She came not down, her falling' groves to Where not alone her gracious name shall view; stand,

ful knew?

Why should she know, what one so faith-But how she lived-the blessing of the land; How much we all deplored the noble dead, What groans we utter'd and what tears we shed;

Why come, from many clamorous tongues
to hear,

What one so just might whisper in her ear?
Her oaks or acres why with care explore;
Why learn the wants, the sufferings of the
poor;

When one so knowing all their worth could
trace,

And one so piteous govern'd in her place?
Lo! now, what dismal sons of Darkness come,
To bear this daughter of Indulgence home;
Tragedians all, and well arranged in black!
Who nature, feeling, force, expression lack ;
Who cause no tear, but gloomily pass by,
And shake their sables in the wearied eye,
That turns disgusted from the pompous scene,
Proud without grandeur, with profusion

mean!

Tears, true as those, which in the sleepy eyes
Of weeping cherubs on the stone shall rise;
Tears, true as those, which, ere she found
her grave,

The noble Lady to our sorrows gave.

Down by the church-way-walk and where the brook

Winds round the chancel like a shepherd's

crook:

In that small house, with those green pales before,

spread,

Where jasmine trails on either side the door; Where those dark shrubs that now grow wild at will, The tear for kindness past affection owes; Were clipp'd in form and tantalized with skill; Forworth deceased the sigh from reason flows; | Where cockles blanch'd and pebbles neatly E'en well-feign'd passions for our sorrows call, And real tears for mimic miserics fall: But this poor farce has neither truth nor art, To please the fancy or to touch the heart; Unlike the darkness of the sky, that pours On the dry ground its fertilizing showers; Unlike to that which strikes the soul with dread,

When thunders roar and forky fires are shed;
Dark but not awful, dismal but yet mean,
With anxious bustle moves the cumbrous

scene;

Form'd shining borders for the larkspurs'
bed;

There lived a Lady, wise, austere, and nice,
Who show'd her virtue by her scorn of vice;
In the dear fashions of her youth she dress'd,
A pea-green Joseph was her favourite vest;
Erect she stood, she walk'd with stately mien,
Tight was her length of stays, and she was
tall and lean.

There long she lived in maiden - state im-
mured,

From looks of love and treacherous man secured;

Presents no objects tender or profound,
But spreads its cold unmeaning gloom around.
When woes are feign'd, how ill such forms Though evil fame - (but that was long
before)

appear;

door:

And oh! how needless, when the wo's sincere. Had blown her dubious blast at Catherine's
Slow to the vault they come, with heavy tread,
Bending beneath the Lady and her lead;
A case of elm surrounds that ponderous chest,
Close on that case the crimson velvet's
press'd;

Ungenerous this, that to the worm denies,
With niggard-caution, his appointed prize;
For now, ere yet he works his tedious way,
Through cloth and wood and metal to his
prey,

That prey dissolving shall a mass remain,
That fancy loathes and worms themselves
disdain.

But see! the master-mourner makes his way,
To end his office for the coffin'd clay;
Pleased that our rustic men and maids behold
His plate like silver, and his studs like gold,
As they approach to spell the age, the name,
And all the titles of th' illustrious Dame.
This as (my duty done) some scholar read,
A village-father look'd disdain and said:
Away, my friends! why take such pains to
know
What some brave marble soon in church
shall show?

A Captain thither rich from India came, And though a cousin call'd, it touch'd her fame:

Her annual stipend rose from his behest,
And all the long-prized treasures she pos-
sessd :

If aught like joy awhile appear'd to stay
In that stern face, and chase those frowns
away;

'Twas when her treasures she disposed for
view,

And heard the praises to their splendour due;
Silks beyond price, so rich, they'd stand
alone,

And diamonds blazing on the buckled zone;
Rows of rare pearls by curious workmen set,
And bracelets fair in box of glossy jet;
Bright polish'd amber precious from its size,
Or forms the fairest fancy could devise;
Her drawers of cedar,shut with secret springs,
Conceal'd the watch of gold and rubied
rings;
Letters, long proofs of love, and verses fine
Round the pink'd rims of crisped Valentine.

Pride, in a life that slander's tongue defied,–
In fact, a noble passion, misnamed pride.
He had no party's rage, no sect'ry's whim;
Christian and countryman was all with him:
True to his church he came; no Sunday-
shower

Kept him at home in that important hour;
Nor his firm feet could one persuading sect,
By the strong glare of their new light, di-
rect;-

On hope, in mine own sober light, I gaze,
But should be blind and lose it in your blaze.
In times severe, when many a sturdy swain
Felt it his pride, his comfort, to complain;
Isaac their wants would soothe, his own
would hide,

And feel in that his comfort and his pride.
At length he found, when seventy years

were run,

His strength departed, and his labour done;
When he, save honest fame, retain'd no more,
But lost his wife and saw his children poor:
Twas then, a spark of—say not discontent-
Struck on his mind, and thus he gave it vent:
Kind are your laws, ('tis not to be denied)
That in yon house, for ruin'd age, provide,
And they are just;—when young, we give
you all,

Not one, who posts from place to place

of men

And manners treating with a flying pen;
Not he, who climbs, for prospects, Snow-
den's height,

And chides the clouds that intercept the sight;
No curious shell, rare plant, or brilliant spar,
Enticed our traveller from his home so far;
But all the reason, by himself assigned
For so much rambling, was, a restless mind;
As on, from place to place, without intent,
Without reflection, Robin Dingley went.
Not thus by nature:-never man was found
Less prone to wander from his parish-bound:
Claudian's old Man, to whom all scenes were
new,

Save those where he and where his apples
grew,
Resembled Robin, who around would look,
And his horizon, for the earth's, mistook.
To this poor swain a keen Attorney came ;-
I give thee joy, good fellow! on thy name;
The rich old Dingley's dead ; —no child has he,
Nor wife, nor will; his ALL is left for thee:
To be his fortune's heir thy claim is good;
Thou hast the name, and we will prove the
blood.

The claim was made;

'twas tried,—it would And for assistance in our weakness call. not stand; Why then this proud reluctance to be fed, They proved the blood, but were refused To join your poor, and eat the parish-bread? the land. But yet I linger, loth with him to feed, Assured of wealth, this man of simple heart, Who gains his plenty by the sons of need; To every friend had predisposed a part: He who, by contract, all your paupers took, | His wife had hopes indulged of various kind; And gauges stomachs with an anxious look: The three Miss Dingleys had their school On some old master I could well depend; See him with joy and thank him as a friend; But ill on him, who doles the day's supply, And counts our chances, who at night may | And books were bought and harpsichords Yet help me, Heav'n! and let me not com- So high was hope:—the failure touch'd his

die:

plain

Of what I suffer, but my fate sustain.
Such were his thoughts, and so resign'd he
grew ;

Daily he placed the workhouse in his view!
But came not there, for sudden was his fate,
He dropp'd, expiring, at his cottage-gate.
I feel his absence in the hours of prayer,
And view his seat and sigh for Isaac there:
I see no more those white locks thinly spread
Round the bald polish of that honour'd head;
No more that awful glance on playful wight,
Compell'd to kneel and tremble at the sight,
To fold his fingers, all in dread the while,
Till Mister Ashford soften'd to a smile;
No more that meek and suppliant look in

assign'd,

Masters were sought for what they each required,

were hired:

brain,

And Robin never was himself again;
Yet he no wrath, no angry wish express'd,
But tried, in vain, to labour or to rest;
Then cast his bundle on his back, and went
He knew not whither, nor for what intent.
Years fled;-of Robin all remembrance past,
When home he wander'd in his rags at last:
A sailor's jacket on his limbs was thrown,
A sailor's story he had made his own;
Had suffer'd battles, prisons, tempests,storms,
Encountering Death in all his ugliest forms:
His cheeks were haggard,hollow was his eye,
Where madness lurk'd, conceal'd in misery;
Want, and th' ungentle world, bad taught a
part,

And prompted cunning to that simple heart:
He now bethought him, he would roam no

more,

But live at home and labour as before.
Here cloth'd and fed, no sooner he began
To round and redden, than away he ran ;
His wife was dead, their children past his
aid:

So, unmolested, from his home he stray'd:

Six years elapsed, when, worn with want | While the meek father, listening to their

and pain,

Came Robin, wrapt in all his rags, again :-
We chide, we pity;-placed among our
poor,

He fed again, and was a man once more.
As when a gaunt and hungry fox is found,
Entrapp'd alive in some rich hunter's ground;
Fed for the field, although each day's a feast,
Fatten you may, but never tame the beast;
A house protects him,savoury viands sustain;
But loose his neck and off he goes again:
So stole our vagrant from his warm retreat,
To rove a prowler and be deem'd a cheat.
Hard was his fare; for, him at length we

saw,

In cart convey'd and laid supine on straw.
His feeble voice now spoke a sinking heart;
His groans now told the motions of the cart;
And when it stopp'd, he tried in vain to
stand;

Closed was his eye, and clench'd his clam-
my hand;

Life ebb'd apace, and our best aid no more
Could his weak sense or dying heart restore:
But now he fell, a victim to the snare,
That vile attorneys for the weak prepare ;-
They who, when profit or resentment call,
Heed not the groaning victim they enthral.

Then died lamented, in the strength of life,
A valued Mother and a faithful Wife;
Call'd not away, when time had loosed each
hold

On the fond heart, and each desire grew cold;
But when, to all that knit us to our kind,
She felt fast-bound, as charity can bind;
Not when the ills of age, its pain, its care,
The drooping spirit for its fate prepare;
And, each affection failing, leaves the heart
Loosed from life's charm and willing to de-
part ;-

But all her ties the strong invader broke,
In all their strength, by one tremendous
stroke!

Sudden and swift the eager pest came on,
And terror grew, till every hope was gone:
Still those around appear'd for hope to seek!
But view'd the sick and were afraid to
speak.—

Slowly they bore, with solemn step, the dead;
When grief grew loud and bitter tears were

shed:

My part began; a crowd drew near the place,
Awe in each eye, alarm in every face:
So swift the ill, and of so fierce a kind,
That fear with pity mingled in each mind;
Friends with the husband came their griefs
to blend;

For good-man Frankford was to all a friend.
The last-born boy they held above the bier,
He knew not grief, but cries express'd his
fear;

Each different age and sex reveal'd its pain,
In now a louder, now a lower strain;

tones,

Swell'd the full cadence of the grief by groans.
The elder sister strove her pangs to hide;
And soothing words to younger minds ap-
plied:

Be still, be patient, oft she strove to say;
But fail'd as oft, and weeping turn'd away.
Curious and sad, upon the fresh-dug hill,
The village-lads stood melancholy still;
And idle children, wandering to-and-fro,
As Nature guided, took the tone of wo.
Arrived at home, how then they gazed around,
In every place,-where she-no more, was
found ;-

The seat at table she was wont to fill;
The fire-side-chair, still set, but vacant still;
The garden-walks, a labour all her own;
The latticed bower, with trailing shrubs
o'ergrown;

The Sunday-pew she fill'd with all her race,——
Each place of hers, was now a sacred place,
That, while it call'd up sorrows in the eyes,
Pierced the full heart and forced them still
to rise.

Oh sacred sorrow! by whom souls are tried,
Sent not to punish mortals, but to guide;
If thou art mine, (and who shall proudly dare
To tell his Maker, he has had his share?)
Still let me feel for what thy pangs are sent,
And be my guide and not my punishment!

Of Leah Cousins next the name appears, With honours crown'd and blest with length of years,

Save that she lived to feel, in life's decay,
The pleasure die, the honours drop away;
A matron she, whom every village-wife
View'd as the help and guardian of her life;
Fathers and sons, indebted to her aid,
Respect to her and her profession paid;
Who in the house of plenty largely fed,
Yet took her station at the pauper's bed;
Nor from that duty could be bribed again,
While fear or danger urged her to remain:
In her experience all her friends relied,
Heaven was her help and nature was her
guide.

Thus Leah lived; long trusted,much caress'd,
Till a Town-Dame a youthful Farmer bless'd;
A gay vain bride, who would example give
To that poor village where she deign'd to
live;

Some few months past, she sent, in hour
of need,
For Doctor Glibb, who came with wond'rous
speed:

Two days he waited, all his art applied,
To save the mother when her infant died:
"Twas well I came, at last he deign'd to say;
"Twas wond'rous well; — and proudly rode
away.

The news ran round;-How vast the Doe-
tor's pow'r!
He saved the Lady in the trying hour;

Saved her from death, when she was dead | Does he for courts the sons of farmers frame,