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My mother died; but, in my grief, drew near And, thrice entreated by a lover's prayer, A bosom-friend, who dried the useless tear; She thrice refused him with determined air. We lived together: we combined our shares No! had the world one monarch, and was he of the world's good, and learn'd to brave All that the heart could wish its lord to be,-

its cares:

Lovely and loving, generous, brave, and We were the ladies of the place, and found

true, Protection and respect the country round; Vain were his hopes to waken hers anew!' We gave, and largely, for we wish'd to live For she was wedded to ideal views, In good repute-for this 'tis good to give ; And fancy's prospects, that she would not Our annual present to the priest convey'd

Was kindly taken :-we in comfort pray'd; Would not forego to be a mortal's wife,
There none molested in the crimson pew And wed the poor realities of life.
The worthy ladies, whom the vicar knew :
And we began to think that life might be,
Not happy all, but innocently free.

There was a day,ere yet the autumn closed,
When,ere her wintry wars, the earth reposed,

When from the yellow weed the feathery My friend in early life was bound to one

crown, Oi gentle kindred, but a younger son. Light as the curling smoke, fell slowly down; He fortune's smile with perseverance wood, When the wing’d insect settled in our sight, And wealth beneath the burning sun pursued: And waited wind to recommence her flight; There, urged by love and youthful hope, When the wide river was a silver sheet,

he went

And on the ocean slept th'unanchor'd fleet; Loth; but 'twas all his fortune could present. When from our garden, as we look'd above, From hence he wrote; and, with a lover's There was no cloud, and nothing seem'd to fears,

move; And gloomy fondness, talk'd of future years; Then was my friend in ecstasies-she cried, To her devoted, his Priscilla found | There is, I feel there is, a world beside! His faithful heart still suffering with its Martha, dear Martha! we shall hear not then


Of hearts distress'd by good or evil men, That would not heal. A second time she But all will constant, tender, faithful be


So had I been, and so had one with me; And then no more: nor lover since appear'd; But in this world the fondest and the best Year after year the country's fleet arrived, Are the most tried, most troubled, aud disConfirin'd her fear,and yet her love survived ;

tress'd : It still was living ; yet her hope was dead, This is the place for trial, here we prove, And youthful dreams, nay, youth itself, was And there enjoy, the faithfulness of love.

Nay, were he here in all the pride of youth, And he was lost: 50 urged her friends, 60 she With honour, valour, tenderness, and truth, At length believed, and thus retired with me; Entirely mine, yet what could I secure, She would a dedicated vestal prove, Or who one day of comfort could insure ? And give her virgin vows to heaven and love; No! all is closed on earth, and there is now She dwelt with fond regret on pleasures past, Nothing to break th' indissoluble vow; With ardent hope on those that ever last; But in that world will be th' abiding bliss, Pious and tender, every day she view'd That pays for every tear and sigh in this.' With solemn joy our perfect solitude; Her reading, that which most delighted her, That soothed the passions, yet would gently Such her discourse, and more refined it grew,


Till she had all her glorious dream in view; The tender, softening, melancholy strain, And she would further in that dream proceed That caused not pleasure, but that van- | Than I dare go, who doubtfully agreed :

quish'd pain, Smiling I ask'd, again to draw the soul In tears she read, and wept, and long'd to From flight so high, and fancy to control,

read again.

If this be truth, the lover's happier way Bat other worlds were her supreme delight, Is distant still to keep the purposed day: And there, it seem'd, she long'd to take her i The real bliss would mar the fancied joy,


And marriage all the dream of love destroy. Yet patient, pensive, arm’d by thoughts She softly smiled, and as we gravely talk'd,


We saw a man who up the gravel walk'd, She watch'd the tardy steps of lingering time. Not quite erect, nor quite by age depress’d,

A travellid man, and as a merchant dressid ;

Large chain of gold upon his watch he My friend, with face that most would hand

wore, some call,

Small golden buckles on his feet he bore ; Possess d the charm that wins the heart of A head of gold his costly cane display'd,


| And all about him love of gold betray’d.

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This comely man moved onward, and a pair Had quite unmann'd him, cleft his heart in Of comely maidens niet with scrious air;

twain, Till one exclaim'd, and wildly look'd around, And he should never be himself again. O heav'n, 'tis Paul! and dropt upon the

ground; But she recover'd soon, and you must guess He was himself; weak,nervous, kind, and poor, What then ensued, and how much happiness. Mi dress'd and idle, he besieged my door, They parted lovers, both distress'd to part! Borrow'd,-or, worse, made verses on my They met as neighbours, heal'd and whole of

charms, heart:

And did his best to fill me with alarms; She in his absence look'd to heaven for bliss, I had some pity, and I sought the price He was contented with a world like this; of my repose-my hero was not nice; And she prepared in some new state to meet There was a loan, and promise I should be The man now seeking for some snug retreat. From all the efforts of his fondness frec, He kindly told her he was firm and true, From hunger's future claims, or those of Nor doubted her, and bade her then adieu!

vanity. What shall I do? the sighing maid began, Yet, said he, bowing, do to study take! How lost the lover! 0, how gross the man. O! what a Desdemona wouldst thou make! For the plain dealer had his wish declared, Thus was my lover lost; yet even now Nor she, devoted victim! could be spared : Ile claims one thought, and this we will allow. He spoke as one decided; she as one His father lived to an extreme old age, Who fear'd the love and would the lover shun. But never kind! - his son had left the stage, O Martha, sister of my soul! how dies And gaind some office, but an humble place, Each lovely view! for can I truth disguise, And that he lost! Want sharpen'd his disgrace, That this is he? No! nothing shall persuade; Urged him to seek his father-but too late, This is a man the naughty world has made, His jealous brothers watch'd and barr'd the An eating,drinking, buying,bargaining man

gate. And can I love him? No! I never can. The old man died; but there is one who pays What once he was, what fancy gave beside, A moderate pension for his latter days, Full well I know, my love was then my pride; Who, though assured inquiries will offend, What time has done, what trade and travel Is ever asking for this unknown friend;


Some partial lady, whom he hopes to find You see! and yet your sorrowing friend is As to his wants so to his wishes kind.


Be still, a cool adviser sometimes writesBut can I take him? - Take him not, I cried, Nay, but, says he, the gentle maid invites If so averse—but why so soon decide ? o, let me know the young! the soft! the


Old man, 'tis answer'd, take thyself to prayer! Meantime a daily guest the man appear’d, Be clean, be sober, to thy priest apply, Set all his sail, and for his purpose steer'd; And-dead to all around thee-learn to die! Loud and familiar, loving, fierce and free, He overpower'd her soft timidity ? Who, weak and vain, and grateful to behold Now had I rest from life's strong hopes and The man was hers, and hers would be the

And no disturbance mark'd the flying years; Thus sundry motives, more than I can name, So on in quiet might those years have past, Leagned on his part, and she a wife became. But for a light adventure, and a last. A home was offer'd, but I knew too well |A handsome boy, from school-day bondage What comfort was with married friends to

free, dwell;

Came with mamma to gaze upon the sea; I was resign'd, and had I felt distress, With soft blue eye he look'd upon the wares, Again a lover offer'd some redress;

And talk'd of treacherous rocks, and senmen's Behold, a hero of the buskin hears

graves : My loss, and with consoling love appears; There was much sweetness in his boyish Frederick was now a hero on the stage,

emile, In all its glories, rhapsody, and rnge; And signs of feelings frank, that know not Again himself he offer'd, offer'd all

guile. That his an hero of the kind can call: The partial mother, of her darling proud. He for my sake would hope of fame resign, Besought my friendship and her own avow'd; And leave the applause of all the world for She praised her Rupert's person, spirit, ease.


Hlow fond of study, yet how form'd to please : Hard fate was Frederick's, never to succeed, In our discourse he often bore a part, Yet ever try--but so it was decreed : And talk'd, heaven bless him, of his feeling Hlis mind was weaken'd; he would laugh and

heart; weep,

He spoke of pleasures souls like his enjoy. And swore profusely I had murder'd sleep. And hated Lovelace like a virtuous boy;

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He felt for Clementina's holy strife, | The arm, fast lock'd in mine, his fear betray'd, And was Sir Charles as large and true as life: And when he spoke not his designs convey'd; For Virtue's heroines was his soul distress'd; He oft-times gasp'd for breath, he tried to True love and guilelcss honour fillid his

speak, breast,

And studying words,at last had words to seek. When,as the subjects drew the frequent sigh, Silent the boy, by silence more betray'd, The tear stood trembling in his large blue eye, And fearing lest he should appear afraid, And softly he exclaim'd: Sweet, sweetest He knelt abruptly, and his speech began


*Pity the pangs of an unhappy man.' When thus I heard the handsome stripling "Be sure,' I answer’d, “and relieve them too


But why that posture? What the woes to I smiled assent, and thought to pat his cheek;

you? But when I saw the feelings blushing there, To fcel for others' sorrows is humane, Signs of emotions strong, they said-forbear! But too much feeling is our virtue's bane. The youth would speak of his intent to live Come, my dear Rupert! now your tale disOn that estate which heaven was pleased to

close, give,

That I may know the sufferer and his woes, There with the partner of his joys to dwell, Know there is pain that wilful man endures, And nurse the virtues that he loved so well; That our reproof and not our pity cures ; The humble good of happy swains to share, For though for such assumed distress we And from the cottage drive distress and care;

grieve, To the dear infants make some pleasures Since they themselves as well as us deceive,


| Yet we assist not.'_ The unhappy youth, And teach, he gravely said, the virtues to Unhappy then, beheld not all the truth.

his own. He loved to read in verse,and verse-like prose, The softest tales of love-inflicted woen; 10! what is this? exclaim'd the dubious boy, When looking fondly,he wonld smile and cry, Words that confuse the being they destroy? Is there no bliss in sensibility?

So have I read the gods to madness drive We walk'd together, and it seem'd not harm The man condemn'd with adverse fate to In linking thought with thought, and arm

strive; with arm,

0! make thy victim though by misery sure, Till the dear boy would talk too much of bliss, And let me know the pangs I must endure; And indistinctly murmur-such as this. For, like the Grecian warrior, I can pray When no maternal wish her heart beguiled, Falling, to perish in the face of day. The lady call'd her son the darling child ; When with some nearer view her speech


Pretty, my Rupert; and it proves the use She changed her phrase, and said, the good Of all that learning which the schools proyoung man!

duce: And lost, when hinting of some future bride, But comc, your arm — no trembling, but The woman's prudence in the mother's pride,

attend Still decent fear and conscious folly strove To sober truth, and a maternal friend. With fond presumption and aspiring love; You ask for pity?_0! indeed I do. But now too plain to me the strife appear'd, Well then, you have it, and assistance too: And what he sought I knew, and what he Suppose us married! -0! the heavenly fear'd;

thought! The trembling hand and frequent sigh dis- Nay — nay, my friend, be you by wisdom closed

taught; The wish that prudence, care, and time For wisdom tells you,love would soon subside,

Fall, and make room for penitence and pride; Was I not pleased, will you demand?--Amused | Then would you meet the public eye, and By boyish love, that woman's pride refused ?

blame This I acknowledge, and from day to day Your private taste, and be o’erwhelm'd with Resolved no longer at such game to play;

shame: Yet I forbore, though to my purpose true, How must it then your bosom's peace destroy And firmly fix'd to bid the youth adieu. 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; There was a moonlight-eve, serenely cool, Ev'n Time, Care's gencral soother, would When the vast ocean seem'd a mighty pool;

augment Save the small rippling waves that gentlybeat, Your self-reproaching, growing discontent. We scarcely heard them falling, at our feet: Add twenty years to my precarious life, Ilis mother absent, absent every sound And Jo! your aged, feeble, wailing wife; And every sight that could the youth con- Displeased, displeasing, discontented, blamed;


Both, and with cause, ashaming and ashamed:


When I shall bend beneath a press of time, | BO O K XII.
Thou wilt be all erect in manhood's prime;
Then wilt thou fly to younger minds tas-

Thy bosom's pain, and I in jealous age
Shall move contempt, if still; if active, rage:

AGAIN the Brothers saw their friend the And though in anguish all my days are past, who shared the comforts he so much

Yet far beyond thy wishes they may last;
May last till thou, thy better prospects fled,

increased; Shalt have no comfort when thy wife is dead.

| Absent of late—and thus the Squire address'd, Then thou in turn, though none will call

With welcome smile, his ancient friend and

guest: thee old, Wilt feel thy spirit fled, thy bosom cold;

What has detain’d thee? some parochial case? No strong or eager wish to wake the will,

Some man's desertion, or some maid's dis

grace? Life will appear to stagnate and be still, As now with me it slumbers; 0! rejoice

Or wert thou call'd, as parish-priest, to give That I attend not to that pleading voice;

Name to a new-born thing that would not So will new hopes this troubled dream

live, succeed,

That its weak glance upon the world had And one will gladly hear my Rupert plead. And shrank in terror from


the prospect

shown? Ask you, while thus I could the youth deny

Or hast thou heard some dying wretch

deplore, Was I unmoved ?-Inexorable I, Fix'd and determined: thrice he made his

1... That of his pleasures he could taste no more?

Who wish'd thy aid his spirits to sustain,

prayer, With looks of sadness first, and then despair;

And drive away the fears that gave him pain? Thrice doom'd to bear refusal, not exempt,

For priests are thought to have a patent

charm At the last effort, from a slight contempt. Did his distress, his pains, your joy excite?

To ease the dying sinner of alarm: No; but I fear'd his perseverance might.

Or was thy business of the carnal sort, Was there no danger in the moon's soft raya,

And thou wert gone a patron's smile to court, To hear the handsome stripling's earnest

And Croft or Creswell wouldst to Binning

add, praise Was there no fear that while my words

Or take, kind soul! whatever could be had ? reproved

Once more I guess: th' election now is near; The eager youth, I might myself be moved?

My friend, perhaps,is sway'd, by hope or fear, Not for his sake alone I cried, persist

* And all a patriot's wishes, forth to ride, No more, and with a frown the cause

And hunt for votes to prop the fav'rite side?

dismiss'd. Seek you th’ event?-I scarcely need reply, | Love, unreturn'd, will languish, pine, and die : More private dut

More private duty called me hence, to pay We lived awhile in friendship, and with joy

My friends respect on a rejoicing day,

| Replied the Rector: there is born a son, I saw depart in peace the amorous boy. We met some ten years after, and he then

Pride of an ancient race, who pray'd for one, Was married, and as cool 48 married men;

And long desponded. Would you hear the He talk'd of war and taxes, trade and farms,

taleAnd thought no more of me, or of my charms. Ask, and 'tis granted-of Sir Owen Dale ? We spoke; and when, alluding to the past, Something of meaning in my look I cast, He, who could never thought or wish Grant, said the Brothers, for we humbly ask;


Ours be the gratitude, and thine the task: Look'd in my face with trouble and surprise ; Yet dine we first: then to this tale of thine, To kill reserve, I seized his arm, and cried: As to thy sermon, seriously incline: Know me, my lord! when laughing, he In neither case our rector shall complain,


of this recited, that composed in vain. Wonder'd again, and look'd upon my face, Something we heard of vengeance, who And seem'd unwilling marks of time to trace;

appallid, But soon I brought him fairly to confess, Like an infernal spirit, him who callid; That boys in love judge ill of happiness. | And, ere he vanish’d, would perform his part,

Inflicting tortures on the wounded heart;

of this but little from report we know : Love had his day-to graver subjects led, If you the progress of revenge can show, My will is govern'd, and my mind is fed ; Give it, and all its horrors, if you please, And to more vacant bosoms I resign

We hear our neighbour's sufferings much The hopes and fears that once affected mine.

at ease.

Is it not so ? For do not men delight- Should these fierce passions-80 we reason'd We call them men-our bruisers to excite,

-break And urge with bribing gold, and feed them Their long-worn chain, what ravage will for the fight?

they make! Men beyond common strength, of giant size, In vain will prudence then contend with And threat'ning terrors in each other's eyes;

pride, When in their naked, native force display'd, And reason vainly bid revenge subside; Look answers look, affrighting and afraid; Anger will not to ineek persuasion bend, While skill, like spurs and feeding, gives Nor to the pleas of hope or fear attend :

the arm

What curb shall, then, in their disorder'd The wicked power to do the greater harm:

race, Maim'd in the strife, the falling man sustnins Check the wild passions? what the calm Th’ insulting shout, that aggravates his

replare ? pains :

Virtue shall strive in vain; and bas he help Man can bear this; and shall thy hearers heed

in grace? A tale of human sufferings? Come! proceed. Thus urged, the worthy Rector thought it


While yet the wife with pure discretion Some moral truth, as preface, to repeat;

ruled, Reflection serious, - common - place, 'tis

Concertis The man was guided, and the mind was true,-

school'd ; But he would act as he was wont to do,

But then that mind unaided ran to warte: And bring bis morals in his neighbour's view.

He had some learning, but he wanted taste:
Placid, not pleased - contented, not em-


He neither time improved, nor life enjoy’d. 0! how the passions, insolent and strong,

That wife expired, and great the loss Bear our weak minds their rapid course

sustain'd, along;

Though much distress he neither felt nor Make us the madness of their will obey;

feign'd; Then die, and leave us to our griefs a prey ! He loved not warmly; but the sudden stroke

Deeply and strongly on his habits broke.
He had no child to soothe him, and his

farm, Sir Owen Dale his fortieth year had seen,

His sports, his speculations, lost their charm; With temper placid, and with mind serene;

Then would he read and travel, would Rich; early married to an easy wife,

frequent They led in comfort a domestic life:

Life's busy scenes, and forth Sir Owen went: He took of his affairs a prudent care,

The mind, that now was free, unfix'd, And was by early habit led to spare;

unchecky, Not as a miser, but in pure good taste,

Read and observed with wonderful effect; That scorn'd the idle wantonness of waste.

And still the more he gain'd, the more he In fact, the lessons he from prudence took

long'd Were written in his mind, as in a book :

To pay that mind his negligence had wrong'd; There what to do he read, and what to shun;

He felt his pleasures rise as he improved ; And all commanded was with promptness

And, first enduring, then the labour loved.

But, by the light let in, Sir Owen found

done : He seem'd without a passion to proceed,

Some of those passions had their chain Or one whose passions no correction need;

unbound; let some believed those passions only slept,

As from a trance they rose to act their part, And were in bounds by early habits kept:

And seize, as due to them, a feeling heart, Curb'd as they were by fetters worn so long,

His very person now appear'd refined, There were who judged them a rebellious

| And took some graces from th' improving

mind : throng. To these he stood, not as a hero true,

He grew polite without a fix'd intent, Who fought his foes, and in the combat slew,

And to the world a willing pupil went. But one who all those foes, when sleeping,

Restore him twenty years,--restore him

ten, found, And, unresisted, at his pleasure bound.

And bright had been his earthly prospect We thought-for I was one that we espiedst mne

then; Some indications strong of dormant pride;

But much refinement, when it late arrives, It was his wish in peace with all to live;

May be the grace, not comfort, of our lives. And he could pardon, but could not forgive: Nay, there were times when stern defiance


Now had Sir Owen feeling; things of late The moral man, and threaten’d in his look. Indifferent, he began to love or hate;

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