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And I am all a tempest, whii I'd around
By dreadful thoughts, that fright me and

confound;—
1 would I saw him on the earth laid low!
I wish the fate, bnt must not gii e thehlow!
So thinks a man when thoughtful; he prefers
A life of peace till man his anger stirs,
Then all the effort* of his reason cease.
And he forgets how plensant was that peace;
Till the wild passions what they seek obtain,
And then he sinks into his calm again.

Now met the. lawless clan,—in secret met, And down at their convivinl hoard were set; The plans in view to pnst adventures led, And the past conflicts present nnger bred; They siglf d for pleasures gone, they groan'd

for heroes dead: Their ancient stores were rifled , — strong

desires Awaked, and wine rekindled latent fires. It was a night such bold desires to move, Strong winds and wintry torrents fill'd the

'grove; The crackling boughs that in the forest fell. The cawing rooks, the cur's affrightcn'd

yell; The scenes above the wood, the floods below. Were mix'd, and none the single sound could

know; Loud blow the blasts, they cried, and call us

as they blow. In such a night—and then the heroes told What had been done in better times of old; How they had conquer'd all opposed to them, By force in part, in part by strntagem; And ns the tales inflamed the fiery crew, What had been done they then prepared to do; 'Tis a last night! they said—the angry blast And roaring floods scem'd answering 'tis a

last!

James knew they met, Tor he had spies about, Grave, sober men, whom none presumed to

doubt; For if suspected they had soon been tried Where fears are evidence, and doubts decide: But these escaped — Now James companions

took, Sturdy and bold, with terror-stirring look; He had before, by informations led, Left the afflicted partner of his bed; Awaked his men', and through plantations

wide, Deep woods, nnd trackless ling, had been

their guide; And then return'd to wake the pitying wife, And hear her tender terrors for his life. But in this night a sure informer came, They were assembled who attack'd his game; Who more than once had through the park

made way, And slnin the dappled breed, or vnw'd to

slay;

The trembling spy had heard the solemn vow. And need and vengeance both inspired them

now. The keeper early had retired to rest For brief repose; — sad thoughts his mind

possess'd; In his short sleep he started from his bed, And nsk'd in fancy's terror: Is hi- dead? There was a call below, when James Awoke. Rose from his bed, and arms to aid him took. Not all defensive!—there his helpers stood, Arm'd like hiinsilf.and hastening to the wood.

Why tills V he said,for Rachel pour'd her tears
Profuse, that spoke involuntary fears:
Sleep.l hat so early thou for us mayst wake.
And we our comforts in return may take;
Sleep, and fnrewcll! he said, and took his way.
And the sad wife in neither could obey;
She slept not nor well fared,but restless dwelt
On her past life, nnd past afflictions felt;
The man she loved the brother and the foe
Of him she married!— It had wrought her woe;
Not that she loved, but pitied, and that now
Was, so she fear'd, infringement of her vow:
James too was civil, though she must confess
That his was not her kind of happiness;
That he would shoot the man who shot a hare
Was what her timid conscience could not bear;
But still she loved him—wondcr'd where he

stray'd
In this loud night! nnd if he were afraid.
More than one hour she thought, and drop-
ping then
In sudden sleep.cried loudly: Spare him. men!
And do no murder!—then awaked she rose.
And thought no more of trying for repose.
"i'm as post the dead of night, when every

sound That nature mingles might be heard around; But none from man,—man's feeble voice was

hush'd, Where rivers swelling roar'd. and woods

were crush'd; Hurried by these, the wife could sit no more.But must the terrors of the night explore. Softly she left her door, her garden-gnte. And scem'd as then committed to her fate; To every horrid thought and doubt a prey. She hurried on, already lost her way; Oft as she glided on in thnt sad night. She stopp'd to listen, and she look'd for light; An hour shewandcr'd, and was still to learn Aught of her husband's safety or return: A sudden break of heavy clouds could show A place she knew not,but she strove to know: Still further on she crept with trembling feet. With hope a friend, with fear a foe to meet: And there was something fearful in the sight, And in the sound of what apprar'd to-nigbt; For now, of night and nervous terror bwd. Arose a strong and superstitious dread; She heard strange noises, and the shapes

she saw Of fancied beings bound her soul in awe.

The moon was risen, and she sometimes shone

Through thick white clouds, that flew tumultuous on,

Passing beneath her with an eagle's speed,

That her soft light imprison'd and then freed;

The fitful glimmering through the hedgerow green

Gave a strange beauty to the changing scene;

And roaring winds and rushing waters lent

Their mingled voice that to the spirit went.

To these she listen'd; but new sounds were heard,

And sight more startling to her soul appear'd;

There were low lengthen'd tones with sobs between,

And near at hand, but nothing yet was seen;

She hurried on, and : Who is there ? she cried.

A dying wretch!—was from the enrth replied.

It was her lover—was the man she gave,

The price she paid, himself from death to save;

With whom, expiring, she must kneel and

pray*

While the soul flitted from the shivering clay That press'd the dewy ground, and bled its

life away! This was the part that duty bade her take, Instant and ert- her feelings were.awake; Bat now they waked to anguish ; there came

then, Harrying with lights, loud-speaking, eager

men. And here, my lord, we met—And who is here? The keeper's wife—Ah! woman, go not near! There lies the man that was the head of all— See, in his temples went the fatal ball! And Junes that instant, who was then our

guide, Frit in his heart the adverse shot, nnd died! It was a sudden meeting, and the light Of a dull moon made indistinct our fight; He foremost fell!—But see. the woman creeps Like a lost thing, that wanders as she sleeps. See, here her husband's body—but she knows That other dead ! and that her action shows. Rachel! why look you at your mortal foe Y— She does not hear us—Whither will she go? Now, more attentn e, on the dead they gazed, Aad they were brothers: sorrowing and

amazed, On all a momentary silence came, A common softness, and a moral shame. Seized vou the poachers? said my lord—

They fled. And we pursued not.—one of them was dead. And one of us; they hurried through the

wood. Two lives were gone, and we no more pursued. Two lives of men. of valiant brothers lost! Enough, my lord, do hares and pheasants cost!

So many thought, and there is found a heart To dwell upon the deaths on either part;

Since this their morals have been more

i correct,

The cruel spirit in the place is check'd; His lordship holds not in such sacred care, Nor takes such dreadful vengeance for n bare; The smugglers fear, the poacher stands in awe Of Heaven's own act, and reverences the law; There was, there is a terror in the place That operates on man's offending race; Such acts will stamp their moral on the soul, And while the bad they threaten and control, Will to the pious and the humble say, Yours is the right, the safe, the certain way, lis wisdom to be good, 'tis virtue to obey.

So Rachel thinks,the pure,the good,the meek, Whose outward acts the inward purpose

speak; As men will children at their sports behold. And smile to see them, though unmoved and

cold, Smile at the recollected games, and then Depart and mix in the affairs of men: So Rachel looks upon the world, nnd sees It cannot longer pain her, longer please, But just detain the passing thought, or cause A gentle smile of pity or applause; And then the recollected soul repairs Her slumbering hope, and heeds her own

affairs.

BOOK XXII.

THE VISIT CONCLUDED.

No letters,Tom?said Richard—None to-day.

Excuse me, Brother, I must now nway;

Matilda never in her life so long

Deferr'd — Alas! there must be something wrong!

Comfort! snid George.anil all he could he lent;

Wait till your promised day, and I consent;

Two days, and those of hope, may cheerfully be spent.

And keep your purpose, to review the place.

My choice; and I beseech you do it grace:

Mark each apartment, their proportions learn,

And either use or elegance discern;

Look o'er the land, the gardens, and their wall.

Find out the something to admire in all;

And should you praise them in a knowing style,

I'll take it kindly—it is well—a smile.

Richard must now his morning-visits pay,
And bid farewell! for he must go away.
He sought the Hector first, not lately seen,
F'or he had absent from his parish been;

Farcwel I! the younger man with feeling cried. Farewell! the cold but worthy priest replied; When do you leave us? —I have days but

two! 'Tig a short time—hut, well—Adieu, adieu! Now here ig one, Raid Kiehard, ag he went To the next friend in pensive discontent, With whom I sate in social, friendly ease, Whom I respected, whom I wish'd to please; Whose love profegg'd I qucstimfd not wag

true, And now to hear his heartless: Well! adieu! But 'tis not well—and he a man of sense, Grave, hut yet looking strong- benevolence; Whose slight acerbity and roughness told To his advantage; yet the man is cold! Nor will he know, when rising in the morn, That such a being to the world was born. Arc such the friendships we contract in life? O! give me then the friendship of a wife! Adieus, nay, parting-pains to us are sweet, They make go glad the moments when we

meet. For though we look not for regard intense. Or warm professions in a man of sense, Yet in the daily intercourse of mind I thought that found which I desired to find, Feeling and frankness—thug it seem'd to me, And such farewell!—Well, Rector, let it he!

Of the fair Sisters then he took hig leave, Forget he could not.lie must think and grieve, jM list the impression of their wrongs retain, Their very patience ndding to his pain; And still the better they their sorrows bore, His friendly nature made h in feel them more. He judged they must have many a heavy hour When the mind suffers from a want of power; When troubled long we find our strength

decny'd. And cannot then reeal our better aid; For to the mind ere yet that aid bus flown. Grief has possesg'd and made it all his own; And patiencesutlers.till.w itli gathcr'il might. The scattered forces of the soul unite. Hut few and short such times of suffering

were In Lucy's mind, and brief the reign of care. Jane had, indeed, her flights, but had in them What we could pity but must not condemn; For they were always pure and oft Riiblime, And such as triumph'cl over earth and time. Thoughts of eternal love that souls possess. Foretaste divine of Heaven's own happiness. Oft had he seen them, and esteem had sprung In his free mind for maids so sad and young. So good and grieving, and hig place wag high In their egteem, hig friendly brother's nigh. Rut yet beneath; and when he snid adieu! Their tone was kind, and was responsive too. Carting was painful; when ndieu he cried. You will return? the gentle girls replied; You must return; your Brother knows yon

now, But to exist without you knowg not how;

Has he not told us of the lively joy
He takes — forgive us — in the Brother-boy 1
Ho ig alone and pengive; yon can give
Pleasure to one by whom a number live
In daily comfort — sure for this you met,
That for hig debtors you might pay a debt—
The poor are i al I'd ungrateful, but yon, atill
Will have their thanks for this—indeed you
will.

Richard but little gaid, for he of late
Held with himself contention and debate.
My Brother loves me, hig regard I know.
But will not sneh aiTection weary grow?
He kindly gays: defer the parting day;
But yet may w ish me in big heart away;
Nothing but kindness I in him perceive.
In me 'tig kindness Uien to take my leave;
Why should I grieve if he should weary be ¥
There have been vigHorg who wearied me;
He yet may love, and we may part in peace.
Nay, in affection — novelty mugt ceage —
Man ig but man; the thing he most desires
Pleases awhile—then pleases not—then tires;
George to hig former habits and his friends
Will now return, and go my vigit endg.
Thus Kiehard communed with his heart; bat

still He found opposed his reason and his will. Found that his thoughts were busy in this

train, And he was striving to he calm in vain. These thoughts were passing while he yet

forbore 'l'o leave the friends whom he might see no

more.

Then came a chubby child and sought relief.
Sobbing in all the impotence of grief;
A full fed girl she was, with ruddy cheek.
And features coarse, that grosser feelings

speak,
To whom another miss, with passions strong.
And slender list, had done some baby-wrong.
On Lucy's gentle mind had Harlow wrought
To teach this child, whom she had labouring

taught With unpaid love—this unproductive brain Would little comprehend, and less retain. A farmer's daughter, with redundant lie.il t li And double Lucy's weight and Lucy's wealth. Had won the man's regard, and he with her Possess'd the treasure vulgar minds prefer; A man of thrift, and tliriv ing, he possess'd What he esteem'd of earthly good the best; And Lucy's well-stored mind had not a ■ hann For this true lover of the well-stock'd fangs. This slave to petty wealth and rustic toil. This earth-devoted wooer of the soil:— Hut she with meekness took the wayward

child, And sought to make the satage nature mild. But .lane her judgment with decision gave— Train not an idiot to oblige a slate.

And where is Bloomer? Richard would hare

naid, But he was rnutiniis, feeling, and nfrnid; And little either of the hero knew, And little longht—he might be married too. Not to hi* home, the morning-visits past, Retorn'd the guest—that evening was his

liiht.

lie met his Brother, and they spoke of those, From whom his comforts in the village rose; Spoke of the favourites, whom so good and

kind It was peculiar happiness to find: Then for the sisters in their griefs they felt, Aid, sad themselves, on saddening subjects

dwelt. Hut George was willing all this woe to spare, And let to-morrow be to-morrow's care: He of his purchase talk'd—a tbing of course, Ai men will boldly praise a new-bough t horse. Richard was not to all its beauty blind. And promised still to seek, with hope to find: The price indeed — Yes, that, said George,

is high; Bnt if I bought not, one was sure to buy, Who might the social comiorts we enjoy, And every comfort lessen or destroy. We must not always reckon what we give, Bat think how precious 'tis in peace to live; Some neighbour Nimrod might in very pride Hue stirr'd my anger, and have then defied; Or worse, have loved, and teased me to excess Br his kind care to give me happiness; Or might his lady and her daughters bring To raise my spirits, to converse, and sing: Twas not the benefit alone I view'd, Bnt thought what horrid things I might exclude. Some party-man might here have sat him

down, Some eountry-champion,railing at the crown, Or tome true rn u rt ier, hot h prepared to prove, Who loved not tliem, could not their country love: If we have value for our health and ease, Should we not buy off enemies like these? So pass'd the evening in a quiet way. When, lo! the morning of the parting day.

£trh to the table went with clouded look. And George in silence gazed nunn a book; Something that chance had offer'd to his

view,— Hrknew not what, or cared not, if he knew. Kirhard his hand upon a paper laid,— His vacant eye npon the carpet stray'd; Hit tongue was talking something of the day, And his vex'd mind was wandering on his way. They spake by fits,—but neither had concern In the replies.—they nothing wish'd to learn, Nor to relate; each sat as one who tries To baffle sadnesses and sympathies:

Each of his Brother took a steady view,— As actor he, and as observer too.

Itichard,wh ose heart was ever free and frank,

Had now a trial, and before it sank:

He thought his Brother—parting now so

near— Appear'd not as his Brother should appear; He could as much of tenderness remark When parting for a ramble in the park. Yet, is it just? he thought; and would I see My Brother wretched but to part with me? What can he further in my mind explore? He saw enough, and he would see no more: Happy himself, he wishes now to slide Back to his habits—He is satisfied; But I am not—this ennnot be denied. He has been kind,—so let me think him still; Yet he expresses not a wish, a will To meet again ! —And thus affection strove With pride, and petulance inndc war on love: He thought his Brother cool—he knew him

kind— And there was sore division in his mind.

Hours yet remain,—'tis misery to sit
With minds for conversation all unfit;
No evil can from change of place arise,
And good will spring from air and exercise:
Suppose I take the purposed ride with you,
And guide your jaded praise to objects new,
That buyers see?—And Richard gave assent
Without resistance, and without intent:
He liked not nor declined, — and forth the
Brothers went.

Come, my dear Richard! let us cast away
All evil thoughts,—let us forget the day,
And fight like men with grief till we like

boys are gay. Thus George,— and even this in Richard's

mind Was judged an effort rather wise than kind; This flow'd from something he observed of

late, And he could feel it, but he could not state: He thought some change appear'd, —yet

tail d to prove, Even as he tried, abatement in the love; But in his Brother's manner was restraint That he could feel, and yet he could not paint. That they should part in peace full well he

knew, But much he fear'd to part with coolness too: George had been peevish when the subject

rose, And never fail'd the parting to oppose; Name it, and straight his features cloudy

grew To stop the journey as the clouds will do;— And thus they rode along in pensive mood, Their thoughts pursuing., by their cares

pursued.

Kicliaril. said George, I see it is in vain
By love or prayer my brother to retain;
And, truth to tell, it was a foolish tiling
A man like thee from thy repose to bring
Ours to disturb-—Say, how am I to live
Without the comforts thou art wont to give?
How will the heavy hours my mind nfflict,—
No one t' agree, no one to contradict,
None to awake, excite me, or prevent.
To hear a tale, or hold nn argument,
To help ray worship in a case of doubt,
And bring me in my blunders fairly out.
Who now by manners lively or serene
Comes between me and sorrow like a screen,
And giving, what I look'd not to have found,
A care, au interest in the world around V

Silent was Richard, striving to adjust
His thoughts for speech, — for speak, lie

thought, he must: Something like war within his bosom

strove— His mild, kind nnture, and his proud selflove: Grateful he was,and with his courage meek,— But he was hurt, and he resolved to speak: Yes, my dear Brother! from my soul I grieve Thee and the proofs of thy regard to leave: Thou hast been all that I could wish,—my

pride Exults to find that I am thus allied: Yet to express a feeling, how it came, The pain it gives, its nature and its name, I know not,—but of late, I will confess, Not that thy love is little, but is less. Hadst thou received rae in thy present mood, Sure 1 hail held thee to be kind and good; But thou wcrt all the warmest heart could

state, Affection dream, or hope anticipate; I must have wearied thee yet day by day,— Stay! said my Brother, and 'twas good to

stay; But now, forgive me, thinking I perceive Change undefined, and as I think I grieve. Have I offended?—Proud although I be, I will be humble, and concede to thee: Have I intruded on tliee when thy mind Was v ex'd, and then to solitude inclined? O! there are times when all things will molest Minds so disposed, so hem y. so oppress'd; And thine, I know, is delicate and nice, Sickening at folly, and at war with vice: Then, at a time when thou wert vex'd with

these, I have intruded, let affection tease, And so offended.—Richard, if thou hast, 'Tis at this instant, nothing in the past: No. t h ou art all a Brother's love would choose; And, having lost thee, I shall interest lose In all that I possess: I pray thee tell Wherein thy host has fail'd to please thee

well,— Do I neglect thy comforts?—O! not thou, But art thyself uncomfortable now,

And 'tis from thee and from thy look* I gain This painful knowledge — 'tis my Brother's

pain; And yet that something in my spirit lives. Something that spleen excites and sorrow

gives, I may confess,—for not in thee I trace Alone this change, it is in all the place: Smile if thou wilt in scorn, for I am glad A smile at any rate is to be had. But there is Jacques, who ever seem'd to

treat Thy Brother kindly as we chanced to meet; N or with thee only pleased our worthy guide. But in the hedge-row path and green-wood

side. There he would speak with that familiar ease That makes a trifle, makes a nothing please. But now to ray farewell,.—and that I spoke With honest sorrow,—with a careless look, Gazing unalter'd nn some stupid prose— His sermon for the Sunday 1 suppose,— Gning?said he: why then the Squire and yon Will part at last—You're going? — Well.

adieu! True, we were not in friendship bound like

those Who will adopt each other's friends and foes. Without esteem or hatred of their own,— But still we were to intimacy grown; And sure of Jacques when I had taken leave It would have grieved me,—and it ought

to grieve; But I in him could not affection trace,— Careless he put his sermons in their plans With no more feeling than his sermon-rase. Not so those generous girls beyond the

brook,— It quite unmann'd mc as my leave I took.

But, my dear Brother! when I takeat flight.
In my own home, and in their mother's sight,
By turns my children, or together sec
A pnir contending for the vacant knee,
When to Matilda I begin to tell
What in my visit first and last befell—
Of this your village, of her tower and spire.
And, above all, her Rector and her Squire.
How will the tale be marr'd when I shall

end— I left displeased the Brother and the friend T

Nay, Jacqups is honest—Marry, he was then Engaged—What! part an author and hi* pen? Jnst in the fit, and when th' inspiring ray Shot on his brain, t' arrest it in its way! Come, thou shall see him in an easier vein. Nor of his looks nor of his words complain: Art thou content?—If Richard had replied, I am, his manner had his words belied: Even from his Brother's cheerfulness be

drew Something to vex him—what, he scarcely

knew:

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