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So he evading Raid: My evil fate
I'pon my comforts throws a gloom of late:
Matilda writes not; and, when last she wrote,
I read no letter—'twas a trader's note,— .
Yonrs I received, and all that formal prate
That ia so hateful, that she knows I hate.
Drjection reigns, I feel, hut cannot tell
»hy upon me the dire infection fell:
Madmen may say that they alone are sane,
And all beside have a distemper'd brain;
Something like this I feel, — and I include
Myself among the frantic multitude:
But, come, Matilda writes, although hut ill,
And home has health.and that is comfort still.

George stopp'd his horse, and with the

kindest look Spoke to his Brother,—earnestly he spoke, Ai one who to his friend his heart reveals, And all the hazard with the comfort feels: Soon as I loved thee, Richard,—and I loved Before my reason had the will approved, Who yet right early had her sanction lent, And with affection in her verdict went,— So soon I felt, that thus a friend to gain, And then to lose, is hnt to purchase pain: Daily the pleasure grew, then sad the day That takes it all in its increase away! ratient thou wert, and kind, — but well I

knew The husband's wishes, and the father's too; 1 aw how check'd they were, and yet in

secret grew: Ooee and again I urged thee to delay Thj purposed journey, still deferr'd the day, Aod rtill on its approach the pain increased, Till my request and thy compliance ceased; I toald not further thy affection task, w more of one so self-resisting ask; Bot yet to lose thee, Richard, and with thee AH hope of social joys—it cannot he. *'•» could I bear to meet thee as a hoy ■rom school, his parents, to obtain a joy, 1 hat lessens day hy day, and one will soon

destroy. *•! I would have thee, Brother, all my own, To |rrow beside me as my trees have grown; 'or ever near me, pleasant in my sight. And is my mind, my pride and rav delight. Yrt will I tell thee, Richard; had I found Hi? mind dependent and thy heart unsound, TMd«t thou been poor, obsequious, and dis

posed "ith any wish or measure to have closed, Willing on me and gladly to attend, Jhe younger brother, the convenient friend; Th» speculation ita reward had made bile other ventures—thou hadst gain'd in ^^ trade;

"h*t reason urged, or Jacques esteem'd

thy due, Thine had it been, and I, a trader too, •lad paid my debt, and home my Brother

sent, nor glad nor sorry that ho came or went;

Who to his wife and children would have told,

They had an uncle, and the man was old;

Till every girl and hoy had learn'd to prate

Of uncle George, his gout, nnd his estate.

Thus had we parted; hut as now thou art,

I must not lose thee—No! I ennnot part;

Is it in human nature to consent,

To give up all the good that heaven has lent,

All social ease and comfort to forego,

And live ngain the solitary? No!

We part no more, dear Richard! thou wilt

need Thy Brother's help to teach thy hoys to read; And I should love to hear Matilda's psalm, To keep my spirit in a morning-calm, And feel the soft devotion that prepares The soul to rise above its earthly cares; Then thou and I, an independent two, Mny have our parties, and defend them too; Thy liberal notions, and my loyal fears; Will give us subjects for our future years; We will for truth alone contend and read, And our good Jacques shall oversee our creed.

Such were my views; and I had quickly made Some bold attempts my Brother to persuade To think as I did; but I knew too well, Whose now thou wert, with whom thou

wert to dwell; And why, I said, return him doubtful home, Six months to argue if he then would come Some six months after? nnd, beside, I know That all the happy are of course the slow; And thou at home art happy, there wilt stay, Dallying 'twixt will nnd will-not many a day, And fret the gloss of hope, and hope itself


Jacques is my friend ; to him I gave my heart:
You see my Brother, see I would not part;
Wilt thou an embassy of love disdain?
Go to this sister, and my views explain;
Gloss o'er my failings, paint me with a grace
That Love beholds, put meaning in my face;
Describe that dwelling; talk how well we live,
And nil its glory to our village give;
Praise the kind sisters whom we love so much,
And thine own virtues like an artist touch.
Tell her, and here my secret purpose show,
That no dependence shall my sister know;
Hers all the freedom that she loves shall be,
And mine the debt,—then press her to agree;
Say, that my Brother's wishes wait on hers,
And his affection what she wills prefers.

Forgive me, Brother,—these my words and

more Our friendly Rector to Matilda bore; At large, at length, were all my views ex

plain'd, And to my joy my wishes I nbtain'd. Dwell in that house, and we shall still be near, Absence and parting I no more shall fear;

Dwell in thy home, and at thy will exclude All who shall dare upon thee to intrude. Again thy pardon,—'twas not my design To give surprise; a better view was mine: But let it pass—and yet I wish'd to see That meeting too: and happy may it be!

Thus George had spoken, and then look'd

around, And smiled as one who then his road had

found; Follow ! he cried,and briskly urged his horse: Richard was puzzled, but obey'd of course; He was affected like a man astray, Lost, but yet knowing something of the way; Till a wood clear'd, that still conccal'd the

view, Richard the purchase of his Brother knew; And something flash'd upon his mind not clear, But much with pleasure mix'd, in part with

fear; As one who wandering through a stormy

night Sees his own home, and gladdens at the sight, Yet feels some doubt if fortune had decreed That lively pleasure in such time of need; So Richard felt—but now the mansion came In view direct,—he knew it for the same; There too the garden-walk, the elms design'd To guard the peaches from the eastern wind; And there the sloping glass, that when he

shines Gives the sun's vigour to the ripening vines— It is my Brother's!—No! he answers, No! 'tin to thy own possession that we go; It is thy wife's, and will thy children's be, Earth, wood, and water!—all for thine and

thea; Bought in thy name — Alight, my friend,

and come, I do beseech thee, to thy proper home; There wilt thou soon thy own Matilda view, She knows our deed, and she approves it too; Before her all our views and plans were laid, And Jacques was there t' explain and to persuade.

Here, on this lawn, thy boys and girls shall

run, And play their gambols when their tasks are

done; There, from that window, shall their mother

view The happy tribe, and smile at all they do; While thou, more gravely, hiding thy

delight, Shalt cry: O! childish! and enjoy the sight.

Well, my dear Richard, there's no more to

sayStay, as you will—do any thing—but stay; Be, I dispute not, steward—what you will. Take your own name, but be my Brother

still. And hear mc, Richard! if I should offend. Assume the patron, and forget the friend; If aught in word or manner I express. That only touches on thy happiness; If I be peevish, humoursome, unkind, Spoil'd as I am by each subservient mind; For I iim humour'd by a tribe who make Me more capricious for the pains they take To make me quiet; shouldst thou ever feet A wound from this, this leave not time tn

heal, But let thy wife her cheerful smile withhold. Let her be civil, distant, cautious, cold; Then shall I woo forgiveness, and repent. Nor bear to lose the blessings Heaven has leut

But this was needless — there was joy of

heart, All felt the good that all desired t' impart; Respect, affection, and esteem combined. In sundry portions ruled in every mind; And o'er the whole an unobtrusive air Of pious joy, that urged the silent prayer. And bless'd the new-born feelings — Hert

we close Our Tale of Tales! —Health, reader,





I Ton porro puer (ut axvia prnjectna ab nndia, | Navita) nudua humi Jacet infana indigoa omni Viiali aniilio,—

I ifiraquc locum lugiibri eomplet, nt iquum eat, Cu taauun in vita reatat Iransirc malorum.

las year revolves, and I again explore The simple annals of my parish-poor; Vi hat infant-members in my flock appear, What pairs I bless'd in the departed year; Aulwho,ofoldoryoung,or nymphs or swains, Are lost to life, its pleasures and its pains. No Mu»e I ask, before my view to bring The humble actions of the swains I sing. Il'iw pass'd the youthful, how the old their

days; W ho anV in sloth.and who aspired to praise; Their tempers^nanners, nioralg,ciistoms,arts, What parts they had, and how they 'mploy'd

their parts; Bj what elated, soothed, seduced, depress'd, Foil well I know—these records give the rest, b there a place, save one the poet sees, I land of love, of liberty and ease; W here labour wearies not, nor cares suppress TV eternal flow of rustic linppiness; Wbere no proud mansion frowns in awful

state, Or Leep* the sunshine from the cottage-gate; Where voting and old , intent on pleasure,

throng, Au half man's life is holiday and song? '*» search for scenes like these! no view

appears, Bj sighs unruffled or unstain'd by tears; Since Vice the world subdued and waters

drown'd, tnburn and Eden can no more be found. Heaee good and evil mix'd, but man has

skill And power to part them, when he feels the

wiU! Tail, rare, and patience bless th' abstemious

few, fear, ahame, and want the thoughtless herd

pursue. BVhsUl the cot! where thrives th' industrious swain, Source of bis pride, his pleasure, and his gain; SrrcriTd from the winter's wind, the sun's

last rny Smiles on the window and prolongs the day;

Projecting thatch the woodbine's branches

stop, And turn their blossoms to the casement's top: All need requires is in that cot contain'd, And much that Taste untaught and unre

strain'd Surveys delighted; there she loves to trace, In one gay picture, all the royal rnce; Around the walls are heroes, lovers, kings; The print that shows them and the verse

that sings. Here the last Lewis on his throne is seen, And there he stands im prison'd,and his queen; To these the mother takes her child, and

shows What grateful duty to his God he owes; Who gives to him a happy home, where he Lives and enjoys his freedom with the free; When kings and queens, dethroned, insulted,

tried, Are all these blessings of the poor denied. There is King Charles, and all his Golden

Rules, Who proved Misfortune's was the best of

schools: And there his son, who, tried by years of pain, Proved that misfortunes may be sent in vain. The magic-mill that grinds the gran'nanig

young, Close at the side of kind Godiva hung; She, of her favourite place the pride and joy, Of charms at once most lavish and most coy, By wanton act the purest fame could raise, And give the boldest deed the chastest praise. There stands the stoutest Ox in England fed; There fights the boldest Jew, Whitechnpel

bred; And here Saint Monday's worthy votaries

live, In all the joys that ale and skittles give. Now lo! in Egypt's coast that hostile fleet, By nations dreaded and by Nelson beat; And here shall soon another triumph come, A deed of glory in a day of gloom; Distressing glory! grievous boon of fate! The proudest conquest, at the dearest rate. On shelf of deal beside the cuckoo-clock. Of cottage-reading rests the chosen stock; Learning we lack, not books, but have a kind For all our wants, a meat for every mind: The talc for wonder and the joke for whim. The half-sung sermon and the half-groan'd

hymn. No need of classing; each within its place The feeling finger in the dark can trace; First from the corner, farthest from the wall. Such all the rules, and they suffice for all.

There pinna works for Sunday's use are found;

Companions for that Bible newly bound;

That Bible,bought by sixpence weekly saved,

Has choicest prints by famous hands engraved;

Has choicest notes by many a famous head,

Such as to doubt hare rustic readers led;

Have made them stop to reason why? and how?

And, where they once agreed, to cavil now.

O! rather give me commentators plain,

Who with no deep researches vex the brain;

Who from the dark and doubtful love to run,

And hold their glimmering tapers to the sun;

Who simple truth with nine-fold reasons back,

And guard the point no enemies attack.

Bunyan's famed Pilgrim rests that shelf upon,

A genius rare but rude was honest John;

Not one who, early by the Muse beguiled,

Drank from her well the wnters undefined;

Not one who slowly gain'd the hill sublime,

Then often sipp'd and little at a time;

But one who dabbled in the sacred springs,

And drank them muddy, niix'd with baser things.

Here to interpret dreams we read the rules,

Science our own ! and never taught in schools;

In moles and specks we Fortune's gifts discern,

And Fate's fix'd will from Nature's wanderings Irani.

Of Hermit Quarle we read, in island rare,

Far from mankind and seeming far from care;

Safe from all want, and sound in every limb;

Yes! there was he , and there was care with him.

Unbound and heap'd, these valued works beside,

liny humbler works, the pedlar's pack supplied;

Yet these, long since, have all acquired a name;

The wandering Jew has found his way to fame;

And fame, denied to many a lnbour'd song.

Crowns Thumb the great, and Hickerthrift the strong.

There too is he, by wizard-power upheld.

Jack , by whose arm the giant-brood were qucll'd:

His shoes of swiftness on his feet he placed;

His coat of darkness on his loins he braced;

His sword of sharpness in his hand he took,

And off the heads of doughty giants stroke:

Their glaring eyes beheld no mortal near;

No sound of feet alarm'd the drowsy ear;

No English blood their pagan sense could smell,

But heads dropt heudlong, wondering why they fell.

These are the peasant's joy, when, placed

at ease, Half his delighted offspring mount his knees. To every cot the lord's indulgent mind tins a small space for garden-ground assign'd: Here—till return of morn dismiss'd the

farm— The careful peasant plies the sinewy arm. Warm'd as he works,and casts his look around On every foot of that improving ground: It is hi* own he sees; his master's eye Peers not about, some secret fault to spy; Nor voice severe is there, nor censure

known;— Hope, profit, pleasure,—they are all his own. Here grow the humble civ en, and, hard by

them, The leek with crown globose and reedy

stem; High climb his pulse in many an even row. Deep strike the ponderous roots in soil

below; And herbs of potent smell and pungent

taste, Give a warm relish to the night's repast. Apples and cherries grafted by his hand. And cluster'd nuts for neighbouring market

stand. Nor thus concludes his labour; near the

cot. The reed-fenee rises round some fav'rite spot; Where rich carnations, pinks with purple

eyes, Proud hyacinths.the least some florist's prize. Tulips tail - steium'd and pounced auriculas

rise. Here on a Snnday-eve, when sen ice ends. Meet and rejoice a family of friends; All speak aloud, are happy and are free. And glad they seem, and gaily they agree. What, though fastidious ears may shun

the speech, Where all are talkers and where none can

teach; Where still the welcome and the words »re

old, And the same stories are for ever told; Yet theirs is joy thnt,bursting from the heart. Prompts the glad tongue these nothings to

impart; That forms these tones of gladness we despise. That lifts their steps , that sparkles in their

eyes; That talks or laughs or runs or shouts or

plays, And speaks in all their looks and all their

ways. Fair scenes of pence! ye might detain as

long. But vice and misery now demand the song; And turn our view from dwellings simpl>

neat, To this infected row, we term our street. Here, in cabal, a disputatious crewEach evening meet; the sot. the cheat, the


Ilioti are nightly heard:—the curse, the cries Of beaten wife, perverse in her replies; While shrieking children hold each threat'n

ing hand, And sometimes life, and sometimes food

demand: B>iyi, in their first-stol'n rags, to swear begin. And girls, who heed not dress, arc skill'd

in gin: Snarers and smugglers here their gains

divide; Ensnaring females here their victims hide; And here is one, the sibyl of the row, Whs knows all secrets, or affects to know; Seeking their fate, to her the simple run, To her the guilty, theirs awhile to shun; Mistress of worthless arts, depraved in will, Her care nnblest and unrepaid her skill, Skne to the tribe , to whose command she

stoops, Aad poorer than the poorest maid she dupes. Between the road - way and the walls, offence ijuades all eyes and strikes on every sense: Tkere lie, obscene, at every open door, Heaps from the hearth and sweepings from

the floor, lad day by day the mingled masses grow, As sinks are disembogued and kennels flowThere hungry dogs from hungry children

steal, Tkere pigs and chickens quarrel for a menl; Theredrnpsicd infants wail without redress, Aid all is want and wo and wretchedness: Yet should these boys, with bodies bronzed

and bare, Uigb-twoln and hard, outlive that lack of

care— Fsrced on some farm, the unexerted strength. Though loth to action, is compelled at length, When warra'd by health, as serpents in the

»P«ng, Aside their slough of indolence they fling. >«t ere they go, a greater evil "comes— See! crowded beds in those contiguous rooms; B'ds bat ill parted, by a paltry screen Of paper'd lath or curtain dropt between; Blighters and sons to yon compartments

creep, *** parents here beside their children sleep: Te«h» have power, these thoughtless people

part, r*or let the ear be first to taint the heart. Cssse! search within, nor sight nor smell

regard; The trie physician walks the foulest ward. S«! oa the floor, what frowzy patches rest! What nauseous fragments on yon fractured

chest! What downy dust beneath yon window-seat! <*d ronnd these posts that serve this bed

for feet; This bed where all those tatter'd garments

rlie, by each sex, and now perforce thrown by!

See! as we gaze, an infant lifts its head, Left by neglect and burrow'd in that bed; The mother-gossip has the love suppress'd An infant's cry once waken'd in her breast; And daily prattles, as her round she takes, (With strong resentment) of the want she

makes. Whence all these woes? — From want of

virtuous will, Of honest shame, of time-improving skill; From want of care t' employ the vacant hour, And want of ev'ry kind but want of power. Here are no wheels for either wool or flax. Rut packs of cards—made up of sundry packs; Here is no clock, nor will they turn the glass, And see how swift tli' important momenta

pass; Herenre no books, but ballads on the wall, Are some abnsive, and indecent all; Pistols are here, unpair'd; with nets and

hooks, Of every kind, for rivers, ponds, and brooks; An ample flask, that nightly rovers fill W ith recent poison from the Dutchman's still; A box of tools, with wires of various size, Frocks, wigs, and hats, for night- or daydisguise, And bludgeons stout to gain or guard a prize. To every house belongs a space of ground, Of equal size, once fenced with paling round; That paling now by slothful waste destroy'd, Dead gorse and stumps of elder fill the void; Save in the centre-spot, whose walls of clay Hide sots and striplings at their drink or play: Within, a board, beneath a tiled retreat. Allures the bubble and maintains the cheat; Where heavy ale in spots like varnish shows, Where chalky tallies yet remain in rows; Black pipes and broken jugs the seats defile, The walls and windows, rhymes and reck

'nings vile; Prints of the meanest kind disgrace the door, And cards, in curses tern, lie fragments on

the floor. Here his poor bird th' inhuman cocker

brings, Arms his hard heel and clips his golden wings; With spicy food th' impatient spirit feeds, And shouts and curses as the battle bleeds. Struck through the brain, deprived of both

his eyes, The vanquish'd bird must combat till he dies; Must faintly peck at his victorious foe, And reel and stagger at each feeble blow: When fallen, the savage grasps his dabbled

plumes, His blood - stain'd arms for other deaths

assumes; And damns the craven-fowl, that lost his

stake, And only bled and perish*d for his sake. Such are our peasants, those to whom

we yield Praise with relief, the fathers of the field; And these who take from our reluctant bands, What Burn advises or the Bench commands.

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