beforeSomething that brought his Fanny to his view,

In the dear time when she was good and true; And his, it seem'd, were features that were

seen

With some emotion- she was not serene: And both were moved to ask what looks like those could mean. At first she colour'd to the deepest red, That hurried off, till all the rose was fled; She call'd a servant, whom she sent to rest, Then made excuse to her attentive guest; She own'd the thoughts confused,-'twas very true,

He brought a dear departed friend in view: Then, as he listen'd, bade him welcome there

With livelier looks and more engaging air, And stirr'd the fire of ling, and brush'd the wicker-chair,

Waiting his order with the cheerful look, That proved how pleasant were the pains she took.

He was refresh'd-They spake on various themes

Our early pleasures, Reason's first-drawn schemes,

Youth's strong illusions, Love's delirious

dreams:

prove, Though she deserved not, yet she prized your love: Long as she breathed was heard her William's name— And such affection half absolves her shame.

dear

I go? His looks spoke plainly, and the lady's, No: So down he sat, and when the clock struck

one

There was no start, no effort to be gone: Nor stay'd discourse-And so your loves were cross'd,

And the loved object to your wishes lost?
But was she faithless, or were you to blame?
I wish I knew her-Will you tell her name?
Excuse me that would hurt her if alive;
And, if no more, why should her fault
survive?-

But love you still?-Alas! I feel I do,
When I behold her very looks in you!-
Yet, if the frail one's name must not be
known,
My friendly guest may trust me with his own.

This done, the lady paused, and

then repliedIt grieves me much to see your spirit tried;

But she was like me,-how I came to know The lamb that stray'd I will hereafter show ;

I hold her yet!-But

To my loved Frances? With one who has her

dost thou give the

tear

No! I cannot part face, who has her heart;

Art thou not Frances?—O, my William! yes!
But spare me, spare thyself, and suffer less:
In my best days, the spring-time of my life,
I was not worthy to be William's wife;
A widow now-not poor, indeed-not cast
In outer darkness-sorrowing for the past,
And for the future hoping—but no more:
Let me the pledges of thy love restore,
And give the ring thou gavest-let it be
A token still of my regard for thee,
But only that, and to a worthier now
Consign the gift. The only worthy thou!
Replied the lover; and what more express'd
May be omitted-here our tale shall rest.

Saving and civil, cautious and discreet,
All sects and parties in their mansion meet;
There from their chapels teachers go to
share

The creature-comforts,-mockery grins not

there;

some

From all the neighbouring villages would

come;

There, as I stole the yew-tree shades among, I saw the parties walking, old and young, Where I was nothing-if perceived, they said,

cross'd

So live the pair,--and life's disasters seem In their unruffled calm a troubled dream; In comfort runs the remnant of their lifeHe the fond husband, she the faithful wife.

BOOK XX.

THE CATHEDRAL-WALK.

Is their discourse again the Brothers dwelt On early subjects what they once had felt, Once thought of things mysterious;themes that all

With some degree of reverence recal. George then reverted to the days of old, When his heart fainted, and his hope was cold;

When by the power of fancy he was sway'd, And every impulse of the mind obey'd. Then, my dear Richard, said the Squire, my

case

Was call'd consumptive--I must seek a place

And soil salubrious, thither must repair,
And live on asses' milk and milder air.
My uncle bought a farm, and on the land
The fine old mansion yet was left to stand,
Not in this state, but old and much decay'd;
Of this a part was habitable made;
The rest who doubts?-was by the spirits
seized,

Ghosts of all kinds, who used it as they pleased.

The worthy farmer-tenant yet remain'd,
Of good report—he had a fortune gain'd;
And his three daughters at their school
acquired

The air and manner that their swains
admired;
The mother-gossip and these daughters three
Talk'd of genteel and social company,
And while the days were fine, and walks
were clean,

A fresh assemblage day by day were seen.

In love, and has in part his senses lost;
His health for certain, and he comes to spend
His time with us; we hope our air will mend
A frame so weaken'd, for the learned tribe
A change of air for stubborn ills prescribe;
And doing nothing often has prevail'd
When ten physicians have prescribed and
'fail'd;

Not that for air or change there's much to

Much it amused me in the place to be
This harmless cypher, seeming not to see,
Yet seeing all, unnoticed to appear,
Yet noting all; and not disposed to hear,
But to go forth;-break in on no one's plan,
And hear them speak of the forsaken man.
In scenes like these, a mansion so decay'd,
With blighted trees in hoary moss array'd,
And ivy'd walls around, for many an hour
I walk'd alone, and felt their witching power;
So others felt ;-the young of either sex
Would in these walks their timid minds
perplex

By meeting terrors, and the old appear'd, Their fears upbraiding, like the young who fear'd;

Among them all some sad discourse at night
Was sure to breed a terrified delight:
Some luckless one of the attentive dames
Had figures seen like those within the frames,
Figures of lords who once the land possess'd,
And who could never in their coffins rest;
Unhappy spirits! who could not abide
The loss of all their consequence and pride,
'Twas death in all his power, their very
names had died.
These tales of terror views terrific bred,
And sent the hearers trembling to their bed.

In an autumnal evening, cool and still,
The sun just dropp'd beneath a distant hill,
The children gazing on the quiet scene,
Then rose in glory Night's majestic queen;

And pleasant was the chequer'd light and shade

Her golden beams and maple-shadows made; An ancient tree that in the garden grew, And that fair picture on the gravel threw. Then all was silent, save the sounds that make Silence more awful, while they faintly break; The frighten'd bat's low shriek, the beetle's hum,

With nameless sounds we know not whence they come.

Such was the evening; and that ancient seat The scene where then some neighbours chanced to meet;

Up to the door led broken steps of stone, Whose dewy surface in the moonlight shone; On vegetation, that with progress slow Where man forbears to fix his foot, will grow; The window's depth and dust repell'd the ray Of the moon's light and of the setting day; Pictures there were, and each display'd a face And form that gave their sadness to the place; The frame and canvass shew'd that worms

unseen,

cried:

A second fell, and he who did survive
Was kept by skill and sovereign drugs alive;
O! would she see me! he was heard to say,
No! I'll torment him to his dying day!
The maid exclaim'd, and every Thursday
night

been;

A fire of brushwood on the irons laid

All the dull room in fitful views display'd, And with its own wild light in fearful forms array'd.

In this old Hall, in this departing day, Assembled friends and neighbours, grave and gay,

When one good lady at a picture threw
A glance that caused inquiry-Tell us who?

That was a famous warrior; one, they said
That by a spirit was awhile obey'd;
In all his dreadful battles he would say,
Or win or lose, I shall escape to-day;
And though the shot as thick as hail came
round,

On no occasion he received a wound;
He stood in safety, free from all alarm,
Protected, heaven forgive him, by his charm:
But he forgot the date, till came the hour
When he no more had the protecting power;
And then he bade his friends around farewell!
I fall! he cried, and in the instant fell.
Behold those infants in the frame beneath!
A witch offended wrought their early death;
She form'd an image, made as wax to melt,
And each the wasting of the figure felt;
The hag confess'd it when she came to die,
And no one living can the truth deny.
But see a beauty in King William's days,
With that long waist, and those enormous
stays;

She had three lovers, and no creature knew
The one preferr'd, or the discarded two;
None could the secret of her bosom, see;
Loving, poor maid, th' attention of the
three,

Never! she answer'd, never while you live, You have my torment been, and I'll be yours! Nor when you die, as long as time endures; That is the lady, and the man confess'd Her vengeful spirit would not let him rest.

But are there ghosts? exclaim'd a timid maid;
My father tells me not to be afraid;
He cries when buried we are safe enough,

And calls such stories execrable stuff.
Your father, child, the former lady cried,
Has learning much, but he has too much pride;
It is impossible for him to tell
What things in nature are impossible,
Or out of nature, or to prove to whom
Or for what purposes a ghost may come;
It may not be intelligence to bring,
But to keep up a notion of the thing;
And though from one such fact there may
arise

An hundred wild improbabilities,
Yet had there never been the truth, I say,
The very lies themselves had died away.
True; said a friend, Heaven doubtless may
dispense

A kind of dark and clouded evidence;
God has not promised that he will not send
A spirit freed to either foc or friend;
He may such proof, and only such, bestow,
Though we the certain truth can never know;
And therefore though such floating stories
bring

No strong or certain vouchers of the thing.
Still would I not, presuming, pass my word
That all such tales were groundless and
absurd.

But you will grant, said one who sate beside. That all appear so when with judgment tried?

came,

A pleasing torpor steal upon my frame; But still the habit drew my languid feet To the loved darkness of the favourite seat; And there, by silence and by sadness press'd, I felt a world my own, and was at rest.

One night, when urged with more than usual zeal,

And feeling all that such enthusiasts feel,
I paced the altar by, the pillars round,
And knew no terror in the sacred ground;
For mine were thoughts that banish'd all
such fear,-

I wish'd, I long'd to have that form appear;
And, as I paced the sacred aisles, I cried:
Let not thy Emma's spirit be denied
The sight of thine; or, if I may not see,
Still by some token let her certain be!
At length the anxious thoughts my strength
subdued,

And sleep o'erpower'd me in my solitude;
Then was I dreaming of unearthly race,
The glorious inmates of a blessed place;
Where lofty, minds celestial views explore,
Heaven's bliss enjoy, and heaven's great King
adore;

Him there I sought whom I had loved so well

For sure he dwelt where happy spirits dwell!

While thus engaged, I started at a sound,
Of what I knew not, but I look'd around;
For I was borne on visionary wings,
And felt no dread of sublunary things;
But rising, walk'd—A distant window threw
A weak,soft light, that help'd me in my view;
Something with anxious heart I hoped to see,
And pray'd: O! God of all things, let it be!
For all are thine, were made by thee, and thou
Canst both the meeting and the means allow;
Thou canst make clear my sight, or thou
canst make

More gross the form that his loved mind shall take,

Canst clothe his spirit for my fleshly sight, Or make my earthly sense more pure and bright.

So was I speaking, when without a sound
There was a movement in the sacred ground:
I saw a figure rising, but could trace
No certain features, no peculiar face;
But I prepared my mind that form to view,
Nor felt a doubt,—he promised,and was true!
I should embrace his angel, and my clay,
And what was mortal in me, melt away.

late

And make me pass to that immortal state: Thus shall I pay the debt that must be paid, And dying live, nor be by death delay'd ; | And when so changed, I should with joy sustain

The heavenly converse, and with him remain.
I saw the distant shade, and went with awe,
But not with terror, to the form I saw :
Yet slowly went, for he I did believe
Would meet, and soul to soul his friend
receive;

So on I drew, concluding in my mind,
I cannot judge what laws may spirits bind;
Though I dissolve, and mingle with the blest,
I am a new and uninstructed guest,
And ere my love can speak, he should be first
address'd.

Thus I began to speak,—my new-born pride,
My love, and daring hope, the words supplied.
Dear, happy shade! companion of the good,
The just, the pure, do I on thee intrude?
Art thou not come my spirit to improve,
To form, instruct, and fit me for thy love,
And, as in love we parted, to restore
The blessing lost, and then to part no more?
Let me with thee in thy pure essence dwell,
Nor go to bid them of my house farewell,
But thine be ever!-How shall I relate
Th' event that finish'd this ecstatic state?
Yet let me try.-It turn'd, and I beheld
An hideous form, that hope and zeal expell'd :
In a dim light the horrid shape appear'd,
That wisdom would have fled, and courage
fear'd,

Pale, and yet bloated, with distorted eyes
Distant and deep, a mouth of monstrous size,
That would in day's broad glare a simple
maid surprise :

He heard my words, and cried, with savage shout, Bah! - bother! — blarney! — What is this about? Love, lover, longing, in an instant fled.— Now I had vice and impudence to dread; And all my high-wrought fancies died away To woman's trouble, terror, and dismay. What, said the wretch, what is it you would have?

Wouldst hang a man for peeping in a grave? Search me yourself, and try if you can feel Aught I have taken, there was nought to steal:

"Twas told they buried with the corpse

enough

To pay the hazard,—I have made the proof, Nor gain'd a tester-What I tell is true; But I'm no fool, to be betray'd by you,— I'll hazard nothing, curse me if I do!

how;

But hid the dread; and I resolved at least Not to expose it to the powerful beast.