What once could neither good nor ill impart Now pleased the senses, and now touch'd the heart;

Prospects and pictures struck th' awaken'd sight,

And each new object gave a new delight. He, like th' imperfect creature who had shaped

A shroud to hide him, had at length escaped; Changed from his grub-like state, to crawl

no more,

But a wing'd being, pleased and form'd to

soar.

Now, said his friends, while thus his views improve,

And his mind softens, what if he should love?
True; life with him has yet serene appear'd,
And therefore love in wisdom should be
fear'd:

Forty and five his years, and then to sigh
For beauty's favour!-Son of frailty, fly!
Alas! he loved; it was our fear, but ours,
His friends' alone. He doubted not his pow'rs
To win the prize, or to repel the charm,
To gain the battle, or escape the harm;
For he had never yet resistance proved,
Nor fear'd that friends should say
he loved.'

Alas!

Kindly she listen'd, and in turn essay'd
To pay th' applauses-and she amply paid:
A beauty flattering!—beanteous flatterers
feel

The ill you cause, when thus in praise you deal;

For surely he is more tha: man, or less, When praised by lips that he would die to press,

And yet his senses undisturb'd can keep, Can calmly reason, or can soundly sleep. Not so Sir Owen; him Camilla praised, And lofty hopes and strong emotions raised; This had alone the strength of man subdued; But this enchantress various arts pursued. Let others pray for music-others pray'd In vain :--Sir Owen ask'd, and was obey'd; Let others, walking, sue that arm to take, Unmoved she kept it for Sir Owen's sake; Each small request she granted, and though small,

He thought them pledges of her granting all. And now the lover, casting doubt aside, Urged the fond suit that could not be denied ;

Joy more than reverence moyed him when he said,

Now banish all my fears, angelic maid!' And as she paused for words, he gaily cried, 'I must not, cannot, will not be denied.' Ah! good Sir Owen, think not favours, such As artful maids allow, amount to much;

The sweet, small, poison'd baits, that take

the eye

And win the soul of all who venture nigh.
Camilla listen'd, paused, and look'd surprise,
Fair witch! exulting in her witcheries!
She turn❜d aside her face, withdrew her hand,
And softly said, 'Sir, let me understand.'
'Nay, my dear lady! what can words explain,
If all my looks and actions plead in vain?
I love She show'd a cool respectful air,
And he began to falter in his prayer,
Yet urged her kindness Kindness she
confess'd,

It was esteem, she felt it, and express'd,
For her dear father's friend; and was it right
That friend of his she thought of hers-
to slight?

This to the wond'ring And false appear'd

lover strange and new, he would not think it

true:

Still he pursued the lovely prize, and still
Heard the cold words, design'd his hopes to
He felt dismay'd, as he perceived success
kill;
Had inverse ratio, more obtaining less;
And still she grew more cool in her replies,
And talk'd of age and improprieties.
Then to his friends, although it hurt his
pride,

And to the lady's, he for aid applied;
Who kindly woo'd for him, but strongly
were denied.
And now it was those fiercer passions rose,
Urged by his love to murder his repose;

still,

Jealous he grew, and Jealousy supplied
His mind with rage, unsoothed, unsatisfied;
And grievous were the pangs of deeply
wounded Pride.

His generous soul had not the grief sustain❜d, Had he not thought, 'Revenge may be obtain'd.'

Camilla grieved, but grief was now too late; She hush'd her fears, and left th' event to fate;

Four years elapsed, nor knew Sir Owen yet
How to repay the meditated debt;
The lovely foe was in her thirtieth year,
Nor saw the favourite of the heart appear;
Tis sure less sprightly the fair nymph
became,

And spoke of former levities with shame:
But this, alas! was not in time confess'd,
And vengeance waited in Sir Owen's breast.
But now the time arrives-the maid must feel
And grieve for wounds that she refused to

heal.

Sir Owen, childless, in his love had rear'd A sister's son, and now the youth appear'd In all the pride of manhood, and, beside, With all a soldier's spirit and his pride: Valiant and poor, with all that arms bestow, And wants that captains in their quarters know;

Yet to his uncle's generous heart was due The praise, that wants of any kind were few. When he appear'd, Sir Owen felt a joy Unknown before, his vengeance bless'd the boy

To him I dare confide a cause so just; Love him she may-O! could I say, she

must.'

Thus fix'd, he more than usual kindness show'd,

Nor let the Captain name the debt he owed;
But when he spoke of gratitude, exclaim'd,
My dearest Morden! make me not ashamed;
Each for a friend should do the best he can,
The most obliged is the obliging man;
But if you wish to give as well as take,
You may a debtor of your uncle make.'

Morden was earnest in his wish to know How he could best his grateful spirit show. Now the third dinner had their powers renew'd,

And fruit and wine upon the table stood; The fire brought comfort, and the warmth it lent

A cheerful spirit to the feelings sent,
When thus the Uncle-Morden, I depend
On you for aid-assist me as a friend:
Full well I know that you would much
forego,

And much endure, to wreak me on my foe.

Nor look so fiercely, there are none to kill.

I loved a lady, somewhat late in life, Perhaps too late, and would have made a wife;

Nay, she consented; for consent I call
The mark'd distinction that was seen of all,
And long was seen; but when she knew my
pain,

Saw my first wish her favour to obtain,
And ask her hand-no sooner was it ask'd,
Than she, the lovely Jezebel, unmask'd ;
And by her haughty airs, and scornful pride,
My peace was wounded-nay, my reason
tried;

I felt despised and fallen when we met, And she, oh folly! looks too lovely yet; Yet love no longer in my bosom glows, But my heart warms at the revenge it owes.

O! that I saw her with her soul on fire, Desperate from love, and sickening with desire;

While all beheld her just, unpitied pain, Grown in neglect, and sharpen'd by disdain! Let her be jealous of each maid she sees, Striving by every fruitless art to please, And when she fondly looks, let looks and fondness tease!

So, lost on passion's never resting sea, Hopeless and helpless, let her think of me! Charles, thou art handsome, nor canst want

the art

To warm a cold or win a wanton heart:
Be my avenger-Charles, with smile, not
vain,
Nor quite unmix'd with pity and disdain,
Sate mute in wonder; but he sate not long
Without reflection:-Was Sir Owen wrong?
So must I think; for can I judge it right
To treat a lovely lady with despite?
Because she play'd too roughly with the love
Of a fond man whom she could not approve;
And yet to vex him for the love he bore
Is cause enough for his revenge, and more.
But, thoughts, to council!-Do I wear a
charm

That will preserve my citadel from harm? Like the good knight, I have a heart that feels

The wounds that beauty makes and kindness heals:

Beauty she has, it seems, but is not kind-
So found Sir Owen, and so I may find.
Yet why, oh heart of tinder, why afraid?
Comes so much danger from so fair a maid?
Wilt thou be made a voluntary prize
To the fierce firing of two wicked eyes?
Think her a foe, and on the danger rush,
Nor let thy kindred for a coward blush.
But how if this fair creature should incline
To think too highly of this love of mine,

And, taking all my counterfeit address
For sterling passion, should the like profess?
Nay, this is folly; or if I perceive
Aught of the kind, I can but take my leave;
And if the heart should feel a little sore,
Contempt and anger will its ease restore.
Then, too, to his all-bounteous hand I owe
All I possess, and almost all I know;
And shall I for my friend no hazard run,
Who seeks no more for all his love has done?
'Tis but to meet and bow, to talk and smile,
To act a part, and put on love awhile:
And the good knight shall see, this trial made,
That I have just his talents to persuade;
For why the lady should her heart bestow
On me, or I of her enamour'd grow,
There's none can reason give, there's none
can danger show.

These were his rapid thoughts, and then he spoke:

I make a promise, and will not revoke;
You are my judge in what is fit and right,
And I obey you—bid me love or fight;
Yet had I rather, so the act could meet
With your concurrence, not to play the
cheat;

In a fair cause '— 'Charles, fighting for your king,

Did you e'er judge the merits of the thing? Show me a monarch who has cause like mine, And yet what soldier would his cause decline?'

They meet; each other's look the pair explore,

And, such their fortune, wish'd to part no

more.

Whether a man is thus disposed to break
An evil compact he was forced to make,
Or whether some contention in the breast
Will not permit a feeling heart to rest;
Or was it nature, who in every case
Has made such mind subjected to such face;
Whate'er the cause, no sooner met the pair
Than both began to love, and one to feel
despair.

But the fair damsel saw with strong delight Th' impression made, and gloried in the sight:

No chilling doubt alarm'd her tender breast, But she rejoiced in all his looks profess'd; Long ere his words her lover's hopes convey'd They warm'd the bosom of the conscious maid;

One spirit seem'd each nature to inspire, And the two hearts were fix'd in one desire.

learn,

And there amusements seek without a guide: With handsome prints his private room was graced,

His music there, and there his books were placed:

Men knew not if he farm'd, but they allow'd him taste.

Books, prints, and music, cease, at times, to charm,

And sometimes men can neither ride nor farm;
They look for kindred minds, and Cecil found,
In Farmer Ellis, one inform'd and sound;
But in his wife-I hate the fact I tell-
A lovely being, who could please too well:
And he was one who never would deny
Himself a pleasure, or indeed would try.
Early and well the wife of Ellis knew
Where danger was, and trembled at the view;
So evil spirits tremble, but are still
Evil, and lose not the rebellious will:
She sought not safety from the fancied crime,
And why retreat before the dangerous time?
Oft came the student of the farm and read,
And found his mind with more than reading

fed:

This Ellis seeing, left them, or he staid,
As pleased him, not offended nor afraid :
He came in spirits with his girls to play,
Then ask excuse, and, langhing, walk away:
When, as he enter'd, Cecil ceased to read,
He would exclaim: Proceed, my friend,
proceed!

Or, sometimes weary, would to bed retire,
And fear and anger by his ease inspire.
My conversation does he then despise?
Leaves he this slighted face for other eyes?
So said Alicia; and she dwelt so long
Upon that thought, to leave her was to wrong.

They find how little is to guilt opposed. The foe's attack will on the fort begin, When he is certain of a friend within.

When all was lost,-or, in the lover's sight, When all was won,-the lady thought of flight.

What! sink a slave?' she said, and with

deceit

The rigid virtue of a husband meet?
No! arm'd with death, I would his fury
brave,

And own the justice of the blow he gave!
But thus to see him easy, careless, cold,
And his confiding folly to behold;
To feel incessant fears that he should read,
In looks assumed, the cause whence they
proceed,
I cannot brook; nor will I here abide
Till chance betrays the crime that shame

would hide:

Fly with me, Henry!' Henry sought in vain
To sooth her terrors and her griefs restrain:
He saw the lengths that women dared to go,
And fear'd the husband both as friend and foe.
Of farming weary-for the guilty mind
Can no resource in guiltless studies find,
Left to himself, his mother all unknown,
His titled father, loth the boy to own,
Had him to decent expectations bred,
A favour'd offspring of a lawless bed;
And would he censure one who should pursue
The way he took? Alicia yet was new:
Her passion pleased him: he agreed on flight:
They fix'd the method, and they chose the
night.

Then, while the Farmer read of public crimes,

Collating coolly Chronicles and Times,
The flight was taken by the guilty pair,
That made one passage in the columns there.

The heart of Ellis bled; the comfort, pride,
The hope and stay of his existence died;
Rage from the ruin of his peace arose,
And he would follow and destroy his foes;
Would with wild haste the guilty pair pursue,
And when he found-Good heaven! what
would he do?

That wretched woman he would wildly seize,
And agonize her heart, his own to ease;
That guilty man would grasp, and in her sight
Insult his pangs, and her despair excite;
Bring death in view, and then the stroke
suspend,

And draw out tortures till his life should end: