair creature, from a world of sin, - And seek the jewel happiness within.” - “Speak’st thou at meeting?” said the nymph; “thy speech - Is that of mortal very prone to teach; - But wouldst thou, doctor, from the patient learn - Thine own disease?--The cure is thy concern.” - “Yea, with good will.”--“Then know, ’tis thy complaint, - That, for a sinner, thou’rt too much a saint; - Hast too much show of the sedate and pure, 420 - And without cause art formal and demure: - This makes a man unsocial, unpolite; - Odious when wrong, and insolent if right. - Thou may’st be good, but why should goodness be - Wrapt in a garb of such formality? - Thy person well might please a damsel’s eye, - In decent habit with a scarlet dye; - But, jest apart--what virtue canst thou trace - In that broad brim that hides thy sober face? - Does that long-skirted drab, that over-nice 430 - And formal clothing, prove a scorn of vice? - Then for thine accent--what in sound can be - So void of grace as dull monotony? - Love has a thousand varied notes to move - The human heart--thou may’st not speak of love - Till thou hast cast thy formal ways aside, - And those becoming youth and nature tried; - Not till exterior freedom, spirit, ease, - Prove it thy study and delight to please; - Not till these follies meet thy just disdain, 440 - While yet thy virtues and thy worth remain.” - “This is severe!--Oh! maiden, wilt not thou - Something for habits, manners, modes, allow?”-- - “Yes! but allowing much, I much require, - In my behalf, for manners, modes, attire!” - “True, lovely Sybil; and, this point agreed, - Let me to those of greater weight proceed: - Thy father”--“Nay,” she quickly interposed, - “Good doctor, here our conference is closed!” - Then left the youth, who, lost in his retreat, 450 - Pass’d the good matron on her garden-seat; - His looks were troubled, and his air, once mild - And calm, was hurried:--“My audacious child!” - Exclaim’d the dame, “I read what she has done - In thy displeasure--Ah! the thoughtless one; - But yet, Josiah, to my stern good man - Speak of the maid as mildly as you can. - Can you not seem to woo a little while - The daughter’s will, the father to beguile, - So that his wrath in time may wear away? 460 - Will you preserve our peace, Josiah? say!” - “Yes! my good neighbour,” said the gentle youth, - “Rely securely on my care and truth; - And, should thy comfort with my efforts cease, - And only then--perpetual is thy peace.” - The dame had doubts: she well his virtues knew, - His deeds were friendly, and his words were true; - “But to address this vixen is a task - He is ashamed to take, and I to ask.” - Soon as the father from Josiah learn’d 470 - What pass’d with Sybil, he the truth discern’d. - “He loves,” the man exclaim’d, “he loves, ’tis plain, - The thoughtless girl, and shall he love in vain? - She may be stubborn, but she shall be tried, - Born as she is of wilfulness and pride.” - With anger fraught, but willing to persuade, - The wrathful father met the smiling maid. - “Sybil,” said he, “I long, and yet I dread - To know thy conduct--hath Josiah fled, - And, grieved and fretted by thy scornful air, 480 - For his lost peace betaken him to prayer? - Couldst thou his pure and modest mind distress, } - By vile remarks upon his speech, address, } - Attire, and voice?”--“All this I must confess.”-- } - “Unhappy child! what labour will it cost - To win him back!”--“I do not think him lost.” - “Courts he then, trifler, insult and disdain?”-- - “No: but from these he courts me to refrain.”-- - “Then hear me, Sybil: should Josiah leave - Thy father’s house?”--“My father’s child would grieve.”-- - “That is of grace; and if he come again 491 - To speak of love?”--“I might from grief refrain.”-- - “Then wilt thou, daughter, our design embrace?”-- - “Can I resist it, if it be of grace?”-- - “Dear child! in three plain words thy mind express-- - Wilt thou have this good youth?”--“Dear father! yes.” - - - - -TALE VII. - -_THE WIDOW’S TALE._ - - - Ah me! for aught that I could ever read, - [Could] ever hear by tale or history, - The course of true love never did run smooth; - But, either it was different in blood, [. . .] - Or else misgrafted in respect of years, [. . .] - Or else it stood upon the choice of friends, [. . .] - Or if there were a sympathy in choice, - War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it. - _Midsummer Night’s Dream_, Act I. Scene 1. - - Oh! thou didst then ne’er love so heartily, - If thou rememberest not the slightest folly - That ever love did make thee run into . . . - _As You Like It_, Act II. Scene 4. - - Cry the man mercy; love him; take his offer. - _As You Like It_, Act III. Scene 5. - - -TALE VII. - -_THE WIDOW’S TALE._ - - To farmer Moss, in Langar Vale, came down - His only daughter, from her school in town; - A tender, timid maid! who knew not how - To pass a pig-sty, or to face a cow: - Smiling she came, with petty talents graced, - A fair complexion, and a slender waist. - Used to spare meals, disposed in manner pure, - Her father’s kitchen she could ill endure; - Where by the steaming beef he hungry sat, - And laid at once a pound upon his plate; 10 - Hot from the field, her eager brother seized - An equal part, and hunger’s rage appeased; - The air, surcharged with moisture, flagg’d around, - And the offended damsel sigh’d and frown’d; - The swelling fat in lumps conglomerate laid, - And fancy’s sickness seized the loathing maid. - But, when the men beside their station took, - The maidens with them, and with these the cook; - When one huge wooden bowl before them stood, - Fill’d with huge balls of farinaceous food; 20 - With bacon, mass saline, where never lean - Beneath the brown and bristly rind was seen; - When from a single horn the party drew - Their copious draughts of heavy ale and new; - When the coarse cloth she saw, with many a stain, - Soil’d by rude hinds who cut and came again-- - She could not breathe; but, with a heavy sigh, - Rein’d the fair neck, and shut th’ offended eye; - She minced the sanguine flesh in frustums fine, - And wonder’d much to see the creatures dine: 30 - When she resolved her father’s heart to move, - If hearts of farmers were alive to love. - She now entreated by herself to sit - In the small parlour, if papa thought fit, - And there to dine, to read, to work alone.-- - “No!” said the farmer, in an angry tone; - “These are your school-taught airs; your mother’s pride - Would send you there; but I am now your guide.-- - Arise betimes, our early meal prepare, - And, this despatch’d, let business be your care; 40 - Look to the lasses, let there not be one - Who lacks attention, till her tasks be done; - In every household work your portion take, - And what you make not, see that others make. - At leisure times attend the wheel, and see - The whit’ning web be sprinkled on the [lea]; - When thus employ’d, should our young neighbour view - An useful lass, you may have more to do.” - Dreadful were these commands; but worse than these - The parting hint--a farmer could not please: 50 - ’Tis true she had without abhorrence seen - Young Harry Carr, when he was smart and clean; - But to be married--be a farmer’s wife-- - A slave! a drudge!--she could not, for her life. - With swimming eyes the fretful nymph withdrew, - And, deeply sighing, to her chamber flew; - There on her knees, to Heav’n she grieving pray’d - For change of prospect to a tortured maid. - Harry, a youth whose late-departed sire - Had left him all industrious men require, 60 - Saw the pale beauty--and her shape and air - Engaged him much, and yet he must forbear: - “For my small farm what can the damsel do?” - He said--then stopp’d to take another view: - “Pity so sweet a lass will nothing learn - Of household cares--for what can beauty earn - By those small arts which they at school attain, - That keep them useless, and yet make them vain?” - This luckless damsel look’d the village round, - To find a friend, and one was quickly found; 70 - A pensive widow--whose mild air and dress } - Pleased the sad nymph, who wish’d her soul’s distress } - To one so seeming kind, confiding, to confess.-- } - “What lady that?” the anxious lass inquired, - Who then beheld the one she most admired. - “Here,” said the brother, “are no ladies seen-- - That is a widow dwelling on the green; - A dainty dame, who can but barely live - On her poor pittance, yet contrives to give; - She happier days has known, but seems at ease, 80 - And you may call her lady, if you please. - But if you wish, good sister, to improve, - You shall see twenty better worth your love.” - These Nancy met; but, spite of all they taught, - This useless widow was the one she sought. - The father growl’d; but said he knew no harm - In such connexion that could give alarm; - “And if we thwart the trifler in her course, - ’Tis odds against us she will take a worse.” - Then met the friends; the widow heard the sigh 90 - That ask’d at once compassion and reply:-- - “Would you, my child, converse with one so poor, - Yours were the kindness--yonder is my door; - And, save the time that we in public pray, - From that poor cottage I but rarely stray.” - There went the nymph, and made her strong complaints, - Painting her wo as injured feeling paints. - “Oh, dearest friend! do think how one must feel, - Shock’d all day long, and sicken’d every meal; - Could you behold our kitchen (and to you 100 - A scene so shocking must indeed be new), - A mind like yours, with true refinement graced, - Would let no vulgar scenes pollute your taste; - And yet, in truth, from such a polish’d mind - All base ideas must resistance find, - And sordid pictures from the fancy pass, - As the breath startles from the polish’d glass. - “Here you enjoy a sweet romantic scene, - Without so pleasant, and within so clean; - These twining jess’mines, what delicious gloom 110 - And soothing fragrance yield they to the room! - What lovely garden! there you oft retire, - And tales of wo and tenderness admire: - In that neat case, your books, in order placed, - Soothe the full soul, and charm the cultured taste; - And thus, while all about you wears a charm, - How must you scorn the farmer and the farm!” - The widow smiled, and “Know you not,” said she, } - “How much these farmers scorn or pity me; } - Who see what you admire, and laugh at all they see? } 120 - True, their opinion alters not my fate, - By falsely judging of an humble state: - This garden, you with such delight behold, - Tempts not a feeble dame who dreads the cold; - These plants, which please so well your livelier sense, - To mine but little of their sweets dispense; - Books soon are painful to my failing sight, - And oftener read from duty than delight; - (Yet let me own, that I can sometimes find - Both joy and duty in the act combined;) 130 - But view me rightly, you will see no more - Than a poor female, willing to be poor; - Happy indeed, but not in books nor flowers, - Not in fair dreams, indulged in earlier hours, - Of never-tasted joys--such visions shun, - My youthful friend, nor scorn the farmer’s son.” - “Nay,” said the damsel, nothing pleased to see - A friend’s advice could like a father’s be; - “Bless’d in your cottage, you must surely smile - At those who live in our detested style. 140 - To my Lucinda’s sympathizing heart - Could I my prospects and my griefs impart, - She would console me; but I dare not show - Ills that would wound her tender soul to know: - And I confess, it shocks my pride to tell - The secrets of the prison where I dwell; - For that dear maiden would be shock’d to feel - The secrets I should shudder to reveal; - When told her friend was by a parent ask’d, - ‘Fed you the swine?’--Good heav’n! how I am task’d! 150 - What! can you smile? Ah! smile not at the grief - That woos your pity and demands relief.” - “Trifles, my love; you take a false alarm; - Think, I beseech you, better of the farm: - Duties in every state demand your care, - And light are those that will require it there: - Fix on the youth a favouring eye, and these, - To him pertaining, or as his, will please.” - “What words,” the lass replied, “offend my ear! - Try you my patience? Can you be sincere? 160 - And am I told a willing hand to give - To a rude farmer, and with rustic live? - Far other fate was yours--some gentle youth - Admired your beauty, and avow’d his truth; - The power of love prevail’d, and freely both - Gave the fond heart, and pledged the binding oath; - And then the rivals’ plot, the parent’s power, - And jealous fears, drew on the happy hour: - Ah! let not memory lose the blissful view, - But fairly show what love has done for you.” 170 - “Agreed, my daughter; what my heart has known - Of love’s strange power shall be with frankness shown: - But let me warn you, that experience finds - Few of the scenes that lively hope designs.”-- - “Mysterious all,” said Nancy; “you, I know, - Have suffer’d much; now deign the grief to show-- - I am your friend, and so prepare my heart - In all your sorrows to receive a part.” - The widow answer’d: “I had once, like you, - Such thoughts of love; no dream is more untrue. 180 - You judge it fated and decreed to dwell } - In youthful hearts, which nothing can expel, } - A passion doom’d to reign, and irresistible. } - The struggling mind, when once subdued, in vain - Rejects the fury or defies the pain; - The strongest reason fails the flame t’ allay, - And resolution droops and faints away: - Hence, when the destined lovers meet, they prove - At once the force of this all-powerful love; - Each from that period feels the mutual smart, 190 - Nor seeks to cure it--heart is changed for heart; - Nor is there peace till they delighted stand, - And, at the altar, hand is join’d to hand. - “Alas! my child, there are who, dreaming so, - Waste their fresh youth, and waking feel the wo; - There is no spirit sent the heart to move - With such prevailing and alarming love; - Passion to reason will submit--or why - Should wealthy maids the poorest swains deny? - Or how could classes and degrees create 200 - The slightest bar to such resistless fate? - Yet high and low, you see, forbear to mix; - No beggars’ eyes the heart of kings transfix; - And who but am’rous peers or nobles sigh - When titled beauties pass triumphant by? - For reason wakes, proud wishes to reprove; - You cannot hope, and therefore dare not love: - All would be safe, did we at first inquire-- - ‘Does reason sanction what our hearts desire?’ - But, quitting precept, let example show 210 - What joys from love uncheck’d by prudence flow. - “A youth my father in his office placed, - Of humble fortune, but with sense and taste; - But he was thin and pale, had downcast looks; - He studied much, and pored upon his books: - Confused he was when seen, and, when he saw - Me or my sisters, would in haste withdraw; - And had this youth departed with the year, - His loss had cost us neither sigh nor tear. - “But with my father still the youth remain’d, 220 - And more reward and kinder notice gain’d: - He often, reading, to the garden stray’d, - Where I by books or musing was delay’d; - This to discourse in summer evenings led, - Of these same evenings, or of what we read. - On such occasions we were much alone; - But, save the look, the manner, and the tone, - (These might have meaning,) all that we discuss’d - We could with pleasure to a parent trust. - “At length ’twas friendship--and my friend and I 230 - Said we were happy, and began to sigh; - My sisters first, and then my father, found - That we were wandering o’er enchanted ground; - But he had troubles in his own affairs, - And would not bear addition to his cares. - With pity moved, yet angry, ‘Child,’ said he, - ‘Will you embrace contempt and beggary? - Can you endure to see each other cursed - By want, of every human wo the worst? - Warring for ever with distress, in dread 240 - Either of begging or of wanting bread; - While poverty, with unrelenting force, - Will your own offspring from your love divorce; - They, through your folly, must be doom’d to pine, - And you deplore your passion, or resign; - For, if it die, what good will then remain? - And if it live, it doubles every pain.’”-- - “But you were true,” exclaim’d the lass, “and fled } - The tyrant’s power who fill’d your soul with dread?”-- } - “But,” said the smiling friend, “he fill’d my mouth } - with bread; } 250 - And in what other place that bread to gain - We long consider’d, and we sought in vain. - This was my twentieth year--at thirty-five - Our hope was fainter, yet our love alive; - So many years in anxious doubt had pass’d.”-- - “Then,” said the damsel, “you were bless’d at last?” - A smile again adorn’d the widow’s face, - But soon a starting tear usurp’d its place.-- - “Slow pass’d the heavy years, and each had more - Pains and vexations than the years before. 260 - My father fail’d; his family was rent, - And to new states his grieving daughters sent; - Each to more thriving kindred found a way, - Guests without welcome--servants without pay; - Our parting hour was grievous; still I feel - The sad, sweet converse at our final meal: - Our father then reveal’d his former fears, - Cause of his sternness, and then join’d our tears; - Kindly he strove our feelings to repress, - But died, and left us heirs to his distress. 270 - The rich, as humble friends, my sisters chose; - I with a wealthy widow sought repose; - Who with a chilling frown her friend received, - Bade me rejoice, and wonder’d that I grieved: - In vain my anxious lover tried his skill - To rise in life, he was dependent still; - We met in grief, nor can I paint the fears - Of these unhappy, troubled, trying years: - Our dying hopes and stronger fears between, - We felt no season peaceful or serene; 280 - Our fleeting joys, like meteors in the night, - Shone on our gloom with inauspicious light; - And then domestic sorrows, till the mind, - Worn with distresses, to despair inclined; - Add too the ill that from the passion flows, - When its contemptuous frown the world bestows-- - The peevish spirit caused by long delay, - When being gloomy we contemn the gay, - When, being wretched, we incline to hate - And censure others in a happier state; 290 - Yet loving still, and still compell’d to move - In the sad labyrinth of ling’ring love: - While you, exempt from want, despair, alarm, - May wed--oh! take the farmer and the farm.” - “Nay,” said the nymph, “joy smiled on you at last!” - “Smiled for a moment,” she replied, “and pass’d: - My lover still the same dull means pursued, - Assistant call’d, but kept in servitude; - His spirits wearied in the prime of life, - By fears and wishes in eternal strife; 300 - At length he urged impatient--‘Now consent; - With thee united, fortune may relent.’ - I paused, consenting; but a friend arose, - Pleased a fair view, though distant, to disclose; - From the rough ocean we beheld a gleam - Of joy, as transient as the joys we dream; - By lying hopes deceived, my friend retired, - And sail’d--was wounded--reach’d us--and expired! - You shall behold his grave, and, when I die, - There--but ’tis folly--I request to lie.” 310 - “Thus,” said the lass, “to joy you bade adieu! - But how a widow?--that cannot be true; - Or was it force, in some unhappy hour, - That placed you, grieving, in a tyrant’s power?” - “Force, my young friend, when forty years are fled, - Is what a woman seldom has to dread; - She needs no brazen locks nor guarding walls, - And seldom comes a lover, though she calls. - Yet moved by fancy, one approved my face, - Though time and tears had wrought it much disgrace. 320 - “The man I married was sedate and meek, - And spoke of love as men in earnest speak; - Poor as I was, he ceaseless sought, for years, - A heart in sorrow and a face in tears; - That heart I gave not; and ’twas long before - I gave attention, and then nothing more; - But in my breast some grateful feeling rose - For one whose love so sad a subject chose; - Till long delaying, fearing to repent, - But grateful still, I gave a cold assent. 330 - “Thus we were wed; no fault had I to find, - And he but one; my heart could not be kind: - Alas! of every early hope bereft, - There was no fondness in my bosom left; - So had I told him, but had told in vain, - He lived but to indulge me and complain. - His was this cottage, he inclosed this ground, - And planted all these blooming shrubs around; - He to my room these curious trifles brought, - And with assiduous love my pleasure sought; 340 - He lived to please me, and I oft-times strove - Smiling, to thank his unrequited love; - ‘Teach me,’ he cried, ‘that pensive mind to ease, - For all my pleasure is the hope to please.’ - “Serene, though heavy, were the days we spent, - Yet kind each word, and gen’rous each intent; - But his dejection lessen’d every day, - And to a placid kindness died away. - In tranquil ease we pass’d our latter years, - By griefs untroubl’d, unassail’d by fears. 350 - “Let not romantic views your bosom sway, - Yield to your duties, and their call obey: - Fly not a youth, frank, honest, and sincere; - Observe his merits, and his passion hear! - ’Tis true, no hero, but a farmer sues-- - Slow in his speech, but worthy in his views; - With him you cannot that affliction prove, - That rends the bosom of the poor in love; - Health, comfort, competence, and cheerful days, - Your friends’ approval, and your father’s praise, 360 - Will crown the deed, and you escape _their_ fate - Who plan so wildly, and are wise too late.” - The damsel heard; at first th’ advice was strange, - Yet wrought a happy, nay, a speedy change. - “I have no care,” she said, when next they met, - “But one may wonder he is silent yet; - He looks around him with his usual stare, - And utters nothing--not that I shall care.” - This pettish humour pleased th’ experienced friend-- - None need despair, whose silence can offend; 370 - “Should I,” resumed the thoughtful lass, “consent - To hear the man, the man may now repent. - Think you my sighs shall call him from the plough, - Or give one hint, that ‘You may woo me now?’” - “Persist, my love,” replied the friend, “and gain - A parent’s praise, _that_ cannot be in vain.” - The father saw the change, but not the cause, - And gave the alter’d maid his fond applause. - The coarser manners she in part removed, - In part endured, improving and improved; 380 - She spoke of household works, she rose betimes, - And said neglect and indolence were crimes; - The various duties of their life she weigh’d, - And strict attention to her dairy paid; - The names of servants now familiar grew, - And fair Lucinda’s from her mind withdrew. - As prudent travellers for their ease assume - _Their_ modes and language to whose lands they come: - So to the farmer this fair lass inclined, - Gave to the business of the farm her mind; 390 - To useful arts she turn’d her hand and eye; - And by her manners told him--“You may try.” - Th’ observing lover more attention paid, - With growing pleasure, to the alter’d maid; - He fear’d to lose her, and began to see - That a slim beauty might a helpmate be; - ’Twixt hope and fear he now the lass address’d, - And in his Sunday robe his love express’d. - She felt no chilling dread, no thrilling joy, - Nor was too quickly kind, too slowly coy; 400 - But still she lent an unreluctant ear - To all the rural business of the year; - Till love’s strong hopes endured no more delay, - And Harry ask’d, and Nancy named the day. - “A happy change! my boy,” the father cried: - “How lost your sister all her school-day pride?” - The youth replied, “It is the widow’s deed: - The cure is perfect, and was wrought with speed.”-- - “And comes there, boy, this benefit of books, - Of that smart dress, and of those dainty looks? 410 - We must be kind--some offerings from the farm - To the white cot will speak our feelings warm; - Will show that people, when they know the fact, - Where they have judged severely, can retract. - Oft have I smil’d, when I beheld her pass - With cautious step, as if she hurt the grass; - Where if a snail’s retreat she chanced to storm, - She look’d as begging pardon of the worm; - And what, said I, still laughing at the view, - Have these weak creatures in the world to do? 420 - But some are made for action, some to speak; } - And, while she looks so pitiful and meek, } - Her words are weighty, though her nerves are weak.” } - Soon told the village-bells the rite was done, - That join’d the school-bred miss and farmer’s son; - Her former habits some slight scandal raised, - But real worth was soon perceived and praised; - She, her neat taste imparted to the farm, - And he, th’ improving skill and vigorous arm. - - - - -TALE VIII. - -_THE MOTHER._ - - - What though you have beauty, - Must you be therefore proud and pitiless? - _As You Like It_, Act III. Scene 5. - -I would not marry her, though she were endow’d with all that Adam had -left him before he transgress’d. - _Much Ado about Nothing_, Act II. Scene 1. - -Wilt thou love such a woman? What! to make thee an instrument, and -play false strains upon thee!--Not to be endured. - - _As You Like It_, Act IV. Scene 3. - - Your son, - As mad in folly, lack’d the sense to know - Her estimation [home]. - _All’s Well that Ends Well_, Act V, Scene 3. - - He [lost] a wife - . . . whose words all ears took captive, - Whose dear perfection, hearts that scorn’d to serve - Humbly call’d mistress. . . . - Be this sweet Helen’s knell. - _All’s Well that Ends Well_, Act V. Scene 3. - - -TALE VIII. - -_THE MOTHER._ - - There was a worthy, but a simple pair, - Who nursed a daughter, fairest of the fair. - Sons they had lost, and she alone remain’d, - Heir to the kindness they had all obtain’d; - Heir to the fortune they design’d for all, - Nor had th’ allotted portion then been small; - But now, by fate enrich’d with beauty rare, - They watch’d their treasure with peculiar care. - The fairest features they could early trace, } - And, blind with love, saw merit in her face-- } 10 - Saw virtue, wisdom, dignity, and grace; } - And Dorothea, from her infant years, - Gain’d all her wishes from their pride or fears; - She wrote a billet, and a novel read, - And with her fame her vanity was fed; - Each word, each look, each action was a cause - For flattering wonder, and for fond applause; - She rode or danced, and ever glanced around, - Seeking for praise, and smiling when she found. - The yielding pair to her petitions gave 20 - An humble friend to be a civil slave; - Who for a poor support herself resign’d - To the base toil of a dependent mind. - By nature cold, our heiress stoop’d to art, - To gain the credit of a tender heart; - Hence at her door must suppliant paupers stand, - To bless the bounty of her beauteous hand. - And now, her education all complete, - She talk’d of virtuous love and union sweet; - She was indeed by no soft passion moved, 30 - But wish’d, with all her soul, to be beloved. - Here on the favour’d beauty fortune smiled; - Her chosen husband was a man so mild, - So humbly temper’d, so intent to please, } - It quite distress’d her to remain at ease, } - Without a cause to sigh, without pretence to tease. } - She tried his patience in a thousand modes, - And tired it not upon the roughest roads. - Pleasure she sought, and, disappointed, sigh’d - For joys, she said, “to her alone denied;” 40 - And she was “sure her parents, if alive, - Would many comforts for their child contrive.” - The gentle husband bade her name him one;-- - “No--that,” she answer’d, “should for her be done; - How could she say what pleasures were around? - But she was certain many might be found.”-- - “Would she some sea-port, Weymouth, Scarborough, grace?”-- - “He knew she hated every watering-place.”-- - “The town?”--“What! now ’twas empty, joyless, dull?” - --“In winter?”--“No; she liked it worse when full.” 50 - She talk’d of building--“Would she plan a room?”-- - “No! she could live, as he desired, in gloom.”-- - “Call then our friends and neighbours?”--“He might call, } - And they might come and fill his ugly hall; } - A noisy vulgar set, he knew she scorn’d them all.”-- } - “Then, might their two dear girls the time employ, - And their improvement yield a solid joy?”-- - “Solid indeed! and heavy--oh! the bliss - Of teaching letters to a lisping Miss!”-- - “My dear, my gentle Dorothea, say, 60 - Can I oblige you?”--“You may go away.” - Twelve heavy years this patient soul sustain’d } - This wasp’s attacks, and then her praise obtain’d, } - Graved on a marble tomb, where he at peace remain’d. } - Two daughters wept their loss: the one a child - With a plain face, strong sense, and temper mild, - Who keenly felt the mother’s angry taunt, - “Thou art the image of thy pious aunt.” - Long time had Lucy wept her slighted face, - And then began to smile at her disgrace. 70 - Her father’s sister, who the world had seen - Near sixty years when Lucy saw sixteen, - Begg’d the plain girl: the gracious mother smiled, - And freely gave her grieved but passive child; - And with her elder-born, the [beauty-bless’d,] - This parent rested, if such minds can rest. - No miss her waxen babe could so admire, - Nurse with such care, or with such pride attire; - They were companions meet, with equal mind, - Bless’d with one love, and to one point inclined: 80 - Beauty to keep, adorn, increase, and guard, - Was their sole care, and had its full reward. - In rising splendor with the one it reign’d, } - And in the other was by care sustain’d, } - The daughter’s charms increased, the parent’s yet remain’d.-- } - Leave we these ladies to their daily care, - To see how meekness and discretion fare. - A village maid, unvex’d by want or love, - Could not with more delight than Lucy move; - The village-lark, high mounted in the spring, 90 - Could not with purer joy than Lucy sing; - Her cares all light, her pleasures all sincere, - Her duty joy, and her companion dear; - In tender friendship and in true respect - Lived aunt and niece, no flattery, no neglect-- - They read, walk’d, visited--together pray’d, - Together slept the matron and the maid. - There was such goodness, such pure nature seen - In Lucy’s looks, a manner so serene; - Such harmony in motion, speech, and air, 100 - That without fairness she was more than fair; - Had more than beauty in each speaking grace, - That lent their cloudless glory to the face; - Where mild good sense in placid looks were shown, - And felt in every bosom but her own. - The one presiding feature in her mind, - Was the pure meekness of a will resign’d; - A tender spirit, freed from all pretence - Of wit, and pleased in mild benevolence; - Bless’d in protecting fondness she reposed, 110 - With every wish indulged though undisclosed; - But love, like zephyr on the limpid lake, } - Was now the bosom of the maid to shake, } - And in that gentle mind a gentle strife to make. } - Among their chosen friends, a favour’d few, - The aunt and niece a youthful rector knew; - Who, though a younger brother, might address - A younger sister, fearless of success. - His friends, a lofty race, their native pride - At first display’d, and their assent denied; 120 - But, pleased such virtues and such love to trace, - They own’d she would adorn the loftiest race. - The aunt, a mother’s caution to supply, - Had watch’d the youthful priest with jealous eye; - And, anxious for her charge, had view’d unseen - The cautious life that keeps the conscience clean. - In all she found him all she wish’d to find, - With slight exception of a lofty mind: - A certain manner that express’d desire, - To be received as brother to the ’squire. 130 - Lucy’s meek eye had beam’d with many a tear, - Lucy’s soft heart had beat with many a fear, - Before he told (although his looks, she thought, - Had oft confess’d) that he her favour sought; - But when he kneel’d, (she wish’d him not to kneel,) - And spoke the fears and hopes that lovers feel; - When too the prudent aunt herself confess’d, - Her wishes on the gentle youth would rest; - The maiden’s eye with tender passion beam’d, - She dwelt with fondness on the life she schemed-- 140 - The household cares, the soft and lasting ties - Of love, with all his binding charities; - Their village taught, consoled, assisted, fed, - Till the young zealot tears of pleasure shed. - But would her mother? Ah! she fear’d it wrong - To have indulged these forward hopes so long; - Her mother loved, but was not used to grant - Favours so freely as her gentle aunt.-- - Her gentle aunt, with smiles that angels wear, - Dispell’d her Lucy’s apprehensive tear: 150 - Her prudent foresight the request had made - To one whom none could govern, few persuade; - She doubted much if one in earnest woo’d - A girl with not a single charm endued; - The sister’s nobler views she then declared, - And what small sum for Lucy could be spared; - “If more than this the foolish priest requires, - Tell him,” she wrote, “to check his vain desires.” - At length, with many a cold expression mix’d, - With many a sneer on girls so fondly fix’d, 160 - There came a promise--should they not repent, } - But take with grateful minds the portion meant, } - And wait the sister’s day--the mother might consent. } - And here, might pitying hope o’er truth prevail, - Or love o’er fortune, we would end our tale: - For who more bless’d than youthful pair removed - From fear of want--by mutual friends approved-- - Short time to wait, and in that time to live - With all the pleasures hope and fancy give; - Their equal passion raised on just esteem, 170 - When reason sanctions all that love can dream? - Yes! reason sanctions what stern fate denies: - The early prospect in the glory dies, - As the soft smiles on dying infants play - In their mild features, and then pass away. - The beauty died, ere she could yield her hand - In the high marriage by the mother plann’d: - Who grieved indeed, but found a vast relief - In a cold heart, that ever warr’d with grief. - Lucy was present when her sister died, 180 - Heiress to duties that she ill supplied: - There were no mutual feelings, sister arts, - No kindred taste, nor intercourse of hearts; - When in the mirror play’d the matron’s smile, - The maiden’s thoughts were travelling all the while; - And, when desired to speak, she sigh’d to find - Her pause offended:--“Envy made her blind; - Tasteless she was, nor had a claim in life - Above the station of a rector’s wife; - Yet as an heiress, she must shun disgrace, 190 - Although no heiress to her mother’s face: - It is your duty,” said th’ imperious dame, } - “(Advanced your fortune) to advance your name, } - And with superior rank, superior offers claim. } - Your sister’s lover, when his sorrows die, - May look upon you, and for favour sigh; - Nor can you offer a reluctant hand; - His birth is noble, and his seat is grand.” - Alarm’d was Lucy, was in tears--“A fool! - Was she a child in love?--a miss at school? 200 - Doubts any mortal, if a change of state - Dissolves all claims and ties of earlier date?” - The rector doubted, for he came to mourn - A sister dead, and with a wife return. - Lucy with heart unchanged received the youth, - True in herself, confiding in his truth; - But own’d her mother’s change: the haughty dame - Pour’d strong contempt upon the youthful flame; - She firmly vow’d her purpose to pursue, - Judged her own cause, and bade the youth adieu! 210 - The lover begg’d, insisted, urged his pain; - His brother wrote to threaten and complain; - Her sister, reasoning, proved the promise made, - Lucy, appealing to a parent, pray’d; - But all opposed th’ event that she design’d, - And all in vain--she never changed her mind; - But coldly answer’d in her wonted way, - That she “would rule, and Lucy must obey.” - With peevish fear, she saw her health decline, - And cried, “Oh! monstrous, for a man to pine; 220 - But if your foolish heart must yield to love, - Let him possess it whom I now approve; - This is my pleasure.”--Still the rector came - With larger offers and with bolder claim; - But the stern lady would attend no more-- - She frown’d, and rudely pointed to the door; - Whate’er he wrote, he saw unread return’d, - And he, indignant, the dishonour spurn’d; - Nay, fix’d suspicion where he might confide, - And sacrificed his passion to his pride. 230 - Lucy, meantime, though threaten’d and distress’d, - Against her marriage made a strong protest. - All was domestic war: the aunt rebell’d - Against the sovereign will, and was expell’d; - And every power was tried and every art, - To bend to falsehood one determined heart; - Assail’d, in patience it received the shock, - Soft as the wave, unshaken as the rock; - But while th’ unconquer’d soul endures the storm - Of angry fate, it preys upon the form. 240 - With conscious virtue she resisted still, - And conscious love gave vigour to her will; - But Lucy’s trial was at hand; with joy - The mother cried--“Behold your constant boy-- - Thursday--was married--take the paper, sweet, - And read the conduct of your reverend cheat; - See with what pomp of coaches, in what crowd - The creature married--of his falsehood proud! - False, did I say?--at least no whining fool; - And thus will hopeless passions ever cool: 250 - But shall his bride your single state reproach? - No! give him crowd for crowd, and coach for coach. - Oh! you retire; reflect then, gentle miss, - And gain some spirit in a cause like this.” - Some spirit Lucy gain’d; a steady soul, - Defying all persuasion, all control: - In vain reproach, derision, threats were tried; } - The constant mind all outward force defied, } - By vengeance vainly urged, in vain assail’d by pride. } - Fix’d in her purpose, perfect in her part, 260 - She felt the courage of a wounded heart; - The world receded from her rising view, - When Heaven approach’d as earthly things withdrew; - Not strange before, for in the days of love, - Joy, hope, and pleasure, she had thoughts above; - Pious when most of worldly prospects fond, - When they best pleased her she could look beyond; - Had the young priest a faithful lover died, - Something had been her bosom to divide; - Now Heaven had all, for in her holiest views 270 - She saw the matron whom she fear’d to lose; - While from her parent the dejected maid - Forced the unpleasant thought, or thinking pray’d. - Surprised, the mother saw the languid frame, - And felt indignant, yet forbore to blame. - Once with a frown she cried, “And do you mean - To die of love--the folly of fifteen?” - But as her anger met with no reply, - She let the gentle girl in quiet die; - And to her sister wrote, impell’d by pain, 280 - “Come quickly, Martha, or you come in vain.” - Lucy meantime profess’d with joy sincere, - That nothing held, employ’d, engaged her here.-- - “I am an humble actor, doom’d to play - A part obscure, and then to glide away; - Incurious how the great or happy shine, - Or who have parts obscure and sad as mine; - In its best prospect I but wish’d, for life, - To be th’ assiduous, gentle, useful wife; - That lost, with wearied mind, and spirit poor, 290 - I drop my efforts, and can act no more; - With growing joy I feel my spirits tend - To that last scene where all my duties end.” - Hope, ease, delight, the thoughts of dying gave, - Till Lucy spoke with fondness of the grave; - She smiled with wasted form, but spirit firm, - And said, she left but little for the worm. - As toll’d the bell, “There’s one,” she said, “hath press’d - Awhile before me to the bed of rest;” - And she beside her with attention spread 300 - The decorations of the maiden dead. - While quickly thus the mortal part declined, - The happiest visions fill’d the active mind; - A soft, religious melancholy gain’d - Entire possession, and for ever reign’d; - On holy writ her mind reposing dwelt, - She saw the wonders, she the mercies felt; - Till in a bless’d and glorious reverie, } - She seem’d the Saviour as on earth to see, } - And, fill’d with love divine, th’ attending } - friend to be; } 310 - Or she, who trembling, yet confiding, stole - Near to the garment, touch’d it, and was whole; - When, such th’ intenseness of the working thought, - On her it seem’d the very deed was wrought; - She the glad patient’s fear and rapture found, - The holy transport, and the healing wound; - This was so fix’d, so grafted in the heart, - That she adopted, nay became, the part. - But one chief scene was present to her sight: - Her Saviour resting in the tomb by night; 320 - Her fever rose, and still her wedded mind - Was to that scene, that hallow’d cave, confined-- - Where in the shade of death the body laid, - There watch’d the spirit of the wandering maid; - Her looks were fix’d, entranced, illumed, serene, - In the still glory of the midnight scene; - There at her Saviour’s feet, in visions bless’d, - Th’ enraptured maid a sacred joy possess’d; - In patience waiting for the first-born ray - Of that all-glorious and triumphant day. 330 - To this idea all her soul she gave, - Her mind reposing by the sacred grave; - Then sleep would seal the eye, the vision close, - And steep the solemn thoughts in brief repose. - Then grew the soul serene, and all its powers, - Again restored illumed the dying hours; - But reason dwelt where fancy stray’d before, - And the mind wander’d from its views no more; - Till death approach’d, when every look express’d - A sense of bliss, till every sense had rest. 340 - The mother lives, and has enough to buy - Th’ attentive ear and the submissive eye - Of abject natures--these are daily told, - How triumph’d beauty in the days of old; - How, by her window seated, crowds have cast - Admiring glances, wondering as they pass’d; - How from her carriage as she stepp’d to pray, - Divided ranks would humbly make her way; - And how each voice in the astonish’d throng - Pronounced her peerless as she moved along. 350 - Her picture then the greedy dame displays; - Touch’d by no shame, she now demands its praise; - In her tall mirror then she shows a face, - Still coldly fair with unaffecting grace; - These she compares: “It has the form,” she cries, - “But wants the air, the spirit, and the eyes; - This, as a likeness, is correct and true, - But there alone the living grace we view.” - This said, th’ applauding voice the dame required, - And, gazing, slowly from the glass retired. 360 - - - - -TALE IX. - -_ARABELLA._ - - - Thrice blessed they that master so their blood-- - [. . . . . . . .] - But earthly happier is the rose distill’d, - Than that which, withering on the virgin thorn, - Grows, lives, and dies in single blessedness. - _Midsummer Night’s Dream_, Act I. Scene 1. - - I [something] do excuse the thing I hate, - For his advantage whom I dearly love. - _Measure for Measure_, Act II. Scene 4. - - Contempt, farewell! and maiden pride, adieu! - _Much Ado about Nothing_, Act III. Scene 1. - - -TALE IX. - -_ARABELLA._ - - Of a fair town, where Doctor Rack was guide, - His only daughter was the boast and pride; - Wise Arabella--yet not wise alone, - She like a bright and polish’d brilliant shone; - Her father own’d her for his prop and stay, - Able to guide, yet willing to obey; - Pleased with her learning while discourse could please, - And with her love in languor and disease. - To every mother were her virtues known, - And to their daughters as a pattern shown; 10 - Who in her youth had all that age requires, - And, with her prudence, all that youth admires. - These odious praises made the damsels try - Not to obtain such merits, but deny; - For, whatsoever wise mammas might say, - To guide a daughter this was not the way; - From such applause disdain and anger rise, - And envy lives where emulation dies. - In all his strength contends the noble horse - With one who just precedes him on the course; 20 - But when the rival flies too far before, - His spirit fails, and he attempts no more. - This reasoning maid, above her sex’s dread, - Had dared to read, and dared to say she read; - Not the last novel, not the new-born play; - Not the mere trash and scandal of the day; - But (though her young companions felt the shock) - She studied Berkeley, Bacon, Hobbes, and Locke: - Her mind within the maze of history dwelt, - And of the moral muse the beauty felt; 30 - The merits of the Roman page she knew, - And could converse with Moore and Montagu: - Thus she became the wonder of the town, - From that she reap’d, to that she gave, renown; - And strangers, coming, all were taught t’ admire - The learned lady, and the lofty spire. - Thus fame in public fix’d the maid, where all - Might throw their darts, and see the idol fall; - A hundred arrows came with vengeance keen, - From tongues envenom’d, and from arms unseen; 40 - A thousand eyes were fix’d upon the place, - That, if she fell, she might not fly disgrace. - But malice vainly throws the poison’d dart, - Unless our frailty shows the peccant part; - And Arabella still preserved her name - Untouch’d, and shone with undisputed fame; - Her very notice some respect would cause, - And her esteem was honour and applause. - Men she avoided--not in childish fear, - As if she thought some savage foe was near; 50 - Not as a prude, who hides that man should seek, - Or who by silence hints that they should speak; - But with discretion all the sex she view’d, - Ere yet engaged, pursuing, or pursued; - Ere love had made her to his vices blind, - Or hid the favourite’s failings from her mind. - Thus was the picture of the man portray’d, - By merit destined for so rare a maid; - At whose request she might exchange her state, - Or still be happy in a virgin’s fate. 60 - He must be one with manners like her own, - His life unquestion’d, his opinions known; - His stainless virtue must all tests endure, - His honour spotless, and his bosom pure; - She no allowance made for sex or times, - Of lax opinion--crimes were ever crimes; - No wretch forsaken must his frailty curse, - No spurious offspring drain his private purse: - He at all times his passions must command, - And yet possess--or be refused her hand. 70 - All this without reserve the maiden told, - And some began to weigh the rector’s gold; - To ask what sum a prudent man might gain, - Who had such store of virtues to maintain? - A Doctor Campbell, north of Tweed, came forth, - Declared his passion, and proclaim’d his worth; - Not unapproved, for he had much to say - On every cause, and in a pleasant way; - Not all his trust was in a pliant tongue, - His form was good, and ruddy he, and young. 80 - But, though the Doctor was a man of parts, - He read not deeply male or female hearts; - But judged that all whom he esteem’d as wise - Must think alike, though some assumed disguise; - That every reasoning Bramin, Christian, Jew, - Of all religions took their liberal view; - And of her own, no doubt, this learned maid - Denied the substance, and the forms obey’d; - And thus persuaded, he his thoughts express’d - Of her opinions, and his own profess’d: 90 - “All states demand this aid, the vulgar need - Their priests and pray’rs, their sermons and their creed; - And those of stronger minds should never speak - (In his opinion) what might hurt the weak. - A man may smile, but still he should attend } - His hour at church, and be the church’s friend, } - What there he thinks conceal, and what he hears commend.” } - Frank was the speech, but heard with high disdain, - Nor had the Doctor leave to speak again; - A man who own’d, nay gloried in deceit, 100 - “He might despise her, but he should not cheat.” - Then Vicar Holmes appear’d; he heard it said - That ancient men best pleased the prudent maid; - And true it was her ancient friends she loved; - Servants when old she favour’d and approved; - Age in her pious parents she revered, - And neighbours were by length of days endear’d; - But, if her husband too must ancient be, - The good old Vicar found it was not he. - On Captain Bligh her mind in balance hung-- 110 - Though valiant, modest; and reserved, though young: - Against these merits must defects be set-- - Though poor, imprudent; and though proud, in debt: - In vain the Captain close attention paid; - She found him wanting, whom she fairly weigh’d. - Then came a youth, and all their friends agreed, - That Edward Huntly was the man indeed; - Respectful duty he had paid awhile, - Then ask’d her hand, and had a gracious smile: - A lover now declared, he led the fair 120 - To woods and fields, to visits and to pray’r; - Then whisper’d softly--“Will you name the day?” - She softly whisper’d--“If you love me, stay.”-- - “Oh! try me not beyond my strength,” he cried;-- - “Oh! be not weak,” the prudent maid replied; - “But by some trial your affection prove-- - Respect and not impatience argues love; - And love no more is by impatience known, - Than Ocean’s depth is by its tempests shown. - He whom a weak and fond impatience sways, } 130 - But for himself with all his fervour prays, } - And not the maid he woos, but his own will obeys; } - And will she love the being who prefers, - With so much ardour, his desire to hers?” - Young Edward grieved, but let not grief be seen; - He knew obedience pleased his fancy’s queen: - Awhile he waited, and then cried--“Behold! - The year advancing, be no longer cold!” - For she had promised--“Let the flowers appear, - And I will pass with thee the smiling year.” 140 - Then pressing grew the youth; the more he press’d, - The less inclined the maid to his request: - “Let June arrive.”--Alas! when April came, - It brought a stranger, and the stranger, shame; - Nor could the lover from his house persuade - A stubborn lass whom he had mournful made; - Angry and weak, by thoughtless vengeance moved, - She told her story to the fair beloved; - In strongest words th’ unwelcome truth was shown, - To blight his prospects, careless of her own. 150 - Our heroine grieved, but had too firm a heart - For him to soften, when she swore to part; - In vain his seeming penitence and pray’r, - His vows, his tears: she left him in despair. - His mother fondly laid her grief aside, - And to the reason of the nymph applied-- - “It well becomes thee, lady, to appear, - But not to be, in very truth, severe; - Although the crime be odious in thy sight, - That daring sex is taught such things to slight: 160 - His heart is thine, although it once was frail; - Think of his grief, and let his love prevail!--” - “Plead thou no more,” the lofty lass return’d; - “Forgiving woman is deceived and spurn’d. - Say that the crime is common--shall I take - A common man my wedded lord to make? - See! a weak woman by his arts betray’d, - An infant born his father to upbraid; - Shall I forgive his vileness, take his name, - Sanction his error, and partake his shame? 170 - No! this assent would kindred frailty prove, - A love for him would be a vicious love: - Can a chaste maiden secret counsel hold - With one whose crime by every mouth is told? - Forbid it spirit, prudence, virtuous pride; - He must despise me, were he not denied. - The way from vice the erring mind to win } - Is with presuming sinners to begin, } - And show, by scorning them, a just contempt for sin.” } - The youth, repulsed, to one more mild convey’d 180 - His heart, and smiled on the remorseless maid; - The maid, remorseless in her pride, the while - Despised the insult, and return’d the smile. - First to admire, to praise her, and defend, - Was (now in years advanced) a virgin friend: - Much she preferr’d, she cried, a single state, - “It was her choice”--it surely was her fate; - And much it pleased her in the train to view - A maiden vot’ress, wise and lovely too. - Time to the yielding mind his change imparts, 190 - He varies notions, and he alters hearts; - ’Tis right, ’tis just to feel contempt for vice, - But he that shows it may be over-nice: - There are who feel, when young, the false sublime, - And proudly love to show disdain for crime; - To whom the future will new thoughts supply, - The pride will soften, and the scorn will die; - Nay, where they still the vice itself condemn, - They bear the vicious, and consort with them. - Young Captain Grove, when one had changed his side, 200 - Despised the venal turn-coat, and defied; - Old Colonel Grove now shakes him by the hand, - Though he who bribes may still his vote command. - Why would not Ellen to Belinda speak, - When she had flown to London for a week, - And then return’d, to every friend’s surprise, - With twice the spirit, and with half the size? - She spoke not then--but, after years had flown, - A better friend had Ellen never known: - Was it the lady her mistake had seen? 210 - Or had she also such a journey been? - No: ’twas the gradual change in human hearts, - That time, in commerce with the world, imparts; - That on the roughest temper throws disguise, - And steals from virtue her asperities. - The young and ardent, who with glowing zeal - Felt wrath for trifles, and were proud to feel, - Now find those trifles all the mind engage, - To soothe dull hours, and cheat the cares of age; - As young Zelinda, in her quaker-dress, 220 - Disdain’d each varying fashion’s vile excess, - And now her friends on old Zelinda gaze, - Pleased in rich silks and orient gems to blaze. - Changes like these ’tis folly to condemn, - So virtue yields not, nor is changed with them. - Let us proceed:--Twelve brilliant years were past, - Yet each with less of glory than the last; - Whether these years to this fair virgin gave - A softer mind--effect they often have; - Whether the virgin-state was not so bless’d 230 - As that good maiden in her zeal profess’d; - Or whether lovers falling from her train, - Gave greater price to those she could retain, - Is all unknown;--but Arabella now - Was kindly listening to a merchant’s vow; - Who offer’d terms so fair, against his love - To strive was folly; so she never strove.-- - Man in his earlier days we often find - With a too easy and unguarded mind; - But, by increasing years and prudence taught, 240 - He grows reserved, and locks up every thought. - Not thus the maiden, for in blooming youth - She hides her thought, and guards the tender truth; - This, when no longer young, no more she hides, - But frankly in the favour’d swain confides. - Man, stubborn man, is like the growing tree, - That longer standing, still will harder be; - And like its fruit the virgin, first austere, - Then kindly softening with the ripening year. - Now was the lover urgent, and the kind 250 - And yielding lady to his suit inclined: - “A little time, my friend, is just, is right; - We must be decent in our neighbours’ sight:” - Still she allow’d him of his hopes to speak, - And in compassion took off week by week; - Till few remain’d, when, wearied with delay, - She kindly meant to take off day by day. - That female friend who gave our virgin praise - For flying man and all his treacherous ways, - Now heard with mingled anger, shame and fear, 260 - Of one accepted, and a wedding near; - But she resolved again with friendly zeal - To make the maid her scorn of wedlock feel; - For she was grieved to find her work undone, - And like a sister mourn’d the failing nun. - Why are these gentle maidens prone to make - Their sister-doves the tempting world forsake? - Why all their triumph when a maid disdains - The tyrant-sex, and scorns to wear its chains? - Is it pure joy to see a sister flown 270 - From the false pleasures they themselves have known? - Or do they, as the call-birds in the cage, - Try, in pure envy, others to engage; - And therefore paint their native woods and groves, - As scenes of dangerous joys and naughty loves? - Strong was the maiden’s hope; her friend was proud, - And had her notions to the world avow’d; - And, could she find the Merchant weak and frail, - With power to prove it, then she must prevail; - For she aloud would publish his disgrace, 280 - And save his victim from a man so base. - When all inquiries had been duly made, - Came the kind friend her burthen to unlade:-- - “Alas! my dear! not all our care and art - Can tread the maze of man’s deceitful heart: - Look not surprise--nor let resentment swell - Those lovely features, all will yet be well; - And thou, from love’s and man’s deceptions free, - Wilt dwell in virgin-state, and walk to heav’n with me.” - The maiden frown’d, and then conceived “that wives 290 - Could walk as well, and lead as holy lives - As angry prudes who scorn’d the marriage-chain, - Or luckless maids who sought it still in vain.” - The friend was vex’d--she paused, at length she cried: - “Know your own danger, then your lot decide; - That traitor Beswell, while he seeks your hand, - Has, I affirm, a wanton at command; - A slave, a creature from a foreign place, - The nurse and mother of a spurious race; - Brown, ugly bastards--(Heaven the word forgive, 300 - And the deed punish!)--in his cottage live; - To town if business calls him, there he stays - In sinful pleasures wasting countless days; - Nor doubt the facts, for I can witness call - For every crime, and prove them one and all.” - Here ceased th’ informer; Arabella’s look - Was like a school-boy’s puzzled by his book; - Intent she cast her eyes upon the floor, - Paused--then replied-- - “I wish to know no more: - I question not your motive, zeal, or love, 310 - But must decline such dubious points to prove.-- - All is not true, I judge, for who can guess - Those deeds of darkness men with care suppress? - He brought a slave perhaps to England’s coast, - And made her free; it is our country’s boast! - And she perchance too grateful--good and ill - Were sown at first, and grow together still; - The colour’d infants on the village-green, - What are they more than we have often seen? - Children half-clothed who round their village stray, } 320 - In sun or rain, now starved, now beaten, they } - Will the dark colour of their fate betray; } - Let us in Christian love for all account, - And then behold to what such tales amount.” - “His heart is evil,” said th’ impatient friend-- - “My duty bids me try that heart to mend,” - Replied the virgin--“We may be too nice, - And lose a soul in our contempt of vice; - If false the charge, I then shall show regard - For a good man, and be his just reward; 330 - And what for virtue can I better do - Than to reclaim him, if the charge be true?” - She spoke, nor more her holy work delay’d; - ’Twas time to lend an erring mortal aid: - “The noblest way,” she judged, “a soul to win, } - Was with an act of kindness to begin, } - To make the sinner sure, and then t’ attack the sin[5].” } - -[5] As the author’s purpose in this Tale may be mistaken, he wishes -to observe, that conduct like that of the lady’s here described must -be meritorious or censurable just as the motives to it are pure or -selfish; that these motives may in a great measure be concealed from -the mind of the agent; and that we often take credit to our virtue -for actions which spring originally from our tempers, inclinations, -or our indifference. It cannot therefore be improper, much less -immoral, to give an instance of such self-deception. - - - - -TALE X. - -_THE LOVER’S JOURNEY._ - - - The sun is in the [heaven], and the proud day, - Attended with the pleasures of the world, - Is all too wanton. - _King John_, Act III. Scene 3. - - The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, - Are of imagination all compact. - _Midsummer Night’s Dream_, Act V. Scene 2. - - Oh! how the spring of love resembleth - Th’ uncertain glory of an April day, - Which now shows all her beauty to the sun, - And by and by a cloud bears all away. - - And happily I have arrived at last - Unto the wished haven of my bliss. - _Taming of the Shrew_, Act V. Scene 1. - - -TALE X. - -_THE LOVER’S JOURNEY._ - - It is the soul that sees; the outward eyes } - Present the object, but the mind descries; } - And thence delight, disgust, or cool indiff’rence rise: } - When minds are joyful, then we look around, - And what is seen is all on fairy ground; - Again they sicken, and on every view - Cast their own dull and melancholy hue; - Or, if absorb’d by their peculiar cares, - The vacant eye on viewless matter glares, - Our feelings still upon our views attend, 10 - And their own natures to the objects lend; - Sorrow and joy are in their influence sure, - Long as the passion reigns th’ effects endure; - But love in minds his various changes makes, - And clothes each object with the change he takes; - His light and shade on every view he throws, - And on each object, what he feels, bestows. - Fair was the morning, and the month was June, - When rose a lover; love awakens soon; - Brief his repose, yet much he dreamt the while 20 - Of that day’s meeting, and his Laura’s smile; - Fancy and love that name assign’d to her, - Call’d Susan in the parish-register; - And he no more was John--his Laura gave - The name Orlando to her faithful slave. - Bright shone the glory of the rising day, - When the fond traveller took his favourite way; - He mounted gaily, felt his bosom light, - And all he saw was pleasing in his sight. - “Ye hours of expectation, quickly fly, 30 - And bring on hours of blest reality; - When I shall Laura see, beside her stand, - Hear her sweet voice, and press her yielded hand.” - First o’er a barren heath beside the coast - Orlando rode, and joy began to boast. - “This neat low gorse,” said he, “with golden bloom, - Delights each sense, is beauty, is perfume; - And this gay ling, with all its purple flowers, - A man at leisure might admire for hours; - This green-fringed cup-moss has a scarlet tip, 40 - That yields to nothing but my Laura’s lip; - And then how fine this herbage! men may say - A heath is barren; nothing is so gay: - Barren or bare to call such charming scene - Argues a mind possess’d by care and spleen.” - Onward he went, and fiercer grew the heat, - Dust rose in clouds before the horse’s feet; - For now he pass’d through lanes of burning sand, - Bounds to thin crops or yet uncultured land; - Where the dark poppy flourished on the dry 50 - And sterile soil, and mock’d the thin-set rye. - “How lovely this!” the rapt Orlando said; - “With what delight is labouring man repaid! - The very lane has sweets that all admire, - The rambling suckling and the vigorous brier; - See! wholesome wormwood grows beside the way, - Where dew-press’d yet the dog-rose bends the spray; - Fresh herbs the fields, fair shrubs the banks adorn, - And snow-white bloom falls flaky from the thorn; - No fostering hand they need, no sheltering wall; 60 - They spring uncultured and they bloom for all.” - The lover rode as hasty lovers ride, - And reach’d a common pasture wild and wide; - Small black-legg’d sheep devour with hunger keen - The meagre herbage, fleshless, lank, and lean; - Such o’er thy level turf, Newmarket! stray, - And there, with other _black-legs_ find their prey. - He saw some scatter’d hovels; turf was piled - In square brown stacks; a prospect bleak and wild! - A mill, indeed, was in the centre found, 70 - With short sear herbage withering all around; - A smith’s black shed opposed a wright’s long shop, - And join’d an inn where humble travellers stop. - “Ay, this is Nature,” said the gentle ’squire; - “This ease, peace, pleasure--who would not admire? - With what delight these sturdy children play, - And joyful rustics at the close of day; - Sport follows labour, on this even space - Will soon commence the wrestling and the race; - Then will the village-maidens leave their home, 80 - And to the dance with buoyant spirits come; - No affectation in their looks is seen, - Nor know they what disguise or flattery mean; - Nor aught to move an envious pang they see-- - Easy their service, and their love is free; - Hence early springs that love, it long endures, - And life’s first comfort, while they live, ensures. - They the low roof and rustic comforts prize, - Nor cast on prouder mansions envying eyes; - Sometimes the news at yonder town they hear, 90 - And learn what busier mortals feel and fear; - Secure themselves, although by tales amazed - Of towns bombarded and of cities razed; - As if they doubted, in their still retreat, - The very news that makes their quiet sweet, - And their days happy--happier only knows - He on whom Laura her regard bestows.” - On rode Orlando, counting all the while - The miles he pass’d and every coming mile; - Like all attracted things, he quicker flies, 100 - The place approaching where th’ attraction lies; - When next appear’d a _dam_--so call the place-- - Where lies a road confined in narrow space; - A work of labour, for on either side } - Is level fen, a prospect wild and wide, } - With dikes on either hand by ocean’s self supplied. } - Far on the right the distant sea is seen, - And salt the springs that feed the marsh between; - Beneath an ancient bridge, the straiten’d flood - Rolls through its sloping banks of slimy mud; 110 - Near it a sunken boat resists the tide, - That frets and hurries to th’ opposing side; - The rushes sharp, that on the borders grow, } - Bend their brown flow’rets to the stream below, } - Impure in all its course, in all its progress slow: } - Here a grave Flora[6] scarcely deigns to bloom, - Nor wears a rosy blush, nor sheds perfume; - The few dull flowers that o’er the place are spread - Partake the nature of their fenny bed; - Here on its wiry stem, in rigid bloom, 120 - Grows the salt lavender that lacks perfume; - Here the dwarf sallows creep, the septfoil harsh, - And the soft slimy mallow of the marsh; - Low on the ear the distant billows sound, - And just in view appears their stony bound; - No hedge nor tree conceals the glowing sun, } - Birds, save a wat’ry tribe, the district shun, } - Nor chirp among the reeds where bitter waters run. } - “Various as beauteous, Nature, is thy face,” - Exclaim’d Orlando: “all that grows has grace; 130 - All are appropriate--bog, and marsh, and fen, - Are only poor to undiscerning men; - Here may the nice and curious eye explore - How Nature’s hand adorns the rushy moor; - Here the rare moss in secret shade is found, - Here the sweet myrtle of the shaking ground; - Beauties are these that from the view retire, - But well repay th’ attention they require; - For these my Laura will her home forsake, - And all the pleasures they afford partake.” 140 - Again the country was enclosed, a wide - And sandy road has banks on either side; - Where, lo! a hollow on the left appear’d, - And there a gipsy-tribe their tent had rear’d; - ’Twas open spread, to catch the morning sun, - And they had now their early meal begun, - When two brown boys just left their grassy seat, - The early trav’ller with their pray’rs to greet. - While yet Orlando held his pence in hand, - He saw their sister on her duty stand; 150 - Some twelve years old, demure, affected, sly, - Prepared the force of early powers to try; - Sudden a look of languor he descries, - And well-feign’d apprehension in her eyes; - Train’d but yet savage, in her speaking face - He mark’d the features of her vagrant race; - When a light laugh and roguish leer express’d - The vice implanted in her youthful breast. - Forth from the tent her elder brother came, - Who seem’d offended, yet forbore to blame 160 - The young designer, but could only trace - The looks of pity in the trav’ller’s face; - Within, the father, who from fences nigh } - Had brought the fuel for the fire’s supply, } - Watch’d now the feeble blaze, and stood dejected by; } - On ragged rug, just borrow’d from the bed, - And by the hand of coarse indulgence fed, - In dirty patchwork negligently dress’d, - Reclined the wife, an infant at her breast; - In her wild face some touch of grace remain’d, 170 - Of vigour palsied and of beauty stain’d; - Her bloodshot eyes on her unheeding mate - Were wrathful turn’d, and seem’d her wants to state, - Cursing his tardy aid--her mother there - With gipsy-state engross’d the only chair; - Solemn and dull her look; with such she stands, - And reads the milk-maid’s fortune in her hands, - Tracing the lines of life; assumed through years, - Each feature now the steady falsehood wears; - With hard and savage eye she views the food, 180 - And, grudging, pinches their intruding brood; - Last in the group, the worn-out grandsire sits - Neglected, lost, and living but by fits; - Useless, despised, his worthless labours done, - And half protected by the vicious son, - Who half supports him; he with heavy glance - Views the young ruffians who around him dance; - And, by the sadness in his face, appears - To trace the progress of their future years: - Through what strange course of misery, vice, deceit, 190 - Must wildly wander each unpractised cheat! - What shame and grief, what punishment and pain, - Sport of fierce passions, must each child sustain-- - Ere they like him approach their latter end, - Without a hope, a comfort, or a friend! - But this Orlando felt not; “Rogues,” said he, - “Doubtless they are, but merry rogues they be; - They wander round the land, and be it true, - They break the laws--then let the laws pursue - The wanton idlers; for the life they live, 200 - Acquit I cannot, but I can forgive.” - This said, a portion from his purse was thrown, - And every heart seem’d happy like his own. - He hurried forth, for now the town was nigh-- - “The happiest man of mortal men am I.” - Thou art! but change in every state is near, - (So, while the wretched hope, the blest may fear); - “Say, where is Laura!”--“That her words must show,” - A lass replied; “read this, and thou shalt know!” - “What, gone!”--Her friend insisted--forced to go-- 210 - Is vex’d, was teased, could not refuse her!--“No?”-- - “But you can follow;”--“Yes;”--“The miles are few, - The way is pleasant; will you come?--Adieu! - Thy Laura!” “No! I feel I must resign - The pleasing hope; thou hadst been here, if mine. - A lady was it?--Was no brother there? - But why should I afflict me if there were? - ‘The way is pleasant.’”--What to me the way? - I cannot reach her till the close of day. - My dumb companion! is it thus we speed? 220 - Not I from grief nor thou from toil art freed; - Still art thou doom’d to travel and to pine, - For my vexation--What a fate is mine! - “Gone to a friend, she tells me; I commend - Her purpose; means she to a female friend? - By Heaven, I wish she suffer’d half the pain - Of hope protracted through the day in vain: - Shall I persist to see th’ ungrateful maid? - Yes, I will see her, slight her, and upbraid. - What! in the very hour? She knew the time, 230 - And doubtless chose it to increase her crime.” - Forth rode Orlando by a river’s side, } - Inland and winding, smooth, and full and wide, } - That roll’d majestic on, in one soft-flowing tide; } - The bottom gravel, flow’ry were the banks, - Tall willows, waving in their broken ranks; - The road, now near, now distant, winding led - By lovely meadows which the waters fed; - He pass’d the way-side inn, the village spire, - Nor stopp’d to gaze, to question, or admire; 240 - On either side the rural mansions stood, } - With hedge-row trees, and hills high-crown’d with wood, } - And many a devious stream that reach’d the nobler flood. } - “I hate these scenes,” Orlando angry cried, - “And these proud farmers! yes, I hate their pride. - See! that sleek fellow, how he strides along, - Strong as an ox, and ignorant as strong; - Can yon close crops a single eye detain - But his who counts the profits of the grain? - And these vile beans with deleterious smell, 250 - Where is their beauty? can a mortal tell? - These deep fat meadows I detest; it shocks - One’s feelings there to see the grazing ox-- - For slaughter fatted, as a lady’s smile - Rejoices man, and means his death the while. - Lo! now the sons of labour! every day - Employ’d in toil, and vex’d in every way; - Theirs is but mirth assumed, and they conceal, - In their affected joys, the ills they feel: - I hate these long green lanes; there’s nothing seen 260 - In this vile country but eternal green; - Woods! waters! meadows! Will they never end? - ’Tis a vile prospect.--Gone to see a friend!”-- - Still on he rode! a mansion fair and tall - Rose on his view--the pride of Loddon-Hall: - Spread o’er the park he saw the grazing steer, - The full-fed steed, the herds of bounding deer; - On a clear stream the vivid sunbeams play’d, } - Through noble elms, and on the surface made } - That moving picture, checker’d light and shade; } 270 - Th’ attended children, there indulged to stray, - Enjoy’d and gave new beauty to the day; - Whose happy parents from their room were seen - Pleased with the sportive idlers on the green. - “Well!” said Orlando, “and for one so bless’d, } - A thousand reasoning wretches are distress’d; } - Nay, these so seeming glad, are grieving like the rest: } - Man is a cheat--and all but strive to hide - Their inward misery by their outward pride. - What do yon lofty gates and walls contain, 280 - But fruitless means to soothe unconquer’d pain? - The parents read each infant daughter’s smile, - Form’d to seduce, encouraged to beguile; - They view the boys unconscious of their fate, - Sure to be tempted, sure to take the bait; - These will be Lauras, sad Orlandos these-- - There’s guilt and grief in all one hears and sees.” - Our trav’ller, lab’ring up a hill, look’d down - Upon a lively, busy, pleasant town; - All he beheld were there alert, alive, 290 - The busiest bees that ever stock’d a hive: - A pair were married, and the bells aloud - Proclaim’d their joy, and joyful seem’d the crowd; - And now proceeding on his way, he spied, - Bound by strong ties, the bridegroom and the bride; - Each by some friends attended, near they drew, - And spleen beheld them with prophetic view. - “Married! nay, mad!” Orlando cried in scorn; - “Another wretch on this unlucky morn! - What are this foolish mirth, these idle joys? 300 - Attempts to stifle doubt and fear by noise: - To me these robes, expressive of delight, - Foreshow distress, and only grief excite; - And for these cheerful friends, will they behold - Their wailing brood in sickness, want, and cold; - And his proud look, and her soft languid air - Will--but I spare you--go, unhappy pair!” - And now approaching to the journey’s end, } - His anger fails, his thoughts to kindness tend, } - He less offended feels, and rather fears t’ offend: } 310 - Now gently rising, hope contends with doubt, - And casts a sunshine on the views without; - And still reviving joy and lingering gloom - Alternate empire o’er his soul assume; - Till, long perplex’d, he now began to find - The softer thoughts engross the settling mind. - He saw the mansion, and should quickly see - His Laura’s self--and angry could he be? - No! the resentment melted all away-- - “For this my grief a single smile will pay,” 320 - Our trav’ller cried;--“And why should it offend, - That one so good should have a pressing friend? - Grieve not, my heart! to find a favourite guest } - Thy pride and boast--ye selfish sorrows, rest; } - She will be kind, and I again be blest.” } - While gentler passions thus his bosom sway’d, - He reach’d the mansion, and he saw the maid; - “My Laura!”--“My Orlando!--this is kind; - In truth I came persuaded, not inclined. - Our friends’ amusement let us now pursue, 330 - And I to-morrow will return with you.” - Like man entranced, the happy lover stood-- - “As Laura wills, for she is kind and good; - Ever the truest, gentlest, fairest, best-- - As Laura wills, I see her and am blest.” - Home went the lovers through that busy place, - By Loddon-Hall, the country’s pride and grace; - By the rich meadows where the oxen fed, - Through the green vale that form’d the river’s bed; - And by unnumber’d cottages and farms, 340 - That have for musing minds unnumber’d charms, - And how affected by the view of these - Was then Orlando--did they pain or please? - Nor pain nor pleasure could they yield--and why? } - The mind was fill’d, was happy, and the eye } - Roved o’er the fleeting views, that but appear’d to die. } - Alone Orlando on the morrow paced - The well-known road; the [gipsy]-tent he traced; - The dam high-raised, the reedy dikes between, - The scatter’d hovels on the barren green, 350 - The burning sand, the fields of thin-set rye, - Mock’d by the useless Flora, blooming by; - And last the heath with all its various bloom, - And the close lanes that led the trav’ller home. - Then could these scenes the former joys renew? - Or was there now dejection in the view?-- - Nor one or other would they yield--and why? } - The mind was absent, and the vacant eye } - Wander’d o’er viewless scenes, that but appear’d to die. } - -[6] The ditches of a fen so near the ocean are lined with irregular -patches of a coarse and stained lava; a muddy sediment rests on the -horse-tail and other perennial herbs, which in part conceal the -shallowness of the stream; a fat-leaved pale-flowering scurvy-grass -appears early in the year, and the razor-edged bull-rush in the -summer and autumn. The fen itself has a dark and saline herbage; -there are rushes and _arrow-head_, and in a few patches the flakes -of the cotton-grass are seen, but more commonly the _sea-aster_, -the dullest of that numerous and hardy genus; a _thrift_, blue in -flower, but withering and remaining withered till the winter scatters -it; the _saltwort_, both simple and shrubby; a few kinds of grass -changed by their soil and atmosphere, and low plants of two or three -denominations undistinguished in a general view of the scenery;--such -is the vegetation of the fen when it is at a small distance from -the ocean; and in this case there arise from it effluvia strong and -peculiar, half-saline, half-putrid, which would be considered by most -people as offensive, and by some as dangerous; but there are others -to whom singularity of taste or association of ideas has rendered it -agreeable and pleasant. - - - - -TALE XI. - -_EDWARD SHORE._ - - - Seem they grave or learned? - Why, so didst thou [. . . . . . - . . . . . .] seem they religious? - Why, so didst thou; or are they spare in diet, - Free from gross passion or of mirth or anger, - Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood, - Garnish’d and deck’d in modest compliment, - Not working with the eye without the ear, - And but [in] purged judgment trusting neither? - Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem. - _Henry V_. Act II. Scene 2. - - Better I were distract: - So should my thoughts be sever’d from my griefs, - And woes by strong imagination lose - The knowledge of themselves. - _Lear_, Act IV. Scene 6. - - -TALE XI. - -_EDWARD SHORE._ - - Genius! thou gift of Heav’n! thou light divine! - Amid what dangers art thou doom’d to shine! - Oft will the body’s weakness check thy force, - Oft damp thy vigour, and impede thy course; - And trembling nerves compel thee to restrain - Thy nobler efforts, to contend with pain; - Or Want (sad guest!) will in thy presence come, - And breathe around her melancholy gloom; - To life’s low cares will thy proud thought confine, - And make her sufferings, her impatience, thine. 10 - Evil and strong, seducing passions prey - On soaring minds, and win them from their way; - Who then to vice the subject spirits give, - And in the service of the conqu’ror live; - Like captive Samson making sport for all, - Who fear’d their strength, and glory in their fall. - Genius, with virtue, still may lack the aid - Implored by humble minds and hearts afraid; - May leave to timid souls the shield and sword - Of the tried faith, and the resistless word; 20 - Amid a world of dangers venturing forth, - Frail, but yet fearless, proud in conscious worth, - Till strong temptation, in some fatal time, - Assails the heart, and wins the soul to crime; - When, left by honour, and by sorrow spent, - Unused to pray, unable to repent, - The nobler powers that once exalted high - Th’ aspiring man, shall then degraded lie: - Reason, through anguish, shall her throne forsake, - And strength of mind but stronger madness make. 30 - When EDWARD SHORE had reach’d his twentieth year, - He felt his bosom light, his conscience clear; - Applause at school the youthful hero gain’d, - And trials there with manly strength sustain’d; - With prospects bright upon the world he came, - Pure love of virtue, strong desire of fame; - Men watch’d the way his lofty mind would take, - And all foretold the progress he would make. - Boast of these friends, to older men a guide, - Proud of his parts, but gracious in his pride; 40 - He bore a gay good-nature in his face, - And in his air were dignity and grace; - Dress that became his state and years he wore, - And sense and spirit shone in Edward Shore. - Thus while admiring friends the youth beheld, - His own disgust their forward hopes repell’d; - For he unfix’d, unfixing, look’d around, - And no employment but in seeking found; - He gave his restless thoughts to views refined, - And shrank from worldly cares with wounded mind. 50 - Rejecting trade, awhile he dwelt on laws, - “But who could plead, if unapproved the cause?” - A doubting, dismal tribe physicians seem’d; - Divines o’er texts and disputations dream’d; - War and its glory he perhaps could love, - But there again he must the cause approve. - Our hero thought no deed should gain applause, - Where timid virtue found support in laws; - He to all good would soar, would fly all sin, - By the pure prompting of the will within; 60 - “Who needs a law that binds him not to steal,” - Ask’d the young teacher, “can he rightly feel? - To curb the will, or arm in honour’s cause, - Or aid the weak--are these enforced by laws? - Should we a foul, ungenerous action dread, - Because a law condemns th’ adulterous bed? - Or fly pollution, not for fear of stain, - But that some statute tells us to refrain? - The grosser herd in ties like these we bind, - In virtue’s freedom moves th’ enlighten’d mind.” 70 - “Man’s heart deceives him,” said a friend. “Of course,” - Replied the youth, “but, has it power to force? - Unless it forces, call it as you will, - It is but wish, and proneness to the ill.” - “Art thou not tempted?” “Do I fall?” said Shore: - “The pure have fallen.”--“Then are pure no more. - While reason guides me, I shall walk aright, - Nor need a steadier hand, or stronger light; - Nor this in dread of awful threats, design’d - For the weak spirit and the grov’ling mind, 80 - But that, engaged by thoughts and views sublime, - I wage free war with grossness and with crime.” - Thus look’d he proudly on the vulgar crew, - Whom statutes govern, and whom fears subdue. - Faith, with his virtue, he indeed profess’d, - But doubts deprived his ardent mind of rest; - Reason, his sovereign mistress, fail’d to show - Light through the mazes of the world below; - Questions arose, and they surpass’d the skill - Of his sole aid, and would be dubious still; 90 - These to discuss he sought no common guide, - But to the doubters in his doubts applied; - When all together might in freedom speak, - And their loved truth with mutual ardour seek. - Alas! though men who feel their eyes decay - Take more than common pains to find their way, - Yet, when for this they ask each other’s aid, - Their mutual purpose is the more delay’d: - Of all their doubts, their reasoning clear’d not one, - Still the same spots were present in the sun; 100 - Still the same scruples haunted Edward’s mind, - Who found no rest, nor took the means to find. - But though with shaken faith, and slave to fame, - Vain and aspiring on the world he came; - Yet was he studious, serious, moral, grave, - No passion’s victim, and no system’s slave; - Vice he opposed, indulgence he disdain’d, - And o’er each sense in conscious triumph reign’d. - Who often reads, will sometimes wish to write, - And Shore would yield instruction and delight: 110 - A serious drama he design’d, but found - ’Twas tedious travelling in that gloomy ground; - A deep and solemn story he would try, - But grew ashamed of ghosts, and laid it by; - Sermons he wrote, but they who knew his creed, - Or knew it not, were ill disposed to read; - And he would lastly be the nation’s guide, - But, studying, fail’d to fix upon a side; - Fame he desired, and talents he possess’d, - But loved not labour, though he could not rest, 120 - Nor firmly fix the vacillating mind, - That, ever working, could no centre find. - ’Tis thus a sanguine reader loves to trace - The Nile forth rushing on his glorious race; - Calm and secure the fancied traveller goes - Through sterile deserts and by threat’ning foes; - He thinks not then of Afric’s scorching sands, - Th’ Arabian sea, the Abyssinian bands; - Fasils[7] and Michaels, and the robbers all, - Whom we politely chiefs and heroes call: 130 - He of success alone delights to think, } - He views that fount, he stands upon the brink, } - And drinks a fancied draught, exulting so to drink. } - In his own room, and with his books around, - His lively mind its chief employment found; - Then idly busy, quietly employ’d, - And, lost to life, his visions were enjoy’d; - Yet still he took a keen inquiring view - Of all that crowds neglect, desire, pursue; - And thus abstracted, curious, still, serene, 140 - He, unemploy’d, beheld life’s shifting scene; - Still more averse from vulgar joys and cares, - Still more unfitted for the world’s affairs. - There was a house where Edward oft-times went, - And social hours in pleasant trifling spent; - He read, conversed and reason’d, sang and play’d, - And all were happy while the idler stay’d; - Too happy one, for thence arose the pain, - Till this engaging trifler came again. - But did he love? We answer, day by day, 150 - The loving feet would take th’ accustom’d way; - The amorous eye would rove as if in quest - Of something rare, and on the mansion rest; - The same soft passion touch’d the gentle tongue, - And Anna’s charms in tender notes were sung; - The ear too seem’d to feel the common flame, - Sooth’d and delighted with the fair one’s name; - And thus as love each other part possess’d, - The heart, no doubt, its sovereign power confess’d. - Pleased in her sight, the youth required no more; 160 - Not rich himself, he saw the damsel poor; - And he too wisely, nay, too kindly loved, - To pain the being whom his soul approved. - A serious friend our cautious youth possess’d, - And at his table sat a welcome guest; - Both unemploy’d, it was their chief delight - To read what free and daring authors write; - Authors who loved from common views to soar, - And seek the fountains never traced before; - Truth they profess’d, yet often left the true 170 - And beaten prospect, for the wild and new. - His chosen friend his fiftieth year had seen, - His fortune easy, and his air serene; - Deist and atheist call’d; for few agreed - What were his notions, principles, or creed; - His mind reposed not, for he hated rest, - But all things made a query or a jest; - Perplex’d himself, he ever sought to prove - That man is doom’d in endless doubt to rove; - Himself in darkness he profess’d to be, 180 - And would maintain that not a man could see. - The youthful friend, dissentient, reason’d still - Of the soul’s prowess, and the subject will; - Of virtue’s beauty, and of honour’s force, - And a warm zeal gave life to his discourse; - Since from his feelings all his fire arose, - And he had interest in the themes he chose. - The friend, indulging a sarcastic smile, - Said--“Dear enthusiast! thou wilt change thy style, - When man’s delusions, errors, crimes, deceit, 190 - No more distress thee, and no longer cheat.” - Yet lo! this cautious man, so coolly wise, - On a young beauty fix’d unguarded eyes; - And her he married. Edward at the view - Bade to his cheerful visits long adieu; - But haply err’d, for this engaging bride - No mirth suppress’d, but rather cause supplied; - And, when she saw the friends, by reasoning long, - Confused if right, and positive if wrong, - With playful speech and smile, that spoke delight, 200 - She made them careless both of wrong and right. - This gentle damsel gave consent to wed, - With school and school-day dinners in her head: - She now was promised choice of daintiest food, - And costly dress, that made her sovereign good; - With walks on hilly heath to banish spleen, - And summer-visits when the roads were clean. - All these she loved, to these she gave consent, - And she was married to her heart’s content. - Their manner this--the friends together read, 210 - Till books a cause for disputation bred; - Debate then follow’d, and the vapour’d child - Declared they argued till her head was wild; - And strange to her it was that mortal brain - Could seek the trial, or endure the pain. - Then, as the friend reposed, the younger pair - Sat down to cards, and play’d beside his chair; - Till he, awaking, to his books applied, - Or heard the music of th’ obedient bride. - If mild the evening, in the fields they stray’d, 220 - And their own flock with partial eye survey’d; - But oft the husband, to indulgence prone, - Resumed his book, and bade them walk alone. - “Do, my kind Edward! I must take mine ease, - Name the dear girl the planets and the trees; - Tell her what warblers pour their evening song, - What insects flutter, as you walk along; - Teach her to fix the roving thoughts, to bind - The wandering sense, and methodize the mind.” - This was obey’d; and oft when this was done, 230 - They calmly gazed on the declining sun; - In silence saw the glowing landscape fade, - Or, sitting, sang beneath the arbour’s shade: - Till rose the moon, and on each youthful face - Shed a soft beauty, and a dangerous grace. - When the young wife beheld in long debate - The friends, all careless as she seeming sate; - It soon appear’d, there was in one combined - The nobler person and the richer mind: - He wore no wig, no grisly beard was seen, 240 - And none beheld him careless or unclean; - Or watch’d him sleeping--we indeed have heard - Of sleeping beauty, and it has appear’d; - ’Tis seen in infants; there indeed we find - The features soften’d by the slumbering mind-- - But other beauties, when disposed to sleep, - Should from the eye of keen inspector keep: - The lovely nymph who would her swain surprise, - May close her mouth, but not conceal her eyes; - Sleep from the fairest face some beauty takes, 250 - And all the homely features homelier makes; - So thought our wife, beholding with a sigh - Her sleeping spouse, and Edward smiling by. - A sick relation for the husband sent; - Without delay the friendly sceptic went; - Nor fear’d the youthful pair, for he had seen - The wife untroubled, and the friend serene; - No selfish purpose in his roving eyes, - No vile deception in her fond replies: - So judged the husband, and with judgment true, 260 - For neither yet the guilt or danger knew. - What now remain’d? but they again should play - Th’ accustom’d game, and walk th’ accustom’d way; - With careless freedom should converse or read, - And the friend’s absence neither fear nor heed. - But rather now they seem’d confused, constrain’d; } - Within their room still restless they remain’d, } - And painfully they felt, and knew each other pain’d.-- } - Ah! foolish men! how could ye thus depend, - One on himself, the other on his friend? 270 - The youth with troubled eye the lady saw, - Yet felt too brave, too daring to withdraw; - While she, with tuneless hand the jarring keys - Touching, was not one moment at her ease. - Now would she walk, and call her friendly guide, - Now speak of rain, and cast her cloak aside; - Seize on a book, unconscious what she read, - And restless still, to new resources fled; - Then laugh’d aloud, then tried to look serene, - And ever changed, and every change was seen. 280 - Painful it is to dwell on deeds of shame-- - The trying day was past, another came; - The third was all remorse, confusion, dread, - And (all too late!) the fallen hero fled. - Then felt the youth, in that seducing time, - How feebly honour guards the heart from crime: - Small is his native strength; man needs the stay, - The strength imparted in the trying day; - For all that honour brings against the force - Of headlong passion, aids its rapid course; 290 - Its slight resistance but provokes the fire, - As wood-work stops the flame, and then conveys it higher. - The husband came; a wife by guilt made bold - Had, meeting, sooth’d him, as in days of old; - But soon this fact transpired; her strong distress, - And his friend’s absence, left him nought to guess. - Still cool, though grieved, thus prudence bade him write-- - “I cannot pardon, and I will not fight; - Thou art too poor a culprit for the laws, - And I too faulty to support my cause. 300 - All must be punish’d; I must sigh alone, - At home thy victim for her guilt atone; - And thou, unhappy! virtuous now no more, - Must loss of fame, peace, purity deplore; - Sinners with praise will pierce thee to the heart, - And saints deriding, tell thee what thou art.” - Such was his fall; and Edward, from that time, - Felt in full force the censure and the crime-- - Despised, ashamed; his noble views before, - And his proud thoughts, degraded him the more. 310 - Should he repent--would that conceal his shame? - Could peace be his? It perish’d with his fame. - Himself he scorn’d, nor could his crime forgive; - He fear’d to die, yet felt ashamed to live; - Grieved, but not contrite was his heart--oppress’d, - Not broken; not converted, but distress’d; - He wanted will to bend the stubborn knee, } - He wanted light the cause of ill to see, } - To learn how frail is man, how humble then should be; } - For faith he had not, or a faith too weak 320 - To gain the help that humbled sinners seek; - Else had he pray’d--to an offended God - His tears had flown a penitential flood; - Though far astray, he would have heard the call - Of mercy--“Come! return, thou prodigal;” - Then, though confused, distress’d, ashamed, afraid, - Still had the trembling penitent obey’d; - Though faith had fainted, when assail’d by fear, - Hope to the soul had whisper’d, “Persevere!” - Till, in his Father’s house an humbled guest, 330 - He would have found forgiveness, comfort, rest. - But all this joy was to our youth denied - By his fierce passions and his daring pride; - And shame and doubt impell’d him in a course, - Once so abhorr’d, with unresisted force. - Proud minds and guilty, whom their crimes oppress, - Fly to new crimes for comfort and redress; - So found our fallen youth a short relief - In wine, the opiate guilt applies to grief-- - From fleeting mirth that o’er the bottle lives; 340 - From the false joy its inspiration gives; - And from associates, pleased to find a friend - With powers to lead them, gladden, and defend, - In all those scenes where transient ease is found - For minds whom sins oppress, and sorrows wound. - Wine is like anger; for it makes us strong, - Blind and impatient, and it leads us wrong; } - The strength is quickly lost, we feel the error long. } - Thus led, thus strengthen’d in an evil cause, } - For folly pleading, sought the youth applause; 350 - Sad for a time, then eloquently wild, - He gaily spoke as his companions smiled; - Lightly he rose, and with his former grace - Proposed some doubt, and argued on the case; - Fate and fore-knowledge were his favourite themes-- - How vain man’s purpose, how absurd his schemes: - “Whatever is, was ere our birth decreed; } - We think our actions from ourselves proceed, } - And idly we lament th’ inevitable deed; } - It seems our own, but there’s a power above 360 - Directs the motion, nay, that makes us move; - Nor good nor evil can you beings name, - Who are but rooks and castles in the game; - Superior natures with their puppets play, - Till, bagg’d or buried, all are swept away.” - Such were the notions of a mind to ill - Now prone, but ardent and determined still. - Of joy now eager, as before of fame, - And screen’d by folly when assail’d by shame, - Deeply he sank; obey’d each passion’s call, 370 - And used his reason to defend them all. - Shall I proceed, and step by step relate - The odious progress of a sinner’s fate? - No--let me rather hasten to the time - (Sure to arrive) when misery waits on crime. - With virtue, prudence fled; what Shore possess’d - Was sold, was spent, and he was now distress’d; - And Want, unwelcome stranger, pale and wan, - Met with her haggard looks the hurried man; - His pride felt keenly what he must expect 380 - From useless pity and from cold neglect. - Struck by new terrors, from his friends he fled, - And wept his woes upon a restless bed; - Retiring late, at early hour to rise, - With shrunken features, and with bloodshot eyes. - If sleep one moment closed the dismal view, - Fancy her terrors built upon the true; - And night and day had their alternate woes, - That baffled pleasure, and that mock’d repose; - Till to despair and anguish was consign’d 390 - The wreck and ruin of a noble mind. - Now seized for debt, and lodged within a jail, - He tried his friendships, and he found them fail; - Then fail’d his spirits, and his thoughts were all - Fix’d on his sins, his sufferings, and his fall. - His ruffled mind was pictured in his face, - Once the fair seat of dignity and grace; - Great was the danger of a man so prone - To think of madness, and to think alone; - Yet pride still lived, and struggled to sustain 400 - The drooping spirit and the roving brain; - But this too fail’d: a friend his freedom gave, - And sent him help the threat’ning world to brave; - Gave solid counsel what to seek or flee, - But still would stranger to his person be: - In vain! the truth determined to explore, - He traced the friend whom he had wrong’d before. - This was too much; both aided and advised - By one who shunn’d him, pitied, and despised, - He bore it not; ’twas a deciding stroke, 410 - And on his reason like a torrent broke: - In dreadful stillness he appear’d awhile, - With vacant horror and a ghastly smile; - Then rose at once into the frantic rage, - That force controll’d not, nor could love assuage. - Friends now appear’d, but in the man was seen - The angry maniac, with vindictive mien; - Too late their pity gave to care and skill - The hurried mind and ever-wandering will; - Unnoticed pass’d all time, and not a ray 420 - Of reason broke on his benighted way; - But now he spurn’d the straw in pure disdain, - And now laugh’d loudly at the clinking chain. - Then, as its wrath subsided, by degrees - The mind sank slowly to infantine ease; - To playful folly, and to causeless joy, - Speech without aim, and without end, employ; - He drew fantastic figures on the wall, - And gave some wild relation of them all; - With brutal shape he join’d the human face, 430 - And idiot smiles approved the motley race. - Harmless at length th’ unhappy man was found, - The spirit settled, but the reason drown’d; - And all the dreadful tempest died away, - To the dull stillness of the misty day. - And now his freedom he attain’d--if free, - The lost to reason, truth, and hope, can be; - His friends, or wearied with the charge, or sure - The harmless wretch was now beyond a cure, - Gave him to wander where he pleased, and find 440 - His own resources for the eager mind; - The playful children of the place he meets, - Playful with them he rambles through the streets; - In all they need, his stronger arm he lends, - And his lost mind to these approving friends. - That gentle maid, whom once the youth had loved, - Is now with mild religious pity moved; - Kindly she chides his boyish flights, while he - Will for a moment fix’d and pensive be; - And, as she trembling speaks, his lively eyes 450 - Explore her looks, he listens to her sighs; - Charm’d by her voice, th’ harmonious sounds invade - His clouded mind, and for a time persuade: - Like a pleased infant, who has newly caught - From the maternal glance a gleam of thought; - He stands enrapt, the half-known voice to hear, - And starts, half-conscious, at the falling tear. - Rarely from town, nor then unwatch’d, he goes, - In darker mood, as if to hide his woes; - Returning soon, he with impatience seeks 460 - His youthful friends, and shouts, and sings, and speaks; - Speaks a wild speech with action all as wild-- - The children’s leader, and himself a child; - He spins their top, or, at their bidding, bends - His back, while o’er it leap his laughing friends; - Simple and weak, he acts the boy once more, - And heedless children call him Silly Shore. - -[7] Fasil was a rebel chief, and Michael the general of the royal -army in Abyssinia, when Mr. Bruce visited that country. In all -other respects their characters were nearly similar. They are both -represented as cruel and treacherous; and even the apparently strong -distinction of loyal and rebellious is in a great measure set aside, -when we are informed that Fasil was an open enemy, and Michael an -insolent and ambitious controller of the royal person and family. - - -TALE XII. - -_’SQUIRE THOMAS_; OR, THE PRECIPITATE CHOICE. - - Such smiling rogues as these, - Like rats, oft bite the holy cords in twain, - Too intrinsicate t’ unloose---- - _Lear_, Act II. Scene 2. - - My other self, my counsel’s consistory, - My oracle, my prophet, . . . - I as a child will go by thy direction. - _Richard III_. Act II. Scene 2. - -If I do not have pity [of] her, I’m a villain; if I do not love her, -I am a Jew. - _Much Ado about Nothing_, Act II. Scene 3. - - Women are soft, mild, [pitiful and] flexible; - [Thou stern,] obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless. - 3 _Henry VI_. Act I. Scene 4. - - He must be told of it, and he shall; the office - Becomes a woman best; I’ll take it upon me; - If I prove honey-mouth’d, let my tongue blister. - _Winter’s Tale_, Act II. Scene 2. - - Disguise--I see thou art a wickedness. - _Twelfth Night_, Act II. Scene 2. - - - - -TALE XII. - -_’SQUIRE THOMAS_. - - - ’Squire Thomas flatter’d long a wealthy aunt, - Who left him all that she could give or grant: - Ten years he tried, with all his craft and skill, - To fix the sovereign lady’s varying will; - Ten years enduring at her board to sit, - He meekly listen’d to her tales and wit; - He took the meanest office man can take, - And his aunt’s vices for her money’s sake. - By many a threat’ning hint she waked his fear, - And he was pain’d to see a rival near; 10 - Yet all the taunts of her contemptuous pride - He bore, nor found his grov’ling spirit tried; - Nay, when she wish’d his parents to traduce, - Fawning he smiled, and justice call’d th’ abuse; - “They taught you nothing; are you not, at best,” } - Said the proud dame, “a trifler, and a jest? } - Confess you are a fool!”--he bow’d, and he confess’d. } - This vex’d him much, but could not always last: - The dame is buried, and the trial past. - There was a female, who had courted long 20 - Her cousin’s gifts, and deeply felt the wrong; - By a vain boy forbidden to attend - The private councils of her wealthy friend, - She vow’d revenge, nor should that crafty boy - In triumph undisturb’d his spoils enjoy; - He heard, he smiled, and when the will was read, - Kindly dismiss’d the kindred of the dead; - “The dear deceased,” he call’d her, and the crowd - Moved off with curses deep and threat’nings loud. - The youth retired, and, with a mind at ease, 30 - Found he was rich, and fancied he must please. - He might have pleased, and to his comfort found - The wife he wish’d, if he had sought around; - For there were lasses of his own degree, - With no more hatred to the state than he; - But he had courted spleen and age so long, - His heart refused to woo the fair and young; - So long attended on caprice and whim, - He thought attention now was due to him; - And as his flattery pleased the wealthy dame, 40 - Heir to the wealth he might the flattery claim; - But this the fair with one accord denied, - Nor waved for man’s caprice the sex’s pride. - There is a season when to them is due - Worship and awe, and they will claim it too: - “Fathers,” they cry, “long hold us in their chain, - Nay, tyrant brothers claim a right to reign; - Uncles and guardians we in turn obey, - And husbands rule with ever-during sway; - Short is the time when lovers at the feet 50 - Of beauty kneel, and own the slavery sweet; - And shall we this our triumph, this the aim - And boast of female power, forbear to claim? - No! we demand that homage, that respect, - Or the proud rebel punish and reject.” - Our hero, still too indolent, too nice - To pay for beauty the accustom’d price, - No less forbore t’ address the humbler maid, - Who might have yielded with the price unpaid; - But lived, himself to humour and to please, 60 - To count his money, and enjoy his ease. - It pleased a neighbouring ’squire to recommend - A faithful youth, as servant to his friend; - Nay, more than servant, whom he praised for parts - Ductile yet strong, and for the best of hearts; - One who might ease him in his small affairs, - With tenants, tradesmen, taxes, and repairs; - Answer his letters, look to all his dues, - And entertain him with discourse and news. - The ’squire believed, and found the trusted youth 70 - A very pattern for his care and truth; - Not for his virtues to be praised alone, - But for a modest mien and humble tone; - Assenting always, but as if he meant - Only to strength of reasons to assent: - For was he stubborn, and retain’d his doubt, - Till the more subtle ’squire had forced it out; - Nay, still was right, but he perceived that strong - And powerful minds could make the right the wrong. - When the ’squire’s thoughts on some fair damsel dwelt, 80 - The faithful friend his apprehensions felt; - It would rejoice his faithful heart to find - A lady suited to his master’s mind; - But who deserved that master? who would prove - That hers was pure, uninterested love? - Although a servant, he would scorn to take - A countess, till she suffer’d for his sake; - Some tender spirit, humble, faithful, true, - Such, my dear master! must be sought for you. - Six months had pass’d, and not a lady seen, 90 - With just this love, ’twixt fifty and fifteen; - All seem’d his doctrine or his pride to shun, - All would be woo’d, before they would be won; - When the chance naming of a race and fair - Our ’squire disposed to take his pleasure there. - The friend profess’d, “although he first began - To hint the thing, it seem’d a thoughtless plan: - The roads, he fear’d, were foul, the days were short, - The village far, and yet there might be sport.” - “What! you of roads and starless nights afraid? 100 - You think to govern! you to be obey’d!” - Smiling he spoke; the humble friend declared - His soul’s obedience, and to go prepared. - The place was distant, but with great delight - They saw a race, and hail’d the glorious sight: - The ’squire exulted, and declared the ride - Had amply paid, and he was satisfied. - They gazed, they feasted, and, in happy mood, - Homeward return’d, and hastening as they rode; - For short the day, and sudden was the change 110 - From light to darkness, and the way was strange; - Our hero soon grew peevish, then distress’d; - He dreaded darkness, and he sigh’d for rest: - Going, they pass’d a village; but, alas! - Returning saw no village to repass; - The ’squire remember’d too a noble hall, - Large as a church, and whiter than its wall: - This he had noticed as they rode along, - And justly reason’d that their road was wrong. - George, full of awe, was modest in reply-- 120 - “The fault was his, ’twas folly to deny; - And of his master’s safety were he sure, - There was no grievance he would not endure.” - This made his peace with the relenting ’squire, - Whose thoughts yet dwelt on supper and a fire; - When, as they reach’d a long and pleasant green, - Dwellings of men, and next a man, were seen. - “My friend,” said George, “to travellers astray - Point out an inn, and guide us on the way.” - The man look’d up; “Surprising! can it be 130 - My master’s son? as I’m alive, ’tis he.” - “How! Robin,” George replied, “and are we near - My father’s house? how strangely things appear!-- - Dear sir, though wanderers, we at last are right: - Let us proceed, and glad my father’s sight; - We shall at least be fairly lodged and fed, - I can ensure a supper and a bed; - Let us this night, as one of pleasure date, - And of surprise: it is an act of fate.” - “Go on,” the ’squire in happy temper cried; 140 - “I like such blunder! I approve such guide.” - They ride, they halt; the farmer comes in haste; - Then tells his wife how much their house is graced; - They bless the chance, they praise the lucky son, - That caused the error.--Nay! it was not one, - But their good fortune--Cheerful grew the ’squire, - Who found dependants, flattery, wine, and fire; - He heard the jack turn round; the busy dame } - Produced her damask; and with supper came } - The daughter, dress’d with care, and full of } - maiden-shame. } 150 - Surprised, our hero saw the air and dress, - And strove his admiration to express; - Nay! felt it too--for Harriot was, in truth, - A tall fair beauty in the bloom of youth; - And, from the pleasure and surprise, a grace - Adorn’d the blooming damsel’s form and face; - Then too, such high respect and duty paid - By all--such silent reverence in the maid; - Vent’ring with caution, yet with haste, a glance; - Loth to retire, yet trembling to advance, 160 - Appear’d the nymph, and in her gentle guest - Stirr’d soft emotions till the hour of rest. - Sweet was his sleep, and in the morn again - He felt a mixture of delight and pain: - “How fair, how gentle,” said the ’squire, “how meek, - And yet how sprightly, when disposed to speak! - Nature has bless’d her form, and Heaven her mind, - But in her favours Fortune is unkind; - Poor is the maid--nay, poor she cannot prove - Who is enrich’d with beauty, worth, and love.” 170 - The ’squire arose, with no precise intent - To go or stay--uncertain what he meant. - He moved to part--they begg’d him first to dine; - And who could then escape from love and wine? - As came the night, more charming grew the fair, - And seem’d to watch him with a two-fold care: - On the third morn, resolving not to stay, - Though urged by love, he bravely rode away. - Arrived at home, three pensive days he gave - To feelings fond and meditations grave; 180 - Lovely she was, and, if he did not err, - As fond of him as his fond heart of her; - Still he delay’d, unable to decide - Which was the master-passion, love or pride: - He sometimes wonder’d how his friend could make, - And then exulted in, the night’s mistake; - Had she but fortune, “doubtless then,” he cried, - “Some happier man had won the wealthy bride.” - While thus he hung in balance, now inclined - To change his state, and then to change his mind-- 190 - That careless George dropp’d idly on the ground - A letter, which his crafty master found; - The stupid youth confess’d his fault, and pray’d - The generous ’squire to spare a gentle maid; - Of whom her tender mother, full of fears, - Had written much--“She caught her oft in tears, - For ever thinking on a youth above - Her humble fortune--still she own’d not love; - Nor can define, dear girl! the cherish’d pain, - But would rejoice to see the cause again. 200 - That neighbouring youth, whom she endured before, - She now rejects, and will behold no more; - Raised by her passion, she no longer stoops - To her own equals, but she pines and droops: - Like to a lily, on whose sweets the sun - Has withering gazed--she saw and was undone. - His wealth allured her not--nor was she moved - By his superior state, himself she loved: - So mild, so good, so gracious, so genteel-- } - But spare your sister, and her love conceal; } 210 - We must the fault forgive, since she the pain } - must feel.” } - “Fault!” said the ’squire, “there’s coarseness in the mind - That thus conceives of feelings so refined; - Here end my doubts, nor blame yourself, my friend, - Fate made you careless--here my doubts have end.” - The way is plain before us--there is now - The lover’s visit first, and then the vow - Mutual and fond, the marriage-rite, the bride - Brought to her home with all a husband’s pride; - The ’squire receives the prize his merits won, 220 - And the glad parents leave the patron-son. - But in short time he saw with much surprise, } - First gloom, then grief, and then resentment rise, } - From proud, commanding frowns and anger-darting eyes: } - “Is there in Harriot’s humble mind this fire, - This fierce impatience?” ask’d the puzzled ’squire: - “Has marriage changed her? or the mask she wore - Has she thrown by, and is herself once more?” - Hour after hour, when clouds on clouds appear, - Dark and more dark, we know the tempest near; 230 - And thus the frowning brow, the restless form, - And threat’ning glance, forerun domestic storm: - So read the husband, and, with troubled mind, - Reveal’d his fears--“My love, I hope you find - All here is pleasant--but I must confess } - You seem offended, or in some distress; } - Explain the grief you feel, and leave me to redress.” } - “Leave it to you?” replied the nymph--“indeed! - What--to the cause from whence the ills proceed? - Good Heaven! to take me from a place, where I 240 - Had every comfort underneath the sky; - And then immure me in a gloomy place, - With the grim monsters of your ugly race, - That from their canvas staring, make me dread - Through the dark chambers where they hang to tread! - No friend nor neighbour comes to give that joy, - Which all things here must banish or destroy: - Where is the promised coach? the pleasant ride? - Oh! what a fortune has a farmer’s bride! - Your sordid pride has placed me just above 250 - Your hired domestics--and what pays me? love! - A selfish fondness I endure each hour, - And share unwitness’d pomp, unenvied power; - I hear your folly, smile at your parade, - And see your favourite dishes duly made; - Then am I richly dress’d for you t’ admire, - Such is my duty and my lord’s desire; - Is this a life for youth, for health, for joy? - Are these my duties--this my base employ? - No! to my father’s house will I repair, 260 - And make your idle wealth support me there; - Was it your wish to have an humble bride - For bondage thankful? Curse upon your pride! - Was it a slave you wanted? You shall see, - That, if not happy, I at least am free; - Well, sir, your answer!”--silent stood the ’squire, - As looks a miser at his house on fire; - Where all he deems is vanish’d in that flame, - Swept from the earth his substance and his name: - So, lost to every promised joy of life, 270 - Our ’squire stood gaping at his angry wife;-- - His fate, his ruin, where he saw it vain - To hope for peace, pray, threaten, or complain; - And thus, betwixt his wonder at the ill - And his despair--there stood he gaping still. - “Your answer, sir--shall I depart a spot - I thus detest?”--“Oh, miserable lot!” - Exclaim’d the man; “Go, serpent! nor remain - To sharpen wo by insult and disdain: - A nest of harpies was I doom’d to meet; 280 - What plots, what combinations of deceit! - I see it now--all plann’d, design’d, contrived; - Served by that villain--by this fury wived-- - What fate is mine! What wisdom, virtue, truth, - Can stand, if dæmons set their traps for youth? - He lose his way! vile dog! he cannot lose - The way a villain through his life pursues; - And thou, deceiver! thou, afraid to move, - And hiding close the serpent in the dove! - I saw--but, fated to endure disgrace, 290 - Unheeding saw, the fury in thy face; - And call’d it spirit--Oh! I might have found - Fraud and imposture--all the kindred round! - A nest of vipers”---- - “Sir, I’ll not admit - These wild effusions of your angry wit: - Have you that value, that we all should use - Such mighty arts for such important views? - Are you such prize--and is my state so fair, - That they should sell their souls to get me there? - Think you that we alone our thoughts disguise? } 300 - When in pursuit of some contended prize, } - Mask we alone the heart, and soothe whom we despise? } - Speak you of craft and subtle schemes, who know - That all your wealth you to deception owe; - Who play’d for ten dull years a scoundrel-part, - To worm yourself into a widow’s heart? - Now, when you guarded, with superior skill, - That lady’s closet, and preserved her will, - Blind in your craft, you saw not one of those - Opposed by you might you in turn oppose; 310 - Or watch your motions, and by art obtain - Share of that wealth you gave your peace to gain? - Did conscience never”---- - “Cease, Tormentor, cease-- - Or reach me poison--let me rest in peace!” - “Agreed--but hear me--let the truth appear”-- - “Then state your purpose--I’ll be calm and hear”-- - “Know then, this wealth, sole object of your care, - I had some right, without your hand, to share; - My mother’s claim was just--but soon she saw - Your power, compell’d, insulted, to withdraw: 320 - ’Twas then my father, in his anger, swore - You should divide the fortune, or restore; - Long we debated--and you find me now - Heroic victim to a father’s vow; - Like Jephtha’s daughter, but in different state, - And both decreed to mourn our early fate; - Hence was my brother servant to your pride, - Vengeance made him your slave--and me your bride. - Now all is known--a dreadful price I pay - For our revenge--but still we have our day; 330 - All that you love you must with others share, - Or all you dread from their resentment dare! - Yet terms I offer--let contention cease: - Divide the spoil, and let us part in peace.” - Our hero trembling heard--he sat--he rose-- - Nor could his motions nor his mind compose; - He paced the room--and, stalking to her side, } - Gazed on the face of his undaunted bride; } - And nothing there but scorn and calm aversion spied. } - He would have vengeance, yet he fear’d the law: 340 - Her friends would threaten, and their power he saw; - “Then let her go;”--but oh! a mighty sum - Would that demand, since he had let her come; - Nor from his sorrows could he find redress, - Save that which led him to a like distress, - And all his ease was in his wife to see - A wretch as anxious and distress’d as he. - Her strongest wish, the fortune to divide - And part in peace, his avarice denied; - And thus it happen’d, as in all deceit, 350 - The cheater found the evil of the cheat; - The husband grieved--nor was the wife at rest; - Him she could vex, and he could her molest; - She could his passion into frenzy raise, - But, when the fire was kindled, fear’d the blaze: - As much they studied, so in time they found - The easiest way to give the deepest wound; - But then, like fencers, they were equal still, - Both lost in danger what they gain’d in skill; - Each heart a keener kind of rancour gain’d, 360 - And paining more, was more severely pain’d; - And thus by both were equal vengeance dealt, - And both the anguish they inflicted felt. - - - - -TALE XIII. - -_JESSE AND COLIN._ - - -Then she plots, then she ruminates, then she devises; and what they -think in their hearts they may effect, they will break their hearts -but they will effect. - _Merry Wives of Windsor_, Act II. Scene 2. - -She hath spoken that she should not, I am sure of that; Heaven knows -what she hath known. - _Macbeth_, Act V. Scene 1. - - Our house is hell, and thou a merry devil. - _Merchant of Venice_, Act II. Scene 3. - - -And yet, for aught I see, they are as sick that surfeit of too much, -as they that starve with nothing; it is no mean happiness, therefore, -to be seated in the mean. - _Merchant of Venice_, Act I. Scene 2. - - -TALE XIII. - -_JESSE AND COLIN._ - - A vicar died, and left his daughter poor-- - It hurt her not, she was not rich before: - Her humble share of worldly goods she sold, - Paid every debt, and then her fortune told; - And found, with youth and beauty, hope and health, - Two hundred guineas was her worldly wealth; - It then remain’d to choose her path in life, - And first, said Jesse, “Shall I be a wife?-- - Colin is mild and civil, kind and just, - I know his love, his temper I can trust; 10 - But small his farm, it asks perpetual care, - And we must toil as well as trouble share. - True, he was taught in all the gentle arts - That raise the soul, and soften human hearts, - And boasts a parent, who deserves to shine - In higher class, and I could wish her mine; - Nor wants he will his station to improve, - A just ambition waked by faithful love;-- - Still is he poor--and here my father’s friend - Deigns for his daughter, as her own, to send; 20 - A worthy lady, who it seems has known - A world of griefs and troubles of her own. - I was an infant, when she came, a guest - Beneath my father’s humble roof to rest; - Her kindred all unfeeling, vast her woes; - Such her complaint, and there she found repose; - Enrich’d by fortune, now she nobly lives, - And nobly, from the blest abundance, gives; - The grief, the want of human life, she knows, - And comfort there and here relief bestows; 30 - But are they not dependants?--Foolish pride! - Am I not honour’d by such friend and guide? - Have I a home,” (here Jesse dropp’d a tear,) - “Or friend beside?”--A faithful friend was near. - Now Colin came, at length resolved to lay - His heart before her and to urge her stay; - True, his own plough the gentle Colin drove, - An humble farmer with aspiring love; - Who, urged by passion, never dared till now, - Thus urged by fears, his trembling hopes avow. 40 - Her father’s glebe he managed; every year - The grateful vicar held the youth more dear; - He saw indeed the prize in Colin’s view, - And wish’d his Jesse with a man so true; - Timid as true, he urged with anxious air - His tender hope, and made the trembling prayer; - When Jesse saw, nor could with coldness see, - Such fond respect, such tried sincerity, - Grateful for favours to her father dealt, - She more than grateful for his passion felt; 50 - Nor could she frown on one so good and kind, - Yet fear’d to smile, and was unfix’d in mind; - But prudence placed the female friend in view-- - What might not one so rich and grateful do? - So lately, too, the good old vicar died, } - His faithful daughter must not cast aside } - The signs of filial grief, and be a ready bride: } - Thus, led by prudence, to the lady’s seat - The village-beauty purposed to retreat; - But, as in hard-fought fields the victor knows 60 - What to the vanquish’d he, in honour, owes, - So, in this conquest over powerful love, - Prudence resolved a generous foe to prove; - And Jesse felt a mingled fear and pain - In her dismission of a faithful swain, - Gave her kind thanks, and when she saw his wo, - Kindly betray’d that she was loth to go. - But would she promise, if abroad she met } - A frowning world, she would remember yet } - “Where dwelt a friend?”--“That could she not forget.” } - And thus they parted; but each faithful heart 71 - Felt the compulsion, and refused to part. - Now by the morning mail the timid maid - Was to that kind and wealthy dame convey’d; - Whose invitation, when her father died, - Jesse as comfort to her heart applied. - She knew the days her generous friend had seen-- - As wife and widow, evil days had been; - She married early, and for half her life - Was an insulted and forsaken wife; 80 - Widow’d and poor, her angry father gave, - Mix’d with reproach, the pittance of a slave; - Forgetful brothers pass’d her, but she knew - Her humbler friends, and to their home withdrew; - The good old vicar to her sire applied - For help, and help’d her when her sire denied; - When in few years death stalk’d through bower and hall, - Sires, sons, and sons of sons, were buried all; - She then abounded, and had wealth to spare - For softening grief she once was doom’d to share; 90 - Thus train’d in misery’s school, and taught to feel, - She would rejoice an orphan’s woes to heal. - So Jesse thought, who look’d within her breast, - And thence conceived how bounteous minds are bless’d. - From her vast mansion look’d the lady down - On humbler buildings of a busy town; - Thence came her friends of either sex, and all - With whom she lived on terms reciprocal. - They pass’d the hours with their accustom’d ease, - As guests inclined, but not compell’d to please; 100 - But there were others in the mansion found, - For office chosen, and by duties bound; - Three female rivals, each of power possess’d, - Th’ attendant-maid, poor friend, and kindred-guest. - To these came Jesse, as a seaman thrown - By the rude storm upon a coast unknown: - The view was flattering, civil seem’d the race, - But all unknown the dangers of the place. - Few hours had pass’d, when, from attendants freed, - The lady utter’d--“This is kind indeed; 110 - Believe me, love! that I for one like you - Have daily pray’d, a friend discreet and true; - Oh! wonder not that I on you depend, - You are mine own hereditary friend: - Hearken, my Jesse, never can I trust - Beings ungrateful, selfish, and unjust; - But you are present, and my load of care - Your love will serve to lighten and to share. - Come near me, Jesse--let not those below - Of my reliance on your friendship know; 120 - Look as they look, be in their freedoms free-- - But all they say do you convey to me.” - Here Jesse’s thoughts to Colin’s cottage flew, - And with such speed she scarce their absence knew. - “Jane loves her mistress, and should she depart, - I lose her service, and she breaks her heart; - My ways and wishes, looks and thoughts she knows, - And duteous care by close attention shows; - But is she faithful? in temptation strong? - Will she not wrong me? ah! I fear the wrong. 130 - Your father loved me; now, in time of need, - Watch for my good, and to his place succeed. - “Blood doesn’t bind--that girl, who every day - Eats of my bread, would wish my life away; - I am her _dear relation_, and she thinks - To make her fortune, an ambitious minx! - She only courts me for the prospect’s sake, - Because she knows I have a will to make; - Yes, love! my will delay’d, I know not how-- - But you are here, and I will make it now. 140 - “That idle creature, keep her in your view, - See what she does, what she desires to do; - On her young mind may artful villains prey, - And to my plate and jewels find a way; - A pleasant humour has the girl; her smile - And cheerful manner tedious hours beguile; - But well observe her, ever near her be, - Close in your thoughts, in your professions free. - “Again, my Jesse, hear what I advise, - And watch a woman ever in disguise; 150 - Issop, that widow, serious, subtle, sly-- - But what of this?--I must have company. - She markets for me, and although she makes - Profit, no doubt, of all she undertakes, - Yet she is one I can to all produce, - And all her talents are in daily use; - Deprived of her, I may another find - As sly and selfish, with a weaker mind: - But never trust her, she is full of art, - And worms herself into the closest heart; 160 - Seem then, I pray you, careless in her sight, - Nor let her know, my love, how we unite. - “Do, my good Jesse, cast a view around, - And let no wrong within my house be found; - That girl associates with--I know not who - Are her companions, nor what ill they do; - ’Tis then the widow plans, ’tis then she tries - Her various arts and schemes for fresh supplies; - ’Tis then, if ever, Jane her duty quits, - And, whom I know not, favours and admits: 170 - Oh! watch their movements all; for me ’tis hard, - Indeed is vain, but you may keep a guard; - And I, when none your watchful glance deceive, - May make my will, and think what I shall leave.” - Jesse, with fear, disgust, alarm, surprise, - Heard of these duties for her ears and eyes; - Heard by what service she must gain her bread, - And went with scorn and sorrow to her bed. - Jane was a servant fitted for her place, - Experienced, cunning, fraudful, selfish, base; 180 - Skill’d in those mean, humiliating arts - That make their way to proud and selfish hearts; - By instinct taught, she felt an awe, a fear, - For Jesse’s upright, simple character; - Whom with gross flattery she awhile assail’d, - And then beheld with hatred when it fail’d; - Yet, trying still upon her mind for hold, - She all the secrets of the mansion told; - And to invite an equal trust she drew - Of every mind a bold and rapid view; 190 - But on the widow’d friend with deep disdain, - And rancorous envy, dwelt the treacherous Jane.-- - In vain such arts; without deceit or pride, - With a just taste and feeling for her guide, - From all contagion Jesse kept apart, - Free in her manners, guarded in her heart. - Jesse one morn was thoughtful, and her sigh - The widow heard as she was passing by; - And--“Well!” she said, “is that some distant swain, - Or aught with us, that gives your bosom pain? 200 - Come, we are fellow-sufferers, slaves in thrall, - And tasks and griefs are common to us all; - Think not my frankness strange: they love to paint - Their state with freedom, who endure restraint; - And there is something in that speaking eye - And sober mien, that prove I may rely. - You came a stranger; to my words attend, - Accept my offer, and you find a friend; - It is a labyrinth in which you stray, - Come, hold my clue, and I will lead the way. 210 - “Good Heav’n! that one so jealous, envious, base, - Should be the mistress of so sweet a place; - She, who so long herself was low and poor, - Now broods suspicious on her useless store; - She loves to see us abject, loves to deal - Her insult round, and then pretends to feel; - Prepare to cast all dignity aside, - For know your talents will be quickly tried; - Nor think, from favours past, a friend to gain, - ’Tis but by duties we our posts maintain: 220 - I read her novels, gossip through the town, - And daily go, for idle stories, down; - I cheapen all she buys, and bear the curse - Of honest tradesmen for my niggard-purse; - And, when for her this meanness I display, - She cries, ’I heed not what I throw away;’ - Of secret bargains I endure the shame, - And stake my credit for our fish and game; - Oft has she smiled to hear, ’her generous soul - Would gladly give, but stoops to my control’; 230 - Nay! I have heard her, when she chanced to come - Where I contended for a petty sum, - Affirm ’twas painful to behold such care, - ‘But Issop’s nature is to pinch and spare:’ - Thus all the meanness of the house is mine, - And my reward--to scorn her, and to dine. - “See next that giddy thing, with neither pride - To keep her safe, nor principle to guide: - Poor, idle, simple flirt! as sure as fate - Her maiden-fame will have an early date. 240 - Of her beware; for all who live below - Have faults they wish not all the world to know; - And she is fond of listening, full of doubt, - And stoops to guilt to find an error out. - “And now once more observe the artful maid, - A lying, prying, jilting, thievish jade; - I think, my love, you would not condescend - To call a low, illiterate girl your friend; - But in our troubles we are apt, you know, - To lean on all who some compassion show; 250 - And she has flexile features, acting eyes, - And seems with every look to sympathise; - No mirror can a mortal’s grief express - With more precision, or can feel it less; - That proud, mean spirit, she by fawning courts, - By vulgar flattery, and by vile reports; - And by that proof she every instant gives - To one so mean, that yet a meaner lives.-- - “Come, I have drawn the curtain, and you see - Your fellow-actors, all our company; 260 - Should you incline to throw reserve aside, - And in my judgment and my love confide, - I could some prospects open to your view, - That ask attention--and, till then, adieu.” - “Farewell!” said Jesse, hastening to her room, - Where all she saw within, without, was gloom: - Confused, perplex’d, she pass’d a dreary hour, - Before her reason could exert its power; - To her all seem’d mysterious, all allied - To avarice, meanness, folly, craft, and pride; 270 - Wearied with thought, she breathed the garden’s air, - Then came the laughing lass, and join’d her there. - “My sweetest friend has dwelt with us a week, - And does she love us? be sincere and speak; - My aunt you cannot--Lord! how I should hate - To be like her, all misery and state; - Proud, and yet envious, she disgusted sees - All who are happy, and who look at ease. - Let friendship bind us, I will quickly show - Some favourites near us you’ll be bless’d to know; 280 - My aunt forbids it--but, can she expect, - To soothe her spleen, we shall ourselves neglect? - Jane and the widow were to watch and stay - My free-born feet; I watch’d as well as they; - Lo! what is this? this simple key explores - The dark recess that holds the spinster’s stores; - And led by her ill star, I chanced to see - Where Issop keeps her stock of ratafie; - Used in the hours of anger and alarm, - It makes her civil, and it keeps her warm; 290 - Thus bless’d with secrets, both would choose to hide, - Their fears now grant me what their scorn denied. - “My freedom thus by their assent secured, - Bad as it is, the place may be endured; - And bad it is, but her estates, you know, - And her beloved hoards, she must bestow; - So we can slyly our amusements take, - And friends of dæmons, if they help us, make.” - “Strange creatures these,” thought Jesse, half inclined - To smile at one malicious and yet kind; 300 - Frank and yet cunning, with a heart to love - And malice prompt--the serpent and the dove; - Here could she dwell? or could she yet depart? - Could she be artful? could she bear with art?-- - This splendid mansion gave the cottage grace, - She thought a dungeon was a happier place; - And Colin pleading, when he pleaded best, - Wrought not such sudden change in Jesse’s breast. - The wondering maiden, who had only read - Of such vile beings, saw them now with dread; 310 - Safe in themselves--for nature has design’d - The creature’s poison harmless to the kind; - But all beside who in the haunts are found - Must dread the poison, and must feel the wound. - Days full of care, slow weary weeks pass’d on; - Eager to go, still Jesse was not gone; - Her time in trifling or in tears she spent, - She never gave, she never felt content: - The lady wonder’d that her humble guest - Strove not to please, would neither lie nor jest; 320 - She sought no news, no scandal would convey, - But walk’d for health, and was at church to pray; - All this displeased, and soon the widow cried: - “Let me be frank--I am not satisfied; - You know my wishes, I your judgment trust; - You can be useful, Jesse, and you must; - Let me be plainer, child--I want an ear, - When I am deaf, instead of mine to hear; - When mine is sleeping, let your eye awake; - When I observe not, observation take; 330 - Alas! I rest not on my pillow laid, - Then threat’ning whispers make my soul afraid; - The tread of strangers to my ear ascends, - Fed at my cost, the minions of my friends; - While you, without a care, a wish to please, - Eat the vile bread of idleness and ease.” - Th’ indignant girl astonish’d answer’d--“Nay! - This instant, madam, let me haste away; - Thus speaks my father’s, thus an orphan’s, friend? - This instant, lady, let your bounty end.” 340 - The lady frown’d indignant--“What!” she cried, - “A vicar’s daughter with a princess’ pride! - And pauper’s lot! but pitying I forgive; - How, simple Jesse, do you think to live? - Have I not power to help you, foolish maid? - To my concerns be your attention paid; - With cheerful mind th’ allotted duties take, - And recollect I have a will to make.” - Jesse, who felt as liberal natures feel, - When thus the baser their designs reveal, 350 - Replied--“Those duties were to her unfit, - Nor would her spirit to her tasks submit.” - In silent scorn the lady sate awhile, - And then replied with stern contemptuous smile-- - “Think you, fair madam, that you came to share - Fortunes like mine without a thought or care? - A guest, indeed! from every trouble free, - Dress’d by my help, with not a care for me. - When I a visit to your father made, - I for the poor assistance largely paid; 360 - To his domestics I their tasks assign’d; - I fix’d the portion for his hungry hind; - And had your father (simple man!) obey’d - My good advice, and watch’d as well as pray’d, - He might have left you something with his prayers, - And lent some colour for these lofty airs.-- - “In tears! my love! Oh, then my soften’d heart - Cannot resist--we never more will part; - I need your friendship--I will be your friend; - And thus determined, to my will attend.” 370 - Jesse went forth, but with determined soul - To fly such love, to break from such control; - “I hear enough,” the trembling damsel cried; - “Flight be my care, and Providence my guide: - Ere yet a prisoner, I escape will make; } - Will, thus display’d, th’ insidious arts forsake, } - And, as the rattle sounds, will fly the fatal snake.” } - Jesse her thanks upon the morrow paid, - Prepared to go, determined though afraid. - “Ungrateful creature,” said the lady, “this 380 - Could I imagine?--are you frantic, miss? - What! leave your friend, your prospects--is it true?” - This Jesse answer’d by a mild “Adieu!” - The dame replied, “Then houseless may you rove, - The starving victim to a guilty love; - Branded with shame, in sickness doom’d to nurse - An ill-form’d cub, your scandal and your curse; - Spurn’d by its scoundrel father, and ill fed - By surly rustics with the parish-bread!-- - Relent you not?--speak--yet I can forgive; 390 - Still live with me”--“With you,” said Jesse, “live? - No! I would first endure what you describe, - Rather than breathe with your detested tribe: - Who long have feign’d, till now their very hearts - Are firmly fix’d in their accursed parts; - Who all profess esteem, and feel disdain, - And all, with justice, of deceit complain; - Whom I could pity, but that, while I stay, - My terror drives all kinder thoughts away; - Grateful for this, that when I think of you, 400 - I little fear what poverty can do.” - The angry matron her attendant Jane - Summon’d in haste to soothe the fierce disdain. - “A vile detested wretch!” the lady cried, } - “Yet shall she be, by many an effort, tried, } - And, clogg’d with debt and fear, against her will abide; } - And, once secured, she never shall depart - Till I have proved the firmness of her heart; - Then when she dares not, would not, cannot go, - I’ll make her feel what ’tis to use me so.” 410 - The pensive Colin in his garden stray’d, - But felt not then the beauties it display’d; - There many a pleasant object met his view, - A rising wood of oaks behind it grew; - A stream ran by it, and the village-green - And public road were from the gardens seen; - Save where the pine and larch the bound’ry made, - And on the rose-beds threw a softening shade. - The mother sat beside the garden-door, - Dress’d as in times ere she and hers were poor; 420 - The broad-laced cap was known in ancient days, - When madam’s dress compell’d the village praise; - And still she look’d as in the times of old, - Ere his last farm the erring husband sold; - While yet the mansion stood in decent state, - And paupers waited at the well-known gate. - “Alas! my son!” the mother cried, “and why - That silent grief and oft-repeated sigh? - True, we are poor, but thou hast never felt - Pangs to thy father for his error dealt; 430 - Pangs from strong hopes of visionary gain, - For ever raised, and ever found in vain. - He rose unhappy! from his fruitless schemes, - As guilty wretches from their blissful dreams; - But thou wert then, my son, a playful child, - Wondering at grief, gay, innocent, and wild; - Listening at times to thy poor mother’s sighs, - With curious looks and innocent surprise; - Thy father dying, thou, my virtuous boy, - My comfort always, waked my soul to joy; 440 - With the poor remnant of our fortune left, - Thou hast our station of its gloom bereft: - Thy lively temper, and thy cheerful air, - Have cast a smile on sadness and despair; - Thy active hand has dealt to this poor space - The bliss of plenty and the charm of grace; - And all around us wonder when they find - Such taste and strength, such skill and power combined; - There is no mother, Colin, no not one, - But envies me so kind, so good a son; 450 - By thee supported on this failing side, - Weakness itself awakes a parent’s pride; - I bless the stroke that was my grief before, - And feel such joy that ’tis disease no more; - Shielded by thee, my want becomes my wealth-- - And, soothed by Colin, sickness smiles at health; - The old men love thee, they repeat thy praise, - And say, like thee were youth in earlier days; - While every village-maiden cries, ’How gay, - How smart, how brave, how good is Colin Grey!’ 460 - “Yet art thou sad; alas! my son, I know - Thy heart is wounded, and the cure is slow; - Fain would I think that Jesse still may come - To share the comforts of our rustic home: - She surely loved thee; I have seen the maid, - When thou hast kindly brought the vicar aid-- - When thou hast eased his bosom of its pain, - Oh! I have seen her--she will come again.” - The matron ceased; and Colin stood the while - Silent, but striving for a grateful smile; 470 - He then replied--“Ah! sure, had Jesse stay’d, - And shared the comforts of our sylvan shade, - The tenderest duty and the fondest love - Would not have fail’d that generous heart to move; - A grateful pity would have ruled her breast, - And my distresses would have made me blest. - “But she is gone, and ever has in view } - Grandeur and taste--and what will then ensue? } - Surprise and then delight in scenes so fair and new; } - For many a day, perhaps for many a week, 480 - Home will have charms, and to her bosom speak; - But thoughtless ease, and affluence, and pride, - Seen day by day, will draw the heart aside: - And she at length, though gentle and sincere, - Will think no more of our enjoyments here.” - Sighing he spake--but hark! he hears th’ approach - Of rattling wheels! and lo! the evening-coach; - Once more the movement of the horses’ feet - Makes the fond heart with strong emotion beat; - Faint were his hopes, but ever had the sight 490 - Drawn him to gaze beside his gate at night; - And when with rapid wheels it hurried by, - He grieved his parent with a hopeless sigh; - And could the blessing have been bought--what sum - Had he not offer’d, to have Jesse come! - She came--he saw her bending from the door, - Her face, her smile, and he beheld no more; - Lost in his joy--the mother lent her aid - T’ assist and to detain the willing maid; - Who thought her late, her present home to make, 500 - Sure of a welcome for the vicar’s sake. - But the good parent was so pleased, so kind, - So pressing Colin, she so much inclined, - That night advanced; and then so long detain’d, } - No wishes to depart she felt, or feign’d; } - Yet long in doubt she stood, and then perforce remain’d. } - Here was a lover fond, a friend sincere; - Here was content and joy, for she was here: - In the mild evening, in the scene around, - The maid, now free, peculiar beauties found; 510 - Blended with village-tones, the evening-gale - Gave the sweet night-bird’s warblings to the vale; - The youth embolden’d, yet abash’d, now told - His fondest wish, nor found the maiden cold; - The mother smiling whisper’d--“Let him go - And seek the licence!” Jesse answer’d, “No:” - But Colin went, I know not if they live - With all the comforts wealth and plenty give; - But with pure joy to envious souls denied, - To suppliant meanness and suspicious pride; 520 - And village-maids of happy couples say, - “They live like Jesse Bourn and Colin Grey.” - - - - -TALE XIV. - -_THE STRUGGLES OF CONSCIENCE._ - - - I am a villain; yet I lie, I am not; - Fool! of thyself speak well:--Fool! do not flatter. - My Conscience hath a thousand several tongues, - And every tongue brings in a several tale. - _Richard III._ Act V. Scene 3. - -My Conscience is but a kind of hard Conscience. . . . The fiend gives -the more friendly counsel. - _Merchant of Venice_, Act II. Scene 2. - - Thou hast it now. . . . - . . . and I fear - Thou play’dst most foully [for’t]. - _Macbeth_, Act III. Scene 1. - - Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, - Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, - Rase out the written troubles of the brain, - And with some sweet oblivious antidote - Cleanse the foul bosom of that perilous stuff - Which weighs upon the heart? - _Macbeth_, Act V. Scene 3. - - Soft! I did but dream-- - Oh! coward Conscience, how dost thou afflict me! - _Richard III._ Act V. Scene 3. - - -TALE XIV. - -_THE STRUGGLES OF CONSCIENCE._ - - A serious toyman in the city dwelt, - Who much concern for his religion felt; - Reading, he changed his tenets, read again, - And various questions could with skill maintain; - Papist and quaker if we set aside, - He had the road of every traveller tried; - There walk’d awhile, and on a sudden turn’d - Into some by-way he had just discern’d: - He had a nephew, Fulham--Fulham went - His uncle’s way, with every turn content; 10 - He saw his pious kinsman’s watchful care, } - And thought such anxious pains his own might spare, } - And he, the truth obtain’d, without the toil, might share. } - In fact, young Fulham, though he little read, - Perceived his uncle was by fancy led; - And smiled to see the constant care he took, - Collating creed with creed, and book with book. - At length the senior fix’d; I pass the sect - He call’d a church, ’twas precious and elect; - Yet the seed fell not in the richest soil, 20 - For few disciples paid the preacher’s toil; - All in an attic-room were wont to meet, - These few disciples at their pastor’s feet; - With these went Fulham, who, discreet and grave, - Follow’d the light his worthy uncle gave; - Till a warm preacher found a way t’ impart - Awakening feelings to his torpid heart: - Some weighty truths, and of unpleasant kind, - Sank, though resisted, in his struggling mind; - He wish’d to fly them, but, compell’d to stay, 30 - Truth to the waking Conscience found her way; - For though the youth was call’d a prudent lad, - And prudent was, yet serious faults he had; - Who now reflected--“Much am I surprised, - I find these notions cannot be despised; - No! there is something I perceive at last, - Although my uncle cannot hold it fast; - Though I the strictness of these men reject, - Yet I determine to be circumspect: - This man alarms me, and I must begin 40 - To look more closely to the things within; - These sons of zeal have I derided long, - But now begin to think the laughers wrong; - Nay, my good uncle, by all teachers moved, } - Will be preferr’d to him who none approved: } - Better to love amiss than nothing to have loved.” } - Such were his thoughts, when Conscience first began - To hold close converse with th’ awaken’d man. - He from that time reserved and cautious grew, - And for his duties felt obedience due; 50 - Pious he was not, but he fear’d the pain - Of sins committed, nor would sin again. - Whene’er he stray’d, he found his Conscience rose, } - Like one determined what was ill t’ oppose, } - What wrong t’ accuse, what secret to disclose; } - To drag forth every latent act to light, - And fix them fully in the actor’s sight: - This gave him trouble, but he still confess’d - The labour useful, for it brought him rest. - The uncle died, and when the nephew read 60 - The will, and saw the substance of the dead-- - Five hundred guineas, with a stock in trade-- - He much rejoiced, and thought his fortune made; - Yet felt aspiring pleasure at the sight, - And, for increase, increasing appetite. - Desire of profit idle habits check’d, - (For Fulham’s virtue was to be correct); - He and his Conscience had their compact made-- - “Urge me with truth, and you will soon persuade; - But not,” he cried, “for mere ideal things 70 - Give me to feel those terror-breeding stings.” - “Let not such thoughts,” she said, “your mind confound; - Trifles may wake me, but they never wound; - In them indeed there is a wrong and right, - But you will find me pliant and polite; - Not like a Conscience of the dotard kind, - Awake to dreams, to dire offences blind. - Let all within be pure; in all beside - Be your own master, governor, and guide; - Alive to danger, in temptation strong-- 80 - And I shall sleep our whole existence long.” - “Sweet be thy sleep,” said Fulham; “strong must be - The tempting ill that gains access to me; - Never will I to evil deed consent, - Or, if surprised, oh! how will I repent! - Should gain be doubtful, soon would I restore - The dangerous good, or give it to the poor; - Repose for them my growing wealth shall buy-- - Or build--who knows?--an hospital like Guy.-- - Yet why such means to soothe the smart within, 90 - While firmly purposed to renounce the sin?” - Thus our young Trader and his Conscience dwelt - In mutual love, and great the joy they felt; - But yet in small concerns, in trivial things, - “She was,” he said, “too ready with the stings;” - And he too apt, in search of growing gains, - To lose the fear of penalties and pains: - Yet these were trifling bickerings, petty jars, - Domestic strifes, preliminary wars; - He ventured little, little she express’d 100 - Of indignation, and they both had rest. - Thus was he fix’d to walk the worthy way, - When profit urged him to a bold essay.-- - A time was that when all at pleasure gamed - In lottery-chances, yet of law unblamed; - This Fulham tried: who would to him advance - A pound or crown, he gave in turn a chance - For weighty prize--and should they nothing share, - They had their crown or pound in Fulham’s ware; - Thus the old stores within the shop were sold 110 - For that which none refuses, new or old. - Was this unjust? Yet Conscience could not rest - But made a mighty struggle in the breast; - And gave th’ aspiring man an early proof, - That should they war he would have work enough: - “Suppose,” said she, “your vended numbers rise - The same with those which gain each real prize, - (Such your proposal,) can you ruin shun?” - “A hundred thousand,” he replied, “to one.”-- - “Still it may happen.”--“I the sum must pay.”-- 120 - “You know you cannot.”--“I can run away.”-- - “That is dishonest.”--“Nay, but you must wink - At a chance-hit; it cannot be, I think. - Upon my conduct as a whole decide, - Such trifling errors let my virtues hide; - Fail I at meeting? am I sleepy there? - My purse refuse I with the priest to share? - Do I deny the poor a helping hand? - Or stop the wicked women in the Strand? - Or drink at club beyond a certain pitch? 130 - Which are your charges? Conscience, tell me which.” - “’Tis well,” said she, “but--” “Nay, I pray, have done: - Trust me, I will not into danger run.” - The lottery drawn, not one demand was made; - Fulham gain’d profit and increase of trade. - “See now,” said he--for Conscience yet arose-- - “How foolish ’tis such measures to oppose: - Have I not blameless thus my state advanced?”-- - “Still,” mutter’d Conscience, “still it might have chanced.”-- - “Might!” said our hero, “who is so exact 140 - As to inquire what might have been a fact?” - Now Fulham’s shop contain’d a curious view - Of costly trifles, elegant and new: - The papers told where kind mammas might buy - The gayest toys to charm an infant’s eye; - Where generous beaux might gentle damsels please, - And travellers call who cross the land or seas, - And find the curious art, the neat device, - Of precious value and of trifling price. - Here Conscience rested: she was pleased to find 150 - No less an active than an honest mind; - But, when he named his price, and when he swore, - His Conscience check’d him, that he ask’d no more-- - When half he sought had been a large increase - On fair demand--she could not rest in peace - (Beside th’ affront to call th’ adviser in, - Who would prevent, to justify the sin.) - She therefore told him, that “he vainly tried - To soothe her anger, conscious that he lied; - If thus he grasp’d at such usurious gains, 160 - He must deserve, and should expect, her pains.” - The charge was strong; he would in part confess - Offence there was--but, who offended less? - “What! is a mere assertion call’d a lie? - And if it be, are men compell’d to buy? - ’Twas strange that Conscience on such points should dwell, } - While he was acting (he would call it) well; } - He bought as others buy, he sold as others sell: } - There was no fraud, and he demanded cause - Why he was troubled, when he kept the laws?” 170 - “My laws?” said Conscience: “What,” said he, “are thine? - Oral or written, human or divine? - Show me the chapter, let me see the text; - By laws uncertain subjects are perplex’d; - Let me my finger on the statute lay, - And I shall feel it duty to obey.” - “Reflect,” said Conscience, “’twas your own desire - That I should warn you--does the compact tire? - Repent you this? then bid me not advise, - And rather hear your passions as they rise; 180 - So you may counsel and remonstrance shun, - But then remember it is war begun; - And you may judge from some attacks, my friend, - What serious conflicts will on war attend.” - “Nay, but,” at length the thoughtful man replied, - “I say not that; I wish you for my guide; - Wish for your checks and your reproofs--but then - Be like a Conscience of my fellow-men; - Worthy I mean, and men of good report, - And not the wretches who with conscience sport. 190 - There’s Bice, my friend, who passes off his grease - Of pigs for bears’, in pots a crown apiece; - His Conscience never checks him when he swears - The fat he sells is honest fat of bears; - And so it is, for he contrives to give - A drachm to each--’tis thus that tradesmen live: - Now why should you and I be over-nice; - What man is held in more repute than Bice?” - Here ended the dispute; but yet ’twas plain - The parties both expected strife again. 200 - Their friendship cool’d, he look’d about and saw - Numbers who seem’d unshackled by his awe; - While like a school-boy he was threaten’d still, - Now for the deed, now only for the will; - Here Conscience answer’d, “To thy neighbour’s guide - Thy neighbour leave, and in thine own confide.” - Such were each day the charges and replies, - When a new object caught the trader’s eyes; - A vestry-patriot, could he gain the name, - Would famous make him, and would pay the fame. 210 - He knew full well the sums bequeath’d in charge - For schools, for alms-men, for the poor, were large; - Report had told, and he could feel it true, - That most unfairly dealt the trusted few; - No partners would they in their office take, - Nor clear accounts at annual meetings make; - Aloud our hero in the vestry spoke - Of hidden deeds, and vow’d to draw the cloak; - It was the poor man’s cause, and he for one - Was quite determined to see justice done. 220 - His foes affected laughter, then disdain, } - They too were loud and threat’ning, but in vain; } - The pauper’s friend, their foe, arose and spoke again. } - Fiercely he cried, “Your garbled statements show - That you determine we shall nothing know; - But we shall bring your hidden crimes to light, - Give you to shame, and to the poor their right.” - Virtue like this might some approval ask-- - But Conscience sternly said, “You wear a mask!” - “At least,” said Fulham, “if I have a view 230 - To serve myself, I serve the public too.” - Fulham, though check’d, retain’d his former zeal, - And this the cautious rogues began to feel. - “Thus will he ever bark,” in peevish tone - An elder cried--“the cur must have a bone.” - They then began to hint--and to begin - Was all they needed: it was felt within; - In terms less veil’d an offer then was made, - Though distant still, it fail’d not to persuade; - More plainly then was every point proposed, 240 - Approved, accepted, and the bargain closed. - “Th’ exulting paupers hail’d their friend’s success, - And bade adieu to murmurs and distress.” - Alas! their friend had now superior light, - And, view’d by that, he found that all was right; - “There were no errors, the disbursements small; - This was the truth, and truth was due to all.” - And rested Conscience? No! she would not rest, - Yet was content with making a protest. - Some acts she now with less resistance bore, 250 - Nor took alarm so quickly as before; - Like those in towns besieged, who every ball - At first with terror view, and dread them all; - But, grown familiar with the scenes, they fear - The danger less, as it approaches near: - So Conscience, more familiar with the view - Of growing evils, less attentive grew; - Yet he who felt some pain, and dreaded more, - Gave a peace-offering to the angry poor. - Thus had he quiet--but the time was brief, 260 - From his new triumph sprang a cause of grief; - In office join’d, and acting with the rest, - He must admit the sacramental test. - Now, as a sectary, who had all his life, - As he supposed, been with the church at strife - (No rules of hers, no laws had he perused, - Nor knew the tenets he by rote abused); - Yet Conscience here arose more fierce and strong, - Than when she told of robbery and wrong; - “Change his religion! No! he must be sure 270 - That was a blow no conscience could endure.” - Though friend to virtue, yet she oft abides - In early notions, fix’d by erring guides, - And is more startled by a call from those, - Than when the foulest crimes her rest oppose; - By error taught, by prejudice misled, - She yields her rights, and fancy rules instead; - When Conscience all her stings and terror deals, - Not as truth dictates, but as fancy feels; - And thus within our hero’s troubled breast, 280 - Crime was less torture than the odious test. - New forms, new measures, he must now embrace, - With sad conviction that they warr’d with grace; - To his new church no former friend would come, - They scarce preferr’d her to the church of Rome. - But, thinking much, and weighing guilt and gain, - Conscience and he commuted for her pain; - Then promised Fulham to retain his creed, - And their peculiar paupers still to feed; - Their attic-room (in secret) to attend, 290 - And not forget he was the preacher’s friend; - Thus he proposed, and Conscience, troubled, tried, - And wanting peace, reluctantly complied. - Now care subdued, and apprehensions gone, - In peace our hero went aspiring on; - But short the period--soon a quarrel rose, - Fierce in the birth, and fatal in the close; - With times of truce between, which rather proved - That both were weary, than that either loved. - Fulham ev’n now disliked the heavy thrall, } 300 - And for her death would in his anguish call, } - As Rome’s mistaken friend exclaim’d, } - _Let Carthage fall_! } - So felt our hero, so his wish express’d, - Against this powerful sprite--_delenda est_. - Rome in her conquest saw not danger near, - Freed from her rival, and without a fear; - So, Conscience conquer’d, men perceive how free, - But not how fatal, such a state must be. - Fatal, not free, our hero’s: foe or friend, - Conscience on him was destined to attend; 310 - She [dozed] indeed, grew dull, nor seem’d to spy - Crime following crime, and each of deeper dye; - But all were noticed, and the reckoning time - With her account came on--crime following crime. - This, once a foe, now brother in the trust, - Whom Fulham late described as fair and just, - Was the sole guardian of a wealthy maid, - Placed in his power, and of his frown afraid: - Not quite an idiot, for her busy brain - Sought, by poor cunning, trifling points to gain; 320 - Success in childish projects her delight, - She took no heed of each important right. - The friendly parties met--the guardian cried, - “I am too old; my sons have each a bride: - Martha, my ward, would make an easy wife; - On easy terms I’ll make her yours for life; - And then the creature is so weak and mild, - She may be soothed and threaten’d as a child--” - “Yet not obey,” said Fulham, “for your fools, - Female and male, are obstinate as mules.” 330 - Some points adjusted, these new friends agreed, - Proposed the day, and hurried on the deed. - “’Tis a vile act,” said Conscience;--“It will prove,” - Replied the bolder man, “an act of love; - Her wicked guardian might the girl have sold - To endless misery for a tyrant’s gold; - Now may her life be happy--for I mean - To keep my temper even and serene.” - “I cannot thus compound,” the spirit cried, - “Nor have my laws thus broken and defied; 340 - This is a fraud, a bargain for a wife; - Expect my vengeance, or amend your life.” - The wife was pretty, trifling, childish, weak; - She could not think, but would not cease to speak. - This he forbad--she took the caution ill, - And boldly rose against his sovereign will; - With idiot-cunning she would watch the hour, - When friends were present, to dispute his power: - With tyrant-craft, he then was still and calm, - But raised in private terror and alarm: 350 - By many trials, she perceived how far - To vex and tease, without an open war; - And he discover’d that so weak a mind - No art could lead, and no compulsion bind; - The rudest force would fail such mind to tame, - And she was callous to rebuke and shame; - Proud of her wealth, the power of law she knew, - And would assist him in the spending too. - His threat’ning words with insult she defied, - To all his reasoning with a stare replied; 360 - And when he begg’d her to attend, would say, - “Attend I will--but let me have my way.” - Nor rest had Conscience: “While you merit pain - From me,” she cried, “you seek redress in vain.” - His thoughts were grievous: “All that I possess - From this vile bargain adds to my distress; - To pass a life with one who will not mend, } - Who cannot love, nor save, nor wisely spend, } - Is a vile prospect, and I see no end; } - For if we part, I must of course restore 370 - Much of her money, and must wed no more. - “Is there no way?”--here Conscience rose in power, - “Oh! fly the danger of this fatal hour; - I am thy Conscience, faithful, fond, and true, - Ah, fly this thought, or evil must ensue; - Fall on thy knees, and pray with all thy soul, - Thy purpose banish, thy design control; - Let every hope of such advantage cease, - Or never more expect a moment’s peace.” - Th’ affrighten’d man a due attention paid, 380 - Felt the rebuke, and the command obey’d. - Again the wife rebell’d, again express’d - A love for pleasure--a contempt of rest; - “She, whom she pleased, would visit, would receive - Those who pleased her, nor deign to ask for leave.” - “One way there is,” said he; “I might contrive - Into a trap this foolish thing to drive: - Who pleased her, said she?--I’ll be certain who--” - “Take heed,” said Conscience, “what thou mean’st to do: - Ensnare thy wife?”--“Why yes,” he must confess, 390 - “It might be wrong--but there was no redress; - Beside, to think,” said he, “is not to sin.” - “Mistaken man!” replied the power within. - No guest unnoticed to the lady came, - He judged th’ event with mingled joy and shame; - Oft he withdrew, and seem’d to leave her free. - But still as watchful as a lynx was he; - Meanwhile the wife was thoughtless, cool, and gay, - And, without virtue, had no wish to stray. - Though thus opposed, his plans were not resign’d; 400 - “Revenge,” said he, “will prompt that daring mind; - Refused supplies, insulted and distress’d, - Enraged with me, and near a favourite guest-- - Then will her vengeance prompt the daring deed, - And I shall watch, detect her, and be freed.” - There was a youth--but let me hide the name, - With all the progress of this deed of shame; - He had his views--on him the husband cast - His net, and saw him in his trammels fast. - “Pause but a moment--think what you intend,” 410 - Said the roused sleeper; “I am yet a friend; - Must all our days in enmity be spent?” - “No!” and he paused--“I surely shall repent:” - Then hurried on--the evil plan was laid, } - The wife was guilty, and her friend betray’d, } - And Fulham gain’d his wish, and for his will was paid. } - Had crimes less weighty on the spirit press’d, - This troubled Conscience might have sunk to rest; - And, like a foolish guard, been bribed to peace, - By a false promise, that offence should cease; 420 - Past faults had seem’d familiar to the view, - Confused if many, and obscure though true; - And Conscience, troubled with the dull account, - Had dropp’d her tale, and slumber’d o’er th’ amount. - But, struck by daring guilt, alert she rose, - Disturbed, alarm’d, and could no more repose; - All hopes of friendship, and of peace, were past, - And every view with gloom was overcast. - Hence from that day, that day of shame and sin, - Arose the restless enmity within; 430 - On no resource could Fulham now rely, - Doom’d all expedients, and in vain, to try; - For Conscience, roused, sat boldly on her throne, } - Watch’d every thought, attack’d the foe alone, } - And with envenom’d sting drew forth the inward groan: } - Expedients fail’d that brought relief before, } - In vain his alms gave comfort to the poor: } - Give what he would, to him the comfort came no more. } - Not prayer avail’d, and when (his crimes confess’d) - He felt some ease, she said--“are they redress’d? 440 - You still retain the profit, and be sure, - Long as it lasts, this anguish shall endure.” - Fulham still tried to soothe her, cheat, mislead; } - But Conscience laid her finger on the deed, } - And read the crime with power, and all that must succeed. } - He tried t’ expel her, but was sure to find - Her strength increased by all that he design’d; - Nor ever was his groan more loud and deep, - Than when refresh’d she rose from momentary sleep. - Now desperate grown, weak, harass’d, and afraid, 450 - From new allies he sought for doubtful aid; - To thought itself he strove to bid adieu, - And from devotions to diversions flew; - He took a poor domestic for a slave, - (Though Avarice grieved to see the price he gave); - Upon his board, once frugal, press’d a load - Of viands rich, the appetite to goad; - The long-protracted meal, the sparkling cup, - Fought with his gloom, and kept his courage up; - Soon as the morning came, there met his eyes 460 - Accounts of wealth, that he might reading rise; - To profit then he gave some active hours, - Till food and wine again should renovate his powers. - Yet, spite of all defence, of every aid, - The watchful foe her close attention paid; - In every thoughtful moment, on she press’d, - And gave at once her dagger to his breast; - He waked at midnight, and the fears of sin, - As waters through a bursten dam, broke in; - Nay, in the banquet, with his friends around, 470 - When all their cares and half their crimes were drown’d, - Would some chance act awake the slumbering fear, - And care and crime in all their strength appear: - The news is read, a guilty victim swings, - And troubled looks proclaim the bosom-stings; - Some pair are wed; this brings the wife in view, - And some divorced: this shows the parting too; - Nor can he hear of evil word or deed, - But they to thought, and thought to sufferings lead. - Such was his life--no other changes came, 480 - The hurrying day, the conscious night the same; - The night of horror--when he, starting, cried - To the poor startled sinner at his side: - “Is it in law? am I condemn’d to die? - Let me escape!--I’ll give--oh! let me fly-- - How! but a dream--no judges! dungeon! chain! - Or these grim men!--I will not sleep again.-- - Wilt thou, dread being! thus thy promise keep? - Day is thy time--and wilt thou murder sleep? - Sorrow and want repose, and wilt thou come, 490 - Nor give one hour of pure untroubled gloom? - “Oh! Conscience! Conscience! man’s most faithful friend, - Him canst thou comfort, ease, relieve, defend; - But if he will thy friendly checks forego, - Thou art, oh! woe for me, his deadliest foe!” - - - - -TALE XV. - -_ADVICE_; OR, THE ’SQUIRE AND THE PRIEST. - - - His hours fill’d up with riots, banquets, sports---- - And never noted in him any study, - Any retirement, any sequestration. - _Henry V_. Act I. Scene 1. - - I will converse with iron-witted fools, - With unrespective boys; none are for me, - Who look into me with considerate eyes. - _Richard III._ Act IV. Scene 2. - - You cram these words into mine ears, against - The stomach of my sense. - _Tempest_, Act II. Scene 1. - - -TALE XV. - -_THE ’SQUIRE AND THE PRIEST._ - - A wealthy lord of far-extended land - Had all that pleased him placed at his command; - Widow’d of late, but finding much relief - In the world’s comforts, he dismiss’d his grief; - He was by marriage of his daughters eased, - And knew his sons could marry if they pleased; - Meantime in travel he indulged the boys, - And kept no spy nor partner of his joys. - These joys, indeed, were of the grosser kind, - That fed the cravings of an earthly mind; 10 - A mind that, conscious of its own excess, - Felt the reproach his neighbours would express. - Long at th’ indulgent board he loved to sit, - Where joy was laughter, and profaneness wit; - And such the guest and manners of the hall, - No wedded lady on the ’squire would call. - Here reign’d a favourite, and her triumph gain’d - O’er other favourites who before had reign’d; - Reserved and modest seem’d the nymph to be, - Knowing her lord was charm’d with modesty; 20 - For he, a sportsman keen, the more enjoy’d, - The greater value had the thing destroy’d. - Our ’squire declared, that, from a wife released, - He would no more give trouble to a priest; - Seem’d it not, then, ungrateful and unkind, - That he should trouble from the priesthood find? - The church he honour’d, and he gave the due - And full respect to every son he knew; - But envied those who had the luck to meet - A gentle pastor, civil, and discreet; 30 - Who never bold and hostile sermon penn’d, - To wound a sinner, or to shame a friend; - One whom no being either shunn’d or fear’d, - Such must be loved wherever they appear’d. - Not such the stern old rector of the time, - Who soothed no culprit, and who spared no crime; - Who would his fears and his contempt express, - For irreligion and licentiousness; - Of him our village lord, his guests among, - By speech vindictive proved his feelings stung. 40 - “Were he a bigot,” said the ’squire, “whose zeal - Condemn’d us all, I should disdain to feel: - But when a man of parts, in college train’d, - Prates of our conduct--who would not be pain’d, - While he declaims (where no one dares reply) } - On men abandon’d, grov’ling in the sty } - (Like beasts in human shape) of shameless luxury? } - Yet with a patriot’s zeal I stand the shock - Of vile rebuke, example to his flock; - But let this rector, thus severe and proud, 50 - Change his wide surplice for a narrow shroud, - And I will place within his seat a youth, - Train’d by the Graces, to explain the truth; - Then shall the flock with gentle hand be led, - By wisdom won, and by compassion fed.” - This purposed teacher was a sister’s son, - Who of her children gave the priesthood one; - And she had early train’d for this employ - The pliant talents of her college-boy. - At various times her letters painted all 60 - Her brother’s views--the manners of the hall; - The rector’s harshness, and the mischief made - By chiding those whom preachers should persuade: - This led the youth to views of easy life, - A friendly patron, an obliging wife; - His tithe, his glebe, the garden and the steed, - With books as many as he wish’d to read. - All this accorded with the uncle’s will; - He loved a priest compliant, easy, still; - Sums he had often to his favourite sent, 70 - “To be,” he wrote, “in manly freedom spent; - For well it pleased his spirit to assist - An honest lad, who scorn’d a Methodist.” - His mother too, in her maternal care, - Bade him of canting hypocrites beware; - Who from his duties would his heart seduce, - And make his talents of no earthly use. - Soon must a trial of his worth be made-- - The ancient priest is to the tomb convey’d; - And the youth summon’d from a serious friend, 80 - His guide and host, new duties to attend. - Three months before, the nephew and the ’squire - Saw mutual worth to praise and to admire; - And though the one too early left his wine, - The other still exclaim’d--“My boy will shine: - Yes, I perceive that he will soon improve, - And I shall form the very guide I love; - Decent abroad, he will my name defend, - And, when at home, be social and unbend.” - The plan was specious, for the mind of James 90 - Accorded duly with his uncle’s schemes: - He then aspired not to a higher name - Than sober clerks of moderate talents claim; - Gravely to pray, and rev’rendly to preach, - Was all he saw, good youth! within his reach. - Thus may a mass of sulphur long abide, - Cold and inert, but, to the flame applied, - Kindling it blazes, and consuming turns - To smoke and poison, as it boils and burns. - James, leaving college, to a preacher stray’d; 100 - What call’d, he knew not--but the call obey’d, - Mild, idle, pensive, ever led by those - Who could some specious novelty propose; - Humbly he listen’d, while the preacher dwelt - On touching themes, and strong emotions felt; - And in this night was fix’d that pliant will - To one sole point, and he retains it still. - At first his care was to himself confined; - Himself assured, he gave it to mankind: - His zeal grew active--honest, earnest zeal, 110 - And comfort dealt to him, he long’d to deal; - He to his favourite preacher now withdrew, - Was taught to teach, instructed to subdue; - And train’d for ghostly warfare, when the call - Of his new duties reach’d him from the hall. - Now to the ’squire, although alert and stout, - Came unexpected an attack of gout; - And the grieved patron felt such serious pain, - He never thought to see a church again. - Thrice had the youthful rector taught the crowd, 120 - Whose growing numbers spoke his powers aloud, - Before the patron could himself rejoice - (His pain still lingering) in the general voice; - For he imputed all this early fame - To graceful manner, and the well-known name; - And to himself assumed a share of praise, - For worth and talents he was pleased to raise. - A month had flown, and with it fled disease; - What pleased before, began again to please; - Emerging daily from his chamber’s gloom, 130 - He found his old sensations hurrying home; - Then call’d his nephew, and exclaim’d, “My boy, - Let us again the balm of life enjoy; - The foe has left me, and I deem it right, - Should he return, to arm me for the fight.” - Thus spoke the ’squire, the favourite nymph stood by, - And view’d the priest with insult in her eye. - She thrice had heard him when he boldly spoke - On dangerous points, and fear’d he would revoke; - For James she loved not--and her manner told, 140 - “This warm affection will be quickly cold.” - And still she fear’d impression might be made - Upon a subject nervous and decay’d; - She knew her danger, and had no desire - Of reformation in the gallant ’squire; - And felt an envious pleasure in her breast - To see the rector daunted and distress’d. - Again the uncle to the youth applied-- - “Cast, my dear lad, that cursed gloom aside: - There are for all things time and place; appear 150 - Grave in your pulpit, and be merry here. - Now take your wine--for woes a sure resource, - And the best prelude to a long discourse.” - James half obey’d, but cast an angry eye - On the fair lass, who still stood watchful by; - Resolving thus, “I have my fears--but still - I must perform my duties, and I will; - No love, no interest, shall my mind control; - Better to lose my comforts than my soul; - Better my uncle’s favour to abjure, 160 - Than the upbraidings of my heart endure.” - He took his glass, and then address’d the ’squire: - “I feel not well, permit me to retire.” - The ’squire conceived that the ensuing day - Gave him these terrors for the grand essay, - When he himself should this young preacher try, - And stand before him with observant eye; - This raised compassion in his manly breast, - And he would send the rector to his rest; - Yet first, in soothing voice--“A moment stay, 170 - And these suggestions of a friend obey; - Treasure these hints, if fame or peace you prize-- - The bottle emptied, I shall close my eyes. - “On every priest a two-fold care attends, - To prove his talents, and insure his friends: - First, of the first--your stores at once produce, - And bring your reading to its proper use; - On doctrines dwell, and every point enforce - By quoting much, the scholar’s sure resource; - For he alone can show us on each head 180 - What ancient schoolmen and sage fathers said: - No worth has knowledge, if you fail to show - How well you studied, and how much you know. - Is faith your subject, and you judge it right - On theme so dark to cast a ray of light: - Be it that faith the orthodox maintain, - Found in the rubrick, what the creeds explain; - Fail not to show us on this ancient faith - (And quote the passage) what some martyr saith. - Dwell not one moment on a faith that shocks 190 - The minds of men sincere and orthodox: - That gloomy faith, that robs the wounded mind - Of all the comfort it was wont to find - From virtuous acts, and to the soul denies - Its proper due for alms and charities; - That partial faith, that, weighing sins alone, - Lets not a virtue for a fault atone; - That starving faith, that would our tables clear, - And make one dreadful Lent of all the year; - And cruel too, for this is faith that rends 200 - Confiding beauties from protecting friends; - A faith that all embracing, what a gloom - Deep and terrific o’er the land would come! - What scenes of horror would that time disclose! - No sight but misery, and no sound but woes; - Your nobler faith, in loftier style convey’d, - Shall be with praise and admiration paid. - On points like these your hearers all admire - A preacher’s depth, and nothing more require; - Shall we a studious youth to college send, 210 - That every clown his words may comprehend? - ’Tis for your glory, when your hearers own - Your learning matchless, but the sense unknown. - “Thus honour gain’d, learn now to gain a friend, - And the sure way is--never to offend; - For, James, consider--what your neighbours do - Is their own business, and concerns not you. - Shun all resemblance to that forward race - Who preach of sins before a sinner’s face; - And seem as if they overlook’d a pew, 220 - Only to drag a failing man in view. - Much should I feel, when groaning in disease, - If a rough hand upon my limb should seize; - But great my anger, if this hand were found - The very doctor’s, who should make it sound; - So feel our minds, young priest, so doubly feel, - When hurt by those whose office is to heal. - “Yet of our duties you must something tell, - And must at times on sin and frailty dwell; - Here you may preach in easy, flowing style, 230 - How errors cloud us, and how sins defile; - Here bring persuasive tropes and figures forth, - To show the poor that wealth is nothing worth; - That they, in fact, possess an ample share - Of the world’s good, and feel not half its care; - Give them this comfort, and, indeed, my gout - In its full vigour causes me some doubt; - And let it always, for your zeal, suffice, - That vice you combat, in the abstract--vice: - The very captious will be quiet then; 240 - We all confess we are offending men. - In lashing sin, of every stroke beware, - For sinners feel, and sinners you must spare; - In general satire, every man perceives - A slight attack, yet neither fears nor grieves; - But name th’ offence, and you absolve the rest, - And point the dagger at a single breast. - “Yet are there sinners of a class so low, - That you with safety may the lash bestow: - Poachers, and drunkards, idle rogues, who feed 250 - At others’ cost, a mark’d correction need; - And all the better sort, who see your zeal, - Will love and reverence for their pastor feel; - Reverence for one who can inflict the smart, - And love, because he deals them not a part. - “Remember well what love and age advise; - A quiet rector is a parish prize, - Who in his learning has a decent pride; - Who to his people is a gentle guide; - Who only hints at failings that he sees; } 260 - Who loves his glebe, his patron, and his ease, } - And finds the way to fame and profit is to please.” } - The nephew answer’d not, except a sigh - And look of sorrow might be term’d reply; - He saw the fearful hazard of his state, - And held with truth and safety strong debate; - Nor long he reason’d, for the zealous youth - Resolved, though timid, to profess the truth; - And, though his friend should like a lion roar, - Truth would he preach, and neither less nor more. 270 - The bells had toll’d--arrived the time of prayer, - The flock assembled, and the ’squire was there: - And now can poet sing, or proseman say, - The disappointment of that trying day? - As he who long had train’d a favourite steed - (Whose blood and bone gave promise of his speed), - Sanguine with hope, he runs with partial eye - O’er every feature, and his bets are high; - Of triumph sure, he sees the rivals start, - And waits their coming with exulting heart; 280 - Forestalling glory, with impatient glance, - And sure to see his conquering steed advance; - The conquering steed advances--luckless day! - A rival’s Herod bears the prize away; - Nor second his, nor third, but lagging last, - With hanging head he comes, by all surpass’d; - Surprise and wrath the owner’s mind inflame, - Love turns to scorn, and glory ends in shame:-- - Thus waited, high in hope, the partial ’squire, - Eager to hear, impatient to admire. 290 - When the young preacher in the tones that find - A certain passage to the kindling mind, - With air and accent strange, impressive, sad, - Alarm’d the judge--he trembled for the lad; - But when the text announced the power of grace, } - Amazement scowl’d upon his clouded face, } - At this degenerate son of his illustrious race; } - Staring he stood, till hope again arose, - That James might well define the words he chose: - For this he listen’d--but, alas! he found 300 - The preacher always on forbidden ground. - And now the uncle left the hated pew, - With James, and James’s conduct in his view. - A long farewell to all his favourite schemes! } - For now no crazed fanatic’s frantic dreams } - Seem’d vile as James’s conduct, or as James. } - All he had long derided, hated, fear’d, - This from the chosen youth the uncle heard-- - The needless pause, the fierce disorder’d air, - The groan for sin, the vehemence of prayer, 310 - Gave birth to wrath, that, in a long discourse - Of grace, triumphant rose to four-fold force. - He found his thoughts despised, his rules transgress’d; } - And, while the anger kindled in his breast, } - The pain must be endured that could not be express’d. } - Each new idea more inflamed his ire, - As fuel thrown upon a rising fire: - A hearer yet, he sought by threatening sign - To ease his heart, and awe the young divine; - But James refused those angry looks to meet, 320 - Till he dismiss’d his flock, and left his seat. - Exhausted then he felt his trembling frame, - But fix’d his soul--his sentiments the same; - And therefore wise it seem’d to fly from rage, - And seek for shelter in his parsonage: - There, if forsaken, yet consoled to find - Some comforts left, though not a few resign’d; - There, if he lost an erring parent’s love, - An honest conscience must the cause approve; - If the nice palate were no longer fed, 330 - The mind enjoy’d delicious thoughts instead; - And if some part of earthly good was flown, - Still was the tithe of ten good farms his own. - Fear now, and discord, in the village reign, } - The cool remonstrate, and the meek complain; } - But there is war within, and wisdom pleads in vain. } - Now dreads the uncle, and proclaims his dread, - Lest the boy-priest should turn each rustic head; - The certain converts cost him certain wo; - The doubtful fear lest they should join the foe; 340 - Matrons of old, with whom he used to joke, - Now pass his Honour with a pious look; - Lasses, who met him once with lively airs, - Now cross his way, and gravely walk to prayers; - An old companion, whom he long has loved, - By coward fears confess’d his conscience moved; - As the third bottle gave its spirit forth. - And they bore witness to departed worth, - The friend arose, and he too would depart-- - “Man,” said the ’squire, “thou wert not wont to start; 350 - Hast thou attended to that foolish boy, - Who would abridge all comforts, or destroy?” - Yes, he had listen’d, who had slumber’d long, - And was convinced that something must be wrong; - But, though affected, still his yielding heart, - And craving palate, took the uncle’s part. - Wine now oppress’d him, who, when free from wine, - Could seldom clearly utter his design; - But, though by nature and indulgence weak, - Yet, half-converted, he resolved to speak; 360 - And, speaking, own’d, “that in his mind the youth - Had gifts and learning, and that truth was truth. - The ’squire he honour’d, and, for his poor part, - He hated nothing like a hollow heart; - But ’twas a maxim he had often tried, - That right was right, and there he would abide; - He honour’d learning, and he would confess - The preacher had his talents--more or less: - Why not agree? he thought the young divine - Had no such strictness--they might drink and dine, 370 - For them sufficient--but he said before, - That truth was truth, and he would drink no more.” - This heard the ’squire with mix’d contempt and pain; - He fear’d the priest this recreant sot would gain. - The favourite nymph, though not a convert made, - Conceived the man she scorn’d her cause would aid; - And when the spirits of her lord were low, - The lass presumed the wicked cause to show: - “It was the wretched life his Honour led, - And would draw vengeance on his guilty head; 380 - Their loves (Heav’n knew how dreadfully distress’d - The thought had made her!) were as yet unbless’d: - And till the church had sanction’d”--here she saw - The wrath that forced her trembling to withdraw. - Add to these outward ills some inward light, - That show’d him all was not correct and right: - Though now he less indulged--and to the poor, - From day to day, sent alms from door to door; - Though he some ease from easy virtues found, - Yet conscience told him he could not compound; 390 - But must himself the darling sin deny, } - Change the whole heart--but here a heavy sigh } - Proclaim’d, “How vast the toil! and ah! how weak am I!” } - James too has trouble--he divided sees - A parish, once harmonious and at ease: - With him united are the simply meek, - The warm, the sad, the nervous, and the weak; - The rest his uncle’s, save the few beside, - Who own no doctrine, and obey no guide; - With stragglers of each adverse camp, who lend 400 - Their aid to both, but each in turn offend. - Though zealous still, yet he begins to feel - The heat too fierce, that glows in vulgar zeal; - With pain he hears his simple friends relate - Their week’s experience, and their woful state: - With small temptation struggling every hour, - And bravely battling with the tempting power; - His native sense is hurt by strange complaints - Of inward motions in these warring saints: - Who never cast on sinful bait a look 410 - But they perceive the devil at the hook. - Grieved, yet compell’d to smile, he finds it hard - Against the blunders of conceit to guard; - He sighs to hear the jests his converts cause, - He cannot give their erring zeal applause; - But finds it inconsistent to condemn - The flights and follies he has nursed in them: - These, in opposing minds, contempt produce, - Or mirth occasion, or provoke abuse; - On each momentous theme disgrace they bring, 420 - And give to Scorn her poison and her sting. - - - - -TALE XVI. - -_THE CONFIDANT._ - - - Think’st thou I’d make a life of jealousy, - To follow still the changes of the moon, - With fresh suspicion? - _Othello_, Act III. Scene 3. - - Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks, - And given my treasure and my rights [of] thee - To thick-eyed musing and cursed melancholy? - 1 _Henry IV._ Act II. Scene 3. - - It is excellent - To have a giant’s strength, but [it is] tyrannous - To use it as a giant. - _Measure for Measure_, Act II. Scene 2. - - -TALE XVI. - -_THE CONFIDANT._ - - Anna was young and lovely--in her eye - The glance of beauty, in her cheek the dye; - Her shape was slender, and her features small, - But graceful, easy, unaffected all. - The liveliest tints her youthful face disclosed; - There beauty sparkled, and there health reposed; - For the pure blood that flush’d that rosy cheek - Spoke what the heart forbad the tongue to speak; - And told the feelings of that heart as well, - Nay, with more candour than the tongue could tell. 10 - Though this fair lass had with the wealthy dwelt, - Yet like the damsel of the cot she felt; - And, at the distant hint or dark surmise, - The blood into the mantling cheek would rise. - Now Anna’s station frequent terrors wrought - In one whose looks were with such meaning fraught; - For on a lady, as an humble friend, - It was her painful office to attend. - Her duties here were of the usual kind-- - And some the body harass’d, some the mind: 20 - Billets she wrote, and tender stories read, - To make the lady sleepy in her bed; - She play’d at whist, but with inferior skill, - And heard the summons as a call to drill; - Music was ever pleasant till she play’d - At a request that no request convey’d; - The lady’s tales with anxious looks she heard, - For she must witness what her friend averr’d; - The lady’s taste she must in all approve, - Hate whom she hated, whom she loved must love; 30 - These, with the various duties of her place, - With care she studied, and perform’d with grace; - She veil’d her troubles in a mask of ease, - And show’d her pleasure was a power to please. - Such were the damsel’s duties; she was poor-- - Above a servant, but with service more. - Men on her face with careless freedom gazed, - Nor thought how painful was the glow they raised; - A wealthy few to gain her favour tried, - But not the favour of a grateful bride: 40 - They spoke their purpose with an easy air, - That shamed and frighten’d the dependent fair: - Past time she view’d, the passing time to cheat, - But nothing found to make the present sweet; - With pensive soul she read life’s future page, - And saw dependent, poor, repining age. - But who shall dare t’ assert what _years_ may bring, - When wonders from the passing _hour_ may spring?-- - There dwelt a yeoman in the place, whose mind - Was gentle, generous, cultivated, kind; 50 - For thirty years he labour’d; fortune then - Placed the mild rustic with superior men: - A richer Stafford, who had lived to save, - What he had treasured to the poorer gave; - Who with a sober mind that treasure view’d, - And the slight studies of his youth renew’d. - He not profoundly, but discreetly read, - And a fair mind with useful culture fed; - Then thought of marriage--“But the great,” said he, - “I shall not suit, nor will the meaner me.” 60 - Anna he saw, admired her modest air; - He thought her virtuous, and he knew her fair; - Love raised his pity for her humble state, - And prompted wishes for her happier fate; - No pride in money would his feelings wound, - Nor vulgar manners hurt him and confound: - He then the lady at the hall address’d, - Sought her consent, and his regard express’d; - Yet, if some cause his earnest wish denied, - He begg’d to know it; and he bow’d and sigh’d. 70 - The lady own’d that she was loth to part, - But praised the damsel for her gentle heart, - Her pleasing person, and her blooming health; - But ended thus, “Her virtue is her wealth.” - “Then is she rich!” he cried, with lively air; - “But whence, so please you, came a lass so fair?” - “A placeman’s child was Anna, one who died - And left a widow by afflictions tried; - She to support her infant daughter strove, - But early left the object of her love; 80 - Her youth, her beauty, and her orphan-state - Gave a kind countess interest in her fate; - With her she dwelt, and still might dwelling be, - When the earl’s folly caused the lass to flee; - A second friend was she compell’d to shun, - By the rude offers of an uncheck’d son; - I found her then, and with a mother’s love - Regard the gentle girl whom you approve. - Yet, e’en with me, protection is not peace; - Nor man’s designs, nor beauty’s trial, cease; 90 - Like sordid boys by costly fruit they feel: - They will not purchase, but they try to steal.” - Now this good lady, like a witness true, - Told but the truth, and all the truth she knew; - And ’tis our duty and our pain to show - Truth this good lady had not means to know. - Yes, there was lock’d within the damsel’s breast - A fact important to be now confess’d; - Gently, my muse, th’ afflicting tale relate, - And have some feeling for a sister’s fate. 100 - Where Anna dwelt, a conquering hero came-- - An Irish captain, Sedley was his name; - And he too had that same prevailing art, - That gave soft wishes to the virgin’s heart. - In years they differ’d; he had thirty seen - When this young beauty counted just fifteen; - But still they were a lovely lively pair, - And trod on earth as if they trod on air. - On love, delightful theme! the captain dwelt - With force still growing with the hopes he felt; 110 - But with some caution and reluctance told, - He had a father crafty, harsh, and old; - Who, as possessing much, would much expect, - Or both, for ever, from his love reject: - Why then offence to one so powerful give, - Who (for their comfort) had not long to live? - With this poor prospect the deluded maid, - In words confiding, was indeed betray’d; - And, soon as terrors in her bosom rose, - The hero fled; they hinder’d his repose. 120 - Deprived of him, she to a parent’s breast - Her secret trusted, and her pains impress’d: - Let her to town (so prudence urged) repair, - To shun disgrace, at least to hide it there; - But ere she went, the luckless damsel pray’d - A chosen friend might lend her timely aid: - “Yes! my soul’s sister, my Eliza, come, - Hear her last sigh, and ease thy Anna’s doom:” - “’Tis a fool’s wish,” the angry father cried, - But, lost in troubles of his own, complied; 130 - And dear Eliza to her friend was sent, - T’ indulge that wish, and be her punishment: - The time arrived, and brought a tenfold dread; - The time was past, and all the terror fled; - The infant died; the face resumed each charm, - And reason now brought trouble and alarm: - “Should her Eliza--no! she was too just, - Too good and kind--but ah! too young to trust.” - Anna return’d, her former place resumed, - And faded beauty with new grace re-bloom’d; 140 - And, if some whispers of the past were heard, - They died innoxious, as no cause appear’d; - But other cares on Anna’s bosom press’d, - She saw her father gloomy and distress’d; - He died o’erwhelm’d with debt, and soon was shed } - The filial sorrow o’er a mother dead: } - She sought Eliza’s arms, that faithful friend was wed; } - Then was compassion by the countess shown, - And all th’ adventures of her life are known. - And now beyond her hopes--no longer tried 150 - By slavish awe--she lived a yeoman’s bride; - Then bless’d her lot, and with a grateful mind - Was careful, cheerful, vigilant, and kind. - The gentle husband felt supreme delight, - Bless’d by her joy, and happy in her sight; - He saw with pride in every friend and guest - High admiration and regard express’d; - With greater pride, and with superior joy, - He look’d exulting on his first-born boy; - To her fond breast the wife her infant strain’d, 160 - Some feelings utter’d, some were not explain’d; - And she enraptured with her treasure grew, - The sight familiar, but the pleasure new. - Yet there appear’d within that tranquil state - Some threat’ning prospect of uncertain fate; - Between the married when a secret lies, - It wakes suspicion from enforced disguise. - Still thought the wife upon her absent friend, - With all that must upon her truth depend: - “There is no being in the world beside, 170 - Who can discover what that friend will hide; - Who knew the fact, knew not my name or state, - Who these can tell cannot the fact relate; - But thou, Eliza, canst the whole impart, - And all my safety is thy generous heart.” - Mix’d with these fears--but light and transient these-- - Fled years of peace, prosperity, and ease; - So tranquil all that scarce a gloomy day - For days of gloom unmix’d prepared the way. - One eve, the wife, still happy in her state, 180 - Sang gaily, thoughtless of approaching fate; - Then came a letter, that (received in dread - Not unobserved) she in confusion read; - The substance this--“Her friend rejoiced to find - That she had riches with a grateful mind; - While poor Eliza had from place to place - Been lured by hope to labour for disgrace; - That every scheme her wandering husband tried, - Pain’d while he lived, and perish’d when he died.” - She then of want in angry style complain’d: } 190 - Her child a burthen to her life remain’d, } - Her kindred shunn’d her prayers, no friend her } - soul sustain’d. } - “Yet why neglected? Dearest Anna knew - Her worth once tried, her friendship ever true; - She hoped, she trusted, though by wants oppress’d, - To lock the treasured secret in her breast; - Yet, vex’d by trouble, must apply to one, - For kindness due to her for kindness done.” - In Anna’s mind was tumult; in her face - Flushings of dread had momentary place. 200 - “I must,” she judged, “these cruel lines expose, - Or fears, or worse than fears, my crime disclose.” - The letter shown, he said, with sober smile-- - “Anna, your friend has not a friendly style. - Say, where could you with this fair lady dwell, - Who boasts of secrets that she scorns to tell?” - “At school,” she answer’d; he “at school!” replied; - “Nay, then I know the secrets you would hide: - Some [early] longings these, without dispute; - Some youthful gaspings for forbidden fruit. 210 - Why so disorder’d, love? are such the crimes - That give us sorrow in our graver times? - Come, take a present for your friend, and rest - In perfect peace--you find you are confess’d.” - This cloud, though past, alarm’d the conscious wife, - Presaging gloom and sorrow for her life; - Who to her answer join’d a fervent prayer, - That her Eliza would a sister spare: - If she again--but was there cause?--should send, - Let her direct--and then she named a friend.-- 220 - A sad expedient, untried friends to trust, - And still to fear the tried may be unjust: - Such is his pain, who, by his debt oppress’d, - Seeks by new bonds a temporary rest. - Few were her peaceful days till Anna read - The words she dreaded, and had cause to dread:-- - “Did she believe, did she, unkind, suppose - That thus Eliza’s friendship was to close? - No! though she tried, and her desire was plain, - To break the friendly bond, she strove in vain: 230 - Ask’d she for silence? why so loud the call, - And yet the token of her love so small? - By means like these will you attempt to bind - And check the movements of an injured mind? - Poor as I am, I shall be proud to show - What dangerous secrets I may safely know. - Secrets, to men of jealous minds convey’d, - Have many a noble house in ruins laid; - Anna, I trust, although with wrongs beset, - And urged by want, I shall be faithful yet; 240 - But what temptation may from these arise, - To take a slighted woman by surprise, - Becomes a subject for your serious care-- - For who offends, must for offence prepare.” - Perplex’d, dismay’d, the wife foresaw her doom; - A day deferr’d was yet a day to come; - But still, though painful her suspended state, - She dreaded more the crisis of her fate; - Better to die than Stafford’s scorn to meet, - And her strange friend perhaps would be discreet. 250 - Presents she sent, and made a strong appeal - To woman’s feelings, begging her to feel; - With too much force she wrote of jealous men, - And her tears falling spoke beyond the pen; - Eliza’s silence she again implored, - And promised all that prudence could afford. - For looks composed and careless Anna tried; - She seem’d in trouble, and unconscious sigh’d: - The faithful husband, who devoutly loved - His silent partner, with concern reproved: 260 - “What secret sorrows on my Anna press, - That love may not partake, nor care redress?” - “None, none,” she answer’d, with a look so kind, - That the fond man determined to be blind. - A few succeeding weeks of brief repose - In Anna’s cheek revived the faded rose; - A hue like this the western sky displays, - That glows awhile, and withers as we gaze. - Again the friend’s tormenting letter came-- - “The wants she suffer’d were affection’s shame; 270 - She with her child a life of terrors led, - Unhappy fruit! but of a lawful bed. - Her friend was tasting every bliss in life, - The joyful mother, and the wealthy wife; - While she was placed in doubt, in fear, in want, - To starve on trifles that the happy grant; - Poorly for all her faithful silence paid, - And tantalized by ineffectual aid. - She could not thus a beggar’s lot endure; - She wanted something permanent and sure: 280 - If they were friends, then equal be their lot, - And she was free to speak if they were not.” - Despair and terror seized the wife, to find - The artful workings of a vulgar mind: - Money she had not, but the hint of dress - Taught her new bribes, new terrors to redress; - She with such feeling then described her woes, - That envy’s self might on the view repose; - Then to a mother’s pains she made appeal, - And painted grief like one compell’d to feel. 290 - Yes! so she felt, that in her air, her face, - In every purpose, and in every place; - In her slow motion, in her languid mien, - The grief, the sickness of her soul were seen. - Of some mysterious ill the husband sure, - Desired to trace it, for he hoped to cure; - Something he knew obscurely, and had seen - His wife attend a cottage on the green; - Love, loth to wound, endured conjecture long, - Till fear would speak, and spoke in language strong. 300 - “All I must know, my Anna--truly know - Whence these emotions, terrors, troubles flow; - Give me thy grief, and I will fairly prove - Mine is no selfish, no ungenerous love.” - Now Anna’s soul the seat of strife became: - Fear with respect contended, love with shame; - But fear, prevailing, was the ruling guide, - Prescribing what to show and what to hide. - “It is my friend,” she said--“but why disclose - A woman’s weakness struggling with her woes? 310 - Yes, she has grieved me by her fond complaints, - The wrongs she suffers, the distress she paints; - Something we do--but she afflicts me still, - And says, with power to help, I want the will. - This plaintive style I pity and excuse, - Help when I can, and grieve when I refuse; - But here my useless sorrows I resign, - And will be happy in a love like thine.” - The husband doubted; he was kind but cool:-- - “’Tis a strong friendship to arise at school; 320 - Once more then, love, once more the sufferer aid-- - I too can pity, but I must upbraid; - Of these vain feelings then thy bosom free, - Nor be o’erwhelm’d by useless sympathy.” - The wife again despatch’d the useless bribe, - Again essay’d her terrors to describe; - Again with kindest words entreated peace, - And begg’d her offerings for a time might cease. - A calm succeeded, but too like the one - That causes terror ere the storm comes on: 330 - A secret sorrow lived in Anna’s heart, - In Stafford’s mind a secret fear of art; - Not long they lasted--this determined foe - Knew all her claims, and nothing would forego; - Again her letter came, where Anna read, - “My child, one cause of my distress, is dead; - Heav’n has my infant.” “Heartless wretch!” she cried, - “Is this thy joy?”--“I am no longer tied: - Now will I, hast’ning to my friend, partake - Her cares and comforts, and no more forsake; 340 - Now shall we both in equal station move, - Save that my friend enjoys a husband’s love.” - Complaint and threats so strong the wife amazed, - Who wildly on her cottage-neighbour gazed; - Her tones, her trembling, first betray’d her grief; - When floods of tears gave anguish its relief. - She fear’d that Stafford would refuse assent, - And knew her selfish friend would not relent; - She must petition, yet delay’d the task, - Ashamed, afraid, and yet compell’d to ask; 350 - Unknown to him some object filled her mind, - And, once suspicious, he became unkind.-- - They sate one evening, each absorb’d in gloom, } - When, hark! a noise and rushing to the room, } - The friend tripp’d lightly in, and laughing said, “I come.” } - Anna received her with an anxious mind, - And meeting whisper’d, “Is Eliza kind?” - Reserved and cool, the husband sought to prove - The depth and force of this mysterious love. - To nought that pass’d between the stranger-friend 360 - And his meek partner seem’d he to attend; - But, anxious, listen’d to the lightest word - That might some knowledge of his guest afford; - And learn the reason one to him so dear - Should feel such fondness, yet betray such fear. - Soon he perceived this uninvited guest, - Unwelcome too, a sovereign power possess’d; - Lofty she was and careless, while the meek - And humbled Anna was afraid to speak: - As mute she listen’d with a painful smile, 370 - Her friend sate laughing and at ease the while, - Telling her idle tales with all the glee - Of careless and unfeeling levity. - With calm good sense he knew his wife endued, - And now with wounded pride her conduct view’d; - Her speech was low, her every look convey’d-- - “I am a slave, subservient and afraid.” - All trace of comfort vanish’d if she spoke; - The noisy friend upon her purpose broke, - To her remarks with insolence replied, 380 - And her assertions doubted or denied; - While the meek Anna like an infant shook, - Wo-struck and trembling at the serpent’s look. - “There is,” said Stafford, “yes, there is a cause-- - This creature frights her, overpowers and awes.” - Six weeks had pass’d--“In truth, my love, this friend - Has liberal notions; what does she intend? - Without a hint she came, and will she stay - Till she receives the hint to go away?” - Confused the wife replied, in spite of truth, 390 - “I love the dear companion of my youth.” - “’Tis well,” said Stafford; “then your loves renew; - Trust me, your rivals, Anna, will be few.” - Though playful this, she felt too much distress’d - T’ admit the consolation of a jest; - Ill she reposed, and in her dreams would sigh - And, murmuring forth her anguish, beg to die; - With sunken eye, slow pace, and pallid cheek, - She look’d confusion, and she fear’d to speak. - All this the friend beheld, for, quick of sight, 400 - She knew the husband eager for her flight; - And that by force alone she could retain - The lasting comforts she had hope to gain: - She now perceived, to win her post for life, - She must infuse fresh terrors in the wife; - Must bid to friendship’s feebler ties adieu, - And boldly claim the object in her view; - She saw the husband’s love, and knew the power - Her friend might use in some propitious hour. - Meantime the anxious wife, from pure distress 410 - Assuming courage, said, “I will confess;” - But with her children felt a parent’s pride, - And sought once more the hated truth to hide. - Offended, grieved, impatient, Stafford bore - The odious change till he could bear no more. - A friend to truth, in speech and action plain, - He held all fraud and cunning in disdain; - But fraud to find, and falsehood to detect, - For once he fled to measures indirect. - One day the friends were seated in that room 420 - The guest with care adorn’d, and named her home. - To please the eye, there curious prints were placed, - And some light volumes to amuse the taste; - Letters and music, on a table laid, - The favourite studies of the fair betray’d; - Beneath the window was the toilet spread, - And the fire gleam’d upon a crimson bed. - In Anna’s looks and falling tears were seen - How interesting had their subjects been: - “Oh! then,” resumed the friend, “I plainly find 430 - That you and Stafford know each other’s mind; - I must depart, must on the world be thrown, - Like one discarded, worthless and unknown; - But shall I carry, and to please a foe, - A painful secret in my bosom? No! - Think not your friend a reptile you may tread - Beneath your feet, and say, the worm is dead: - I have some feeling, and will not be made - The scorn of her whom love cannot persuade. - Would not your word, your slightest wish, effect 440 - All that I hope, petition, or expect? - The power you have, but you the use decline-- - Proof that you feel not, or you fear not mine. - There was a time, when I, a tender maid, - Flew at a call, and your desires obey’d; - A very mother to the child became, - Consoled your sorrow, and conceal’d your shame; - But now, grown rich and happy, from the door - You thrust a bosom-friend, despised and poor; - That child alive, its mother might have known 450 - The hard, ungrateful spirit she has shown.” - Here paused the guest, and Anna cried at length-- - “You try me, cruel friend! beyond my strength; - Would I had been beside my infant laid, - Where none would vex me, threaten, or upbraid.” - In Anna’s looks the friend beheld despair; - Her speech she soften’d, and composed her air; - Yet, while professing love, she answered still-- - “You can befriend me, but you want the will.” - They parted thus, and Anna went her way, 460 - To shed her secret sorrows, and to pray. - Stafford, amused with books, and fond of home, - By reading oft dispell’d the evening gloom; - History or tale--all heard him with delight, - And thus was pass’d this memorable night. - The listening friend bestow’d a flattering smile; - A sleeping boy the mother held the while; - And, ere she fondly bore him to his bed, - On his fair face the tear of anguish shed. - And now, his task resumed, “My tale,” said he, 470 - “Is short and sad, short may our sadness be!”-- - “The Caliph Harun[8], as historians tell, - Ruled, for a tyrant, admirably well; - Where his own pleasures were not touch’d, to men - He was humane, and sometimes even then. - Harun was fond of fruits, and gardens fair; - And wo to all whom he found poaching there. - Among his pages was a lively boy, - Eager in search of every trifling joy; - His feelings vivid, and his fancy strong, 480 - He sigh’d for pleasure while he shrank from wrong; - When by the caliph in the garden placed, - He saw the treasures which he long’d to taste; - And oft alone he ventured to behold - Rich hanging fruits with rind of glowing gold; - Too long he staid forbidden bliss to view, - His virtue failing, as his longings grew; - Athirst and wearied with the noon-tide heat, - Fate to the garden led his luckless feet; - With eager eyes and open mouth he stood, 490 - Smelt the sweet breath, and touch’d the fragrant food; - The tempting beauty sparkling in the sun - Charm’d his young sense--he ate, and was undone. - When the fond glutton paused, his eyes around - He turn’d, and eyes upon him turning found; - Pleased he beheld the spy, a brother-page, - A friend allied in office and in age; - Who promised much that secret he would be, - But high the price he fix’d on secrecy. - “‘Were you suspected, my unhappy friend,’ 500 - Began the boy, ‘where would your sorrows end? - In all the palace there is not a page - The caliph would not torture in his rage: - I think I see thee now impaled alive, - Writhing in pangs--but come, my friend! revive; - Had some beheld you, all your purse contains - Could not have saved you from terrific pains; - I scorn such meanness; and, if not in debt, - Would not an asper on your folly set.’ - “The hint was strong; young Osmyn search’d his store - For bribes, and found he soon could bribe no more; 511 - That time arrived, for Osmyn’s stock was small, - And the young tyrant now possess’d it all; - The cruel youth, with his companions near, - Gave the broad hint that raised the sudden fear; - Th’ ungenerous insult now was daily shown, - And Osmyn’s peace and honest pride were flown; - Then came augmenting woes, and fancy strong - Drew forms of suffering, a tormenting throng; - He felt degraded, and the struggling mind 520 - Dared not be free, and could not be resign’d; - And all his pains and fervent prayers obtain’d - Was truce from insult, while the fears remain’d. - “One day it chanced that this degraded boy - And tyrant-friend were fix’d at their employ; - Who now had thrown restraint and form aside, - And for his bribe in plainer speech applied: - ‘Long have I waited, and the last supply - Was but a pittance, yet how patient I! - But, give me now what thy first terrors gave, 530 - My speech shall praise thee, and my silence save.’ - “Osmyn had found, in many a dreadful day, - The tyrant fiercer when he seem’d in play: - He begg’d forbearance: ‘I have not to give; - Spare me awhile, although ’tis pain to live. - Oh! had that stolen fruit the power possess’d - To war with life, I now had been at rest.’ - “‘So fond of death,’ replied the boy, ’’tis plain - Thou hast no certain notion of the pain; - But, to the caliph were a secret shown, 540 - Death has no pain that would be then unknown,’ - “Now,” says the story, “in a closet near, - The monarch, seated, chanced the boys to hear; - There oft he came, when wearied on his throne, - To read, sleep, listen, pray, or be alone. - “The tale proceeds: when first the caliph found - That he was robb’d, although alone, he frown’d; - And swore in wrath, that he would send the boy - Far from his notice, favour, or employ; - But gentler movements soothed his ruffled mind, 550 - And his own failings taught him to be kind. - “Relenting thoughts then painted Osmyn young, - His passion urgent, and temptation strong; - And that he suffer’d from that villain-spy - Pains worse than death till he desired to die; - Then, if his morals had received a stain, - His bitter sorrows made him pure again; - To Reason Pity lent her generous aid, - For one so tempted, troubled, and betray’d; - And a free pardon the glad boy restored 560 - To the kind presence of a gentle lord; - Who from his office and his country drove - That traitor-friend, whom pains nor pray’rs could move; - Who raised the fears no mortal could endure, - And then with cruel av’rice sold the cure. - “My tale is ended; but, to be applied, - I must describe the place where caliphs hide.” - Here both the females look’d alarm’d, distress’d, - With hurried passions hard to be express’d. - “It was a closet by a chamber placed, 570 - Where slept a lady of no vulgar taste; - Her friend attended in that chosen room - That she had honour’d and proclaim’d her home; - To please the eye were chosen pictures placed, - And some light volumes to amuse the taste; - Letters and music on a table laid, - For much the lady wrote, and often play’d; - Beneath the window was a toilet spread, - And a fire gleam’d upon a crimson bed.” - He paused, he rose; with troubled joy the wife 580 - Felt the new era of her changeful life; - Frankness and love appear’d in Stafford’s face, - And all her trouble to delight gave place. - Twice made the guest an effort to sustain } - Her feelings, twice resumed her seat in vain, } - Nor could suppress her shame, nor could support her pain. } - Quick she retired, and all the dismal night - Thought of her guilt, her folly, and her flight; - Then sought unseen her miserable home, - To think of comforts lost, and brood on wants to come. 590 - -[8] The sovereign here meant is the Haroun Alraschid, or Harun -al Rashid, who died early in the ninth century; he is often the -hearer, and sometimes the hero, of a tale in the Arabian Nights’ -Entertainments. - - - - -TALE XVII. - -_RESENTMENT._ - - - _She_ hath a tear for pity, and a hand - Open as day for melting charity; - Yet, notwithstanding, being incensed, is flint---- - _Her_ temper, therefore, must be well observ’d. - _2 Henry IV._ Act IV. Scene 4. - -Three or four wenches, where I stood, cried--“Alas! good soul!” and -forgave him with all their hearts; but [there’s] no heed to be taken -of them; if Cæsar had stabb’d their mothers, they would have done no -less. - _Julius Cæsar_, Act I. Scene 2. - - How dost . . .? Art cold? - I’m cold myself--Where is the straw, my fellow? - The art of our necessities is strange, - That can make vile things precious. - _King Lear_, Act III. Scene 2. - - -TALE XVII. - -_RESENTMENT._ - - Females there are of unsuspicious mind, - Easy and soft, and credulous and kind; - Who, when offended for the twentieth time, - Will hear th’ offender and forgive the crime; - And there are others whom, like these to cheat, - Asks but the humblest effort of deceit; - But they, once injured, feel a strong disdain, - And, seldom pardoning, never trust again; - Urged by religion, they forgive--but yet - Guard the warm heart, and never more forget. 10 - Those are like wax--apply them to the fire, - Melting, they take th’ impressions you desire; - Easy to mould, and fashion as you please, - And again moulded with an equal ease; - Like smelted iron these the forms retain, - But once impress’d will never melt again. - A busy port a serious merchant made - His chosen place to recommence his trade; - And brought his lady, who, their children dead, - Their native seat of recent sorrow fled. 20 - The husband duly on the quay was seen; - The wife at home became at length serene; - There in short time the social couple grew - With all acquainted, friendly with a few; - When the good lady, by disease assail’d, - In vain resisted--hope and science fail’d. - Then spake the female friends, by pity led, - “Poor merchant Paul! what think ye? will he wed? - A quiet, easy, kind, religious man, - Thus can he rest?--I wonder if he can.” 30 - He too, as grief subsided in his mind, - Gave place to notions of congenial kind; - Grave was the man, as we have told before; - His years were forty--he might pass for more; - Composed his features were, his stature low, - His air important, and his motion slow; - His dress became him, it was neat and plain, - The colour purple, and without a stain; - His words were few, and special was his care - In simplest terms his purpose to declare; 40 - A man more civil, sober, and discreet, - More grave and courteous, you could seldom meet. - Though frugal he, yet sumptuous was his board, - As if to prove how much he could afford; - For, though reserved himself, he loved to see - His table plenteous, and his neighbours free. - Among these friends he sat in solemn style, - And rarely soften’d to a sober smile; - For this observant friends their reasons gave-- - “Concerns so vast would make the idlest grave; 50 - And for such man to be of language free, - Would seem incongruous as a singing tree: - Trees have their music, but the birds they shield - The pleasing tribute for protection yield; - Each ample tree the tuneful choir defends, - As this rich merchant cheers his happy friends!” - In the same town it was his chance to meet - A gentle lady, with a mind discreet; - Neither in life’s decline, nor bloom of youth, - One fam’d for maiden modesty and truth. 60 - By nature cool, in pious habits bred, - She look’d on lovers with a virgin’s dread: - Deceivers, rakes, and libertines were they, - And harmless beauty their pursuit and prey; - As bad as giants in the ancient times - Were modern lovers, and the same their crimes. - Soon as she heard of her all-conquering charms, - At once she fled to her defensive arms; - Conn’d o’er the tales her maiden aunt had told, - And, statue-like, was motionless and cold; 70 - From prayer of love, like that Pygmalion pray’d, - Ere the hard stone became the yielding maid, - A different change in this chaste nymph ensued, - And turn’d to stone the breathing flesh and blood. - Whatever youth described his wounded heart, - “He came to rob her, and she scorn’d his art; - And who of raptures once presumed to speak, - Told listening maids he thought them fond and weak. - But should a worthy man his hopes display - In few plain words, and beg a _yes_ or _nay_, 80 - He would deserve an answer just and plain, } - Since adulation only moved disdain-- } - Sir, if my friends object not, come again.” } - Hence, our grave lover, though he liked the face, - Praised not a feature--dwelt not on a grace; - But in the simplest terms declared his state: - “A widow’d man, who wish’d a virtuous mate; - Who fear’d neglect, and was compell’d to trust - Dependents wasteful, idle, or unjust; - Or, should they not the trusted stores destroy, 90 - At best, they could not help him to enjoy; - But with her person and her prudence blest, - His acts would prosper, and his soul have rest. - Would she be his?”--“Why, that was much to say; - She would consider; he awhile might stay; - She liked his manners, and believed his word; - He did not flatter, flattery she abhorr’d; - It was her happy lot in peace to dwell-- - Would change make better what was now so well? - But she would ponder.”---“This,” he said, “was kind,” 100 - And begg’d to know “when she had fix’d her mind.” - Romantic maidens would have scorn’d the air, - And the cool prudence of a mind so fair; - But well it pleased this wiser maid to find - Her own mild virtues in her lover’s mind. - His worldly wealth she sought, and quickly grew - Pleased with her search, and happy in the view - Of vessels freighted with abundant stores, - Of rooms whose treasures press’d the groaning floors; - And he of clerks and servants could display 110 - A little army, on a public day: - Was this a man like needy bard to speak - Of balmy lip, bright eye, or rosy cheek? - The sum appointed for her widow’d state, - Fix’d by her friend, excited no debate; - Then the kind lady gave her hand and heart, - And, never finding, never dealt with art: - In his engagements she had no concern; - He taught her not, nor had she wish to learn: - On him in all occasions she relied, 120 - His word her surety, and his worth her pride. - When ship was launch’d, and merchant Paul had share, - A bounteous feast became the lady’s care; - Who then her entry to the dinner made, - In costly raiment, and with kind parade. - Call’d by this duty on a certain day, - And robed to grace it in a rich array, - Forth from her room with measured step she came, - Proud of th’ event, and stately look’d the dame. - The husband met her at his study-door-- 130 - “This way, my love--one moment and no more: - A trifling business--you will understand, - The law requires that you affix your hand; - But first attend, and you shall learn the cause - Why forms like these have been prescribed by laws:” - Then from his chair a man in black arose, - And with much quickness hurried off his prose: - That “Ellen Paul the wife, and so forth, freed - From all control, her own the act and deed, - And forasmuch”----said she, “I’ve no distrust, 140 - For he that asks it is discreet and just; - Our friends are waiting--where am I to sign?-- - There!--Now be ready when we meet to dine.” - This said, she hurried off in great delight: - The ship was launch’d, and joyful was the night. - Now, says the reader, and in much disdain, - This serious merchant was a rogue in grain; - A treacherous wretch, an artful, sober knave, - And ten times worse for manners cool and grave; - And she devoid of sense, to set her hand 150 - To scoundrel deeds she could not understand. - Alas! ’tis true; and I in vain had tried - To soften crime, that cannot be denied; - And might have labour’d many a tedious verse - The latent cause of mischief to rehearse: - Be it confess’d, that long with troubled look - This trader view’d a huge accompting-book - (His former marriage for a time delay’d - The dreaded hour, the present lent its aid); - But he too clearly saw the evil day, 160 - And put the terror, by deceit, away; - Thus by connecting with his sorrows crime, - He gain’d a portion of uneasy time.-- - All this too late the injured lady saw, - What law had given, again she gave to law; - His guilt, her folly--these at once impress’d - Their lasting feelings on her guileless breast. - “Shame I can bear,” she cried, “and want sustain, - But will not see this guilty wretch again:” - For all was lost, and he, with many a tear, 170 - Confess’d the fault--she turning scorn’d to hear. - To legal claims he yielded all his worth; - But small the portion, and the wrong’d were wroth, - Nor to their debtor would a part allow; - And where to live he knew not--knew not how. - The wife a cottage found, and thither went - The suppliant man, but she would not relent; - Thenceforth she utter’d with indignant tone, - “I feel the misery, and will feel alone.” - He would turn servant for her sake, would keep 180 - The poorest school; the very streets would sweep, - To show his love--“It was already shown, - And her affliction should be all her own. - His wants and weakness might have touch’d her heart, - But from his meanness she resolved to part.” - In a small alley was she lodged, beside - Its humblest poor, and at the view she cried: - “Welcome--yes! let me welcome, if I can, - The fortune dealt me by this cruel man; - Welcome this low thatch’d roof, this shatter’d door, 190 - These walls of clay, this miserable floor; - Welcome my envied neighbours; this, to you, - Is all familiar--all to me is new. - You have no hatred to the loathsome meal; } - Your firmer nerves no trembling terrors feel, } - Nor, what you must expose, desire you to conceal; } - What your coarse feelings bear without offence, - Disgusts my taste, and poisons every sense. - Daily shall I your sad relations hear, - Of wanton women, and of men severe; 200 - There will dire curses, dreadful oaths abound, - And vile expressions shock me and confound; - Noise of dull wheels, and songs with horrid words, - Will be the music that this lane affords; - Mirth that disgusts, and quarrels that degrade - The human mind, must my retreat invade. - Hard is my fate! yet easier to sustain, - Than to abide with guilt and fraud again, - A grave impostor--who expects to meet, - In such grey locks and gravity, deceit? 210 - Where the sea rages, and the billows roar, - Men know the danger, and they quit the shore; - But, be there nothing in the way descried, - When o’er the rocks smooth runs the wicked tide-- - Sinking unwarn’d, they execrate the shock, - And the dread peril of the sunken rock.” - A frowning world had now the man to dread, - Taught in no arts, to no profession bred; - Pining in grief, beset with constant care, - Wandering he went, to rest he knew not where. 220 - Meantime the wife--but she abjured the name-- - Endured her lot, and struggled with the shame: - When, lo! an uncle on the mother’s side, - In nature something, as in blood allied, - Admired her firmness, his protection gave, - And show’d a kindness she disdain’d to crave. - Frugal and rich the man, and frugal grew - The sister-mind, without a selfish view; - And further still--the temp’rate pair agreed - With what they saved the patient poor to feed. 230 - His whole estate, when to the grave consign’d, - Left the good kinsman to the kindred mind; - Assured that law, with spell secure and tight, - Had fix’d it as her own peculiar right. - Now to her ancient residence removed, - She lived as widow, well endow’d and loved; - Decent her table was, and to her door - Came daily welcomed the neglected poor. - The absent sick were soothed by her relief, - As her free bounty sought the haunts of grief; 240 - A plain and homely charity had she, - And loved the objects of her alms to see; - With her own hands she dress’d the savoury meat, - With her own fingers wrote the choice receipt; - She heard all tales that injured wives relate, - And took a double interest in their fate; - But of all husbands not a wretch was known - So vile, so mean, so cruel, as her own. - This bounteous lady kept an active spy, - To search th’ abodes of want, and to supply; 250 - The gentle Susan served the liberal dame-- - Unlike their notions, yet their deeds the same: - No practised villain could a victim find, - Than this stern lady more completely blind; - Nor (if detected in his fraud) could meet - One less disposed to pardon a deceit; - The wrong she treasured, and on no pretence - Received th’ offender, or forgot th’ offence; - But the kind servant, to the thrice-proved knave - A fourth time listen’d, and the past forgave. 260 - First in her youth, when she was blithe and gay, - Came a smooth rogue, and stole her love away; - Then to another and another flew, - To boast the wanton mischief he could do. - Yet she forgave him, though so great her pain, - That she was never blithe or gay again. - Then came a spoiler, who, with villain-art, - Implored her hand, and agonized her heart; - He seized her purse, in idle waste to spend - With a vile wanton, whom she call’d her friend; 270 - Five years she suffer’d--he had revell’d five-- - Then came to show her he was just alive; - Alone he came, his vile companion dead, - And he, a wand’ring pauper, wanting bread; - His body wasted, wither’d life and limb, - When this kind soul became a slave to him. - Nay, she was sure that, should he now survive, - No better husband would be left alive; - For him she mourn’d, and then, alone and poor, - Sought and found comfort at her lady’s door: 280 - Ten years she served, and, mercy her employ, - Her tasks were pleasure, and her duty joy. - Thus lived the mistress and the maid, design’d - Each other’s aid--one cautious, and both kind. - Oft at their window, working, they would sigh - To see the aged and the sick go by; - Like wounded bees, that at their home arrive, - Slowly and weak, but labouring for the hive. - The busy people of a mason’s yard - The curious lady view’d with much regard; 290 - With steady motion she perceived them draw - Through blocks of stone the slowly-working saw; - It gave her pleasure and surprise to see - Among these men the signs of revelry; - Cold was the season, and confined their view, - Tedious their tasks, but merry were the crew. - There she beheld an aged pauper wait, - Patient and still, to take an humble freight; - Within the panniers on an ass he laid - The ponderous grit, and for the portion paid; 300 - This he re-sold, and, with each trifling gift, - Made shift to live, and wretched was the shift. - Now will it be by every reader told - Who was this humble trader, poor and old.-- - In vain an author would a name suppress, - From the least hint a reader learns to guess; - Of children lost our novels sometimes treat; - We never care--assured again to meet. - In vain the writer for concealment tries, - We trace his purpose under all disguise; 310 - Nay, though he tells us they are dead and gone, - Of whom we wot--they will appear anon; - Our favourites fight, are wounded, hopeless lie; - Survive they cannot--nay, they cannot die: - Now, as these tricks and stratagems are known, - ’Tis best, at once, the simple truth to own. - This was the husband--in an humble shed - He nightly slept, and daily sought his bread. - Once for relief the weary man applied; - “Your wife is rich,” the angry vestry cried; 320 - Alas! he dared not to his wife complain, - Feeling her wrongs, and fearing her disdain: - By various methods he had tried to live, - But not one effort would subsistence give. - He was an usher in a school, till noise - Made him less able than the weaker boys; - On messages he went, till he in vain - Strove names, or words, or meanings to retain; - Each small employment in each neighbouring town - By turn he took, to lay as quickly down; 330 - For, such his fate, he fail’d in all he plann’d, - And nothing prosper’d in his luckless hand. - At his old home, his motive half suppress’d, - He sought no more for riches, but for rest: - There lived the bounteous wife, and at her gate - He saw in cheerful groups the needy wait; - “Had he a right with bolder hope t’ apply?” - He ask’d--was answer’d, and went groaning by; - For some remains of spirit, temper, pride, - Forbade a prayer he knew would be denied. 340 - Thus was the grieving man, with burthen’d ass, - Seen day by day along the street to pass: - “Who is he, Susan? who the poor old man? - He never calls--do make him, if you can.”-- - The conscious damsel still delay’d to speak, - She stopp’d confused, and had her words to seek; - From Susan’s fears the fact her mistress knew, - And cried--“The wretch! what scheme has he in view? - Is this his lot?--but let him, let him feel-- - Who wants the courage, not the will to steal.” 350 - A dreadful winter came, each day severe, - Misty when mild, and icy cold when clear; - And still the humble dealer took his load, - Returning slow, and shivering on the road: - The lady, still relentless, saw him come, - And said--“I wonder, has the wretch a home?”-- - “A hut! a hovel!”--“Then his fate appears - To suit his crime;”--“Yes, lady, not his years-- - No! nor his sufferings--nor that form decay’d.”-- - “Well! let the parish give its paupers aid; 360 - You must the vileness of his acts allow.”-- - “And you, dear lady, that he feels it now.”-- - “When such dissemblers on their deeds reflect, - Can they the pity they refused expect? - He that doth evil, evil shall he dread.”-- } - “The snow,” quoth Susan, “falls upon his bed-- } - It blows beside the thatch--it melts upon his head.”-- } - “’Tis weakness, child, for grieving guilt to feel.”-- - “Yes, but he never sees a wholesome meal; - Through his bare dress appears his shrivell’d skin, 370 - And ill he fares without, and worse within; - With that weak body, lame, diseased, and slow, - What cold, pain, peril, must the sufferer know!”-- - “Think on his crime.”--“Yes, sure ’twas very wrong; - But look, (God bless him!) how he gropes along.”-- - “Brought me to shame.”--“Oh! yes, I know it all-- } - What cutting blast! and he can scarcely crawl; } - He freezes as he moves--he dies! if he should fall. } - With cruel fierceness drives this icy sleet-- - And must a Christian perish in the street, 380 - In sight of Christians?--There! at last, he lies; - Nor unsupported can he ever rise: - He cannot live.”--“But is he fit to die?”-- - Here Susan softly mutter’d a reply, - Look’d round the room--said something of its state, - Dives the rich, and Lazarus at his gate; - And then, aloud--“In pity do behold - The man affrighten’d, weeping, trembling, cold. - Oh! how those flakes of snow their entrance win - Through the poor rags, and keep the frost within; 390 - His very heart seems frozen as he goes, - Leading that starved companion of his woes: - He tried to pray--his lips, I saw them move, - And he so turn’d his piteous looks above; - But the fierce wind the willing heart opposed, - And, ere he spoke, the lips in misery closed. - Poor suffering object! yes, for ease you pray’d, - And God will hear--he only, I’m afraid.”-- - “Peace! Susan, peace! Pain ever follows sin.”-- - “Ah! then,” thought Susan, “when will ours begin? 400 - When reach’d his home, to what a cheerless fire - And chilling bed will those cold limbs retire! - Yet ragged, wretched as it is, that bed - Takes half the space of his contracted shed; - I saw the thorns beside the narrow grate, - With straw collected in a putrid state. - There will he, kneeling, strive the fire to raise, - And that will warm him, rather than the blaze; - The sullen, smoky blaze, that cannot last - One moment after his attempt is past: 410 - And I so warmly and so purely laid, - To sink to rest--indeed, I am afraid.”-- - “Know you his conduct?”--“Yes, indeed, I know-- - And how he wanders in the wind and snow: - Safe in our rooms the threat’ning storm we hear, - But he feels strongly what we faintly fear.”-- - “Wilful was rich, and he the storm defied; - Wilful is poor, and must the storm abide;” - Said the stern lady;--“’tis in vain to feel; - Go and prepare the chicken for our meal.” 420 - Susan her task reluctantly began, - And utter’d as she went--“The poor old man!”-- - But while her soft and ever-yielding heart - Made strong protest against her lady’s part, - The lady’s self began to think it wrong, - To feel so wrathful and resent so long. - “No more the wretch would she receive again, - No more behold him--but she would sustain; - Great his offence, and evil was his mind-- - But he had suffer’d, and she would be kind: 430 - She spurn’d such baseness, and she found within - A fair acquittal from so foul a sin; - Yet she too err’d, and must of Heaven expect - To be rejected, him should she reject.” - Susan was summon’d--“I’m about to do - A foolish act, in part seduced by you: - Go to the creature--say that I intend, - Foe to his sins, to be his sorrow’s friend; - Take, for his present comforts, food and wine, - And mark his feelings at this act of mine; 440 - Observe if shame be o’er his features spread, - By his own victim to be soothed and fed; - But, this inform him, that it is not love - That prompts my heart, that duties only move. - Say, that no merits in his favour plead, - But miseries only, and his abject need; - Nor bring me grov’ling thanks, nor high-flown praise; - I would his spirits, not his fancy raise. - Give him no hope that I shall ever more - A man so vile to my esteem restore; 450 - But warn him rather, that, in time of rest, - His crimes be all remember’d and confess’d: - I know not all that form the sinner’s debt, - But there is one that he must not forget.” - The mind of Susan prompted her with speed - To act her part in every courteous deed: - All that was kind she was prepared to say, - And keep the lecture for a future day; - When he had all life’s comforts by his side, - Pity might sleep, and good advice be tried. 460 - This done, the mistress felt disposed to look, - As self-approving, on a pious book: - Yet, to her native bias still inclined, - She felt her act too merciful and kind; - But when, long musing on the chilling scene - So lately past--the frost and sleet so keen-- - The man’s whole misery in a single view-- - Yes! she could think some pity was his due. - Thus fix’d, she heard not her attendant glide - With soft slow step--till, standing by her side, 470 - The trembling servant gasp’d for breath, and shed - Relieving tears, then utter’d---“He is dead!” - “Dead!” said the startled lady; “Yes, he fell - Close at the door where he was wont to dwell; - There his sole friend, the ass, was standing by, - Half-dead himself, to see his master die.” - “Expired he then, good Heaven! for want of food?”-- - “No! crusts and water in a corner stood;-- - To have this plenty, and to wait so long, - And to be right too late, is doubly wrong: 480 - Then, every day to see him totter by, - And to forbear--Oh! what a heart had I!”-- - “Blame me not, child; I tremble at the news.”-- - “’Tis my own heart,” said Susan, “I accuse: - To have this money in my purse--to know - What grief was his, and what to grief we owe; - To see him often, always to conceive - How he must pine and languish, groan and grieve; - And every day in ease and peace to dine - And rest in comfort!--what a heart is mine!”-- 490 - - - - -TALE XVIII. - -_THE WAGER._ - - - ’Tis thought your deer doth hold you at a bay. - _Taming [of] the Shrew_, Act V. Scene 2. - - I choose her for myself: - If she and I are pleased, what’s that to you? - ----, Act II. Scene 1. - - Let’s send each one to his wife, - And he whose wife is most obedient - [. . . . . .] - Shall win the wager. - ----, Act V. Scene 2. - - Now by the world it is a lusty wench, - I love her ten times more than e’er I did. - ----, Act II. Scene 1. - - -TALE XVIII. - -_THE WAGER._ - - Counter and Clubb were men in trade, whose pains, - Credit, and prudence, brought them constant gains; - Partners and punctual, every friend agreed - Counter and Clubb were men who must succeed. - When they had fix’d some little time in life, - Each thought of taking to himself a wife; - As men in trade alike, as men in love - They seem’d with no according views to move; - As certain ores in outward view the same, - They show’d their difference when the magnet came. 10 - Counter was vain; with spirit strong and high, - ’Twas not in him like suppliant swain to sigh: - “His wife might o’er his men and maids preside, - And in her province be a judge and guide; - But what he thought, or did, or wish’d to do, - She must not know, or censure if she knew; - At home, abroad, by day, by night, if he - On aught determined, so it was to be. - How is a man,” he ask’d, “for business fit, - Who to a female can his will submit? 20 - Absent awhile, let no inquiring eye - Or plainer speech presume to question why, - But all be silent; and, when seen again, - Let all be cheerful--shall a wife complain? - Friends I invite, and who shall dare t’ object, - Or look on them with coolness or neglect? - No! I must ever of my house be head, - And, thus obey’d, I condescend to wed.” - Clubb heard the speech--“My friend is nice,” said he; - “A wife with less respect will do for me. 30 - How is he certain such a prize to gain? } - What he approves, a lass may learn to feign, } - And so affect t’ obey till she begins to reign; } - Awhile complying, she may vary then, - And be as wives of more unwary men; - Beside, to him who plays such lordly part, - How shall a tender creature yield her heart? - Should he the promised confidence refuse, - She may another more confiding choose; - May show her anger, yet her purpose hide, 40 - And wake his jealousy, and wound his pride. - In one so humbled, who can trace the friend? - I on an equal, not a slave, depend; - If true, my confidence is wisely placed, - And, being false, she only is disgraced.” - Clubb, with these notions, cast his eye around, - And one so easy soon a partner found. - The lady chosen was of good repute; - Meekness she had not, and was seldom mute; - Though quick to anger, still she loved to smile; 50 - And would be calm if men would wait awhile: - She knew her duty, and she loved her way, - More pleased in truth to govern than obey; - She heard her priest with reverence, and her spouse - As one who felt the pressure of her vows. - Useful and civil, all her friends confess’d-- - Give her her way, and she would choose the best; - Though some indeed a sly remark would make-- - Give it her not, and she would choose to take. - All this, when Clubb some cheerful months had spent, 60 - He saw, confess’d, and said he was content. - Counter meantime selected, doubted, weigh’d, - And then brought home a young complying maid-- - A tender creature, full of fears as charms, - A beauteous nursling from its mother’s arms; - A soft, sweet blossom, such as men must love, - But to preserve must keep it in the stove. - She had a mild, subdued, expiring look-- - Raise but the voice, and this fair creature shook; - Leave her alone, she felt a thousand fears-- 70 - Chide, and she melted into floods of tears; - Fondly she pleaded and would gently sigh, - For very pity, or she knew not why; - One whom to govern none could be afraid-- - Hold up the finger, this meek thing obey’d; - Her happy husband had the easiest task-- - Say but his will, no question would she ask; - She sought no reasons, no affairs she knew, - Of business spoke not, and had nought to do. - Oft he exclaim’d, “How meek! how mild! how kind! 80 - With her ’twere cruel but to seem unkind; - Though ever silent when I take my leave, - It pains my heart to think how hers will grieve; - ’Tis heaven on earth with such a wife to dwell, - I am in raptures to have sped so well; - But let me not, my friend, your envy raise, - No! on my life, your patience has my praise.” - His friend, though silent, felt the scorn implied-- - “What need of patience?” to himself he cried: - “Better a woman o’er her house to rule, 90 - Than a poor child just hurried from her school: - Who has no care, yet never lives at ease; - Unfit to rule, and indisposed to please; - What if he govern, there his boast should end, - No husband’s power can make a slave his friend.” - It was the custom of these friends to meet - With a few neighbours in a neighbouring street; - Where Counter oft-times would occasion seize, - To move his silent friend by words like these: - “A man,” said he, “if govern’d by his wife, 100 - Gives up his rank and dignity in life; - Now better fate befalls my friend and me.”-- - He spoke, and look’d th’ approving smile to see. - The quiet partner, when he chose to speak, - Desired his friend, “another theme to seek; - When thus they met, he judged that state-affairs - And such important subjects should be theirs.” - But still the partner, in his lighter vein, - Would cause in Clubb affliction or disdain; - It made him anxious to detect the cause 110 - Of all that boasting--“Wants my friend applause? - This plainly proves him not at perfect ease, - For, felt he pleasure, he would wish to please.-- - These triumphs here for some regrets atone-- - Men who are blest let other men alone.” - Thus made suspicious, he observed and saw - His friend each night at early hour withdraw; - He sometimes mention’d Juliet’s tender nerves, - And what attention such a wife deserves. - “In this,” thought Clubb, “full sure some mystery lies--} - He laughs at me, yet he with much complies, } 121 - And all his vaunts of bliss are proud apologies.” } - With such ideas treasured in his breast, - He grew composed, and let his anger rest; - Till Counter once (when wine so long went round - That friendship and discretion both were drown’d) - Began in teasing and triumphant mood - His evening banter--“Of all earthly good, - The best,” he said, “was an obedient spouse, - Such as my friend’s--that every one allows: 130 - What if she wishes his designs to know? - It is because she would her praise bestow; - What if she wills that he remains at home? - She knows that mischief may from travel come. - I, who am free to venture where I please, - Have no such kind preventing checks as these; - But mine is double duty, first to guide - Myself aright, then rule a house beside; - While this our friend, more happy than the free, - Resigns all power, and laughs at liberty.” 140 - “By Heaven,” said Clubb, “excuse me if I swear, - I’ll bet a hundred guineas, if he dare, - That uncontroll’d I will such freedoms take, - That he will fear to equal--there’s my stake.” - “A match!” said Counter, much by wine inflamed; - “But we are friends--let smaller stake be named: - Wine for our future meeting, that will I - Take and no more--what peril shall we try?” - “Let’s to Newmarket,” Clubb replied; “or choose - Yourself the place, and what you like to lose; 150 - And he who first returns, or fears to go, - Forfeits his cash.”--Said Counter, “Be it so.” - The friends around them saw with much delight - The social war, and hail’d the pleasant night; - Nor would they further hear the cause discuss’d, - Afraid the recreant heart of Clubb to trust. - Now sober thoughts return’d as each withdrew, - And of the subject took a serious view. - “’Twas wrong,” thought Counter, “and will grieve my love;” - “’Twas wrong,” thought Clubb, “my wife will not approve; - But friends were present; I must try the thing, 161 - Or with my folly half the town will ring.” - He sought his lady--“Madam, I’m to blame, - But was reproach’d, and could not bear the shame; - Here in my folly--for ’tis best to say - The very truth--I’ve sworn to have my way: - To that Newmarket--(though I hate the place, - And have no taste or talents for a race, - Yet so it is--well, now prepare to chide--) - I laid a wager that I dared to ride; 170 - And I must go: by Heaven, if you resist - I shall be scorn’d, and ridiculed, and hiss’d; - Let me with grace before my friends appear, - You know the truth, and must not be severe; - He too must go, but that he will of course; - Do you consent?--I never think of force.” - “You never need,” the worthy dame replied; - “The husband’s honour is the woman’s pride; - If I in trifles be the wilful wife, - Still for your credit I would lose my life; 180 - Go! and when fix’d the day of your return, - Stay longer yet, and let the blockheads learn, - That, though a wife may sometimes wish to rule, - She would not make th’ indulgent man a fool; - I would at times advise--but idle they - Who think th’ assenting husband _must_ obey.” - The happy man, who thought his lady right - In other cases, was assured to-night; - Then for the day with proud delight prepared, - To show his doubting friends how much he dared. 190 - Counter--who grieving sought his bed, his rest - Broken by pictures of his love distress’d-- - With soft and winning speech the fair prepared: - “She all his councils, comforts, pleasures shared; - She was assured he loved her from his soul; - She never knew and need not fear control; - But so it happen’d--he was grieved at heart, - It happen’d so, that they awhile must part-- - A little time--the distance was but short, - And business call’d him--he despised the sport; 200 - But to Newmarket he engaged to ride, - With his friend Clubb;” and there he stopp’d and sigh’d. - Awhile the tender creature look’d dismay’d, - Then floods of tears the call of grief obey’d:-- - “She an objection! No!” she sobb’d, “not one; - Her work was finish’d, and her race was run; - For die she must, indeed she would not live - A week alone, for all the world could give; - He too must die in that same wicked place; - It always happen’d--was a common case; 210 - Among those horrid horses, jockeys, crowds, - ’Twas certain death--they might bespeak their shrouds; - He would attempt a race, be sure to fall-- - And she expire with terror--that was all; - With love like hers she was indeed unfit - To bear such horrors, but she must submit.”-- - “But for three days, my love! three days at most--” - “Enough for me; I then shall be a ghost.--” - “My honour’s pledged!”--“Oh! yes, my dearest life, - I know your honour must outweigh your wife; 220 - But ere this absence, have you sought a friend-- - I shall be dead--on whom can you depend?-- - Let me one favour of your kindness crave: - Grant me the stone I mention’d for my grave.--” - “Nay, love, attend--why, bless my soul--I say - I will return--there--weep no longer--nay!”-- - “Well! I obey, and to the last am true, - But spirits fail me; I must die; adieu!” - “What, madam! must?--’tis wrong--I’m angry--zounds! - Can I remain and lose a thousand pounds?” 230 - “Go then, my love! it is a monstrous sum, - Worth twenty wives--go, love! and I am dumb-- - Nor be displeased--[had] I the power to live, - You might be angry, now you must forgive; - Alas! I faint--ah! cruel--there’s no need - Of wounds or fevers--this had done the deed.” - The lady fainted, and the husband sent - For every aid, for every comfort went; - Strong terror seized him; “Oh! she loved so well, - And who th’ effect of tenderness could tell?” 240 - She now recover’d, and again began - With accent querulous--“Ah! cruel man--” - Till the sad husband, conscience-struck, confess’d, - ’Twas very wicked with his friend to jest; - For now he saw that those who were obey’d, - Could like the most subservient feel afraid; - And, though a wife might not dispute the will - Of her liege lord, she could prevent it still. - The morning came, and Clubb prepared to ride - With a smart boy, his servant and his guide; 250 - When, ere he mounted on the ready steed, - Arrived a letter, and he stopp’d to read. - “My friend,” he read--“our journey I decline: - A heart too tender for such strife is mine; - Yours is the triumph, be you so inclined; - But you are too considerate and kind, - In tender pity to my Juliet’s fears - I thus relent, o’ercome by love and tears; - She knows your kindness; I have heard her say, - A man like you ’tis pleasure to obey. 260 - Each faithful wife, like ours, must disapprove - Such dangerous trifling with connubial love; - What has the idle world, my friend, to do - With our affairs? they envy me and you. - What if I could my gentle spouse command-- - Is that a cause I should her tears withstand? - And what if you, a friend of peace, submit - To one you love--is that a theme for wit? - ’Twas wrong; and I shall henceforth judge it weak - Both of submission and control to speak. 270 - Be it agreed that all contention cease, - And no such follies vex our future peace; - Let each keep guard against domestic strife, - And find nor slave nor tyrant in his wife.” - “Agreed,” said Clubb, “with all my soul agreed”-- - And to the boy, delighted, gave his steed; - “I think my friend has well his mind express’d, - And I assent; such things are not a jest.” - “True,” said the wife, “no longer he can hide - The truth that pains him by his wounded pride. 280 - Your friend has found it not an easy thing, - Beneath his yoke this yielding soul to bring; - These weeping willows, though they seem inclined } - By every breeze, yet not the strongest wind } - Can from their bent divert this weak but stubborn kind; } - Drooping they seek your pity to excite, - But ’tis at once their nature and delight. - Such women feel not; while they sigh and weep, - ’Tis but their habit--their affections sleep; - They are like ice that in the hand we hold, 290 - So very melting, yet so very cold; - On such affection let not man rely: - The husbands suffer, and the ladies sigh. - But your friend’s offer let us kindly take, - And spare his pride for his vexation’s sake; - For he has found, and through his life will find, } - ’Tis easiest dealing with the firmest mind-- } - More just when it resists, and, when it yields, more kind.” } - - - - -TALE XIX. - -_THE CONVERT._ - - - A tapster is a good trade, an old cloak makes - a new jerkin; a wither’d serving-man a fresh tapster. - _Merry Wives of Windsor_, Act I. Scene 3. - - A fellow, sir, that I have known go about with [troll-my-dames]. - _Winter’s Tale_, Act IV. Scene 3. - -I myself, sometimes leaving the fear of Heaven on the left hand, and -[hiding] mine honour in my necessity, am forced to shuffle, to hedge, -and to lurch. - _Merry Wives of Windsor_, Act II. Scene 3. - - Yea, and at that very moment, - Consideration like an angel came, - And whipp’d th’ offending Adam out of him. - _Henry V._ Act I. Scene 1. - - I have lived long enough: my May of life - Is fall’n into the sear, the yellow leaf; - And that which should accompany old age, - As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, - I must not look to have. - _Macbeth_, Act V. Scene 3. - - -TALE XIX. - -_THE CONVERT._ - - Some to our hero have a hero’s name - Denied, because no father’s he could claim; - Nor could his mother with precision state - A full fair claim to her certificate; - On her own word the marriage must depend-- - A point she was not eager to defend. - But who, without a father’s name, can raise - His own so high, deserves the greater praise: - The less advantage to the strife he brought, - The greater wonders has his prowess wrought; 10 - He who depends upon his wind and limbs, - Needs neither cork or bladder when he swims; - Nor will by empty breath be puff’d along, - As not himself--but in his helpers--strong. - Suffice it then, our hero’s name was clear, - For, call John Dighton, and he answer’d, “Here!” - But who that name in early life assign’d - He never found, he never tried to find; - Whether his kindred were to John disgrace, - Or John to them, is a disputed case; 20 - His infant-state owed nothing to their care-- - His mind neglected, and his body bare; - All his success must on himself depend, - He had no money, counsel, guide, or friend; - But, in a market-town, an active boy - Appear’d, and sought in various ways employ; - Who soon, thus cast upon the world, began - To show the talents of a thriving man. - With spirit high John learn’d the world to brave, - And in both senses was a ready knave; 30 - Knave [as of] old, obedient, keen, and quick, - Knave as at present, skill’d to shift and trick. - Some humble part of many trades he caught: - He for the builder and the painter wrought; - For serving-maids on secret errands ran, - The waiter’s helper, and the hostler’s man; - And, when he chanced (oft chanced he) place to lose, - His varying genius shone in blacking shoes. - A midnight fisher by the pond he stood; - Assistant poacher, he o’erlook’d the wood; 40 - At an election John’s impartial mind - Was to no cause nor candidate confined; - To all in turn he full allegiance swore, - And in his hat the various badges bore; - His liberal soul with every sect agreed; - Unheard their reasons, he received their creed. - At church he deign’d the organ-pipes to fill, - And at the meeting sang both loud and shrill; - But the full purse these different merits gain’d, - By strong demands his lively passions drain’d; 50 - Liquors he loved of each inflaming kind, - To midnight revels flew with ardent mind; - Too warm at cards, a losing game he play’d; - To fleecing beauty his attention paid; - His boiling passions were by oaths express’d, - And lies he made his profit and his jest. - Such was the boy, and such the man had been, - But fate or happier fortune changed the scene; - A fever seized him; “he should surely die--” - He fear’d, and lo! a friend was praying by. 60 - With terror moved, this teacher he address’d, - And all the errors of his youth confess’d: - The good man kindly clear’d the sinner’s way - To lively hope, and counsell’d him to pray: - Who then resolved, should he from sickness rise, - To quit cards, liquors, poaching, oaths, and lies. - His health restored, he yet resolved, and grew - True to his masters, to their meeting true; - His old companions at his sober face } - Laugh’d loud, while he, attesting it was grace, } 70 - With tears besought them all his calling to embrace. } - To his new friends such convert gave applause, - Life to their zeal, and glory to their cause; - Though terror wrought the mighty change, yet strong - Was the impression, and it lasted long; - John at the lectures due attendance paid, - A convert meek, obedient, and afraid. - His manners strict, though form’d on fear alone, } - Pleased the grave friends, nor less his solemn tone, } - The lengthen’d face of care, the low and inward groan. } 80 - The stern good men exulted, when they saw - Those timid looks of penitence and awe; - Nor thought that one so passive, humble, meek, - Had yet a creed and principles to seek. - The faith that reason finds, confirms, avows, - The hopes, the views, the comforts she allows-- - These were not his, who by his feelings found, - And by them only, that his faith was sound: - Feelings of terror these, for evil past, - Feelings of hope, to be received at last; 90 - Now weak, now lively, changing with the day, - These were his feelings, and he felt his way. - Sprung from such sources, will this faith remain - While these supporters can their strength retain? - As heaviest weights the deepest rivers pass, - While icy chains fast bind the solid mass: - So, born of feelings, faith remains secure, - Long as their firmness and their strength endure; - But, when the waters in their channel glide, - A bridge must bear us o’er the threat’ning tide; 100 - Such bridge is reason, and there faith relies, - Whether the varying spirits fall or rise. - His patrons, still disposed their aid to lend, - Behind a counter placed their humble friend; - Where pens and paper were on shelves display’d, - And pious pamphlets on the windows laid. - By nature active, and from vice restrain’d, - Increasing trade his bolder views sustain’d; - His friends and teachers, finding so much zeal - In that young convert whom they taught to feel, 110 - His trade encouraged, and were pleased to find - A hand so ready, with such humble mind. - And now, his health restored, his spirits eased, - He wish’d to marry, if the teachers pleased. - They, not unwilling, from the virgin-class - Took him a comely and a courteous lass; - Simple and civil, loving and beloved, - She long a fond and faithful partner proved; - In every year the elders and the priest - Were duly summon’d to a christening feast; 120 - Nor came a babe, but by his growing trade, - John had provision for the coming made; - For friends and strangers all were pleased to deal - With one whose care was equal to his zeal. - In human friendships, it compels a sigh, - To think what trifles will dissolve the tie. - John, now become a master of his trade, - Perceived how much improvement might be made; - And, as this prospect open’d to his view, - A certain portion of his zeal withdrew; 130 - His fear abated--“What had he to fear-- - His profits certain, and his conscience clear?” - Above his door a board was placed by John, - And “Dighton, stationer,” was gilt thereon; - His window next, enlarged to twice the size, - Shone with such trinkets as the simple prize; - While in the shop with pious works were seen - The last new play, review, or magazine. - In orders punctual, he observed--“The books - He never read, and could he judge their looks? 140 - Readers and critics should their merits try, - He had no office but to sell and buy; - Like other traders, profit was his care; - Of what they print, the authors must beware.” - He held his patrons and his teachers dear, - But with his trade--they must not interfere. - ’Twas certain now that John had lost the dread - And pious thoughts that once such terrors bred; - His habits varied, and he more inclined - To the vain world, which he had half resign’d: 150 - He had moreover in his brethren seen, - Or he imagined, craft, conceit, and spleen; - “They are but men,” said John, “and shall I then - Fear man’s control, or stand in awe of men? - ’Tis their advice (their convert’s rule and law), - And good it is--I will not stand in awe.” - Moreover Dighton, though he thought of books - As one who chiefly on the title looks, - Yet sometimes ponder’d o’er a page to find, - When vex’d with cares, amusement for his mind; 160 - And by degrees that mind had treasured much - From works his teachers were afraid to touch. - Satiric novels, poets bold and free, - And what their writers term philosophy, - All these were read; and he began to feel - Some self-approval on his bosom steal. - Wisdom creates humility, but he - Who thus collects it, will not humble be. - No longer John was fill’d with pure delight - And humble reverence in a pastor’s sight, 170 - Who, like a grateful zealot, listening stood, - To hear a man so friendly and so good; - But felt the dignity of one who made - Himself important by a thriving trade; - And growing pride in Dighton’s mind was bred - By the strange food on which it coarsely fed. - Their brother’s fall the grieving brethren heard, - The pride indeed to all around appear’d; - The world, his friends agreed, had won the soul - From its best hopes, the man from their control. 180 - To make him humble, and confine his views - Within their bounds, and books which they peruse, - A deputation from these friends select, - Might reason with him to some good effect; - Arm’d with authority, and led by love, - They might those follies from his mind remove; - Deciding thus, and with this kind intent, - A chosen body with its speaker went. - “John,” said the teacher, “John, with great concern - We see thy frailty, and thy fate discern-- 190 - Satan with toils thy simple soul beset, - And thou art careless, slumbering in the net; - Unmindful art thou of thy early vow; - Who at the morning-meeting sees thee now? - Who at the evening? where is brother John? - We ask--are answer’d, ‘To the tavern gone.’ - Thee on the sabbath seldom we behold; - Thou canst not sing, thou’rt nursing for a cold: - This from the churchmen thou hast learn’d, for they - Have colds and fevers on the sabbath-day; 200 - When in some snug warm room they sit, and pen - Bills from their ledgers, world-entangled men! - “See with what pride thou hast enlarged thy shop; - To view thy tempting stores the heedless stop; - By what strange names dost thou these baubles know, - Which wantons wear, to make a sinful show? - Hast thou in view these idle volumes placed - To be the pander of a vicious taste? - What’s here? a book of dances!--you advance - In goodly knowledge--John, wilt learn to dance? 210 - How! ‘Go--’ it says, and ‘to the devil go! - And shake thyself!’ I tremble--but ’tis so---- - Wretch as thou art, what answer canst thou make? - Oh! without question, thou wilt go and shake. - What’s here? ‘The School for Scandal’--pretty schools! - Well, and art thou proficient in the rules? - Art thou a pupil, is it thy design - To make our names contemptible as thine? - ‘Old Nick, a Novel!’ oh! ’tis mighty well-- - A fool has courage when he laughs at hell; 220 - ‘Frolic and Fun,’ ‘The humours of Tim Grin’; - Why, John, thou grow’st facetious in thy sin; - And what? ‘The Archdeacon’s Charge’--‘tis mighty well-- - If Satan publish’d, thou wouldst doubtless sell; - Jests, novels, dances, and this precious stuff-- - To crown thy folly we have seen enough; - We find thee fitted for each evil work--- - Do print the Koran, and become a Turk! - “John, thou art lost; success and worldly pride } - O’er all thy thoughts and purposes preside, } 230 - Have bound thee fast, and drawn thee far aside; } - Yet turn, these sin-traps from thy shop expel, - Repent and pray, and all may yet be well. - “And here thy wife, thy Dorothy, behold, - How fashion’s wanton robes her form infold! - Can grace, can goodness with such trappings dwell? - John, thou hast made thy wife a Jezebel. - See! on her bosom rests the sign of sin, - The glaring proof of naughty thoughts within; - What? ’tis a cross; come hither--as a friend, 240 - Thus from thy neck the shameful badge I rend.” - “Rend, if you dare,” said Dighton; “you shall find - A man of spirit, though to peace inclined; - Call me ungrateful! have I not my pay - At all times ready for the expected day?-- - To share my plenteous board you deign to come, - Myself your pupil, and my house your home; - And shall the persons who my meat enjoy - Talk of my faults, and treat me as a boy? - Have you not told how Rome’s insulting priests 250 - Led their meek laymen like a herd of beasts; - And by their fleecing and their forgery made - Their holy calling an accursed trade? - Can you such acts and insolence condemn, - Who to your utmost power resemble them? - “Concerns it you what books I set for sale? - The tale perchance may be a virtuous tale; - And, for the rest, ’tis neither wise nor just - In you, who read not, to condemn on trust; - Why should th’ Archdeacon’s Charge your spleen excite? - He, or perchance th’ archbishop, may be right. 261 - “That from your meetings I refrain, is true; - I meet with nothing pleasant--nothing new, - But the same proofs, that not one text explain, - And the same lights, where all things dark remain; - I thought you saints on earth--but I have found - Some sins among you, and the best unsound; - You have your failings, like the crowds below, - And at your pleasure hot and cold can blow. - When I at first your grave deportment saw, 270 - (I own my folly,) I was fill’d with awe; - You spoke so warmly, and it [seemed] so well, - I should have thought it treason to rebel. - Is it a wonder that a man like me - Should such perfection in such teachers see; - Nay, should conceive you sent from Heav’n to brave - The host of sin, and sinful souls to save? - But, as our reason wakes, our prospects clear, - And failings, flaws, and blemishes appear. - “When you were mounted in your rostrum high, 280 - We shrank beneath your tone, your frown, your eye; - Then you beheld us abject, fallen, low, - And felt your glory from our baseness grow; - Touch’d by your words, I trembled like the rest, - And my own vileness and your power confess’d: - These, I exclaim’d, are men divine, and gazed - On him who taught, delighted and amazed; - Glad, when he finish’d, if by chance he cast - One look on such a sinner, as he pass’d. - “But, when I view’d you in a clearer light, 290 - And saw the frail and carnal appetite; - When, at his humble pray’r, you deign’d to eat, - Saints as you are, a civil sinner’s meat; - When, as you sat contented and at ease, - Nibbling at leisure on the ducks and peas, - And, pleased some comforts in such place to find, - You could descend to be a little kind; - And gave us hope, in Heaven there might be room - For a few souls beside your own to come; - While this world’s good engaged your carnal view, 300 - And like a sinner you enjoy’d it too: - All this perceiving, can you think it strange - That change in you should work an equal change?” - “Wretch that thou art,” an elder cried, “and gone - For everlasting”----“Go thyself,” said John; - “Depart this instant, let me hear no more; - My house my castle is, and that my door.” - The hint they took, and from the door withdrew, - And John to meeting bade a long adieu; - Attach’d to business; he in time became 310 - A wealthy man of no inferior name. - It seem’d, alas! in John’s deluded sight, - That all was wrong because not all was right; - And, when he found his teachers had their stains, - Resentment and not reason broke his chains. - Thus on his feelings he again relied, - And never look’d to reason for his guide. - Could he have wisely view’d the frailty shown, - And rightly weigh’d their wanderings and his own, - He might have known that men may be sincere, 320 - Though gay and feasting on the savoury cheer; - That doctrines sound and sober they may teach, - Who love to eat with all the glee they preach; - Nay, who believe the duck, the grape, the pine, - Were not intended for the dog and swine. - But Dighton’s hasty mind on every theme - Ran from the truth, and rested in th’ extreme; - Flaws in his friends he found, and then withdrew - (Vain of his knowledge) from their virtues too; - Best of his books he loved the liberal kind, 330 - That, if they improve not, still enlarge the mind; - And found himself, with such advisers, free - From a fix’d creed, as mind enlarged could be. - His humble wife at these opinions sigh’d, - But her he never heeded till she died; - He then assented to a last request, - And by the meeting-window let her rest; - And on her stone the sacred text was seen, - Which had her comfort in departing been. - Dighton with joy beheld his trade advance, 340 - Yet seldom published, loth to trust to chance; - Then wed a doctor’s sister--poor indeed, - But skill’d in works her husband could not read; - Who, if he wish’d new ways of wealth to seek, - Could make her half-crown pamphlet in a week: - This he rejected, though without disdain, - And chose the old and certain way to gain. - Thus he proceeded; trade increased the while, - And fortune woo’d him with perpetual smile. - On early scenes he sometimes cast a thought, 350 - When on his heart the mighty change was wrought; - And all the ease and comfort converts find - Was magnified in his reflecting mind; - Then on the teacher’s priestly pride he dwelt, - That caused his freedom, but with this he felt - The danger of the free--for since that day, - No guide had shown, no brethren join’d his way; - Forsaking one, he found no second creed, - But reading doubted, doubting what to read. - Still, though reproof had brought some present pain, 360 - The gain he made was fair and honest gain; - He laid his wares indeed in public view, - But that all traders claim a right to do. - By means like these, he saw his wealth increase, - And felt his consequence, and dwelt in peace. - Our hero’s age was threescore years and five, - When he exclaim’d, “Why longer should I strive? - Why more amass, who never must behold - A young John Dighton to make glad the old?” - (The sons he had to early graves were gone, 370 - And girls were burdens to the mind of John.) - “Had I [a] boy, he would our name sustain, - That now to nothing must return again; - But what are all my profits, credit, trade, - And parish-honours?--folly and parade.” - Thus Dighton thought, and in his looks appear’d - Sadness, increased by much he saw and heard. - The brethren often at the shop would stay, - And make their comments ere they walk’d away; - They mark’d the window, fill’d in every pane 380 - With lawless prints of reputations slain; - Distorted forms of men with honours graced, - And our chief rulers in derision placed: - Amazed they stood, remembering well the days, - When to be humble was their brother’s praise; - When at the dwelling of their friend they stopp’d - To drop a word, or to receive it dropp’d; - Where they beheld the prints of men renown’d, - And far-famed preachers pasted all around; - (Such mouths! eyes! hair! so prim! so fierce! so sleek! 390 - They look’d as speaking what is wo to speak): - On these the passing brethren loved to dwell-- - How long they spake! how strongly! warmly! well! - What power had each to dive in mysteries deep, - To warm the cold, to make the harden’d weep; - To lure, to fright, to soothe, to awe the soul, - And list’ning flocks to lead and to control! - But now discoursing, as they linger’d near, - They tempted John (whom they accused) to hear - Their weighty charge--“And can the lost-one feel, 400 - As in the time of duty, love, and zeal: - When all were summon’d at the rising sun, - And he was ready with his friends to run; - When he, partaking with a chosen few, - Felt the great change, sensation rich and new? - No! all is lost, her favours Fortune shower’d - Upon the man, and he is overpower’d; - The world has won him with its tempting store - Of needless wealth, and that has made him poor. - Success undoes him; he has risen to fall, 410 - Has gain’d a fortune, and has lost his all; - Gone back from Sion, he will find his age - Loth to commence a second pilgrimage; - He has retreated from the chosen track; - And now must ever bear the burden on his back.” - Hurt by such censure, John began to find - Fresh revolutions working in his mind; - He sought for comfort in his books, but read - Without a plan or method in his head; - What once amused, now rather made him sad, 420 - What should inform, increased the doubts he had; - Shame would not let him seek at church a guide, - And from his meeting he was held by pride; - His wife derided fears she never felt, - And passing brethren daily censures dealt; - Hope for a son was now for ever past, - He was the first John Dighton, and the last; - His stomach fail’d, his case the doctor knew, - But said, “he still might hold a year or two.” - “No more?” he said, “but why should I complain? 430 - A life of doubt must be a life of pain. - Could I be sure--but why should I despair? - I’m sure my conduct has been just and fair; - In youth indeed I had a wicked will, - But I repented, and have sorrow still; - I had my comforts, and a growing trade - Gave greater pleasure than a fortune made; - And, as I more possess’d and reason’d more, - I lost those comforts I enjoy’d before, - When reverend guides I saw my table round, 440 - And in my guardian guest my safety found. - Now sick and sad, no appetite, no ease, - Nor pleasure have I, nor a wish to please; - Nor views, nor hopes, nor plans, nor taste have I, - Yet sick of life, have no desire to die.” - He said, and died; his trade, his name is gone, - And all that once gave consequence to John. - Unhappy Dighton! had he found a friend, - When conscience told him it was time to mend! - A friend discreet, considerate, kind, sincere, 450 - Who would have shown the grounds of hope and fear; - And proved that spirits, whether high or low, - No certain tokens of man’s safety show; - Had reason ruled him in her proper place, - And virtue led him while he lean’d on grace; - Had he while zealous been discreet and pure, - His knowledge humble, and his hope secure-- - These guides had placed him on the solid rock, - Where faith had rested, nor received a shock; - But his, alas! was placed upon the sand, 460 - Where long it stood not, and where none can stand. - - - - -TALE XX. - -_THE BROTHERS._ - - - A brother noble, - Whose nature is so far from doing harms - That he suspects none; on whose foolish honesty - My [practices] ride easy. - _King Lear_, Act I. Scene 2. - - He lets me feed with [his] hinds; bars me the place of brother. - _As You Like It_, Act I. Scene 1. - - ’Twas I, but ’tis not I: I do not shame - To tell you what I was, [. . . - . . .] being [the thing] I am. - _As You Like It_, Act IV. Scene 3. - - -TALE XX. - -_THE BROTHERS._ - - Than old George Fletcher on the British coast - Dwelt not a seaman who had more to boast: - Kind, simple, and sincere--he seldom spoke, - But sometimes sang and chorus’d “_Hearts of Oak_;” - In dangers steady, with his lot content, - His days in labour and in love were spent. - He left a son so like him, that the old - With joy exclaim’d, “’Tis Fletcher we behold;” - But to his brother when the kinsmen came, - And view’d his form, they grudged the father’s name. 10 - George was a bold, intrepid, careless lad, - With just the failings that his father had; - Isaac was weak, attentive, slow, exact, - With just the virtues that his father lack’d. - George lived at sea: upon the land a guest-- - He sought for recreation, not for rest-- - While, far unlike, his brother’s feebler form - Shrank from the cold, and shudder’d at the storm; - Still with the seaman’s to connect his trade, - The boy was bound where blocks and ropes were made. 20 - George, strong and sturdy, had a tender mind, - And was to Isaac pitiful and kind; - A very father, till his art was gain’d, - And then a friend unwearied he remain’d. - He saw his brother was of spirit low, - His temper peevish, and his motions slow; - Not fit to bustle in a world, or make - Friends to his fortune for his merit’s sake: - But the kind sailor could not boast the art - Of looking deeply in the human heart; 30 - Else had he seen that this weak brother knew - What men to court--what objects to pursue; - That he to distant gain the way discern’d, - And none so crooked but his genius learn’d. - Isaac was poor, and this the brother felt; - He hired a house, and there the landman dwelt; - Wrought at his trade, and had an easy home, - For there would George with cash and comforts come; - And, when they parted, Isaac look’d around, - Where other friends and helpers might be found. 40 - He wish’d for some port-place, and one might fall, - He wisely thought, if he should try for all; - He had a vote--and, were it well applied, - Might have its worth--and he had views beside; - Old Burgess Steel was able to promote - An humble man who served him with a vote; - For Isaac felt not what some tempers feel, - But bow’d and bent the neck to Burgess Steel; - And great attention to a lady gave, - His ancient friend, a maiden spare and grave: 50 - One whom the visage long and look demure - Of Isaac pleased--he seem’d sedate and pure; - And his soft heart conceived a gentle flame - For her who waited on this virtuous dame: - Not an outrageous love, a scorching fire, - But friendly liking and chastised desire; - And thus he waited, patient in delay, - In present favour and in fortune’s way. - George then was coasting--war was yet delay’d, - And what he gain’d was to his brother paid; 60 - Nor ask’d the seaman what he saved or spent: - But took his grog, wrought hard, and was content; - Till war awaked the land, and George began - To think what part became a useful man: - “Press’d, I must go; why, then, ’tis better far - At once to enter like a British tar, - Than a brave captain and the foe to shun, - As if I fear’d the music of a gun.” - “Go not!” said Isaac--“You shall wear disguise.” - “What!” said the seaman, “clothe myself with lies?”-- 70 - “Oh! but there’s danger.”--“Danger in the fleet? - You cannot mean, good brother, of defeat; - And other dangers I at land must share-- - So now adieu! and trust a brother’s care.” - Isaac awhile demurr’d--but, in his heart, - So might he share, he was disposed to part: - The better mind will sometimes feel the pain } - Of benefactions--favour is a chain; } - But they the feeling scorn, and what they wish, disdain;-- } - While beings form’d in coarser mould will hate 80 - The helping hand they ought to venerate. - No wonder George should in this cause prevail, - With one contending who was glad to fail: - “Isaac, farewell! do wipe that doleful eye; } - Crying we came, and groaning we may die. } - Let us do something ’twixt the groan and cry: } - And hear me, brother, whether pay or prize, - One half to thee I give and I devise; - For thou hast oft occasion for the aid - Of learn’d physicians, and they will be paid: 90 - Their wives and children men support, at sea, - And thou, my lad, art wife and child to me: - Farewell!--I go where hope and honour call, - Nor does it follow that who fights must fall.” - Isaac here made a poor attempt to speak, - And a huge tear moved slowly down his cheek; - Like Pluto’s iron drop, hard sign of grace, } - It slowly roll’d upon the rueful face, } - Forced by the striving will alone its way to trace. } - Years fled--war lasted--George at sea remain’d, 100 - While the slow landman still his profits gain’d. - A humble place was vacant--he besought - His patron’s interest, and the office caught; - For still the virgin was his faithful friend, - And one so sober could with truth commend, - Who of his own defects most humbly thought, - And their advice with zeal and reverence sought. - Whom thus the mistress praised, the maid approved, - And her he wedded whom he wisely loved. - No more he needs assistance--but, alas! 110 - He fears the money will for liquor pass; - Or that the seaman might to flatterers lend, - Or give support to some pretended friend. - Still, he must write--he wrote, and he confess’d - That, till absolved, he should be sore distress’d; - But one so friendly would, he thought, forgive - The hasty deed--Heav’n knew how he should live; - “But you,” he added, “as a man of sense, - Have well consider’d danger and expense: - I ran, alas! into the fatal snare, 120 - And now for trouble must my mind prepare; - And how, with children, I shall pick my way, - Through a hard world, is more than I can say: - Then change not, brother, your more happy state, - Or on the hazard long deliberate.” - George answer’d gravely, “It is right and fit, - In all our crosses, humbly to submit: - Your apprehensions are unwise, unjust; - Forbear repining, and expel distrust.”-- - He added, “Marriage was the joy of life,” 130 - And gave his service to his brother’s wife; - Then vow’d to bear in all expense a part, - And thus concluded, “Have a cheerful heart.” - Had the glad Isaac been his brother’s guide, - In these same terms the seaman had replied; - At such reproofs the crafty landman smiled, - And softly said--“This creature is a child.” - Twice had the gallant ship a capture made-- - And when in port the happy crew were paid, - Home went the sailor, with his pocket stored, 140 - Ease to enjoy, and pleasure to afford. - His time was short; joy shone in every face; - Isaac half fainted in the fond embrace; - The wife resolved her honour’d guest to please, - The children clung upon their uncle’s knees; - The grog went round, the neighbours drank his health, - And George exclaim’d--“Ah! what to this is wealth? - Better,” said he, “to bear a loving heart, - Than roll in riches----but we now must part!” - All yet is still--but hark! the winds o’ersweep 150 - The rising waves, and howl upon the deep; - Ships, late becalm’d, on mountain-billows ride-- - So life is threaten’d, and so man is tried. - Ill were the tidings that arrived from sea: - The worthy George must now a cripple be; - His leg was lopp’d; and, though his heart was sound, - Though his brave captain was with glory crown’d-- - Yet much it vex’d him to repose on shore, - An idle log, and be of use no more. - True, he was sure that Isaac would receive 160 - All of his brother that the foe might leave; - To whom the seaman his design had sent, - Ere from the port the wounded hero went; - His wealth and expectations told, he “knew - Wherein they fail’d, what Isaac’s love would do; - That he the grog and cabin would supply, - Where George at anchor during life would lie.” - The landman read--and, reading, grew distress’d:-- - “Could he resolve t’ admit so poor a guest? - Better at Greenwich might the sailor stay, 170 - Unless his purse could for his comforts pay;” - So Isaac judged, and to his wife appeal’d, - But yet acknowledged it was best to yield: - “Perhaps his pension, with what sums remain - Due or unsquander’d, may the man maintain; - Refuse we must not.”--With a heavy sigh - The lady heard, and made her kind reply: - “Nor would I wish it, Isaac, were we sure - How long his crazy building will endure; - Like an old house, that every day appears 180 - About to fall--he may be propp’d for years; - For a few months, indeed, we might comply, - But these old batter’d fellows never die.” - The hand of Isaac George on entering took, - With love and resignation in his look; - Declared his comfort in the fortune past, - And joy to find his anchor safely cast; - “Call then my nephews, let the grog be brought, - And I will tell them how the ship was fought.” - Alas! our simple seaman should have known, } 190 - That all the care, the kindness, he had shown, } - Were from his brother’s heart, if not his memory, } - flown: } - All swept away to be perceived no more, - Like idle structures on the sandy shore; - The chance amusement of the playful boy, - That the rude billows in their rage destroy. - Poor George confess’d, though loth the truth to find, - Slight was his knowledge of a brother’s mind: - The vulgar pipe was to the wife offence, - The frequent grog to Isaac an expense; 200 - “Would friends like hers,” she question’d, “choose to come, - Where clouds of poison’d fume defiled a room? - This could their lady-friend, and Burgess Steel, - (Teased with his worship’s asthma) bear to feel? - Could they associate or converse with him-- - A loud rough sailor with a timber limb?” - Cold as he grew, still Isaac strove to show, - By well-feign’d care, that cold he could not grow; - And when he saw his brother look distress’d, - He strove some petty comforts to suggest; 210 - On his wife solely their neglect to lay, - And then t’ excuse it as a woman’s way; - He too was chidden when her rules he broke, - And then she sicken’d at the scent of smoke. - George, though in doubt, was still consoled to find - His brother wishing to be reckon’d kind. - That Isaac seem’d concern’d by his distress, - Gave to his injured feelings some redress; - But none he found disposed to lend an ear - To stories all were once intent to hear; 220 - Except his nephew, seated on his knee, - He found no creature cared about the sea; - But George indeed--for George they call’d the boy, - When his good uncle was their boast and joy-- - Would listen long, and would contend with sleep, - To hear the woes and wonders of the deep; - Till the fond mother cried--“That man will teach - The foolish boy his loud and boisterous speech.” - So judged the father--and the boy was taught - To shun the uncle, whom his love had sought. 230 - The mask of kindness now but seldom worn, - George felt each evil harder to be borne; - And cried (vexation growing day by day), - “Ah! brother Isaac!--What! I’m in the way!”-- - “No! on my credit, look ye, No! but I } - Am fond of peace, and my repose would buy } - On any terms--in short, we must comply: } - My spouse had money--she must have her will-- - Ah! brother--marriage is a bitter pill.”-- - George tried the lady--“Sister, I offend”-- 240 - “Me?” she replied; “Oh no!--you may depend - On my regard--but watch your brother’s way, - Whom I, like you, must study and obey.” - “Ah!” thought the seaman, “what a head was mine, - That easy birth at Greenwich to resign! - I’ll to the parish”--but a little pride, - And some affection, put the thought aside. - Now gross neglect and open scorn he bore - In silent sorrow--but he felt the more; - The odious pipe he to the kitchen took, 250 - Or strove to profit by some pious book. - When the mind stoops to this degraded state, - New griefs will darken the dependent’s fate; - “Brother!” said Isaac, “you will sure excuse - The little freedom I’m compell’d to use: - My wife’s relations--(curse the haughty crew)-- - Affect such niceness, and such dread of you: - You speak so loud--and they have natures soft-- - Brother----I wish----do go upon the loft!” - Poor George obey’d, and to the garret fled, 260 - Where not a being saw the tears he shed. - But more was yet required, for guests were come, - Who could not dine if he disgraced the room. - It shock’d his spirit to be esteem’d unfit - With an own brother and his wife to sit; - He grew rebellious--at the vestry spoke - For weekly aid----they heard it as a joke: - So kind a brother, and so wealthy----you - Apply to us?----No! this will never do: - Good neighbour Fletcher,” said the overseer, 270 - “We are engaged--you can have nothing here!” - George mutter’d something in despairing tone, - Then sought his loft, to think and grieve alone; - Neglected, slighted, restless on his bed, - With heart half broken, and with scraps ill fed; - Yet was he pleased that hours for play design’d - Were given to ease his ever-troubled mind; - The child still listen’d with increasing joy, - And he was soothed by the attentive boy. - At length he sicken’d, and this duteous child 280 - Watch’d o’er his sickness, and his pains beguiled; - The mother bade him from the loft refrain, - But, though with caution, yet he went again; - And now his tales the sailor feebly told, - His heart was heavy, and his limbs were cold: - The tender boy came often to entreat - His good kind friend would of his presents eat, - Purloin’d or purchased; for he saw, with shame, - The food untouch’d that to his uncle came: - Who, sick in body and in mind, received 290 - The boy’s indulgence, gratified and grieved. - “Uncle will die!” said George--the piteous wife - Exclaim’d, “she saw no value in his life; - But sick or well, to my commands attend, - And go no more to your complaining friend.” - The boy was vex’d, he felt his heart reprove - The stern decree.--What! punish’d for his love! - No! he would go, but softly, to the room - Stealing in silence--for he knew his doom. - Once in a week the father came to say, 300 - “George, are you ill?”--and hurried him away; - Yet to his wife would on their duties dwell, - And often cry, “Do use my brother well;” - And something kind, no question, Isaac meant, - Who took vast credit for the vague intent. - But, truly kind, the gentle boy essay’d - To cheer his uncle, firm, although afraid; - But now the father caught him at the door, - And, swearing--yes, the man in office swore, - And cried, “Away! How! Brother, I’m surprised, 310 - That one so old can be so ill advised. - Let him not dare to visit you again, - Your cursed stories will disturb his brain; - Is it not vile to court a foolish boy, - Your own absurd narrations to enjoy? - What! sullen!--ha! George Fletcher? you shall see, - Proud as you are, your bread depends on me!” - He spoke, and, frowning, to his dinner went, - Then cool’d and felt some qualms of discontent; - And thought on times when he compell’d his son 320 - To hear these stories, nay, to beg for one; - But the wife’s wrath o’ercame the brother’s pain, - And shame was felt, and conscience rose in vain. - George yet stole up--he saw his uncle lie - Sick on the bed, and heard his heavy sigh: - So he resolved, before he went to rest, - To comfort one so dear and so distress’d; - Then watch’d his time, but, with a child-like art, - Betray’d a something treasured at his heart. - Th’ observant wife remark’d, “the boy is grown 330 - So like your brother, that he seems his own; - So close and sullen! and I still suspect - They often meet--do watch them and detect.” - George now remark’d that all was still as night, - And hasten’d up with terror and delight; - “Uncle!” he cried, and softly tapp’d the door; - “Do let me in”--but he could add no more; - The careful father caught him in the fact, - And cried, “You serpent! is it thus you act? - Back to your mother!” and, with hasty blow, 340 - He sent th’ indignant boy to grieve below; - Then at the door an angry speech began: - “Is this your conduct--is it thus you plan? - Seduce my child, and make my house a scene - Of vile dispute--What is it that you mean?-- - George, are you dumb? do learn to know your friends, - And think awhile on whom your bread depends.-- - What! not a word? be thankful I am cool; - But, sir, beware, nor longer play the fool.-- - Come! brother, come! what is that you seek 350 - By this rebellion?--Speak, you villain, speak!-- - Weeping! I warrant, sorrow makes you dumb; - I’ll ope your mouth, impostor! if I come. - Let me approach--I’ll shake you from the bed, - You stubborn dog----Oh God! my brother’s dead!----” - Timid was Isaac, and in all the past - He felt a purpose to be kind at last; - Nor did he mean his brother to depart, - Till he had shown this kindness of his heart: - But day by day he put the cause aside, 360 - Induced by av’rice, peevishness, or pride. - But, now awaken’d, from this fatal time - His conscience Isaac felt, and found his crime: - He raised to George a monumental stone, - And there retired to sigh and think alone; - An ague seized him, he grew pale, and shook-- - “So,” said his son, “would my poor uncle look.”-- - “And so, my child, shall I like him expire.”-- - “No! you have physic and a cheerful fire.”-- - “Unhappy sinner! yes, I’m well supplied 370 - With every comfort my cold heart denied.” - He view’d his brother now, but not as one - Who vex’d his wife by fondness for her son; - Not as with wooden limb, and seaman’s tale, - The odious pipe, vile grog, or humbler ale: - He now the worth and grief alone can view - Of one so mild, so generous, and so true: - The frank, kind brother, with such open heart, - And I to break it--’twas a dæmon’s part!” - So Isaac now, as led by conscience, feels, 380 - Nor his unkindness palliates or conceals. - “This is your folly,” said his heartless wife; - “Alas! my folly cost my brother’s life: - It suffer’d him to languish and decay, } - My gentle brother, whom I could not pay, } - And therefore left to pine, and fret his life away.” } - He takes his son, and bids the boy unfold - All the good uncle of his feelings told, - All he lamented--and the ready tear - Falls as he listens, soothed and grieved to hear. 390 - “Did he not curse me, child?”--“He never cursed, - But could not breathe, and said his heart would burst”-- - “And so will mine.”--“Then, father, you must pray; - My uncle said it took his pains away.” - Repeating thus his sorrows, Isaac shows } - That he, repenting, feels the debt he owes, } - And from this source alone his every comfort flows. } - He takes no joy in office, honours, gain; - They make him humble, nay, they give him pain; - “These from my heart,” he cries, “all feeling drove; 400 - They made me cold to nature, dead to love.” - He takes no joy in home, but, sighing, sees - A son in sorrow, and a wife at ease; - He takes no joy in office--see him now, - And Burgess Steel has but a passing bow; - Of one sad train of gloomy thoughts possess’d, } - He takes no joy in friends, in food, in rest-- } - Dark are the evil days, and void of peace the best. } - And thus he lives, if living be to sigh, } - And from all comforts of the world to fly, } 410 - Without a hope in life--without a wish to die. } - - - - -TALE XXI. - -_THE LEARNED BOY._ - - - Like one well studied in a sad ostent, - To please his grandam. - _Merchant of Venice_, Act II. Scene 2. - - And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel - And shining morning face, creeping like snail - Unwillingly to school. - _As You Like It_, Act II. Scene 7. - -He is a better scholar than I thought he was.--He [is] a good sprag -memory. - _Merry Wives of Windsor_, Act IV. Scene 1. - - One that feeds - On objects, arts, and imitations, - Which, out of use, and stal’d by other men, - Begin his fashion. - _Julius Cæsar,_ Act IV. Scene 1. - - Oh! torture me no more--I will confess. - 2 _Henry VI._ Act III. Scene 3. - - -TALE XXI. - -_THE LEARNED BOY._ - - An honest man was Farmer Jones, and true; - He did by all as all by him should do; - Grave, cautious, careful, fond of gain was he, - Yet famed for rustic hospitality. - Left with his children in a widow’d state, - The quiet man submitted to his fate; - Though prudent matrons waited for his call, - With cool forbearance he avoided all; - Though each profess’d a pure maternal joy, - By kind attention to his feeble boy. 10 - And--though a friendly widow knew no rest, - Whilst neighbour Jones was lonely and distress’d, - Nay, though the maidens spoke in tender tone - Their hearts’ concern to see him left alone-- - Jones still persisted in that cheerless life, - As if t’were sin to take a second wife. - Oh! ’tis a precious thing, when wives are dead, - To find such numbers who will serve instead; - And, in whatever state a man be thrown, - ’Tis that precisely they would wish their own. 20 - Left the departed infants--then their joy - Is to sustain each lovely girl and boy; - Whatever calling his, whatever trade, - To that their chief attention has been paid; - His happy taste in all things they approve, - His friends they honour, and his food they love; - His wish for order, prudence in affairs, - And equal temper, (thank their stars!) are theirs; - In fact, it seem’d to be a thing decreed, - And fix’d as fate, that marriage must succeed. 30 - Yet some, like Jones, with stubborn hearts and hard, - Can hear such claims, and show them no regard. - Soon as our farmer, like a general, found - By what strong foes he was encompass’d round-- - Engage he dared not, and he could not fly, - But saw his hope in gentle parley lie; - With looks of kindness then, and trembling heart, - He met the foe, and art opposed to art. - Now spoke that foe insidious--gentle tones, - And gentle looks, assumed for Farmer Jones: 40 - “Three girls,” the widow cried, “a lively three - To govern well--indeed it cannot be.” - “Yes,” he replied, “it calls for pains and care; - But I must bear it.”--“Sir, you cannot bear; - Your son is weak, and asks a mother’s eye.”-- - “That, my kind friend, a father’s may supply.”-- - “Such growing griefs your very soul will tease.”-- - “To grieve another would not give me ease; - I have a mother.”--“She, poor ancient soul! - Can she the spirits of the young control? 50 - Can she thy peace promote, partake thy care, - Procure thy comforts, and thy sorrows share? - Age is itself impatient, uncontroll’d.”-- - “But wives like mothers must at length be old.”-- - “Thou hast shrewd servants--they are evils sore.”-- - “Yet a shrewd mistress might afflict me more.”-- - “Wilt thou not be a weary wailing man?”-- - “Alas! and I must bear it as I can.” - Resisted thus, the widow soon withdrew, - That in his pride the hero might pursue; 60 - And off his wonted guard, in some retreat, - Find from a foe prepared entire defeat. - But he was prudent, for he knew in flight - These Parthian warriors turn again and fight; - He but at freedom, not at glory aim’d, - And only safety by his caution claim’d. - Thus, when a great and powerful state decrees - Upon a small one, in its love, to seize-- - It vows in kindness to protect, defend, - And be the fond ally, the faithful friend; 70 - It therefore wills that humbler state to place - Its hopes of safety in a fond embrace: - Then must that humbler state its wisdom prove, - By kind rejection of such pressing love; - Must dread such dangerous friendship to commence, - And stand collected in its own defence.-- - Our farmer thus the proffer’d kindness fled, - And shunn’d the love that into bondage led. - The widow failing, fresh besiegers came, - To share the fate of this retiring dame; 80 - And each foresaw a thousand ills attend - The man that fled from so discreet a friend; - And pray’d, kind soul! that no event might make - The harden’d heart of Farmer Jones to ache. - But he still govern’d with resistless hand, - And where he could not guide he would command. - With steady view in course direct he steer’d, - And his fair daughters loved him, though they fear’d; - Each had her school, and, as his wealth was known, - Each had in time a household of her own. 90 - The boy indeed was, at the grandam’s side, - Humour’d and train’d, her trouble and her pride: - Companions dear, with speech and spirits mild, - The childish widow and the vapourish child. - This nature prompts; minds uninform’d and weak - In such alliance ease and comfort seek; - Push’d by the levity of youth aside, } - The cares of man, his humour, or his pride, } - They feel, in their defenceless state, allied. } - The child is pleased to meet regard from age, 100 - The old are pleased ev’n children to engage; - And all their wisdom, scorn’d by proud mankind, - They love to pour into the ductile mind, - By its own weakness into error led, - And by fond age with prejudices fed. - The father, thankful for the good he had, - Yet saw with pain a whining, timid lad; - Whom he, instructing, led through cultured fields, - To show what man performs, what nature yields; - But Stephen, listless, wander’d from the view; } 110 - From beasts he fled, for butterflies he flew, } - And idly gazed about, in search of something new. } - The lambs indeed he loved, and wish’d to play - With things so mild, so harmless, and so gay; - Best pleased the weakest of the flock to see, - With whom he felt a sickly sympathy. - Meantime, the dame was anxious, day and night, } - To guide the notions of her babe aright, } - And on the favourite mind to throw her glimmering light; } - Her Bible-stories she impress’d betimes, 120 - And fill’d his head with hymns and holy rhymes; - On powers unseen, the good and ill, she dwelt, - And the poor boy mysterious terrors felt; - From frightful dreams, he, waking, sobb’d in dread, - Till the good lady came to guard his bed. - The father wish’d such errors to correct, - But let them pass in duty and respect. - But more it grieved his worthy mind to see - That Stephen never would a farmer be; - In vain he tried the shiftless lad to guide, 130 - And yet ’twas time that something should be tried. - He at the village-school perchance might gain - All that such mind could gather and retain; - Yet the good dame affirm’d her favourite child - Was apt and studious, though sedate and mild; - “That he on many a learned point could speak, - And that his body, not his mind, was weak.” - The father doubted--but to school was sent - The timid Stephen, weeping as he went: - There the rude lads compell’d the child to fight, 140 - And sent him bleeding to his home at night; - At this the grandam more indulgent grew, - And bade her darling “shun the beastly crew; - Whom Satan ruled, and who were sure to lie - Howling in torments, when they came to die.” - This was such comfort, that in high disdain - He told their fate, and felt their blows again. - Yet, if the boy had not a hero’s heart, - Within the school he play’d a better part: - He wrote a clean, fine hand, and at his slate 150 - With more success than many a hero sate; - He thought not much indeed--but what depends - On pains and care was at his fingers’ ends. - This had his father’s praise, who now espied - A spark of merit, with a blaze of pride; - And, though a farmer he would never make, - He might a pen with some advantage take; - And as a clerk that instrument employ, - So well adapted to a timid boy. - A London cousin soon a place obtain’d, 160 - Easy but humble--little could be gain’d. - The time arrived when youth and age must part, - Tears in each eye, and sorrow in each heart; - The careful father bade his son attend - To all his duties, and obey his friend; - To keep his church and there behave aright, } - As one existing in his Maker’s sight, } - Till acts to habits led, and duty to delight: } - “Then try, my boy, as quickly as you can, - T’ assume the looks and spirit of a man; 170 - I say, be honest, faithful, civil, true, - And this you may, and yet have courage too. - Heroic men, their country’s boast and pride, - Have fear’d their God, and nothing fear’d beside; - While others daring, yet imbecile, fly - The power of man, and that of God defy. - Be manly then, though mild, for, sure as fate, - Thou art, my Stephen, too effeminate; - Here, take my purse, and make a worthy use - (’Tis fairly stock’d) of what it will produce; 180 - And now my blessing, not as any charm - Or conjuration; but ’twill do no harm.” - Stephen, whose thoughts were wandering up and down, - Now charm’d with promised sights in London-town, - Now loth to leave his grandam--lost the force, - The drift and tenor of this grave discourse; - But, in a general way, he understood - ’Twas good advice, and meant, “My son, be good;” - And Stephen knew that all such precepts mean, - That lads should read their Bible, and be clean. 190 - The good old lady, though in some distress, - Begg’d her dear Stephen would his grief suppress: - “Nay, dry those eyes, my child--and, first of all, - Hold fast thy faith, whatever may befall; - Hear the best preacher, and preserve the text - For meditation, till you hear the next; - Within your Bible night and morning look-- - There is your duty, read no other book; - Be not in crowds, in broils, in riots seen, - And keep your conscience and your linen clean. 200 - Be you a Joseph, and the time may be, - When kings and rulers will be ruled by thee.” - “Nay,” said the father----“Hush, my son,” replied - The dame----“The Scriptures must not be denied.” - The lad, still weeping, heard the wheels approach, - And took his place within the evening coach, - With heart quite rent asunder: On one side - Was love, and grief, and fear, for scenes untried; - Wild beasts and wax-work fill’d the happier part - Of Stephen’s varying and divided heart; 210 - This he betray’d by sighs and questions strange, - Of famous shows, the Tower, and the Exchange. - Soon at his desk was placed the curious boy, - Demure and silent at his new employ; - Yet, as he could, he much attention paid - To all around him, cautious and afraid. - On older clerks his eager eyes were fix’d, - But Stephen never in their council mix’d; - Much their contempt he fear’d, for, if like them, - He felt assured he should himself contemn: 220 - “Oh! they were all so eloquent, so free, - No! he was nothing--nothing could he be. - They dress so smartly, and so boldly look, - And talk as if they read it from a book; - But I,” said Stephen, “will forbear to speak, - And they will think me prudent, and not weak. - They talk, the instant they have dropp’d the pen, - Of singing-women and of acting-men; - Of plays and places where at night they walk - Beneath the lamps, and with the ladies talk; 230 - While other ladies for their pleasure sing, - Oh! ’tis a glorious and a happy thing. - They would despise me, did they understand - I dare not look upon a scene so grand; - Or see the plays when critics rise and roar, - And hiss and groan, and cry--‘Encore! encore!’-- - There’s one among them looks a little kind; - If more encouraged, I would ope my mind.” - Alas! poor Stephen, happier had he kept - His purpose secret, while his envy slept; 240 - Virtue, perhaps, had conquer’d, or his shame - At least preserved him simple as he came. - A year elapsed before this clerk began - To treat the rustic something like a man; - He then in trifling points the youth advised, - Talk’d of his coat, and had it modernized; - Or with the lad a Sunday-walk would take, - And kindly strive his passions to awake; - Meanwhile explaining all they heard and saw, - Till Stephen stood in wonderment and awe. 250 - To a neat garden near the town they stray’d, - Where the lad felt delighted and afraid; - There all he saw was smart, and fine, and fair-- - He could but marvel how he ventured there: - Soon he observed, with terror and alarm, - His friend enlock’d within a lady’s arm, - And freely talking--“But it is,” said he, - “A near relation, and that makes him free;” - And much amazed was Stephen, when he knew - This was the first and only interview; 260 - Nay, had that lovely arm by him been seized, - The lovely owner had been highly pleased: - “Alas!” he sigh’d, “I never can contrive, - At such bold, blessed freedoms to arrive; - Never shall I such happy courage boast; - I dare as soon encounter with a ghost.” - Now to a play the friendly couple went, - But the boy murmur’d at the money spent; - “He loved,” he said, “to buy, but not to spend-- - They only talk awhile, and there’s an end.” 270 - “Come, you shall purchase books,” the friend replied; - “You are bewilder’d, and you want a guide; - To me refer the choice, and you shall find - The light break in upon your stagnant mind!” - The cooler clerks exclaim’d, “In vain your art - T’ improve a cub without a head or heart; - Rustics, though coarse, and savages, though wild, - Our cares may render liberal and mild; - But what, my friend, can flow from all these pains? - There is no dealing with a lack of brains.”-- 280 - “True I am hopeless to behold him man; - But let me make the booby what I can: - Though the rude stone no polish will display, - Yet you may strip the rugged coat away.” - Stephen beheld his books--“I love to know - How money goes--now here is that to show; - And now,” he cried, “I shall be pleased to get - Beyond the Bible--there I puzzle yet.” - He spoke abash’d--“Nay, nay!” the friend replied, - “You need not lay the good old book aside; 290 - Antique and curious, I myself indeed - Read it at times, but as a man should read; - A fine old work it is, and I protest - I hate to hear it treated as a jest; - The book has wisdom in it, if you look - Wisely upon it, as another book; - For superstition (as our priests of sin - Are pleased to tell us) makes us blind within.-- - Of this hereafter--we will now select - Some works to please you, others to direct; 300 - Tales and romances shall your fancy feed, - And reasoners form your morals and your creed.” - The books were view’d, the price was fairly paid, - And Stephen read, undaunted, undismay’d-- - But not till first he paper’d all the row, - And placed in order, to enjoy the show; - Next letter’d all the backs with care and speed, - Set them in ranks, and then began to read. - The love of order,--I the thing receive - From reverend men, and I in part believe-- 310 - Shows a clear mind and clean, and whoso needs - This love but seldom in the world succeeds; - And yet with this some other love must be, - Ere I can fully to the fact agree. - Valour and study may by order gain, - By order sovereigns hold more steady reign; - Through all the tribes of nature order runs, - And rules around in systems and in suns; - Still has the love of order found a place } - With all that’s low, degrading, mean, and base, } 320 - With all that merits scorn, and all that meets } - disgrace: } - In the cold miser, of all change afraid; - In pompous men, in public seats obey’d; - In humble placemen, heralds, solemn drones, - Fanciers of flowers, and lads like Stephen Jones; - Order to these is armour and defence, - And love of method serves in lack of sense. - For rustic youth could I a list produce - Of Stephen’s books, how great might be the use; - But evil fate was theirs--survey’d, enjoy’d 330 - Some happy months, and then by force destroy’d. - So will’d the fates--but these, with patience read, - Had vast effect on Stephen’s heart and head. - This soon appear’d--within a single week - He oped his lips, and made attempt to speak; - He fail’d indeed--but still his friend confess’d - The best have fail’d, and he had done his best. - The first of swimmers, when at first he swims, - Has little use or freedom in his limbs; - Nay, when at length he strikes with manly force, 340 - The cramp may seize him, and impede his course. - Encouraged thus, our clerk again essay’d - The daring act, though daunted and afraid; - Succeeding now, though partial his success, - And pertness mark’d his manner and address, - Yet such improvement issued from his books, - That all discern’d it in his speech and looks. - He ventured then on every theme to speak, - And felt no feverish tingling in his cheek; - His friend, approving, hail’d the happy change; 350 - The clerks exclaim’d--“’Tis famous, and ’tis strange.”-- - Two years had pass’d; the youth attended still, - (Though thus accomplish’d) with a ready quill; - He sat th’ allotted hours, though hard the case, - While timid prudence ruled in virtue’s place; - By promise bound, the son his letters penn’d - To his good parent, at the quarter’s end. - At first, he sent those lines, the state to tell - Of his own health, and hoped his friends were well; - He kept their virtuous precepts in his mind, 360 - And needed nothing--then his name was sign’d; - But now he wrote of Sunday walks and views, - Of actors’ names, choice novels, and strange news; - How coats were cut, and of his urgent need - For fresh supply, which he desired with speed. - The father doubted, when these letters came, - To what they tended, yet was loth to blame: - “Stephen was once _my duteous son_, and now - _My most obedient_--this can I allow? - Can I with pleasure or with patience see 370 - A boy at once so heartless, and so free?” - But soon the kinsman heavy tidings told, - That love and prudence could no more withhold: - “Stephen, though steady at his desk, was grown - A rake and coxcomb--this he grieved to own; - His cousin left his church, and spent the day - Lounging about in quite a heathen way; - Sometimes he swore, but had indeed the grace - To show the shame imprinted on his face. - I search’d his room, and in his absence read 380 - Books that I knew would turn a stronger head: - The works of atheists half the number made, - The rest were lives of harlots leaving trade; - Which neither man nor boy would deign to read, - If from the scandal and pollution freed. - I sometimes threaten’d, and would fairly state - My sense of things so vile and profligate; - But I’m a cit, such works are lost on me-- - They’re knowledge, and (good Lord!) philosophy.” - “Oh, send him down,” the father soon replied; 390 - “Let me behold him, and my skill be tried: - If care and kindness lose their wonted use, - Some rougher medicine will the end produce.” - Stephen with grief and anger heard his doom-- - “Go to the farmer? to the rustic’s home? - Curse the base threat’ning--” “Nay, child, never curse; - Corrupted long, your case is growing worse.”-- - “I!” quoth the youth, “I challenge all mankind - To find a fault; what fault have you to find? - Improve I not in manner, speech, and grace? 400 - Inquire--my friends will tell it to your face; - Have I been taught to guard his kine and sheep? - A man like me has other things to keep; - This let him know.”--“It would his wrath excite; - But come, prepare, you must away to-night.”-- - “What! leave my studies, my improvements leave, - My faithful friends and intimates to grieve!”-- - “Go to your father, Stephen, let him see - All these improvements; they are lost on me.” - The youth, though loth, obey’d, and soon he saw 410 - The farmer-father, with some signs of awe: - Who kind, yet silent, waited to behold - How one would act, so daring, yet so cold; - And soon he found, between the friendly pair - That secrets pass’d which he was not to share; - But he resolved those secrets to obtain, - And quash rebellion in his lawful reign. - Stephen, though vain, was with his father mute; - He fear’d a crisis, and he shunn’d dispute; - And yet he long’d with youthful pride to show 420 - He knew such things as farmers could not know; - These to the grandam he with freedom spoke, - Saw her amazement, and enjoy’d the joke. - But, on the father when he cast his eye, - Something he found that made his valour shy; - And thus there seem’d to be a hollow truce, - Still threat’ning something dismal to produce. - Ere this the father at his leisure read - The son’s choice volumes, and his wonder fled; - He saw how wrought the works of either kind 430 - On so presuming, yet so weak, a mind; - These in a chosen hour he made his prey, - Condemn’d, and bore with vengeful thoughts away; - Then in a close recess the couple near, - He sat unseen to see, unheard to hear. - There soon a trial for his patience came; - Beneath were placed the youth and ancient dame, - Each on a purpose fix’d--but neither thought - How near a foe, with power and vengeance fraught. - And now the matron told, as tidings sad, 440 - What she had heard of her beloved lad; - How he to graceless, wicked men gave heed, - And wicked books would night and morning read; - Some former lectures she again began, - And begg’d attention of her little man; - She brought, with many a pious boast, in view - His former studies, and condemn’d the new: - Once he the names of saints and patriarchs old, - Judges and kings, and chiefs and prophets, told; - Then he in winter-nights the Bible took, 450 - To count how often in the sacred book - The sacred name appear’d, and could rehearse - Which were the middle chapter, word, and verse, - The very letter in the middle placed, - And so employ’d the hours that others waste. - “Such wert thou once; and now, my child, they say - Thy faith like water runneth fast away; - The prince of devils hath, I fear, beguiled - The ready wit of my backsliding child.” - On this, with lofty looks, our clerk began 460 - His grave rebuke, as he assumed the man-- - “There is no devil,” said the hopeful youth, - “Nor prince of devils; that I know for truth. - Have I not told you how my books describe - The arts of priests and all the canting tribe? - Your Bible mentions Egypt, where, it seems, - Was Joseph found when Pharaoh dream’d his dreams. - Now, in that place, in some bewilder’d head, - (The learned write) religious dreams were bred; - Whence through the earth, with various forms combined, - They came to frighten and afflict mankind, 471 - Prone (so I read) to let a priest invade } - Their souls with awe, and by his craft be made } - Slave to his will, and profit to his trade. } - So say my books, and how the rogues agreed - To blind the victims, to defraud and lead; - When joys above to ready dupes were sold, - And hell was threaten’d to the shy and cold. - “Why so amazed, and so prepared to pray? - As if a Being heard a word we say! 480 - This may surprise you; I myself began - To feel disturb’d, and to my Bible ran; - I now am wiser--yet agree in this, - The book has things that are not much amiss; - It is a fine old work, and I protest - I hate to hear it treated as a jest: - The book has wisdom in it, if you look - Wisely upon it as another book.”-- - “Oh! wicked! wicked! my unhappy child, - How hast thou been by evil men beguiled!”-- 490 - “How! wicked, say you? you can little guess - The gain of that which you call wickedness: - Why, sins you think it sinful but to name - Have gain’d both wives and widows wealth and fame; - And this, because such people never dread - Those threaten’d pains; hell comes not in their head. - Love is our nature, wealth we all desire, - And what we wish ’tis lawful to acquire; - So say my books--and what beside they show - ’Tis time to let this honest farmer know. 500 - Nay, look not grave; am I commanded down - To feed his cattle and become his clown? - Is such his purpose? then he shall be told - The vulgar insult----” - ----“Hold, in mercy hold--” - “Father, oh! father! throw the whip away; - I was but jesting, on my knees I pray-- - There, hold his arm--oh! leave us not alone; - In pity cease, and I will yet atone - For all my sin--” In vain: stroke after stroke - On side and shoulder quick as mill-wheels broke; 510 - Quick as the patient’s pulse, who trembling cried, - And still the parent with a stroke replied; - Till all the medicine he prepared was dealt, - And every bone the precious influence felt; - Till all the panting flesh was red and raw, - And every thought was turn’d to fear and awe; - Till every doubt to due respect gave place-- - Such cures are done when doctors know the case. - “Oh! I shall die--my father! do receive - My dying words; indeed, I do believe; 520 - The books are lying books, I know it well, - There is a devil, oh! there is a hell; - And I’m a sinner: spare me, I am young, - My sinful words were only on my tongue; - My heart consented not; ’tis all a lie: - Oh! spare me then, I’m not prepared to die.” - “Vain, worthless, stupid wretch!” the father cried, - “Dost thou presume to teach? art thou a guide? - Driveller and dog, it gave the mind distress - To hear thy thoughts in their religious dress; 530 - Thy pious folly moved my strong disdain, - Yet I forgave thee for thy want of brain. - But Job in patience must the man exceed - Who could endure thee in thy present creed; - Is it for thee, thou idiot, to pretend - The wicked cause a helping hand to lend? - Canst thou a judge in any question be? - Atheists themselves would scorn a friend like thee.-- - “Lo! yonder blaze thy worthies; in one heap - Thy scoundrel-favourites must for ever sleep: 540 - Each yields its poison to the flame in turn, - Where whores and infidels are doom’d to burn; - Two noble faggots made the flame you see, - Reserving only two fair twigs for thee; - That in thy view the instruments may stand, - And be in future ready for my hand: - The just mementos that, though silent, show - Whence thy correction and improvements flow; - Beholding these, thou wilt confess their power, - And feel the shame of this important hour. 550 - “Hadst thou been humble, I had first design’d - By care from folly to have freed thy mind; - And, when a clean foundation had been laid, - Our priest, more able, would have lent his aid. - But thou art weak, and force must folly guide, - And thou art vain, and pain must humble pride. - Teachers men honour, learners they allure; } - But learners teaching of contempt are sure; } - Scorn is their certain meed, and smart their only cure!” } - - - - -TALES OF THE HALL. - - -TO HER GRACE THE DUCHESS OF RUTLAND - -MADAM, - -It is the privilege of those who are placed in that elevated -situation to which your Grace is an ornament, that they give honour -to the person upon whom they confer a favour. When I dedicate to your -Grace the fruits of many years, and speak of my debt to the House of -Rutland, I feel that I am not without pride in the confession nor -insensible to the honour which such gratitude implies. Forty years -have elapsed since this debt commenced. On my entrance into the -cares of life, and while contending with its difficulties, a Duke -and Duchess of Rutland observed and protected me--in my progress a -Duke and Duchess of Rutland favoured and assisted me--and, when I -am retiring from the world, a Duke and Duchess of Rutland receive -my thanks, and accept my offering. All, even in this world of -mutability, is not change: I have experienced unvaried favour--I have -felt undiminished respect. - -With the most grateful remembrance of what I owe, and the most -sincere conviction of the little I can return, I present these pages -to your Grace’s acceptance, and beg leave to subscribe myself, - - May it please your Grace, - With respect and gratitude, - Your Grace’s - Most obedient and devoted Servant, - GEORGE CRABBE. - - _Trowbridge_, - _June_, 1819. - - -PREFACE. - -If I did not fear that it would appear to my readers like arrogancy, -or if it did not seem to myself indecorous to send two volumes of -considerable magnitude from the press without preface or apology, -without one petition for the reader’s attention, or one plea for the -writer’s defects, I would most willingly spare myself an address of -this kind, and more especially for these reasons: first, because a -preface is a part of a book seldom honoured by a reader’s perusal; -secondly, because it is both difficult and distressing to write that -which we think will be disregarded; and thirdly, because I do not -conceive that I am called upon for such introductory matter by any of -the motives which usually influence an author when he composes his -prefatory address. - -When a writer, whether of poetry or prose, first addresses the -public, he has generally something to offer which relates to himself -or to his work, and which he considers as a necessary prelude to the -work itself, to prepare his readers for the entertainment or the -instruction they may expect to receive; for one of these every man -who publishes must suppose he affords--this the act itself implies, -and in proportion to his conviction of this fact must be his feeling -of the difficulty in which he has placed himself: the difficulty -consists in reconciling the implied presumption of the undertaking, -whether to please or to instruct mankind, with the diffidence and -modesty of an untried candidate for fame or favour. Hence originate -the many reasons an author assigns for his appearance in that -character, whether they actually exist, or are merely offered to hide -the motives which cannot be openly avowed: namely, the want or the -vanity of the man, as his wishes for profit or reputation may most -prevail with him. - -Now, reasons of this kind, whatever they may be, cannot be availing -beyond their first appearance. An author, it is true, may again feel -his former apprehensions, may again be elevated or depressed by -the suggestions of vanity and diffidence, and may be again subject -to the cold and hot fit of aguish expectation; but he is no more a -stranger to the press, nor has the motives or privileges of one who -is. With respect to myself, it is certain they belong not to me. Many -years have elapsed since I became a candidate for indulgence as an -inexperienced writer; and to assume the language of such writer now, -and to plead for his indulgences, would be proof of my ignorance -of the place assigned to me, and the degree of favour which I have -experienced; but of that place I am not uninformed, and with that -degree of favour I have no reason to be dissatisfied. - -It was the remark of the pious, but on some occasions the querulous, -author of the _Night Thoughts_, that he had “been so long remembered, -he was forgotten”--an expression in which there is more appearance -of discontent than of submission: if he had patience, it was not the -patience that _smiles at grief_. It is not therefore entirely in the -sense of the good Doctor that I apply these words to myself, or to my -more early publications. So many years indeed have passed since their -first appearance, that I have no reason to complain, on that account, -if they be now slumbering with other poems of decent reputation in -their day--not dead indeed, nor entirely forgotten, but certainly not -the subjects of discussion or conversation as when first introduced -to the notice of the public by those whom the public will not forget, -whose protection was credit to their author, and whose approbation -was fame to them. Still these early publications had so long preceded -any other, that, if not altogether unknown, I was, when I came again -before the public, in a situation which excused, and perhaps rendered -necessary, some explanation; but this also has passed away, and none -of my readers will now take the trouble of making any inquiries -respecting my motives for writing or for publishing these Tales or -verses of any description. Known to each other as readers and authors -are known, they will require no preface to bespeak their good will; -nor shall I be under the necessity of soliciting the kindness which -experience has taught me, endeavouring to merit, I shall not fail to -receive. - -There is one motive--and it is a powerful one--which sometimes -induces an author, and more particularly a poet, to ask the attention -of his readers to his prefatory address. This is when he has some -favourite and peculiar style or manner which he would explain and -defend, and chiefly if he should have adopted a mode of versification -of which an uninitiated reader was not likely to perceive either -the merit or the beauty. In such case it is natural, and surely -pardonable, to assert and to prove, as far as reason will bear -us on, that such method of writing has both; to show in what the -beauty consists, and what peculiar difficulty there is, which, when -conquered, creates the merit. How far any particular poet has or has -not succeeded in such attempt is not my business nor my purpose to -inquire: I have no peculiar notion to defend, no poetical heterodoxy -to support, nor theory of any kind to vindicate or oppose--that which -I have used is probably the most common measure in our language; and -therefore, whatever be its advantages or defects, they are too well -known to require from me a description of the one, or an apology for -the other. - -Perhaps still more frequent than any explanation of the work is an -account of the author himself, the situation in which he is placed, -or some circumstances of peculiar kind in his life, education, or -employment. How often has youth been pleaded for deficiencies or -redundancies, for the existence of which youth may be an excuse, -and yet be none for their exposure. Age too has been pleaded for -the errors and failings in a work which the octogenarian had -the discernment to perceive, and yet had not the fortitude to -suppress. Many other circumstances are made apologies for a writer’s -infirmities: his much employment, and many avocations, adversity, -necessity, and the good of mankind. These, or any of them, however -availing in themselves, avail not me. I am neither so young nor so -old, so much engaged by one pursuit, or by many--I am not so urged -by want, or so stimulated by a desire of public benefit--that I can -borrow one apology from the many which I have named. How far they -prevail with our readers, or with our judges, I cannot tell; and it -is unnecessary for me to inquire into the validity of arguments which -I have not to produce. - -If there be any combination of circumstances which may be supposed -to affect the mind of a reader, and in some degree to influence his -judgment, the junction of youth, beauty, and merit in a female writer -may be allowed to do this; and yet one of the most forbidding of -titles is “Poems by a very young Lady”--and this, although beauty -and merit were largely insinuated. Ladies, it is true, have of late -little need of any indulgence as authors, and names may readily be -found which rather excite the envy of man than plead for his lenity. -Our estimation of title also in a writer has materially varied from -that of our predecessors; “Poems by a Nobleman” would create a very -different sensation in our minds from that which was formerly excited -when they were so announced. A noble author had then no pretensions -to a seat so secure on the “sacred hill,” that authors not noble, -and critics not gentle, dared not attack; and they delighted to take -revenge, by their contempt and derision of the poet, for the pain -which their submission and respect to the man had cost them. But -in our times we find that a nobleman writes, not merely as well, -but better than other men: insomuch that readers in general begin -to fancy that the Muses have relinquished their old partiality for -rags and a garret, and are become altogether aristocratical in -their choice. A conceit so well supported by fact would be readily -admitted, did it not appear at the same time, that there were in -the higher ranks of society men who could write as tamely, or as -absurdly, as they had ever been accused of doing. We may, therefore, -regard the works of any noble author as extraordinary productions, -but must not found any theory upon them; and, notwithstanding their -appearance, must look on genius and talent as we are wont to do on -time and chance, that happen indifferently to all mankind. - -But, whatever influence any peculiar situation of a writer might -have, it cannot be a benefit to me, who have no such peculiarity. -I must rely upon the willingness of my readers to be pleased -with that which was designed to give them pleasure, and upon the -cordiality which naturally springs from a remembrance of our having -before parted without any feelings of disgust on the one side, or of -mortification on the other. - -With this hope I would conclude the present subject; but I am called -upon by duty to acknowledge my obligations, and more especially -for two of the following Tales--the Story of Lady Barbara, in Book -XVI; and that of Ellen in Book XVIII. The first of these I owe to -the kindness of a fair friend, who will, I hope, accept the thanks -which I very gratefully pay, and pardon me if I have not given to -her relation the advantages which she had so much reason to expect. -The other story, that of Ellen, could I give it in the language of -him who related it to me, would please and affect my readers. It is -by no means my only debt, though the one I now more particularly -acknowledge; for who shall describe all that he gains in the social, -the unrestrained, and the frequent conversations with a friend, -who is at once communicative and judicious--whose opinions, on all -subjects of literary kind, are founded on good taste, and exquisite -feeling? It is one of the greatest “pleasures of my memory” to -recal in absence those conversations; and, if I do not in direct -terms mention with whom I conversed, it is both because I have no -permission, and my readers will have no doubt. - -The first intention of the poet must be to please; for, if he means -to instruct, he must render the instruction which he hopes to convey -palatable and pleasant. I will not assume the tone of a moralist, -nor promise that my relations shall be beneficial to mankind; but I -have endeavoured, not unsuccessfully I trust, that, in whatsoever I -have related or described, there should be nothing introduced which -has a tendency to excuse the vices of man by associating with them -sentiments that demand our respect, and talents that compel our -admiration. There is nothing in these pages which has the mischievous -effect of confounding truth and error, or confusing our ideas of -right and wrong. I know not which is most injurious to the yielding -minds of the young--to render virtue less respectable by making -its possessors ridiculous, or by describing vice with so many -fascinating qualities, that it is either lost in the assemblage, or -pardoned by the association. Man’s heart is sufficiently prone to -make excuse for man’s infirmity, and needs not the aid of poetry, or -eloquence, to take from vice its native deformity. A character may be -respectable with all its faults, but it must not be made respectable -by them. It is grievous when genius will condescend to place strong -and evil spirits in a commanding view, or excite our pity and -admiration for men of talents, degraded by crime, when struggling -with misfortune. It is but too true that great and wicked men may be -so presented to us as to demand our applause, when they should excite -our abhorrence; but it is surely for the interest of mankind, and -our own self-direction, that we should ever keep at unapproachable -distance our respect and our reproach. - -I have one observation more to offer. It may appear to some that a -minister of religion, in the decline of life, should have no leisure -for such amusements as these; and for them I have no reply. But to -those who are more indulgent to the propensities, the studies, and -the habits of mankind, I offer some apology when I produce these -volumes, not as the occupations of my life, but the fruits of my -leisure--the employment of that time which, if not given to them, had -passed in the vacuity of unrecorded idleness, or had been lost in the -indulgence of unregistered thoughts and fancies, that melt away in -the instant they are conceived, and “_leave not a wreck behind_.” - - - - -TALES OF THE HALL. - - -BOOK I. - -_THE HALL._ - - 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. - -TALES OF THE HALL. - -BOOK I. - -_THE HALL._ - - 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. 10 - 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, 20 - 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 30 - 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; 40 - 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. 50 - The scene was rich, but he who should behold - Its worth was poor, and so the whole was sold. - Just then our 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; 60 - 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, 70 - 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. } - 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, 80 - 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. } 90 - 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. - Here were a sister-pair, who seem’d to live - With more respect than affluence can give; 100 - 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. - 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; 110 - 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. - 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. 120 - 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. } - 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 130 - 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. - He saw--he thought he saw--how weakness, pride, 140 - 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 150 - 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; 160 - 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 wish’d 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 170 - 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.” - George chose the company of men of sense, 180 - 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, 190 - But shared the wealth he judged it crime to waste; - And thus obtained the sure reward of care-- - For none can spend like him who learns to spare. - 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 [knew] not, knew not cause 200 - 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, 210 - 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, 220 - 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, 230 - 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 an 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, 240 - 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, 250 - 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 suffered 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? } 260 - 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-- 270 - 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. 280 - 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 an 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.” 290 - 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, } 300 - And tell of hopes raised high, and feelings hurt, in } - vain? } - “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, 310 - 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, 320 - 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 330 - 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, 340 - 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. - - - - -TALES OF THE HALL. - -BOOK II. - -_THE BROTHERS._ - - - 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. - -TALES OF THE HALL. - -BOOK II. - -_THE BROTHERS._ - - 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 oft-times silence, silence blest, - Expressive, thoughtful--their emotions’ rest: 10 - 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; 20 - Nay, in such varying scenes the men had moved, - ’Twas 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; 30 - 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. - 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 glowing pride, - He wonder’d who that fertile mind supplied-- 40 - “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!” 50 - 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; 60 - 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. 70 - 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 an 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 80 - 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. - “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, 90 - 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, 100 - 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 110 - 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. - His mother chose, nor I the choice upbraid, 120 - An Irish soldier of an 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 130 - 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. - Richard, a boy, a lively boy, was told - Of his half-brother, haughty, stern, and cold; - And his boy folly, or his manly pride, 140 - 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, 150 - 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. - Richard, whose boyhood in the place was spent, 160 - 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. - No private tutor Richard’s parents sought, 170 - 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-- 180 - 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. - “Students,” he said, “like horses on the road, 190 - 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, 200 - At least sincere, it was his practice too. - Pluto they call’d him, and they named him well: - ’Twas not an 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 210 - 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, 220 - Call’d home its powers, and due attention paid. - - - - -TALES OF THE HALL. - -BOOK III. - -_BOYS AT SCHOOL._ - - - The School--School-Boys--The Boy-Tyrant--Sir Hector - Blane-- School-Boys in after Life, how changed--how - the same--The patronized Boy, his Life and - Death--Reflections--Story of Harry Bland. - -TALES OF THE HALL. - -BOOK III. - -_BOYS AT SCHOOL._ - - 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; 10 - 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; 20 - 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; 30 - Wife, children, servants, all obedience pay, - The slaves at school no greater slaves than they; - No more dependant, 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; 40 - 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; 50 - 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. 60 - 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. - “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?’ 70 - “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.” } - “Be all allow’d;” replied the squire, “I give 80 - 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, 90 - 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 100 - 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, 110 - 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, 120 - 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 bless’d 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 130 - His view, and dwelt upon the evil past; - Then, as he sigh’d, he smil’d;--from folly rise - Such smiles, and misery will create such sighs. - And Richard now from his abstraction broke, - Listening attentive as the rector spoke. - - * * * * * - - “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, 140 - 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, 150 - 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, ‘’tis well; - Let him proceed, and do the best he can, - 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 160 - And foster merit--it is more than praise.’ - “Five years at school th’ industrious boy had past, - ‘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 170 - 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, 180 - And then the college is a cursed charge. - The sea is open; should he there display - Signs of dislike, he cannot run away.’ - “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 190 - 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,’ 200 - 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, 210 - 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 patronize no more.’ - “Now Charles his bread by daily labours sought, - And this his solace, ‘so Corregio wrought.’ - Alas, poor youth! however great his name, 220 - 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.’ - “Charles murmur’d thus, and, angry and alone, 230 - 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. - “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, 240 - 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, 250 - That he was well, that I had scarcely light - 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. 260 - “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. - “Hither, it seem’d, the fainting man was brought, - Found without food--it was no longer sought; 270 - 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-- 280 - 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; 290 - 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, 300 - 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-- } 310 - 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; 320 - 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.” - - * * * * * - - “The man,” said George, “you see, through life retain’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, 330 - 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 340 - 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 soothed 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, 350 - 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? - “Here will I pause, and then review the shame 360 - 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, 370 - 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 380 - 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, 390 - 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, 400 - 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 410 - 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 displayed, - 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 420 - 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 th’ offending man will sometimes sigh, - And say, ‘My God, in what a dream am I! - I will awake;’ but, as the day proceeds, 430 - 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!” } - - - - -TALES OF THE HALL. - -BOOK IV. - -_ADVENTURES OF RICHARD._ - - 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 inquires 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. - -TALES OF THE HALL. - -BOOK IV. - -_ADVENTURES OF RICHARD._ - - Eight days had past; the Brothers now could meet - 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, ’tis true, the things that you behold - Serve to amuse us as we’re getting old. 10 - 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; 20 - 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-- 30 - 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, 40 - 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! ’tis 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, 50 - 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; 60 - 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.” - “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; 70 - 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, 80 - 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. - “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, 90 - Fleece of such staple! flesh in such esteem!” - “Brother,” said Richard, “do I hear aright? - 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, 100 - 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 trifle may induce - A dull, proud man to wake and be of use; - And there are purer pleasures, that a mind 110 - Calm and uninjured may in villas find; - But, where th’ affections have been deeply tried, - With other food that mind must be supplied: - ’Tis 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 120 - 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.” 130 - - * * * * * - - 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. - “Thou hast sail’d far, dear brother,” said the ’squire-- - “Permit me of these unknown lands t’ inquire, 140 - 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 ’tis not in men - Who travel far to hold a steady pen. - Some will, ’tis 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: 150 - 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: 160 - 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, 170 - 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.” - 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: 180 - 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; 190 - 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. 200 - 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 210 - Could reach me, now on sweeping surges tost, - And then between the rising billows lost; - An undefined sensation stopp’d 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; 220 - 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! 230 - From my chill’d frame th’ 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, 240 - That, feeling much, it knew not what it felt. - “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? - “Oft in the times when passion strives to reign, 250 - 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; 260 - 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.” - - * * * * * - - “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, 270 - 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 past the years of thy unguided youth? - Thy father left thee to the care of one - Who could not teach, could ill support a son; 280 - 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, 290 - 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, - Hear[d] what was said, and mused on what was done; - Attentive listening in the moving scene, - And often wondering what the men could mean. 300 - “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. - “To me the wives of seamen loved to tell - What storms endanger’d men esteem’d so well; 310 - 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; 320 - While some, the fond of pity, would enjoy - The earnest sorrows of the feeling boy. - “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. 330 - 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 an 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, and never dropt below. - “There were fond girls, who took me to their side - To tell the story how their lovers died; 340 - 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, 350 - 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. 360 - “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! - “One boat is safe; and see! she backs her sail - To save the sinking--Will her care avail? 370 - “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 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: 380 - ’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, 390 - 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 wo 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; 400 - 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. - “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. 410 - “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. - “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. 420 - ‘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; 430 - 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 past 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.’ 440 - “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 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; 450 - 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, 460 - And call to memory--not by marks they bare, - 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. 470 - Nor pleased it less around me to behold, - Far up the beach, the yesty sea-foam roll’d; - Or, from the shore upborn, 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, weaned by excursions bold, - The fancy jaded, and the bosom cold, 480 - 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. } - “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, 490 - And all that boys acquire whom men neglect.” - - - - -TALES OF THE HALL. - -BOOK V. - -_RUTH._ - - - 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. - -TALES OF THE HALL. - -BOOK V. - -_RUTH._ - - Richard would wait till George the tale should ask, - 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. 10 - “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:-- 20 - 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; 30 - 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, 40 - But told what planet o’er each herb had power, - 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. 50 - “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 wintry 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? 60 - 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 an 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. 70 - “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. } - “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, 80 - 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, 90 - 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? } - ‘Dear child, I show you sins and sufferings strange, - But you, like Adam, must for knowledge change 100 - 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; 110 - 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. - Ruth--I may tell, too oft had she been told-- - Was tall and fair, and comely to behold; 120 - 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! 130 - 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: 140 - 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. 150 - 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 160 - 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. 170 - “‘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; 180 - Most sad to Ruth--to neither could she go! - But sat apart, and suffer’d matchless wo! - 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 staid, 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, 190 - 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; 200 - 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! 210 - 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; 220 - 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, 230 - 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 an 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! 240 - 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, 250 - 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 260 - 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 blest 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, 270 - 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 280 - 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, 290 - 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 300 - More fond, and would the frighten’d girl pursue. - ‘O! 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 310 - 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. - 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, 320 - 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!’ - ‘Then came the man: she talk’d with him apart, - And, I believe, laid open all her heart; 330 - 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; 340 - The women then were faithful and afraid, - As Sarah Abraham, they their lords obey’d, - And so she styled him; ’tis 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.’ 350 - I gently blamed her, for I knew how hard - It is to force affection and regard. - Ah! my dear lad, I talk to you as one - Who knew the misery of an 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; 360 - 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; 370 - 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 380 - 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 390 - 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 an 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, } 400 - 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 loath’d 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. - No hapless victim of a tyrant’s love 410 - 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 languished, nor arrived at age - When the man’s thoughts with sin and pain engage-- - She came not home to share our humble meal, 420 - 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 430 - 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, 440 - 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 threatening of mankind; - Wrapt in dark weeds, the refuse of the storm, - To the hard rock was borne her comely form! - But O! what storm was in that mind? what strife, 450 - 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 dropt 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, 460 - 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!’ - 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.” - - - - -TALES OF THE HALL. - -BOOK VI. - -_ADVENTURES OF RICHARD, CONCLUDED._ - - 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--An 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. - -TALES OF THE HALL. - -BOOK VI. - -_ADVENTURES OF RICHARD, CONCLUDED._ - - “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. - “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 in Spain, - And what then follow’d; but I wish to know - When thou that heart hadst courage to bestow, 10 - 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 possessed 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?” - The younger man his gentle host obey’d, - For some respect, though not required, was paid; 20 - 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: 30 - 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. 40 - “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; 50 - 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; 60 - 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? 70 - 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, 80 - 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, 90 - 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. } - 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: 100 - 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.” 110 - “Saw not her father?” - “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.-- - Laugh, if you please, I must my tale pursue-- } - This sacred friendship thus in secret grew } 120 - 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, 130 - 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 passed 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, 140 - 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. - Can you not, Brother, on adventures past - A thought, as on a lively prospect, cast? - On days of dear remembrance! days that seem, 150 - 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, 160 - 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?” - 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. - Such days have been--a day of days was one 170 - 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, 180 - 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? - “Much as I long’d to see the maid I loved, 190 - 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, 200 - 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: 210 - 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. - “Confused and quick my introduction pass’d, - When I, a stranger and on strangers cast, 220 - 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; 230 - 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: 240 - 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? 250 - 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. 260 - “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. - 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:-- 270 - 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, 280 - 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. - And now we walk--now smaller parties seek 290 - 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-- - An hat! the idiot’s--fallen in the lake! - What serious mischief can such idlers do? - 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, 300 - 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 310 - 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. 320 - “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. - “‘Is this the path?’ the cautious fair one cries; } - I answer, ‘Yes!’--‘We shall our friends surprise,’ } 330 - 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. - “‘And now in terror I approach the home - Where I may wretched but not doubtful come; - Where I must be all ecstasy, or all-- 340 - 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, } 350 - 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 wo; - Yet am so largely happy, that it seems 360 - 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. - “But what are these, or what are other joys, 370 - 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, 380 - 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 soberized the vast and wild delight.” - - - - -TALES OF THE HALL. - -BOOK VII. - -_THE ELDER BROTHER_. - - - 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. - -TALES OF THE HALL. - -BOOK VII. - -_THE ELDER BROTHER._ - - “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. - Speakst 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?“ 10 - “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, - ’Tis 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; 20 - 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? 30 - 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!” - “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.” 40 - “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.” 50 - “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. } - - * * * * * - - “Yes, my dear Richard, thou shalt hear me own - Follies and frailties thou hast never known; - Thine was a frailty,--folly, if you please-- 60 - 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. - “I mused on charmers chaste, who pledged their truth, 70 - 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, 80 - 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 90 - 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. - “Assured of this, that love’s delicious bond 100 - 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, 110 - 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, 120 - 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_. - “To dream these dreams I chose a woody scene, 130 - 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, 140 - 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; 150 - 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. 160 - 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 th’ 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, 171 - And the wild lights betray’d the shadowy forms. - “With all these flights and fancies, then so dear, - I reach’d the birth-day 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? 180 - “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. - “I saw them ere they came, myself unseen, - My lofty fence and thorny bound between-- 190 - 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. 200 - “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 O! I sigh’d that she would nobly dare - To come, nor let her friend th’ 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 210 - 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 220 - 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 th’ attendant maid, 230 - 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? } - “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; 240 - 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 t’ 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, 250 - 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. - “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 260 - For hostile measure, and in order closed, - Then halted near me, as I judged, to treat, - Before we came to triumph or defeat. - “I was in doubt: ’twas 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, 270 - 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, 280 - 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, } 290 - 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 thought 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; 300 - O! 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 bless’d 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, } 310 - 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. - “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; 320 - Listening, I grew enamour’d of the sound, - And felt to her my very being bound; - I bless’d the scene, nor felt a power to move, - Lost in the ecstacies 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.’ 330 - “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. } - “O! my dear Richard, what a waste of time 340 - 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 [bonded] slave, - 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 350 - 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. - “Such, my dear Richard, was my early flame, - My youthful frenzy--give it either name; - It was the withering bane of many a year, 360 - That past 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. - “Yet, would I say, she will at length be mine! 370 - 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. 380 - 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 - An useful instrument for trading men; - But judged a quill was never to be slit - Except to make it for a merchant fit. 390 - 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 400 - To the good man who on his banker draws, - Buys an estate, and writes upon the grounds, - ‘Pay to A. B. an hundred thousand pounds?’ - Thus, my dear nephew, thus your talents prove; - Leave verse to poets, and the poor to love.’ - “Some months I suffered 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 410 - 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. - Nor was inquiry all; but I pursued 420 - 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.” - “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, 430 - 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-- 440 - 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 450 - 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 460 - How life had past 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. - “Something one day occurr’d about a bill 470 - That was not drawn with true mercantile skill, - And I was ask’d and authorized 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 480 - 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, 490 - 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; 500 - 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, } 510 - As when the sons of riot hurry home, } - And leave the troubled place to solitude and gloom. } - “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; 520 - 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; 530 - 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. - “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; 540 - Years since elapsed, and hope, from year to year, - 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 ’tis she--the same and not the same-- - Who to my bower an 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; 550 - With haggard looks, of vice and wo the prey, - Laughing in langour, 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 fix’d me gazing and my eye enchain’d, - Although so little of herself remain’d; - It is the creature whom I loved, and yet 560 - 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. 570 - “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! 580 - 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? 590 - “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. - “‘I saw thee young, love’s soft obedient slave, - And many a sigh to my young lover gave; 600 - 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; 610 - 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.’ 620 - “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. - - * * * * * - - “‘&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, 630 - 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, 640 - 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. - O! I repent me of the past; and sure 650 - 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 660 - 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 670 - One day, and wish’d another like the last. - 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?’” - “I wonder’d, doubting--and, is this a fact, 680 - 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; 690 - 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, 700 - 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 710 - To banish pity--still she gave me pain; - Still I desired to aid her--to direct, - And wish’d 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 oppress’d, - 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 720 - 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? } - “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-- } 730 - 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[s] round the sick were seen; - The female helpers quiet, sober, clean; - Her kind physician with a smile appear’d, 740 - 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-- - 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 750 - 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 760 - 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!’ 770 - 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: 780 - Heaven would not all this wo for man intend - If man’s existence with his we 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. } - “Home I return’d, with spirits in that state - Of vacant wo I strive not to relate; - Nor how, deprived of all her hope and strength, 790 - 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, 800 - 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; 810 - 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. } - “Yet much is lost, and not yet much is found, - But what remains, I would believe, is sound: 820 - 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.” - - - - -TALES OF THE HALL. - -BOOK VIII. - -_THE SISTERS._ - - - 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. - -TALES OF THE HALL. - -BOOK VIII. - -_THE SISTERS._ - - 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. - “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. 10 - “’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?-- - 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. 20 - “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.” - This said, the brothers hasten’d on their way, - With all the foretaste of a pleasant day. 30 - 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: 40 - They for a time must suffer, and but few - Can bear their sorrows and our pity too. - “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. } - “When Timon’s board contains a single dish, - Timon talks much of market-men and fish, - Forgetful servants, and th’ infernal cook, 50 - 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. - “And is there aught on earth so rich or rare, 60 - 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.” - 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 70 - 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 80 - 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 90 - Its hopes and fears--it[s] loathing and its love. - “But shall I learn,” said he, “these sisters’ fate?”-- - 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, 100 - 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. - “Jane had an arch delusive smile, that charm’d 110 - 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 punished 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, 120 - 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, 130 - Till fashion sanction’d the remarks she made. - “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, 140 - 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, 150 - 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. - “Led by an early custom, Lucy spied, - When she awaked, the Bible at her side; - That, ere she ventured on a world of care, } 160 - 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, } 170 - 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. - “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 180 - 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. - “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, 190 - 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. - 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,’ 200 - 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 210 - His placid face too ruddy and too round, - Too cold and inexpressive; such a face - 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;’ 220 - ‘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 230 - 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, 240 - 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. 250 - “‘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.’ - “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, 260 - 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. - “A town was near, in which the buildings all - Were large, but one pre-eminently tall-- - An 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; 270 - 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. } - “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. } 280 - 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. 290 - “By this professing man the country round - 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; 300 - 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 compelled 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; 310 - 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 listen’d--which was hard-- - To her, when speaking of her great regard 320 - 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; 330 - 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 an 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. 340 - “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. - “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; 350 - 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.’ - “Alas! and more; they gave their ears and eyes, - His splendor oft-times took them by surprise; 360 - 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 listened 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, 370 - 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 splendor 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, 380 - 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 390 - 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, 400 - 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 410 - 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. - “’Twas told--the servants, who had met to thank 420 - 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 threatened, 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, 430 - 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. - “‘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?’ - “‘And let him feel, my sister--let the woes 440 - 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 mortals state - The pangs he caused, his own to aggravate! - “‘Wretch! when our life was glad, our prospers 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! - “‘Oh! my dear Lucy, could I see him crave 450 - 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, 460 - 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, 470 - 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!’ - So spake th’ indignant maid, when Lucy sigh’d, - 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 480 - 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? - “‘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. } 490 - “‘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; 500 - Now, should he marry, ‘twill 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. - “‘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 the 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, 510 - 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. - He saw no eye that wept, no frame that shook; - No fond appeal was made by word or look; 520 - 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: 530 - 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. - “How did her sister feel? and did she think - Bloomer was honest, and would never shrink? 540 - ‘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 ’tis 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. 550 - 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 addressed 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. 560 - “‘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 burden’d with so poor a wife. 570 - “‘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. - “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, 580 - 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. - “Lucy, with sadden’d heart and temper mild, - Bow’d to correction, like an humbled child, 590 - 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. - “There was no doubt of his intention now-- - He will his purpose with his love avow; 600 - 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 stayed 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; 610 - 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. - “But some concern now rose; the youth would seek - Jane by herself, and then would nothing speak, 610 - 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. - “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. 630 - “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. - “Then made he that attempt, in which to fail - Is shameful,--still more shameful to prevail. 640 - “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. - “While yet the lover stay’d, the maid was strong, - But when he fled, she droop’d and felt the wrong-- 650 - Felt the alarming chill, the 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; 660 - 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. - “Ah! cruel he, who can that heart deprive - Of all that keeps its energy alive; 670 - 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 past the period of their first alarm, - But soon retired, nor was he grieved to learn - They made their own affairs their own concern. 680 - “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. - “Jane too will strive the daily tasks to share, - That so employment may contend with care; 690 - 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. } - “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, 701 - 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. 710 - “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 [parents’] prayers. - “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 720 - 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. } - “Wrapt in such thoughts, she feels her mind astray, 731 - 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; 740 - To sun or shade she will her sweets remove, - ‘And here,’ she says, ‘I may with safety love.’ - “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. - “‘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; 750 - 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; 760 - 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, 770 - A sum but equal to his annual rent; - And yet that loss, the cause of every ill, - Has made me poor, and him--’ - “‘O! poorer still; - 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, whatever the sanguine choose. } - “‘Would I could lose this bitter sense of wrong, 781 - 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: 790 - 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.’ - But most she thinks there will some good ensue - From something done, or what she is to do; 800 - 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; 810 - 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. 820 - “‘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?’ - “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 tune she sings, - And laughs, and calls them melancholy things; 830 - 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. 840 - 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. - - “‘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 an hill, - Where, only Lucy’s self shall know; 850 - - “‘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: 860 - 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, 870 - To press my shivering body round, - Or on my wasted limbs be thrown. - - “‘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. 880 - - “‘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. - - “‘O! take me from a world I hate-- - Men cruel, selfish, sensual, cold; 890 - 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.’” - - - - -TALES OF THE HALL. - -BOOK IX. - -_THE PRECEPTOR HUSBAND._ - - - 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. - -TALES OF THE HALL. - -BOOK IX. - -THE PRECEPTOR HUSBAND. - - “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.” - “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. 10 - “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; 20 - 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.--” - “Did the man enjoy, - In after life, the visions of the boy?”-- 30 - “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. - “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; 40 - 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. - “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; 50 - 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; 60 - 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. - “This lady never boasted of the trash - That commerce brings: she never spoke of cash; 70 - The gentle blood that ran in every vein - At all such notions blush’d in pure disdain.-- - “Wealth once relinquished, 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 inquiry--but his mind could rest, } - Assured that all was well, and in that view was blest. } - “And now he asked, ’am I the happy man 80 - 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 gained?’--‘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; 90 - 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 inquiring 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?‘ - This he would try; but all such trials prove - Too mighty for a man disposed to love; 100 - 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 inquiry, 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-- 110 - Yet love alone, she modestly declared; - She must be spared inquiry, 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, - [Had] 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 this belief, he this would not believe: 120 - 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.‘ - “Then too he learn‘d in accidental way, } - How much she grieved to lose the given day } 130 - 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,‘ 140 - 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.‘ - “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, 150 - 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. - “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, 160 - 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, 170 - 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, 180 - Stalk‘d careless, listless, up and down the room. - “And now ‘tis 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?’ - “‘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.--’ - “‘’Tis right, my son, and it appears to me, 190 - 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.--’ - “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, 200 - 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-- 210 - 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-- 220 - 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.’ - “‘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.’--‘’Tis true; - But the nice reading is the love between 230 - 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; 240 - So read the Revolutions to an end.’ - “Finch, with a timid, strange, inquiring look, - 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 250 - 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.’ - “‘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?’ - “‘My dear Augusta, could you wish indeed 260 - For any knowledge, and not then proceed? - That is not wishing----’ - “‘Mercy! how you tease! - 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, 270 - 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. - “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, 280 - 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 290 - 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 300 - 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.’ - “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 310 - 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.-- - “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.’ - “With this delighted, he new hopes express’d-- 320 - ‘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 do I hate these lectures upon taste!’ - “‘I lecture not, my love; but do declare-- 330 - 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. - 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 340 - So dreadful, that alone I fear’d to read. - “‘The next was ‘The Confessions of a Nun--’ - ’Twas 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, 350 - 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 360 - 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. - “‘I would not boast,--but I could act a scene - 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; 370 - 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.’” - - - - -TALES OF THE HALL. - -BOOK X. - -_THE OLD BACHELOR._ - - - 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. - -TALES OF THE HALL. - -BOOK X. - -_THE OLD BACHELOR._ - - 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, 10 - 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; 20 - From whom th’ 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. 30 - 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, - ’Tis 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.” 40 - 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. - 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. } - They spoke of marriage, and he understood 50 - 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, 60 - 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, 70 - 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.” - 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 80 - 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, 90 - 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 100 - To revolutionize 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.’ - “My poor mamma, who had her mind subdued 110 - 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, - Which 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 120 - 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? - “The parents’ anger, you will oft-times see, - Prepares the children’s minds for amity; - Youth will not enter into such debate, 130 - ’Tis not in them to cherish groundless hate; - Nor can they feel men’s quarrels or their cares, - 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 140 - 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 150 - 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, O! 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, 160 - 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 170 - 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; - ’Twas 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, 180 - 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. - “‘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. - “Coolly my father look’d, and much enjoy’d 190 - The broken eloquence his eye destroy’d; - Yet less confused, and more resolved at last, - With bolder effort to my point I past; - 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; 200 - 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.-- 210 - 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, 220 - 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 ’tis expected that you woo and wed.’ - “Yet not so easy was my conquest found; 230 - 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 240 - 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 250 - 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 tygress 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---- - “‘Admire my daughter! Sir, you’re very good. - The girl is decent, take her all in all-- } 260 - 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. 270 - “‘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!’ - “Then, with a solemn curtesy and profound, } - 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, 280 - 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, 290 - 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. - “Then bliss ensued, so exquisitely sweet, 300 - 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. - O! 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; 310 - To urge its formal instruments--and lo! - Comes with dire looks a messenger of wo, - 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--O! 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, 320 - 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, 330 - 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, 340 - 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 350 - 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 spirit’s burden in its hours of pain: - Say, will you marry?’--I in haste replied, 360 - ‘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.’ - “There was a lady near us, quite discreet, 370 - 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 380 - 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. - “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, 390 - 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. - “Thus while I thought, I utter’d, as men sing 400 - 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 410 - Assumed the look adapted to the case, - Enter’d my room, commission’d to assuage - What was foreseen, my sorrow and my rage. - “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. - “This prudent swain his own importance knew, 420 - 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 430 - 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. - “‘Vile plot!’ she said.--‘But, madam, if they plot, - And you would have revenge, disturb them not.’-- - “‘What can we do, my son?’--‘Consult our ease, 440 - 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.’-- - “‘Do you so lightly, son, your loss sustain?’-- - ‘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.’-- - “‘Not to such loss your father had agreed.’-- - ‘No, for my father’s had been loss indeed.’ - “With gracious smile my mother gave assent, 450 - 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. - “Six years had past, and forty ere the six, - When Time began to play his usual tricks: - The locks once comely in a virgin’s sight, 460 - 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 470 - 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; 480 - The active arm, the agile hand were gone; - Small daily actions into habits grew, - And new dislike to forms and fashion 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. } - “My books were changed; I now preferred 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. 490 - 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, 500 - 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, 510 - 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. - “Such I became, and I believed my heart - Might yet be pierced by some peculiar dart 520 - 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. 530 - “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. 540 - 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 an 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 answer’d, ‘it is thine.’ 550 - “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.’ - “I knew not why, but when the day was named - My ardent wishes felt a little tamed; 560 - 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; 570 - Plainly all seem’d to promise love and joy, - Nor fear’d we ought 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 entreat - My gentle nymph her sighing swain to meet. 580 - “The gossip gone--What dæmon, 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, 590 - ’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--’twas 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 600 - 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, 610 - 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?”-- - “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-- 620 - 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 connexion 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, 630 - 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 640 - 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 ought 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. } - “Time after time the maid went out and in, 651 - 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. 660 - “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; 670 - 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 soul’s 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, } - “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, 680 - 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, 690 - And knew not how to give a fit reply; - She could not, would not, dared not, must not deem - Such language proof of ought 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 } 700 - 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, 710 - 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: 720 - 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; 730 - 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. - “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. - “Now all is quiet, and the mind sustains - Its proper comforts, its befitting pains; 740 - 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 ’tis time to dine; 750 - This daily dosing 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; 760 - 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 recal; - 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.” - - - - -TALES OF THE HALL. - -BOOK XI. - -_THE MAID’S STORY._ - - - 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. - -TALES OF THE HALL. - -BOOK XI. - -_THE MAID’S STORY._ - - 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.” - “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 10 - 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, 20 - 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.” } - - * * * * * - - I to your kindness speak, let that prevail, 30 - And of my frailty judge as beings frail.---- - 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, 40 - And make a lawful merchandize 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; 50 - 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, 60 - 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. - “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, 70 - 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. - “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 80 - 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. - “Let not your heart be soften’d; if it be, 90 - 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 comfort; 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. - It was conceived the person I had then - Might lead to serious thoughts some wealthy men, 100 - 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 merchandize of love. - Thrice it was tried if one so young could bring - Old wary men to buy the binding ring; 110 - 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, 120 - 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.” 130 - 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, 140 - 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 150 - 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, 160 - 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 170 - To keep us from th’ 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. - 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 180 - 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. - And now my mother seem’d disposed to try 190 - 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, 200 - 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. - Sick as my mother seem’d, when he inquired - 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, 210 - 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, 220 - Wish’d him to feel how kindly they could beat; - And ’tis 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 I lived in perfect ease; 230 - 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 mark’d in so genteel a place; - Where every daily deed, as soon as done, } - Ran through the town as fast as it could run-- } 240 - 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. - 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 t’ assent whom she could not persuade. - Methinks I see her, with her pigmy light, 250 - 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. - “And how’s your pain?” inquired 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, 260 - “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 270 - 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, 280 - 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.” - 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 290 - 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 suppressed 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 300 - 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 310 - 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. - All now appear’d so right, so fair, so just, - We surely might the lovely prospect trust; - Alas! poor Frederick and his charmer found 320 - 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 330 - 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, 340 - 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. - 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 350 - 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, 360 - 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 dropt, 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, 370 - 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! } 380 - 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. - 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. 390 - 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; 400 - 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 [brought] 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, 410 - 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 sate, 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? 420 - 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.” - At night we pray’d--I dare not say a word - Of our devotion, it was so absurd; 430 - 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 440 - 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--O! the nights - Past, said the maiden, in such dear delights, - And I was thinking, can the time arrive 450 - 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. - 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 460 - 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--’tis 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 470 - 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, 480 - 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 an 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?” - This was distress; but this, and all beside, 490 - 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 we 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 ’twas 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, 500 - 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, 510 - 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; 520 - 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. 530 - While in that act, he look’d upon my face - As one in that all-equalizing 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; 540 - 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. 550 - 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. } - 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 560 - That I was not disposed to take him now. - “Then, art thou changed, fair maiden? changed thy heart?” - I answered, “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; 570 - 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 580 - 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! - 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 590 - 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 600 - 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. - These found, I sought my remedies for these; - I suffer’d common things my mind to please, - And common pleasures; seldom walk’d alone, 610 - 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; O! how few, 620 - 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: } 631 - 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 formed--these talents I possess’d-- - So I employed them--and thou know’st the rest?’” 640 - 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 wo; - 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, 650 - 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 an 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. 660 - Yet all she braved! she kept her stedfast 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? 670 - 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. 680 - 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 inquiring 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.” - He told his flight from superstitious zeal; 690 - 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 700 - 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 710 - 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 that in 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, 721 - My lover seem’d his acmè 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!” - Compelled 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. 730 - 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 ’tis good to give; - Our annual present to the priest convey’d - Was kindly taken--we in comfort pray’d. 740 - 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 ’twas all his fortune could present. 750 - 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; 760 - 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; 770 - The tender, softening, melancholy strain, } - That caused not pleasure, but that vanquished 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, 780 - 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, 790 - 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, 800 - “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, 810 - 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 820 - 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.” - 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; 830 - 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 dropt upon the ground; - But she recover’d soon, and you must guess 840 - 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! - “What shall I do?” the sighing maid began, 850 - “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-- 860 - 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, 870 - 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 880 - 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 an 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 weakened; he would laugh and weep, 890 - 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 } 900 - 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! - O! 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 an humble place, - And that he lost! Want sharpen’d his disgrace, 910 - 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. - “Be still,” a cool adviser sometimes writes-- - “Nay, but,” says he, “the gentle maid invites-- 920 - 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 past, - But for a light adventure, and a last. - A handsome boy, from school-day bondage free, - Came with mamma to gaze upon the sea; 930 - 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. - 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; 940 - 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!” } - When thus I heard the handsome stripling speak, 950 - 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, 960 - And teach, he gravely said, the virtues to his own. - 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?” - 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.” - When no maternal wish her heart beguiled, 970 - The lady call’d her son “her 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 980 - 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, 990 - 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-- 1000 - “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. - “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, 1010 - 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, 1020 - 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. - “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, 1030 - 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, 1040 - 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-- 1050 - 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 make 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.” 1060 - 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. - “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? 1070 - 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. - 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. - We met some ten years after, and he then - Was married, and as cool as married men; 1080 - 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; 1090 - 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. - - - - -ERRATA. - -VOL. II. - - -[_The lines cited from the several poems are those of the poems; -those cited from title-pages containing mottoes are the lines of the -pages._] - -Page 6 l. 21 for _or_ read _but_. p. 13 l. 5 for _With_ read _In_. -_ib._ l. 13 for 2 read 1. _ib._ l. 17 for _Act II. Scene 7_ read -_Act IV. Scene 2_. p. 27 l. 5 several lines omitted after _and such_. -_ib._ l. 9 for 4 read 3. _ib._ l. 12 for _o’er_ read _in_. _ib._ l. -14 for _Egean_ read _Ægean_. _ib._ l. 15 for _Emilia_ read _Æmilia_. -_ib._ l. 16 for 5 read 1. _ib._ l. 18 for _she bad_ read _he bade_. -_ib._ l. 21 for _th’ insolent_ read _the insolent_. _ib._ l. 24 for -_fate_ read _state_. _ib._ l. 25 for _you_ read _ye_. p. 28 l. 13 -for _Pain_ read _Pains_. p. 41 l. 3 for _then_ read _there . . ._. -_ib._ l. 11 for 3 read 1. p. 47 l. 204 for _Chesterfield_ read -_‘Chesterfield.’_ p. 56 l. 4 for _ever true and humble_ read _a -true and humble wife_. _ib._ l. 10 for _The fatal time_ read _The -leisure and the fearful time_. _ib._ l. 11 for _all ceremonies and_ -read _the ceremonious_. _ib._ l. 18 for _impiety, thou impious_ read -_impiety and impious_. _ib._ l. 20 for 2 read 1. p. 67 l. 4 for -_peculiar_ read _particular_. _ib._ l. 5 for _she_ read _he_. _ib._ -l. 6 for _her_ read _his_. _ib._ l. 7 for _her_ read _his_. _ib._ -l. 16 for _Tempest_ read _The Tempest_. p. 69 l. 50 for _Marcus_ -read _‘Marcus.’_ p. 76 l. 344 for _divine!_ read _‘divine!’_. p. 87 -l. 3 for _make a curtsy_ read _make curtsy_. _ib._ l. 4 for _but -for_ read _but yet for_. _ib._ l. 11 for _amble, you nick-name_ -read _you amble, and you lisp, and nick-name_. _ib._ l. 15 for _Am -I contemn’d_ read _Stand I condemn’d_. _ib._ l. 16 for _II_. read -_III_. p. 92 l. 166 _‘Chaste, sober, solemn’ and ‘devout.’_ Not in -inverted commas. p. 93 l. 197 for _what woman_ read _that woman_. p. -95 l. 265 for _than_ read _then_. p. 101 l. 4 for _Or_ read _Could_. -_ib._ a line omitted after ll. 6, 7 and 8 respectively. p. 103 l. 46 -for _Lea_ read _lea_. p. 113 l. 8 for _As You Like It_ read _Much -Ado about Nothing, Act II. Scene 1_. _ib._ l. 11 _Act IV. Scene 3_ -omitted. _ib._ l. 14 for _hence_ read _home_. _ib._ ll. 16-20 ’_Be -the Sweet Helen’s Knell_‘ is printed as immediately preceding the -rest of these lines, instead of following them 28 lines later. For -_He left a wife_ read _He lost a wife_. In the Shakspearean text -these words form the latter part of a line, and are followed by a -line and a half here omitted. p. 116 l. 75 for _beauty bless’d_ read -_beauty-bless’d_. p. 124 after line 3 a line omitted. _ib._ l. 9 for -_sometimes_ read _something_. _ib._ l. 13 for _Measure for Measure, -Act II. Scene 4_ read _Much Ado about Nothing, Act III. Scene 1_. -p. 134 l. 3 for _heavens_ read _heaven_. p. 145 l. 11 for _with purged_ -read _in purged_. p. 159 l. 13 for _upon_ read _of_. _ib._ l. 16 for -_pitiable_ read _pitiful and_. _ib._ l. 17 for _But thou art_ read -_Thou stern_. p. 185 l. 13 for _for it_ read _for ’t_. p. 194 l. 311 -for _dosed_ read _dozed_. p. 211 l. 8 for _in thee_ read _of thee_. -_ib._ l. 12 for _but tyrannous_ read _but it is tyrannous_. p. 228 -ll. 3 and 6 _She_ and _Her_ are substituted for _He_ and _His_ in -the original passage. _ib._ l. 9 for _there is_ read _there’s_. p. -=242= l. 4 for _Taming the Shrew_ read _Taming of the Shrew_. _ib._ -l. 7 for _Act V. Scene 2_ read _Act II. Scene 1_. p. =249= l. 233 -for _has_ read _had_. p. =251= l. 6 for _with my troll-my-dames_ -read _with troll-my-dames_. _ib._ l. 7 for _Scene 2_ read _Scene 3_. -_ib._ l. 9 for _holding_ read _hiding_. p. =253= l. 31 for _of as_ -read _as of_. p. =259= l. 272 for _seems_ read _seemed_. p. =261= -l. 372 for _I boy_ read _I a boy_. p. =264= l. 6 for _practice may_ -read _practices_. _ib._ l. 8 for _with hinds_ read _with his hinds_. -_ib._ l. 12 for _being what_ read _being the thing_. p. =276= l. 10 -for _He has_ read _He is_. p. =308= l. 200 for _know_ read _knew_. p. -=341= l. 298 for _hear_ read _heard_. p. =351= l. 184 for _look’d_ -read _look_. p. =381= l. 344 for _bounded_ read _bonded_. p. =391= -l. 738 for _comfort_ read _comforts_. p. =397= l. 91 for _it_ read -_its_. p. =409= ll. 556-8 three inverted commas, instead of four, -prefixed to each line, and no single inverted comma at the end of -l. 558. p. =413= l. 716 for _parent’s_ read _parents’_. p. =415= l. -807 for _peasant’s_ read _peasants’_. p. =423= l. 116 for _Has_ read -_Had_. p. =449= l. 731 no inverted comma before and after the words -But why delay so long? p. 461 ll. 358-9 no inverted commas prefixed -to these lines, and no inverted comma at the end of l. 359. p. =462= -l. 404 for _bought_ read _brought_. p. =466= l. 567 no inverted -comma at beginning or end of this line. p. =468= l. 636 no third -inverted comma before and after the words _I am this being_. _ib._ -ll. 638-40 no third inverted comma before the word _thus_ in l. 638 -or before ll. 639 and 640 or at the end of l. 640. p. =469= ll. 692-7 -two inverted commas before each of these lines and at the close of -l. 697. p. =470= ll. 714-7 two inverted commas before each of these -lines and at the end of l. 717. p. =478= l. 1054 for _will_ read -_wilt_. - - - - -VARIANTS. - - -=TALES=. Variants in edition of 1812 (first edition), and ‘Original -MS.’ readings given as footnotes in Life and Poems (1834). These -latter are distinguished as ‘O.M.’ - -Preface: p. =5=, l. 1. present Volume. p. =10=, l. 22. Ahitophel. l. -23. Ogg. pp. =10-11=. _instead of_ l. 30-l. 5: - -It has been asked, if Pope was a poet? No one, I conceive, will -accuse me of vanity in bringing forward this query, or suppose me -capable of comparing myself with a man so eminent: but persons very -unlike in other respects may, in one particular, admit of comparison, -or rather the same question may be applied to both. Now, who will -complain that a definition of poetry, which excludes a great part of -the writings of Pope, will shut out him? I do not lightly take up -the idea, but I conceive that by that kind of definition, one half -of our most agreeable English versification (most generally held, by -general readers, to be agreeable and good) will be excluded, and an -equal quantity, at least of very moderate, or, to say truly, of very -wretched composition, will be taken in. (O.M.) - -=Tale 1.= _The edition of 1834 contains the following note to the -Quotations_: These mottoes are many, because there is a reference -in them not only to the characters, but frequently to the incidents -also; and they are all taken from Shakspeare, because I could more -readily find them in his scenes, than in the works of any other poet -to whom I could have recourse. (O.M.) - -l. 310. tyger. l. 371. skulks. - -=Tale 2.= Second Quotation. Hath written. Third Quotation. fire and -flood. _instead of_ ll. 191-4: - - In a clear eve the lover sail’d, and one - As clear and bright on aged Allen shone: - On the spot sanction’d by the last embrace - The old man stood! and sigh’d upon the place. (O.M.) - -_instead of_ ll. 253-274: - - Oft to his children had the father told - Where he resided in the years of old; - When, without thought, his feeling and his pride - The native town adorn’d and magnified; - The streets, the markets, and the quays were all - Spacious and grand, and every building tall: - The tower and church were sea-marks leagues from land-- - Men were amazed to see them look so grand! - His father’s house was then in Allen’s eyes, - But far increased in beauty and in size; - And their small area where the schoolboys play’d, - Room for an army had his fancy made: - But now the dark and feeble mind debased, - Contracted, sullied all that fancy graced, - All spaces dwindled--streets but alleys seem’d: - Then dreamt he now, or absent had he dream’d? - The church itself, the lofty tower, the scene - Of so much glory, was debased and mean: - The mind each object in dull clothing dress’d, - And its own sadness on each scene impress’d. (O.M.) - -=Tale 3.= l. 57. expence. l. 92. indure. _instead of_ ll. 105-7: - - Because in beaten ways we ever tread, - And man by man, as sheep by sheep, is led, - None start aside, but in the paths proceed, (O.M.) - -l. 377. controul. l. 398. controul. l. 502. conns. l. 514. controul. - -=Tale 4.= Third Quotation, sundred. l. 32. teazing. - -=Tale 5.= l. 334. expence. l. 348. extacy. l. 492. teaz’d. l. 662. -controuling. l. 703. curt’sy’d. - -=Tale 6.= First Quotation. curtesy . . . curtesy. Third Quotation. -gig. l. 226. doat. - -=Tale 7.= l. 46. besprinkled. l. 162. rustics. l. 370. needs. - -=Tale 8.= First Quotation. pityless. l. 36. teaze. l. 39. saught. l. -256. controul. l. 325. intranc’d. - -=Tale 9.= l. 15. mamas. l. 32. Montague. l. 55. to his failings -blind. l. 56. the mind. l. 57. pourtray’d. l. 187. we knew not--’twas -her fate. - -=Tale 10.= Third Quotation. this spring. l. 106. dykes. l. 116, note. -Laver. l. 148. Trav’ler. l. 162. Trav’ler’s. l. 211. teiz’d. l. 288. -Trav’ler. l. 321. Trav’ler. l. 349. dykes. l. 354. Trav’ler. - -=Tale 11.= l. 15. Sampson. l. 42. was dignity. l. 127. Africk’s. l. -233, arbor’s. l. 297. bad. - -=Tale 13.= l. 307. Colin. - -=Tale 14.= Fourth Quotation. rooted sinew. l. 89. Who knows?--or -build. l. 352. teaze. l. 377. controul. l. 495, wo. - -=Tale 15.= l. 10. earthy. l. 158. controul. l. 164. conceiving that -the coming day. l. 248. are these sinners. l. 406. temptations. - -=Tale 16.= l. 499. secresy. l. 581. æra. - -=Tale 17.= Third Quotation, l. 3. act of our necessities. l. 139. -controul. l. 299. paniers. l. 409. smoaky. - -=Tale 18.= l. 196. controul. - -=Tale 19.= l. 154. controul. l. 180. controul. - -=Tale 20.= l. 119. expence. l. 132. expence. l. 204. teaz’d. l. 212. -t’excuse it as a woman’s way. - -=Tale 21.= l. 47. teaze. l. 50. controul. l. 53. uncontroul’d. l. -186. tenour. - - -=TALES OF THE HALL. Variants in edition of 1819 (first edition).= - -=‘Original MS.’ readings given as footnotes in Life and Poems -(1834).= These are distinguished as ‘O.M.’ - -=Variants in Crabbe MSS. in the possession of the Cambridge -University Press.= These are distinguished as ‘U.P.’ - -=Variants in Crabbe MSS. in the possession of Mrs Mackay.= These are -distinguished as ‘M.’ - -=Book I.= - -l. 151. inforce. - -=Book II.= - -_Instead of_ ll. 15-20: - - Yet with this difference might observers find - Some kindred powers and features of the mind. - A love of honour in both spirits ruled, - But here by temper, there by trouble cool’d; - Their favourite objects, studies, themes, pursuits, - Had various beauties, merits, ends, and fruits. (O.M.) - -_instead of_ ll. 63-70: - - Joel nor time nor seasons could command, - He took his comforts as they came to hand; - Nor came they often, nor delay’d so long, - That they were habits either weak or strong; - What seem’d habitual was the urgent force - Of stern necessity that shaped his course. (O.M.) - - -=Book III.= - -_Instead of_ ll. 7-14: - - “Oh! there’s a wicked little world in schools, - Where mischief suffers and oppression rules; - Where mild, quiescent children oft endure - What a long placid life shall fail to cure; - Where virtuous boys, who shrink from early sin, - Meet guilty rogues, who love to draw them in, - Who take a pleasure at their just surprise, - Who make them wicked, and proclaim them wise.” (O.M.) - -_instead of_ ll. 23-34: - - “Behold him now, without the least pretence - To such command----behold him five years hence; - Mix’d in the world, his interest in his sight, - How smooth he looks, his language how polite, - No signs of anger, insult, scorn are seen; - The address is mild, the temper is serene; - His fiery passions are resign’d and still, - They yield to reason, or obey his will. - But are they dead?--Not so: should he attain - The wish’d-for fortune, they will live again; - Then shall the Tyrant be once more obey’d, - And all be Fags, whom he can make afraid.” (O.M.) - -_instead of_ ll. 90-7: - - “But when he sits in judgment, and decrees - What men should rule us, and what books should please, - And thus the merit of a critic gains, - Only for blowing out a Frenchman’s brains, - I must demur, and in my mind retrace - The accountant Hector, and his rueful face; - But on he blunders! thinking he is wise, - Who has much strength, no matter where it lies.” (O.M.) - -_instead of_ ll. 192-7: - - “Again was made the offer, and again, - With threats, with noble promises, in vain. - When my Lord saw that nothing could be done, - He nobly cried,--‘I’ll fit him as my son; - Sir, will you go?’ As meekly as a saint, - Charles humbly begg’d to stay on land and paint.” (O.M.) - -_instead of_ ll. 204-29: - - “Stubborn though mild, and fearing to offend, - He gain’d his freedom, and he lost his friend: - My Lord appeal’d to all the world, and cried,-- - ‘There never breathed such stubbornness and pride; - Do what you please, Sir, I am justified.’ - So said my Lord; for he was grieved to find - Such vile ingratitude in base mankind. - “The boy then wrote for bread. I saw him thrice; - His passions placid, he without a vice: - He sometimes painted, but was uninspired - By genius, unprotected, unadmired; - But pensive, sober, diligent, employ’d } - His every hour, his life without a void, } - He sought for little, nothing he enjoy’d. } - I fear he thought himself, because distress’d, - An injured genius, by the world oppress’d.” (O.M.) - -_instead of_ ll. 253-60: - - “Years past away; I think some twenty-five, - Again I saw him, and but just alive, - And still forbidding, silent, sullen, proud, - As one whose claims were just, and not allow’d. - He saw me, saw my sympathy with pain, } - Received my humble offers with disdain, } - And sternly told me not to come again.” } (O.M.) - -_instead of_ ll. 296-301: - - “Thou, Charles! unaided by a noble friend, - Hadst spent a careful life, as others spend; - But when thy patron’s vanity and thine - Were made by cruel fortune to combine, - ’Twas then th’ unhappy wretch was lifted high - On golden stilts, and seem’d to touch the sky; - But when the tempter hand withdraws the props, - The vision closes, and the victim drops.” (O.M.) - - -_instead of_ ll. 362-87: - - “The boy was tall, but with a mincing air, - Blue, languid eyes, pale cheek, and flaxen hair; - His temper fretful, but his spirits mild, } - Loved by mamma, by all her maidens styled } - The wittiest darling, and the sweetest child. } - In those dear times, when that mamma had rule, - There was much play, few lessons, and no school; - But, oh! misfortune--when the lady died, - No second wife her honour’d place supplied, - But one dishonour’d; and she quickly sent - All who had grief to grieve in banishment: - No longer now was there the rush of joy, - The flood of fondness o’er the happy boy; - No more indulgence by the maidens shown, - For master’s pleasure, purchase of their own; - But they as spies were to new service sent, - And the sad boy to school and banishment.” (O.M.) - - -Book IV. - -_Instead of_ ll. 3-22: - - “Brother,” said George, “when I beheld you last, - The time how distant!--Well! the time is past-- - I had not then these comforts you behold, - Things that amuse us when we’re getting old. - These Pictures now! experienced men will say, - They’re genuine all, and so perhaps they may; - They cost the money, that I’m sure is true, - And therefore, Richard, I will say it too. - Music you find; for hither ladies come; - They make infernal uproar in the room. - I bear it. Why? because I must expect - To pay for honour, and I fear neglect. - And if attraction from your person flies, - You must some pleasure from your purse devise: - But this apart--the triflers should not know - That they can comfort or regret bestow.” (O.M.) - - -_instead of_ ll. 76-7: - - “That gun itself, that breaks upon the ear, - Has something suited to the dying year.” - “The dying partridge!” cried, with much disdain, - Th’ offended ’Squire--“Our laws are made in vain: - The country, Richard, would not be amiss, - But for these plagues, and villanies like this; - Wealth breeds the curse that fixes on the land, - And strife and heritage go hand in hand.” (O.M.) - -_instead of_ ll. 88-130: - - They walk’d along, through mead and shaded wood, - And stubble ground, where late abundance stood, - And in the vale, where winter waters glide, - O’er pastures stretching up the mountain side. - With a shrewd smile, but mix’d with look severe, - The landlord view’d the promise of the year. - “See! that unrivall’d flock! they, they alone - Have the vast body on the slender bone; - They are the village boast, the country’s theme, - Fleece of such staple! flesh in such esteem!” - Richard gave praise, but not in rapturous style; - He chose his words, and spoke them with a smile: - “Brother,” said he, “and if I take you right, - I am full glad--these things are your delight; - I see you proud, but,”--speaking half aside-- - “Is, now, the pleasure equal to the pride?” - A transient flush on George’s face appear’d, - Cloudy he look’d, and then his looks were cleared: - “Look at yon hind!” said he,--“in very deed, - His is the pride and pleasure in the breed; - He has delight, he judges--I the name, - And the whole praise--I speak it to my shame. - Oh! Richard, Richard, tell me, if you can, - What will engage and fix the mind of man?” - “Suppose,” said he, “we look about the green, } - In yonder cots some objects may be seen, } - T’ excite our pity, or relieve our spleen,” } - “Oh! they are thieves and blockheads,” George replied, - “Unjust, ungrateful, and unsatisfied; - To grasp at all, their study, thought, and care, - All would be thieves and plunderers, if they dare; - His envious nature not a clown conceals, - But bluntly shows the insolence he feels.” - “And whence,” said Richard, “should the vice proceed, - But from their want of knowledge, and their need? - Let them know more, or let them better feel, - And I’ll engage they’ll neither threat nor steal.” - “Brother,” said George, “your pity makes you blind - To all that’s vile and odious in mankind; - ’T is true your notions may appear divine, - But for their justice--let us go and dine.” (O.M.) - - -=Book V.= - -l. 182. woe. l. 415. controul. - - -=Book VI.= - -_The Book opens:_ - - The evening came: “My Brother, what employs - Thy mind?” said Richard; “what disturbs thy joys? - Hast thou not all the good the world can give, - And liv’st a life that kings might sigh to live? - Can nothing please thee? Thou wert wont to seize - On passing themes, and make the trifles please. - Thy Muse has many a pleasant fancy bred, - And clothed in lively manner!----is she dead?” - “Not dead but sick, and I too weary grow - Of reaping nothing from the things I sow. - What is the pleasure--thou perhaps canst say-- - Of playing tunes, if none can hear thee play? - Timid and proud, the world I cannot court, - Nor show my labours for the critic’s sport. - Hast thou the courage, Richard? hast thou tried - An Author’s perils? hast thou felt his pride? - For vain the efforts, and they quickly tire, - If we alone our precious things admire.” - “Not so,” said Richard, and acquired a look - That some expression from his feelings took; - “Oh! my dear Brother, if this Muse of mine, - Who prompts the idle thought, the trifling line, - If she who calmly looks around, nor more - Muse of the Mad, the Foolish, and the Poor, - If she can pleasure--and she can--impart, - Can wing the fancy, can enlarge the heart; - What must a Muse of strength, of force, of fire, - In the true Poet’s ample mind inspire? - What must he feel, who can the soul express - Of saint or hero?--he must be no less. - Nor less of evil minds he knows the pain, - But quickly lost the anguish and the stain, - While with the wisest, happiest, purest, best, - His soul assimilates and loves to rest. - Crowns would I spurn, and empires would I lose, - For inspiration from the sacred Muse.” - “A song,” said George, “and I my secret store, - Confined in dust and darkness, will explore. - Poet with poet, bard and critic too, - We fear no censure, and dread no review. - A judge so placed must be to errors kind, - And yield the mercy that he hopes to find; - Begin then, Richard, put thy fears aside; } - Shall I condemn, who must myself be tried? } - In me at least my Brother may confide. } - In hope of wearing, I shall yield the bays, - And my self-love shall give my rival praise.” (O.M.) - -_instead of_ ll. 18-30: - - “Wilt thou explain? I shall not grieve to share - A lover’s sorrow, or a husband’s care?” - Kindness like this had moved a sterner man, - Richard much more. He smiled, and thus began:-- - “No more I loved the sea; that plunge had tamed - My blood, by youth in idleness inflamed: - To my affairs I forced my mind t’ attend, - And sought the town to counsel with a friend. - Much we debated--Could I now resign - My earthly views, and look to things divine? - Could I to merchandise my mind persuade, - And wait in patience for the gain of trade? - Or if I could not early habits quit, - Had I a stock, and could subsist on wit? - “Measures like these became my daily themes, - My airy castles, my projector’s dreams. - But health, so long neglected, now became - No more the blessing of my failing frame: - A fever seized it, of that dangerous kind, - That while it taints the blood, infects the mind. - I traced her flight as Reason slowly fled, - And her last act assured me Hope was dead: - But Reason err’d, and when she came again - To aid the senses and direct the brain, - She found a body weak, but well disposed - For life’s enjoyments, and the grave was closed. - But danger past, and my recovery slow, } - I sought the health that mountain gales bestow, } - And quiet walks where peace and violets grow. } - “Now, my dear Brother, when the languid frame - Has this repose, and when the blood is tame, - Yet strength increasing, and when every hour - Gives some increase of pleasure and of power, - When every sense partakes of fresh delight, - And every object wakes an appetite; - When the mind rests not, but for ever roves - On all around, and as it meets approves; - Then feels the heart its bliss, that season then is love. - “Think of me thus disposed, and think me then - Retired from crowded streets and busy men, - In a neat cottage, by the sweetest stream - That ever warbled in a poet’s dream; - An ancient wood behold, so vast, so deep, - That hostile armies might in safety sleep, - Where loving pairs had no observers near, - And fearing not themselves, had none to fear; - There to fair walks, fresh meadows, and clear skies, - I fled as flee the weary and the wise.” (O.M.) - -_instead of_ ll. 174-5: - - “With whom she tarried, a delighted guest! - Delightful ever! blessing still and bless’d.” (O.M.) - -l. 359. woe. - - -=Book VII=. - -_Instead of_ ll. 533-4: - - And thus she said, and with an air designed - To look and be affectionate and kind. (U.P.) - -l. 551. woe. _instead of_ ll. 593-8: - - Come, my dear Friend, discard that Brow of Care: - What was at first intended all things are; - All by the mighty Cause for bliss designed - The only good of Matter and in Mind. - So was I taught by one who taught me all - That I the first and only good can call! (U.P.) - -_instead of_ ll. 601-2; - - I meant again, in spite of every Cow, - To pass that way and hear my Shepherd’s Vow. (U.P.) - -_after_ l. 625: - - When the sun is descended the moon will arise; - And sweeter her softer and mellower Ray, - When the blossom no longer is fair in our Eyes, - The Fruit will enlarge and our losses repay; - And when from the cheek the young Roses decay, - Tis a Sign that the Fire is collected within: - No longer for Boys the light flower to display, - But manly Affections to wake and to win. (U.P.) - -_instead of_ ll. 626-41: - - My Damon was the first to wake - The Flame that slept but cannot die; - My Damon is the last to take - The best the truest softest Sigh. - - The Life between is nothing worth: - O! cast it all as vile away. - Save the sweet Day that gave it Birth, - And this a fonder happier Day. - - O tell me not what I have done, - When there is so much done amiss; - For who can fate and madness shun - In such bewildering World as this? - - Love can a thousand Faults forgive, - Or with a tender Smile reprove; - And now let nought in Memory live, - But that we meet and that we love. (U.P.) - -_instead of_ ll. 664-7: - - Were you not Witness how I blossomed then, - Blushing and blooming in the Eyes of Men; - Made by one sex a Goddess, and denied - Respect and notice by the other’s Pride? (U.P.) - -_instead of_ ll. 682-91: - - Is it not written, he who came to save - The adultress [ ] of her Crime forgave; - Would the lost sheep all graciously restore, - And bade the weeping Sinner sin no more? - Yes, this is true, but where the Eye that reads - The broken Spirit or the Heart that bleeds? - But where the Heart that could the Deed deplore, - And where the Hand that would the Mind restore; - That could the sinful Soul on trust receive - And, tho’ all urged against Belief, believe? (U.P.) - -_instead of_ ll. 702-9: - - With Spirits low and ill-directed Mind - She soon her [ ] of penitence resigned; - And rushed again into the World, prepar’d - To do whatever thoughtless Frenzy dared. - And so she perished! - Nay! while yet disposed - T’ enjoy the world, the world’s adventures closed. (U.P.) - -_instead of_ ll. 736-7: - - To save from sin the long expected pay, - And call hence Souls whose bodies waste away. (U.P.) - -_instead of_ ll. 742-3: - - And I a fellow sinner! who enquired - If ought beside the feeble Heart required - Was by, to watch the Dawn of Hope, to cheer - The drooping Spirit, and to prove how dear - The [Loving] Soul may be whose Turning is sincere. (U.P.) - -_instead of_ l. 751: - - To think for what was formed this Creature Man! (U.P.) - -_instead of_ l. 757: - - Gold, to enlarge the Treasures that abound. (U.P.) - -_after_ l. 766: - - I shuddered, R[ichard], at the general View-- - The Work undone--What yet I had to do! (U.P.) - -l. 781. woe. l. 782. woe. l. 789. woe. - - -Book VIII. - -_Variant of_ ll. 33-67: - - The Brothers’ Subject on their Morning Ride - Was, as it chanced, the Misery of Pride! - - * * * * * - - [illegible attempts.] - The very Virtues suffer! and but few - Altho’ unshamed bear Want and pity too. - This is the Serpent Poverty that Stings! - And Wealth, thus flying, certain misery brings. - - * * * * * - - The Wretched then the common fate deplore - And mourn Enjoyments that return no more. - They who so dearly loved in happier times - Doubt the tried Worth; their Sorrows are their Crimes. - They spoil the Temper; they disturb the rest; - Men fly the Scold, the Comforter, the Guest. (M.) - -_instead of_ ll. 48-53: - - “Oh! that we had the virtuous pride to show - We know ourselves what all about us know; - Nor, when our board contains a single dish, - Tell lying tales of market-men and fish! - We know ’tis hard from higher views to fall-- - What is not hard when life is trial all?” (O.M.) - -_after_ l. 67: - - “But I digress, dear Richard, who despise - Tellers of tales, who stop and moralize; - As some good editors of Esop used - Their privilege, and readers’ sense abused: - Who half a page to write their fable took, - And just a page and half to swell their book. - But to that gentle being I return, - And, as I treat of patience, let me learn.” (O.M.) - -_instead of_ ll. 106-7: - - “Like Saul’s fair daughters, as by Cowley sung; - Not from a monarch, but a yeoman sprung.” (O.M.) - -_after_ l. 113: - - Who gazed at Jane saw Wonder and Delight; - Who looked on Lucy blessd the pleasing Sight. - - * * * * * - - The Air of Lucy her Admirers held - In pleasing Bondage; that of Jane repell’d. (M.) - -_after_ l. 119: - - Lucy not often could those Looks command, - But had the sober praise and offered Hand; - For those who breathed for Jane those Sighs of fire - Asked not their Reason, What do I desire? - While Lucy’s Lovers felt the Wishes rise - And could explain the purport of their Sighs. - In future day one spake how Friendships please, - And one, a Lover, whom we charm and teize; - And then began the speech of Jane to raise - Men’s awe, and Lucy’s to obtain their praise. (M.) - -_instead of_ ll. 196-207: - - Now Lucy’s Lover was a plain good Man, - Who meant to marry on a saving Plan. - Jane is perhaps the prettier one to view, - He judged; but [has] the Keener Judgment too; - And, if her Eye be more than Lucy’s bright, - And beams upon you with a fiercer Light, - A face may be admired; but, put the Case - A Man shall marry, what avails a face? - A Wife that[’s] pretty her Conditions makes; - A Wife that[’s] prudent rather gives than takes. - Beauty will cost require and Wealth command, - But there is Safety in a closing Hand; - And what if Lucy to the needy sends - Too great a portion and the deed defends, - That ’tis her own; there’s prudence in the Words - That will preserve the Good that is her Lord’s. - Besides, there’s not a Virtue we possess - So soon restrain’d as giving to distress; - And, then, a rival makes a woman nice, - And Jane’s admirer will enhance her price. - Thus, thinking but concealing what he thought, - This cautious Lover Lucy’s favour sought. (M.) - -_after_ l. 231: - - Or why the Fear? and all that seemed so good - Was only Slyness rightly understood; - Then, too, his father living held the Son - From the sad Course he was disposed to run. (M.) - -_instead of_ ll. 255-8: - - “Near to the village, where they now abide, - In their own style--the vulgar call it pride-- - Dwelt the fair sisters: good they were and kind, - That prying scandal scarce could error find-- - And candour none--they spent, they spared, they gave - Just as they ought to give, to spare, to save; - Like two queen-myrtles in an arbour’s side, - So they abode, and so might still abide, - But for a blight! it wounds me at the heart, - That I have grief and anguish to impart.” (O.M.) - -l. 287. alchemist. _after_ l. 419: - - “Thus fill’d with fear, that evening they attend - To his last home an ancient village-friend; - And they, reflecting on the old man’s days, - Who living had their love, and now their praise-- - That good old man, with so much native sense, - Such health and ease, such hope with competence: - They could but own, if such should be their lot, - They should be thankful!--It, alas! was not.” (O.M.) - -l. 550. ecstacy. _after_ l. 824: - - “I read your looks, my Brother, you would give - Largely to these--they should in comfort live, - Nor labour thus; but you would find it hard - To gain assent: professions they regard - As their experience bids them, and they run - From ready love, as they would treachery shun; - Yet have I woo’d them long, and they attend - With growing trust--they treat me as a friend, - And talk of my probation; but, afraid, - They take my counsel, but refuse my aid.” (O.M.) - - -=Book IX=. - -_Instead of_ ll. 150-5: - - “The weeks fled smoothly, five or six, before, - Bless’d in the present, he could think of more. - Two months beside were at his villa spent, } - Where first enraptured, he became content; } - Then went to town, scarce knowing why he went. } - His lady with him, as a wife should be-- - Talk of a moon of honey! there were three.” (O.M.) - -_instead of_ ll. 176-7: - - “For pairs not loving, cannot music find, - And loving pairs have music in the mind.” (O.M.) - - -=Book XI=. - -_The Book opens_: - - That gentle Spinster, whom our Squire approved - So well, they judged aright who said he loved; - Though, when they thought to what the love would lead, - They err’d--for neither would so far proceed. - This Maiden Lady, to her promise just, - Gave them her story.--She could safely trust - Her neighbours both: the one she long had known, - The other kindness and respect had shown. - Frankly not fearless, from her early youth, - She gave her tale, nor would disguise a truth; - Timid in places, and with some restraint, - But still resolved the very facts to paint, - With plaintive smile she prefaced what she spoke, - And the Friends listen’d with attentive look. (O.M.) - -_after_ l. 67: - - “Think not of love! it is a chance indeed, - When love and prudence side by side proceed. - Nay, when they do, I doubtfully approve-- - Love baffles prudence--Oh! beware of love.” (O.M.) - -_variant of_ ll. 109-32: - - He knew that Girls had heard that youth is bold, - And he would show how youthful were the old. - - * * * * * - - He knew the Vices that the youthful boast, - And he desired to show the form and Ghost - Of naked Evil, rob’d of every Grace - That could our Anger or Contempt displace-- - Not as the drunken Slave to make me think - How odious Vice, but hoping I should drink. - - * * * * * - - Repelled awhile, he answered, Did you drive - A Charge so precious, fear would be alive. (U.P.) - -_instead of_ ll. 150-1: - - He said that Beauty now would scarcely sell; - The drug was plenteous, and the Market fell. (U.P.) - -_after_ l. 163: - - And the weak side of woman--but he spied, - So it appeared to me, the viler side. (U.P.) - -_instead of_ ll. 164-5: - - And all that this superior knowledge meant - Was to delude the weak and innocent. (U.P.) - -_variant of_ ll. 190-221: - - My Mother too seemed now disposed to try - A Life of Reason and Tranquillity; - She had till lately health and Spirits kept; - She ate in Comfort, and in Quiet slept. - But our late Subject was a kind that fills - The Mind, and poison in the Heart instills. - For five and forty years my Mother bore - Her Placid Looks, and Dress becoming wore; - She would a Compliment with pleasure take - That no undue Impression seemed to make; - But now her Nerves became disturbed and weak, - And we must Aid from a Physician seek: - A Scotch Physician, who had just began - To settle here--a very handsome Man, - And very wise, for I with Lovers twain - Was in his eye a very Child again; - While my dear Mother, twenty years a Wife, - Was to decide the Fortune of his life; - And she decided---In a general way - Mama her power was willing to display. - - * * * * * - - But now like Monarch weary of a Throne - She would no longer reign, at least alone! - She held her pulse, and with a Look so sweet - Gave him to feel how softly they could beat. (U.P.) - -_after_ l. 227: - - It was reported, nay it was believed - That both the wary parties were deceived; - For both had learnt the wicked world to cheat - And be a match for all its vile Deceit. (U.P.) - -_instead of_ ll. 323-5: - - Was just his present purpose to pursue, - Send him to college and there let him learn - To live, and to his numerous brothers turn! (U.P.) - -_variant of_ ll. 336-7: - - In fact our hearts we gave as Lovers give - Before we asked if we as Men could live. - I lov’d the Youth, nor had I doubts that he } - Had tender thoughts and faithful Hopes like me, } - And, as our Love was now, so would it ever be. } (U.P.) - -_instead of_ l. 410: - - Were placed our yellow plates of Stafford Ware. (U.P.) - -_instead of_ ll. 433-4: - - While Biddy slept, upon a Bed so hard - And coarse, I laid and was of Sleep debarred. (U.P.) - -_instead of_ ll. 508-14: - - And what, as armed with right and power they asked, - Are your Soul’s Contests? and their own unmasked. - Confessing thoughts so strange and views so wild - I thought them Dreams, or fancies of a Child - Could she, they ask, her best attempts condemn, } - And did she long to touch the Garment’s hem, } - And was it so with her, for so it was with them?} (U.P.) - -_instead of_ ll. 517-26: - - My Mother kindly lent her teachers Aid - To win the Soul of her deluded maid; - I was compelled her female friends to hear, - But suffer’d not one bearded teacher near; - Tho’ more than one attempted with their whine - And ‘Sister! Sister!’ turn to love divine; - But my contending Spirit to direct - Was what I vow’d no Brother should effect; - But O! their Preacher, would I could receive - His precious dropping of the Dew at Eve! (U.P.) - -_instead of_ ll. 533-6: - - But soon appear’d and spoke in mode correct, - With all the cold dead freedom of the Sect; - Of his Conversion with conceit he spoke - Before he orders from his Bishop took. (U.P.) - -_after_ l. 548: - - He then with self-applause his valour told - And how his boyish Love for me grew cold. (U.P.) - -_instead of_ ll. 566-9: - - On Sidmouth terrace pace at morn and noon, - Or view from Dawlish rocks the full-orb’d moon, - At Exmouth beacon the far bay explore, } - Or quiet sit at Teignmouth’s pebbly shore; } - These scenes are lovely all, and will your peace restore. } (O.M.) - -_instead of_ ll. 574-87: - - Dear scenes of social comfort, friendly ease, - The power of pleasing, the delight to please; - When friends agreed the views around t’ explore, - When sympathising minds exchanged their store; - When fear was banish’d, and no form desired, - But such as decency and sense required; - When each in meeting wore the looks that make - Such strong impression, and preclude mistake; - When looks, and words, and manner all declare - What hearts, and thoughts, and dispositions are-- - In fact, when we in various modes express } - That we are happy all! all answer yes! } - This is indeed approach to perfect happiness. } - Dear objects! scatter’d in the world around, - Whom do ye gladden? where may ye be found? - Ye who excited joy by day, by night, - Ye who delighted to dispense delight, - Ye who to please the sadden’d temper strove, - Who, when ye loved not, show’d the effect of love, - Ye who are blessings wheresoe’er ye dwell, - Accept the wishes of a long farewell! (O.M.) - -_instead of_ ll. 600-1: - - “No, I confess, there was a proneness yet - To think with foolish fondness and regret.” (U.P.) - -_variant of_ ll. 620-38: - - Are we not good, benevolent and just; - Must not all love us? We are sure they must. - Are we not read in works of every kind; - Are we not prudent, rational, refined; - Are not our thoughts correct, our words discreet, } - And our Life void of folly, fraud, deceit; } - And where can we on Earth a purer Spirit meet? } - Here the Heart ceased; I answer’d to the Heart: - A vile Deceiver, and a vain, thou art. - First, thy Religion I can plainly see - Wants the first requisite--Humility. - We are so pure, the humble mind’s [resource], - Truth and Repentance, we may drop of course, - And with the gallant Frenchman at the Cry - Of the last Day say boldly, here am I! (U.P.) - -_variant of_ ll. 649-52: - - What is the good that thy whole life has done - Compared with her one day, a single one? (O.M.) - -_variant of_ ll. 692-7: - - The tears of tender Souls which for him fell, } - And strong Persuasion, Brother! all is well. } - Tarry, and Heav’n is thine; depart, and there is hell.-- } - So I from frenzy’s Zeal and folly’s Creed - Was by Exertion and Discretion freed. (U.P.) - -_variant of_ ll. 712-20: - - Still he would come, and talk as idlers do } - Both of his old opinions and his new; } - For now he was convinced that nothing could be true. } - Barriers so strong against all Truth were placed - That by the wise no Tenet was embraced. - This was religion here that there was spurned; - Then how could Truth be anywhere discerned? - Her as a mistress Men indeed pursue } - In Chace for ever, never in their view; } - And who shall dare affirm that anything is true? } (U.P.) - -_variant of_ ll. 816-27: - - But in that world the faithful Youth shall view - One like himself, as generous and as true. - Such our Discourse; but, growing more refin’d, - And suited only to a Soul resigned-- - For she would far in her fair View proceed - And as I could, I doubted or agreed-- - I asked if Lovers took the wiser Way - Who to their Death their Union would delay, - For fear that Marriage should the Vision spoil - And the pure pleasure of the fancy soil? (U.P.) - -_variant of_ ll. 834-49: - - And all betrayed a Man who had of Gold a store. - The comely Man moved, onward, and a pair - Of comely Maidens waited, with an Air - Of Doubt, till one exclaim’d with Voice profound, - And, O! ’tis Henry, dropt upon the Ground. - But she recovered, and, I pray you, guess - What then ensued and how much Happiness. - Just as the Lover chanc’d his Home to find, - The Lady fixed on other home her Mind; - They parted Lovers who were grieved to part; - They met as Neighbours! heal’d was either heart. - Each on the others Looks could raptured dwell, - They now could say, You look extremely well. - She had prepared in some blessed world to meet; - The Knight, of purchasing a snug Retreat, - In this and there in good Regard to live: - Among their Friends ’twas all it now could give. (U.P.) - -_variant of_ ll. 864-75: - - What Time has done, gross food and vulgar Trade - Has all impaired that Love and Nature made. - I cannot take him--I my Friend approved, - Who dare refuse when she no longer loved. - But he was loud and loving, fierce and free, - And weak and timid vain and grateful She. - Thus sundry motives more than I can name - Rose on his side, and she a Wife became. (U.P.) - -_instead of_ ll. 890-3: - - Yet his the Comfort of an Heart that feels - A single day, and that the morrow heals; - And yet he grieved a while, and he would weep, - And swear profusely I had murdered sleep; - Had quite unman’d him for heroic Vein, - And he could only murmur and complain. (U.P.) - -_variant of_ ll. 903-4: - - Yet e’er we parted he his Prayer renewed, - And urged me “Do not live in Solitude! - Wert thou my Lady to the Study take - O! what a Desdemona wouldst thou make.” (U.P.) - -_after_ l. 904: - - And then he spouted--till I cried, Is he - The man I loved? Oh! that could never be. - No! time upon the outward beauty preys, - And the mind’s beauty in its vice decays. (O.M.) - -_instead of_ ll. 910-2: - - But that he lost, and with a wither’d hand. - Stood at his father’s gate, as beggars stand; - But his were jealous brethren, and they kept - Their dying father from him, till he slept. (O.M.) - -_instead of_ ll. 926-8: - - And no Adventure marked the waste of Years; - I thought me past them, but I met with one, - A call to Folly e’er the pasts were done. (U.P.) - - - - -VARIANTS. VOL. I. ADDENDA. - - -=THE LIBRARY=. ‘Original MS.’ readings given as footnotes Life and -Poems (1834). - -_After_ l. 4: - - Where can the wretched lose their cares, and hide - The tears of sorrow from the eyes of pride? - Can they in silent shades a refuge find - From all the scorn and malice of mankind? - From wit’s disdain, and wealth’s provoking sneer, } - From folly’s grin, and humour’s stupid leer, } - And clamour’s iron tongue, censorious and severe? } - There can they see the scenes of nature gay, - And shake the gloomy dreams of life away? - Without a sigh, the hope of youth give o’er, - And with aspiring honour climb no more. - Alas! we fly to peaceful shades in vain; - Peace dwells within, or all without is pain: - No storm-tost sailor sighs for slumbering seas-- - He dreads a tempest, but desires a breeze. - The placid waves with silent swell disclose - A clearer view, and but reflect his woes. - So life has calms, in which we only see - A fuller prospect of our misery. - When the sick heart, by no design employ’d, - Throbs o’er the past, or suffer’d, or enjoy’d, - In former pleasures finding no relief, - And pain’d anew in every former grief. - Can friends console us when our cares distress, - Smile on our woes, and make misfortunes less? - Alas! like winter’d leaves, they fall away, - Or more disgrace our prospects by delay; - The genial warmth, the fostering sap is past, - That kept them faithful, and that held them fast. - Where shall we fly?--to yonder still retreat, - The haunt of Genius and the Muses’ seat, - Where all our griefs in others’ strains rehearse, - Speak with old Time, and with the dead converse; - Till Fancy, far in distant regions flown, - Adopts a thousand schemes, and quits her own; - Skims every scene, and plans with each design, - Towers in each thought, and lives in every line; - From clime to clime with rapid motion flies, - Weeps without woe, and without sorrow sighs; - To all things yielding, and by all things sway’d, - To all obedient, and by all obey’d; - The source of pleasures, noble and refined, - And the great empress of the Poet’s mind. - Here led by thee, fair Fancy, I behold - The mighty heroes, and the bards of old! - For here the Muses sacred vigils keep, - And all the busy cares of being sleep; - No monarch covets war, nor dreams of fame, - No subject bleeds to raise his tyrant’s name, - No proud great man, or man that would be great, - Drives modest merit from its proper state, - Nor rapine reaps the good by labour sown, - Nor envy blasts a laurel, but her own. - Yet Contemplation, silent goddess, here, - In her vast eye, makes all mankind appear, - All Nature’s treasures, all the stores of Art, - That fire the fancy, or engage the heart, - The world’s vast views, the fancy’s wild domain, - And all the motley objects of the brain: - Here mountains hurl’d on mountains proudly rise, - Far, far o’er Nature’s dull realities; - Eternal verdure decks a sacred clime, - Eternal spring for ever blooms in rhyme, - And heroes honour’d for imputed deeds, - And saints adored for visionary creeds, - Legends and tales, and solitude and sighs, - Poor doating dreams, and miserable lies, - The empty bubbles of a pensive mind, - And Spleen’s sad effort to debase mankind. - Here Wonder gapes at Story’s dreadful page, - And Valour mounts by true poetic rage, - And Pity weeps to hear the mourning maid, - And Envy saddens at the praise convey’d. - Devotion kindles at the pious strain, - And mocks the madness of the fool’s disdain: - Here gentle Delicacy turns her eye - From the loose page, and blushes her reply, - Alone, unheeded, calls her soul to arms, - Fears every thought, and flies from all alarms. - Pale Study here, to one great point resign’d; - Derides the various follies of mankind; - As distant objects sees their several cares, - And with his own their trifling work compares; - But still forgets like him men take their view, - And near their own, his works are trifling too:-- - So suns and planets scarcely fill the eye - When earth’s poor hills and man’s poor huts are nigh; - But, were the eye in airy regions tost, - The world would lessen, and her hills be lost; - And were the mighty orbs above us known, - No world would seem so trifling as our own. - Here looking back, the wond’ring soul surveys - The sacred relics of departed days, - Where grace, and truth, and excellence reside, - To claim our praise, and mortify our pride; - Favour’d by fate, our mighty fathers found - The virgin Muse, with every beauty crown’d: - They woo’d and won; and, banish’d their embrace, - She comes a harlot to their feebler race: - Deck’d in false taste, with gaudy shows of art - She charms the eye, but touches not the heart; - By thousands courted, but by few caress’d, - False when pursued, and fatal when possess’d. - From hence we rove, with Fancy for our guide, - O’er this wide world, and other worlds more wide, - Where other suns their vital power display, - And round revolving planets dart the day; - Where comets blaze, by mortals unsurvey’d, - And stray where Galileo never stray’d; - Where God himself conducts each vast machine, - Uncensured by mankind, because unseen. - Here, too, we trace the varied scenes of life, - The tyrant husband, the retorting wife, - The hero fearful to appear afraid, - The thoughts of the deliberating maid; - The snares for virtue, and the turns of fate, - The lie of trade, and madness of debate; - Here force deals death around, while fools applaud, - And caution watches o’er the lips of fraud; - Whate’er the world can show, here scorn derides, - And here suspicion whispers what it hides-- - The secret thought, the counsel of the breast, - The coming news, and the expected jest. . . . - High panegyric, in exalted style, - That smiles for ever, and provokes a smile, - And Satire, with her fav’rite handmaids by-- - Here loud abuse, there simpering irony. . . . - All now display’d, without a mask are known, - And every vice in nature, but our own. - Yet Pleasure too, and Virtue, still more fair, - To this blest seat with mutual speed repair; - The social sweets in life’s securer road, - Its bliss unenvied, its substantial good, - The happy thought that conscious virtue gives, - And all that ought to live, and all that lives. - -_after_ l. 104: - - Maxims I glean, of mighty pith and force, - And moral themes to shine in a discourse, - But, tired with these, I take a lighter train, - Tuned to the times, impertinent and vain. - The tarts which wits provide for taste decay’d, - And syllabubs by frothy witlings made, - An easy, idle, thoughtless, graceless throng, - Pun, jest, and quibble, epigram and song, - Trifles to which declining genius bends, - And steps by which aspiring wit ascends. - Now sad and slow, with cautious step I tread, - And view around the venerable dead; - For where in all her walks shall study seize - Such monuments of human state as these? - -_after_ l. 430: - - “Ah! happy age,” the youthful poet cries, - “Ere laws arose--ere tyrants bade them rise; - No land-marks then the happy swain beheld, - Nor lords walk’d proudly o’er the furrow’d field; - Nor through distorted ways did Avarice roam, - To fetch delights for Luxury at home: - But mutual joy the friends of Nature proved, - And swains were faithful to the nymphs they loved.” - “Mistaken bards! all nations first were rude; - Man! proud, unsocial, prone to solitude: - O’er hills, or vales, or floods, was fond to roam-- - The mead his garden, and the rock his home: - For flying prey he searched a savage coast-- - Want was his spur, and liberty his boast.” - -_after_ l. 570: - - Ah! lost, for ever lost, to me these charms, - These lofty notions and divine alarms, - Too dearly bought--maturer judgment calls - My pensive soul from tales and madrigals-- - For who so blest or who so great as I, - Wing’d round the globe with Rowland or Sir Guy? - Alas! no more I see my queen repair - To balmy bowers that blossom in the air, - Where on their rosy beds the Graces rest, - And not a care lies heavy on the breast. - No more the hermit’s mossy cave I choose, - Nor o’er the babbling brook delight to muse; - My doughty giants all are slain or fled, - And all my knights--blue, green, and yellow--dead! - Magicians cease to charm me with their art, - And not a griffin flies to glad my heart. - No more the midnight fairy tribe I view, - All in the merry moonshine tippling dew. - The easy joys that charm’d my sportive youth, - Fly Reason’s power, and shun the voice of Truth. - Maturer thoughts severer taste prepares, - And baffles every spell that charm’d my cares. - Can Fiction, then, the noblest bliss supply, - Or joy reside in inconsistency? - -_after_ l. 594: - - But who are these, a tribe that soar above, - And tell more tender tales of modern love? - A NOVEL train! the brood of old Romance, - Conceived by Folly on the coast of France, - That now with lighter thought, and gentler fire, - Usurp the honours of their drooping sire; - And still fantastic, vain, and trifling, sing - Of many a soft and inconsistent thing,-- - Of rakes repenting, clogg’d in Hymen’s chain-- - Of nymph reclined by unpresuming swain-- - Of captains, colonels, lords, and amorous knights, - That find in humbler nymphs such chaste delights, - Such heavenly charms, so gentle, yet so gay, - That all their former follies fly away. - Honour springs up, where’er their looks impart - A moment’s sunshine to the harden’d heart-- - A virtue, just before the rover’s jest, - Grows like a mushroom in his melting breast. - Much, too, they tell of cottages and shades, - Of balls, and routs, and midnight masquerades, - Where dangerous men and dangerous mirth reside, - And Virtue goes--on purpose to be tried. - These are the tales that wake the soul to life, - That charm the sprightly niece and forward wife, - That form the manners of a polish’d age, - And each pure easy moral of the Stage. - Thus to her friend the ever-faithful she-- - The tender Delia--writes, securely free-- - Delia from school was lately bold to rove, - Where yet Lucinda meditated love. - “Oh thou, the partner of my pensive breast, - And, but for one! its most delightful guest, - But for that one of whom ’twas joy to talk, - When the chaste moon gleam’d o’er our ev’ning walk, - And cooing fondly in the neighbouring groves - The pretty songsters all enjoy’d their loves; - Receive! as witness all ye powers! I send, - With melting heart, this token of thy friend. - “Calm was the night! and every breeze was low; - Swift ran the stream--but, ah! the moments slow! - Fly swift, ye moments! slowly run, thou stream, - And on thy margin let a maiden dream. - “Methought he came, my Harry, young and gay, - The very youth that stole my heart away. - I wake. Surprise! yet guess how blest was I! - With looks of love--the very youth was by. - ‘Whose is that form my Delia’s bosom hides? - What youth divinely blest within presides?’ - He spoke and sigh’d. His sighs my fear supprest, - He seized his angel form, and actions spoke the rest. - “Oh, Virtue! brighter than the noon-tide ray! - Still guide my steps, and guide them nature’s way; - With sacred precepts fill the youthful mind, - Soothe all its cares, and force it to be kind.” - Thus, gentle passions warm the generous maid, - No more reluctant, and no more afraid; - Thus Virtue shines, and in her loveliest dress - Not over nice, nor Virtue to excess. - Near these I look, and lo! a reptile race, - In goodly vests conceal the want of grace; - The brood of Humour, Fancy, Frolic, Fun, - The tale obscene, the miserable pun; - The jest that Laughter loves, he knows not why, - And Whim tells quaintly with distorted eye. - Here Languor, yawning, pays his first devoirs, - And skims sedately o’er his dear Memoirs; - Here tries his tedious moments to employ, - And, palsied by enjoyment, dreams of joy; - From all the tribe his little knowledge steals, - From dull “Torpedoes,” and “Electric Eels;” - And every trifle of a trifling age, - That shames the closet, or degrades the Stage. - -_after_ l. 602: - - Here as I stand, of sovereign power possess’d, - A vast ambition fires my swelling breast; - I deal destruction round, and, all severe, - Damn with a dash, and censure with a sneer; - Or from the Critic wrest a sinking cause, - Rejudge his justice, and repeal his laws; - Now half by judgment guided, half by whim, - I grasp disputed power, and tyrannise like him; - Food for the mind I seek; but who shall find - The food that satisfies the craving mind? - Like fire it rages; and its fatal rage - What pains can deaden, and what care assuage? - Choked by its fuel, though it clouded lies, - It soon eats through, and craves for new supplies; - Now here, now there, with sudden fury breaks - And to its substance turns whate’er it takes. - To weighty themes I fly with eager haste, - And skim their treasures like the man of taste; - From a few pages learn the whole design, } - And damn a book for one suspicious line, } - Or steal its sentiments, and call them mine! } - -=THE BIRTH OF FLATTERY=. ‘Original MS.’ readings given as footnotes -in Life and Poems (1834). - -_Instead of_ ll. 1-9: - - Muse of my Spenser, who so well could sing - The Passions, and the sources whence they spring; - Who taught the birth, the bearings, and the ties, - The strong connections, nice dependencies, - Of these the Foes of Virtue and the Friends, - With whom she rises and with whom descends-- - A Syren’s birth, a Syren’s power I trace, - Aid me, oh! Herald of the Fairy-race; - Say whence she sprang, to what strange fortune born, - And why we love and hate, desire and scorn. - -_instead of_ ll. 29-40: - - From whom she sprang, not one around her knew, - Nor why she came, nor what she had in view, - Labour she loved not, had no wealth in store, - Pursued no calling, yet was never poor, - A thousand gifts her various arts repaid, - And bounteous fairies blest the thriving maid; - For she had secret means of easy gains, - And Cunning was her name among the swains. - - -=SIR EUSTACE GREY=. ‘Original MS.’ readings given as footnotes in -Life and Poems (1834). - -_Instead of_ ll. 29-32: - - The worthy doctor, and a friend. - ’Tis more than kind to visit one - Who has not now to spare or spend. - -_instead of_ l. 75: - - Worms, doctor, worms, and so are we. - -_instead of_ ll. 100-7: - - Madman! shall He who made this all, - The parts that form the whole reject? - Is aught with him so great or small, - He cannot punish or protect? - Man’s folly may his crimes neglect, - And hope the eye of God to shun; - But there’s of all the account correct-- - Not one omitted--no, not one. - -_instead of_ ll. 144-7: - - Nay, frown not--chide not--but allow - Pity to one so sorely tried: - But I am calm--to fate I bow - And all the storms of life abide. - -_instead of_ ll. 260-7: - - Ills that no medicines can heal, - And griefs that no man can forget; - Whatever cares the mind can fret, - The spirits wear, the bosom gall-- - Pain, hunger, prison, duns, and debt - Foul-fiends and fear,--I’ve felt ye all. - -=THE HALL OF JUSTICE=. ‘Original MS.’ readings given as footnotes in -Life and Poems (1834). - -Part I. - -_Instead of_ ll. 9-12: - - What is my crime? a deed of love; - I fed my child with pilfer’d food: - Your laws will not the act approve, - The law of Nature deems it good. - -_instead of_ ll. 43-6: - - My years, indeed, are sad and few, - Though weak these limbs, and shrunk this frame: - For Grief has done what Time should do; - And I am old in care and shame. - -Part II. - -_instead of_ ll. 29-34: - - Compell’d to feast in full delight - When I was sad and wanted power, - Can I forget that dismal night? - Ah! how did I survive the hour? - -_instead of_ ll. 39-41: - - And there my father-husband stood-- - I felt no words can tell you how-- - As he was wont in angry mood, - And thus he cried, “Will God allow, - -Preface: p. 92, l. 21. _The following footnote to the words_, His -Dedication, _was omitted in Vol. I_: Neither of these were adopted. -The author had written, about that time, some verses to the memory of -Lord Robert Manners, brother to the late Duke of Rutland; and these, -by a junction, it is presumed, not forced or unnatural, form the -concluding part of “The Village.” - - END OF VOL. 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