Volume 3 / Book 22 — FRAGMENTS OF TALES AND MISCELLANEOUS VERSES NOT PREVIOUSLY PRINTED, ARRANGED (SO FAR AS POSSIBLE) IN CHRONOLOGICAL SEQUENCE

444

TRACY.

(1 Jan. 1813.)

The House of Tracy was of all belov’d:

A generous, gentle, valiant, virtuous Race,

Admir’d for Courage and for Arts approv’d,

They shun’d Dishonour and they spurn’d Disgrace.

The Village Mansion was a noble Place,

Whose strong Foundations down a Vale were laid;

Pride of its Lords and of the Country Grace,

Its Towers were o’er the western hill display’d,

And on an Eastern Stream broad cast their Evening Shade.

Twice twenty Steps of Stone, now mossy all, 10

Led wandering Strangers to the central Door

Of a vast Room, by name the marble Hall,

Whose squares discolour’d form’d the polish’d floor.

Broad were the Stairs and black that rose before

And led to Chambers fair and Galleries wide;

Here Tracys stood, Men fam’d in days of yore;

These Pictures rare, by Taste and Wealth, supply’d

The Pride of Tracy these, and worthy praise the pride.

Th’ Improver’s Hand was seen in all the place;

But Mercy still was a Companion found, 20

And spar’d the Statues fair, the Wood to grace,

And Waters clear that fell with murmuring sound

From the green Terrace on the higher Ground,

With Flowers in Knolls on many a sunny Bank,

Where the white flocks o’er velvet Pasture bound;

Where Gold-fish long possess’d their marble Tank,

And steeds with silky Sides the living Water drank.

It was a lovely and a rich domain,

Vex’d by no Debt, no Mortgage, no Decrease;

No Tenant came with unredress’d Complaint 30

Of Churlish Steward or of rigorous Lease;

In the fair Village dwelt perpetual Peace,

Far as a Patron could his power extend,

Hail’d at his birth and mourn’d at his discease;

Where all, where each, was pleas’d his help to lend

To each, where all might seeking find a friend.

Two furlongs distant from that seat, its Pride,

Was the fair Village plac’d upon a Green,

By wood surrounded save the Eastern Side,

Where the broad, silent, silvery flood was seen. 40

445There stood the peasants’ cots, a view serene

On either side a small and central Lake,

That long the scene of rustic Sports had been.

Unenvied People! may ye still partake

Life’s honest Joys and pure, and late may ye forsake!

The whiten’d Church and Vicar’s low Abode

Are near each other and these Dwellings near;

But, far from Town and from the public Road,

Few Travellers stray, few Strangers travel here;

Where yet an Inn, “The Tracy’s Arms,” appear, 50

The Mill, the Shop, and Trades that Peasants need,

But Farmers all; the Soil to all so dear

Gives to the Peasant’s Cow a space to feed;

Such was the Tracys’ will, and Heav’n approves the Deed.

A numerous Race were these, and Sons were lent

To England’s Honour and were great in Arms;

But now the generous Blood seems nearly spent.

One Son one only Son had raised Alarms

For Generations three! nor female Charms

As heretofore had done their Parents Grace; 60

These Lords had dwelt amid their flocks and farms,

A mild benevolent and virtuous Race,

Whose Lives accorded well with this their favourite Place.

Sir Edward Tracy was a valiant Man,

Who served in Flanders under Good Queen Anne;

Was wounded there, and in his pleasant seat

Found a fair Dame that made Retirement sweet.

There he enjoy’d a life of social Ease,

And died before its vital Spirits freeze.

He left a pensive, mild, domestic heir, 70

Pleas’d to improve his Mansion and repair;

The small Improvements in his farms to make,

And rustic bliss to foster and partake.

He was a man who never in his Life,

For Joy or Business, left his charming wife;

To all her failings, if she had them, blind,

He saw her faultless, and he felt her kind.

With undirected, unaspiring Views,

He scorn’d Oppression, but he took his Dues;

For rural Works he shew’d some trifling Skill, 80}

And little prone to either Good or ill. }

His Heart was kind, but cool; his Passions right, but still. }

He, with a feeble spark of Glory warm’d,

Wish’d his sole Boy to be with Study charm’d;

Wish’d him that Honour he had fail’d to gain,

And hail’d the Labour that was not in vain.

He liv’d, the Honour of his spotless Line,

Fram’d in the Senate and the Bar to shine;

But, unambitious at an early Age,

He buried all the Patriot in the Sage; 90

446And with his Lady, by her worth endear’d,

Read what was spoken when he, once, was heard.

She, form’d in Courts to shine, was pleas’d to shun

A thousand Lovers, to be blest with one;

And bade adieu without a single Sigh

To Passion’s Language and to Flattery’s Eye.

He, like his Fathers, left an only Boy,

Ere dawning Reason spurn’d the childish Toy;

Pleas’d to reflect [the] Mother’s years were few,

Her Temper perfect, and her Judgment true; 100

That she would train him, good herself and wise,

All that was base and wicked to despise;

The Strength of Rebell Passions to defeat, }

Life’s Cares and Sorrows with firm Soul to meet, }

And from the Flatterer’s Voice indignant to retreat. }

She train’d him thus, and early was he known

To seek her pleasure and disguise his own;

Yet, if her fondness could a failing spy,

His youthful Spirits were too strong and high.

She found, or fear’d, intemperate Love of Joy 110

And would correct what else might Time destroy.

Yet hard the Task, to Mothers doubly hard,

O’er the light Heart to keep incessant Guard;

Still she against his buoyant Spirit strove,

Who smil’d at Duty, but bow’d down to Love.

This is our Hero, a fond Widow’s Son,

Rich, of high spirits, and just twenty-one;

Yet [most] for Learning fam’d, and, tho’ untried,

His native Courage not a Soul denied.

For, tho’ the Tracys were so well belov’d, 120

Their real Courage was but seldom prov’d;

Yet never Tracy was by Honour call’d

Who fled the Summons or who look’d appall’d.

The timid parent, when the Son would cry

“To breathe is Joy, to live is Extacy;

To feel this pleasure ever strong and new,

And wish that every being felt it too”—

“Beware, my Tracy! let these Spirits sleep

And for the days of certain sorrow keep!

Kind [are] thy wishes, but are all in vain: 130

There will be Griefs, Sighs, Sufferings and pain!

Waste not the strength that [a] Kind Heaven affords

In a vain flourish of Exulting Words;

But train thyself for the uncertain task—

I ask it fondly and ’tis all I ask!”—

“Friend of my Soul,” replied the youth, “suppress

These fearful Precepts and their fond Distress!

If Time indeed must all my Joys expell,

Oh, let me feel them when at ease and well!

I war with Care; it is my wish to go 140

Where he resides and treat him as a foe.

When in the Cot the ugly fiend I trace,

I ask his business in that favour’d place;

447A Golden Shield I cast before his Eyes

And never leave him till away he flies.

Tho’ stubborn oft, his utmost Wrath I dare

And sing exulting, Now begone, old Care!

This Villain Care had pinch’d a modest Cheek,

And so opprest her that she fear’d to speak.

Her Lover’s father, of her Charms afraid, 150

Forc’d [her] fond Lover from the pining Maid.

Poor Ellen’s Mother shar’d her Daughter’s Pain,

And her best offer met the Earl’s disdain.

Grief held them all, when like an Hero true

I freed the Captives and the Giant slew;

Held a fair Prospect in the father’s Eye

And saw resistance in an instant die.

Oh, take my Horses, and my Hounds dismiss,

But [give] Thy Tracy such delight as this!

* * * * War 160

With grief and wish him from thy bosom far!

I for this cause * * * strive,

And am content to seem but half alive;

Yet can I never from myself conceal

That giving Pleasure is the way to feel.

“Can I be sad, when I behold her mine,

A beauteous maiden with a Soul divine?

Did ever beauty meet the wond’ring Eye,

Perfect as that which shines in Emely?

Does not her Father to our Love consent? 170

Then what [can] damp our joys, or what prevent?

And is she not belov’d, esteem’d of thee?

Oh I am happy,—happy let me be!

“Want I a kindred mind, my Julian? Shame

Be to the Man who gave th’ Apostate’s Name

To one whose Virtues all who know must Prize,

And who from Truth will ne’er apostatize!

Guide of my Life, Companion of my Youth,

Thy modest Manners and thy love of Truth

Cheer, aid and sooth me in my earthly race; 180

And Want of Joy would [thus] be Want of Grace.”—

“All, all are thine,” the gentle Lady cried;

“Wealth, Health and Friends has bounteous Heaven supply’d;

The happiest Spirits and the loveliest Maid

That ever smil’d; and yet am I afraid.

For Friends have fallen off, and Love grown cold,

And failing Health sigh’d over useless Gold;

While the strong Spirits, once to Error led,

Have flam’d to Madness or in Anguish fled.

Nay, look not thus; against myself I plead; 190

Bid thee be grave, and yet would not succeed.

No, let me think my Tracy, when away—

For thou must go—still innocent and Gay.

Short is the Time; yet for a Month to part

Shakes the faint Courage of a Mother’s Heart;

But to her aid thy Emely will come

448And think thee happy while she prays thee home.

Our distant friends this Sacrifice demand,

E’er the lov’d Maid bestows her promis’d Hand.

Court the good Dean! nor be with Ease denied, 200

To come and bless thee with thy matchless Bride!

Invite each friend to view thy happy Choice,

Nor doubt the favouring Eye, th’approving Voice;

For not an Ear will hear, and not an Eye

Will see a Charmer like our Emely!

But tak’st thou Julian?”

“Can I leave behind

The only Comfort I can hope to find.

Friends thou wilt see; yet them I may mistake,

And I am certain of the Friend I take.”

“Yet this, my Son, and I will cease to plead: 210

’Tis not in Youth the secret Soul to read;

’Tis not in Age! for who can hope to scan

Man’s latent Thoughts, oft hidden from the Man?

’Tis surely dangerous for the best below

A Brother’s Secrets like his own to know;

Thy failings, follies, weakness, all to learn

And half form’d wishes in their birth discern.

[Loves] not thy friend—ah! let me judge him wrong—

O’er Wine to sit—nay why that look?—too long?

Have I not seen the bright’ning Eye, the Cheek 220

With pleasure fever’d, paint the Judgment weak;

And hast not thou, all joyful as thou art,

Yet pour’d new spirit on the [bounding] Heart;

And art thou, Tracy—I will add no more—

Alone, in thought, as happy as before?

Is all within so pure, so gay, so bright

In thine own feelings and thy Maker’s Sight,

As I have known thee? is my Tracy sure?”

As Water pour’d on Spirits pure and bright

Will a faint Heat and turbid Look excite, 230

But, both in Quiet suffer’d to remain,

The Heat will fly, and all be pure again:

So the cool Speech [in] Tracy’s ardent Mind

Rais’d sudden Heat, with turbid thought combin’d.

But this not long the filial duty prest

On the warm Heart, and gave the Spirit rest.

Yet the good Lady in the friend beheld

A flaw she fear’d, and had the thought repell’d.

So forth they go, with Spirits light and gay, }

Friends to invite and favours to convey 240}

Against the Gladness of a nuptial day; }

To see the Elders of their wealthy race,

And all the kindred Tracy to embrace;

He had been [climbing] all his life, and now

Stopt to behold what Life would still allow;

449But all he then could from his Height explore

Prov’d to his Heart he should have stopt before.

Long at his College he was much approv’d;

The more admir’d were not so well belov’d:

Theirs deeper learning—his the mild address; 250

Theirs loftier Honour—and his sure success.

While yet a Fellow, for an office high

Two, far superior, were resolv’d to try;

And the kind Vincent wish’d with all his heart

He could the office to them both impart.

Not so [his] Brethren: they had all the Zeal

That rival voters for their favourites feel.

For Dr A. his Friends in varying Style

Were pleas’d by turns to flatter and revile:

Famous for all that Newton’s self had known, 260

All that by Signs and Symbols can be shewn;

A man whose fame to distant times would live,

And tenfold pay the little boon they give—

And what his Rival? stealing all his days

Poor Scraps of Learning from dull Grecian Plays;

Restoring Meanings where, when all is done,

One is not found or a contested one;

From elder Critics pilfering half they write, }

Who from reflectors steal reflected Light }

An helper’s help, Assistant’s Satellite. 270}

The friends of Dr B., with Wrath inflam’d,

Aloud the Learning of their Friend proclaim’d;

Nor in their rage retorting Scorn forbore:

That Dr A. had but a useless Store;

’Twas false that he could dare with Newton’s vie;

Let him not dare, ’twas foolishness to try;

And, if he reach’d not what was done before,

What was the profit? he should try no more.

Such was their war, each Combination room

Lost its old peace and its harmonious Gloom. 280

Whist was no more, or, if again they play’d

Their want of Skill th’ingrossing thoughts betray’d.

While this was passing, a Report was spread—

But those who rais’d were secret as the dead—

That, as the contest caus’d such dire Debate,

To no small scandall of the learned State,

Unlike to end; for losers by their heat

Would keep Resentment to console Defeat—

Then was it best to set them both aside

And choose a friend to either part allied. 290

Then who but Vincent had a chance remote,

For all to him would give a second Vote;

Then for their Peace they would their first resign,

And give the Station to the good Divine.

From Ear to Ear it went, from Tongue to Tongue,

These Sons of Science and of Peace among;

Both rivals cry’d aloud, they’d rather see

Such Man elected than that A. or B.

450None ask’d who first the peaceful thought began

But made it theirs and chose the modest Man. 300

Thrice in his Life, by Merit and by ways

That please the powers who merit love to raise,

Rose the mild Doctor, and was now a Dean,

With grateful Spirit and a Conscience clean.

Some who behold him in his Weakness now,

By Pain and Time despoil’d of smile and bow,

When Observation finds his shrewd good sense

But prattling Love and tame benevolence,

Presum’d to wonder at Success so strange,

Thoughtless how Time had wrought the mighty Change. 310

The Good Man promis’d, so would Heaven afford,

To join the favourite Pair and bless the nuptial Board.

As forth they rode, the Heir address’d his friend:

“Now to an antient Maid our course we bend;

Suppress thy smile, nor by a Glance deride

The Virgin’s Spirit or the Tracy’s Pride!”

[Here follow some forty lines, partly illegible, relating a dream of Emely during the absence of Tracy, and concluding:]

Bound and yet free, they hasten’d to the Shore,

And found their Tent, and all they wish’d to find;

Much was of Bliss without, within was more—

Food for each Sense; amusement for the Mind; 320

Pictures of pleasant, Books of lively, kind;

And Notes and Instruments, for Music meet;

For one Delight another they resign’d.

Were ever pair transfer’d to happier Seat;

Was ever Youth so blest, was ever Maid so sweet?

Yet, but a moment—and the bliss was lost;

Tents, Treasures, Tracy, and Companions gone;

In black, vile boat, on dreadfull billow tost

On salt-sea Lake, sat Emely alone.

On the dark waters melancholy shone 330

The clouded Regent of the wintry Sky;

The muddy Shore no feet might rest upon;

Beyond, with haggard Looks and threat’ning Eye,

Walk’d Man she fear’d to see, yet fear’d, unseen, to die.

And, while she fear’d to die and, living, fear’d,

A peril worse than Death she now espied.

On the wild Waves the ruffian men appear’d,

And now approach’d, and now were at her Side;

Her tears they see not and her Cries deride.

Seaz’d in rude Arm, the trembling maid they take; 340

“Mercy!” her Cry; and, as aloud she cried,

Some unseen form in pitying accents spake:

“Choose first or last thy bliss! now wake, fond maid, awake!”

451She woke and wonder’d; then again she slept

And was with Tracy in the meanest Cot,

Wherever Poverty and Terror crept.

Such now appear’d their lamentable Lot;

Dread was on both, as some accursed Plot

Had Cecil for Contriver! and now fled

To the detested and deserted Spot. 350

With his sad wife! and now in constant dread

And wanting Hope and Health, and needing Peace and Bread.

She wept and, weeping, wonder’d at her Tears;

For every woe and care was put to flight.

Lord of his Land her Cecil now appears,

And She the Lady dearest in his Sight.

Her Views are pleasant and her prospect bright;

And then again the warning Spirit spake:

“Grief follow[s] Joy, succeeds to Woe Delight—

Both thine; which first, fair Dreamer, wilt thou take? 360

Choose either, but take both! now, Emely awake!”

“So ends the Vision and the Sens[e]!” she cry’d.

The Matron smil’d, was thoughtful, and reply’d:

“Thy previous fears to these suggestions led;

Ah, tell me all that Emely can dread!

Suspect’st thou Tracy’s Virtue, Love or Truth?

What is thy Trouble?”—“Inexperienc’d Youth.

Scarcely is Cecil from his Tutor free, }

And my poor Nurse emancipated me, }

When Love our Union plans, and all with Love agree. 370}

But a few days, and thou wilt see thy Son

Lord of his land, an Heir at twenty-one!

And, agèd just nineteen, with purchas’d Aid

Of special guides, I stand—a wond’rous Maid.

To grace my Person some their arts combin’d,

With varied Learning some to cram the Mind;

But all I know of Letters, Form and Life

Seems ill to fit me for your Tracy’s Wife.

What are these girlish works, these quivering Notes,

With which we pain our fingers and our throats, 380

What graceful Manners, and an Air of Ease, }

A power of pleasing, a Desire to please, }

A Temper mildly sweet, and gay good things like these? }

Let them be seen, and they engage the while

The approving Eye and the assenting Smile—

Nay, join’d with Beauty and display’d with art,

To one directed, they have gain’d the Heart—

But will not Tracy ask substantial things;

Will he be happy with a bride who sings;

Who, when her Husband would her Virtue trace, 390

Will entertain him with each Girlish Grace?

Will he the partner of his thoughts admire

For Arts and forms her teachers can inspire,

452And give to her the Secrets of his Heart,

Whose own has nought but trifles to impart?

I, too, with him upon the Lake could be,

Sing in the Tent and dance upon the Lea;

I in the House of Harmony might raise

Th’approving Look in him who loves to praise.

But on that Sea—and now, methinks, I sip 400

The salt Sea-brine that dash’d upon my Lip

In that old Boat, so shocking to each Sense,

And all the Horror I espied from thence;

And, more than these, in that vile hovel, den

Of need and Guilt, that was so dreadful then!

In Scenes like these, or what these Scenes portend, }

How could I cheer my Partner, how defend, }

Or be th’ Adviser, Comforter or friend? }

Should I not then—but let me not appear

A Vision’s Victim, Misery’s Volunteer— 410

But should I not—at least, till I attain

Maturer years—in maiden State remain?”

“Appeal to Cecil,” said the Matron; “say,

‘Thou hadst my promise for th’ important Day;

The Mother’s Wishes, and the full Consent

Of all were thine, nor yet do I repent;

But a dark dream of mingled good and ill

Affects my Bosom and contracts my Will;

And these, it tells me, as I cannot shun,

I fly to Sorrow, to make sure of one.’ 420

Child of my Heart! these boding fears suppress;

They often make, they ever point, Distress.

Tho’ young, yet Heav’n has to [thy] charge confin’d

[The] noble Treasure of a powerful Mind.

These lighter Graces seek not to condemn; }

’Tis they were made for thee, not [thou] for them; }

They are the polished Cut, and thy fair Soul the Gem. }

Say, should my Tracy be unvex’d with Care,

Why not his Pleasures as their Mistress share?

And, in Distress and Sorrow should he pine, 430

Unview’d and absent, would they not be thine?

Then, to thy Promise and thy Cecil true, }

The Path direct that Reason points pursue; }

Love chooses well his Way, when Reason enters too.” }

Near to this Mansion was an antient Hall }

Of Veres; still standing, but inclined to fall. }

Grey frown’d the massy towers, green shook the ivy’d Wall. }

These were, it seemed, a Race from first to last,

A strange, unsocial, mark’d, peculiar Cast[e].

They lov’d all common Manners to defy 440

And chose a wayward Singularity.

In times of trouble they oppos’d the State—

Of Peace, the Church—and gloried in Debate.

It was their Humour and their boast to be

453From all the shackles of the Vulgar free;

All common rules they doubted or denied; }

Each for himself determined to decide, }

And to himself be Law, rule, Governor and Guide. }

Old as it was, its Lords were much afraid

T’inspect the Mansion in the part decay’d, 450

For twofold Reasons: first, that from the part

Contiguous Ruin into View would start;

And next, they found, so many a Call had shar’d

The Current Cash, that nothing could be spar’d.

In the huge Hall, high hung in gilded frames,

Heroic Shreeves and venerable Dames,

With forms majestic and commanding Look,

And smoak-dried all with equalizing smoak;

Yet Kneller’s Wigs still curl’d, a comely Sight,

And Lely’s Bosoms, tho’ in clouded White; 460

These, with the taper Hand and naked Arms,

In Time’s dark veil hid once obtrusive Charms.

The last Esquire, who liv’d himself to please,

Felt through his Life this family disease;

Foe to his Church, it pleas’d him to the heart,

When he could Anger to her friends impart;

And by his own, or by a borrow’d, Jest

See the sad Vicar troubled and distress’d—

The modest Vicar, who with meek good Sense

Fear’d the vain laugh of heartless Insolence. 470

No Student he; yet, what our Squire had read

Cool’d his Affections and disturb’d his head;

Made him his Neighbours and his friends dispise,

And class himself among the learnt and wise.

To his Dependents he was pleas’d to say: }

“Go where you will to hearken or to pray; }

Choose your own Guide, or Guideless take your Way! }

I rest in Church, ’tis decent, what the State

In Life requires from every Magistrate;

While you, my friends, unheeded as you pass, 480

May sleep at Church, at Meeting, or at Mass;

Or, placed at Ease beneath the Summer Sky,

In his own Temple serve the Deity.”

None comprehend, but all are pleas’d to find

That each may act as he is most inclin’d;

That, as so little it concerns us where

We pray, of what Importance is our Prayer?

Maxims like these, that lead to free Discourse,

The Master furnish’d and the Grooms enforce.

He wed a Cousin, to the worthy End 490

That none should spoil a breed that none could mend;

For his Opinions she had not a Care,

Nor meant his fancies or his faith to share;

Him she would wed, but was not so refin’d

Or so romantic as to wed his Mind.

She had been told, that her admiring Swain

Had impious notions she could not restrain,

454And that he spoke with Insult and Delight

What only sin and Satan could indite.

To this she answer’d, that her husband’s Soul 500

Was not design’d to be at her Controul;

That, if he kept the Vow between them made,

She should no Secrets of [his] Heart invade;

These points concern’d not a reflecting Wife,

Whose Contract ended with the present Life;

She could no Evil in such points discern,

And, if [’twere] there, it was his own Concern.

She in their Bargain took especial Care,

With prudent forsight of the Widow’s Share;

Nor was she in her wedded State so fond 510

As not to look upon the State beyond.

So Swimmers, plunging in the river’s tide,

Look to the Landing on the farther Side;

And some on purpose, doubtless, to command

An easy Station where again they land.

This Man and Wife had nature well allied;

For both were positive, and both had pride;

And all the Love that in the bosom glow’d

Was on the person tenderly bestow’d;

As weeds, cut down and burn’d upon the field, 520

To their own place their little value yield.

Both lov’d a Life expensive, but they still

A something found to counteract the Will:

He was by press of Indolence restrain’d,

And she from knowledge of the Cost refrain’d.

They were not wealthy, and they needed Care

To keep Affairs as buoyant as they were.

In this good Lady it was strange to see

How ignorant a knowing Wife can be.

Learning she held, if not a very Crime, 530

A needless burden and a Loss of Time.

Of all the world above and this below

She knew as much as she desir’d to know;

And that is more, with all their Search and Care,

Than Locke and Newton fairly could declare.

That the Moon shone on the Assembly night,

Was all she thought or car’d about her Light.

The Seasons came, and she explain’d with Ease

What was in Season both on Land and Seas;

She play’d at Whist with such surprising Skill, 540

That many censur’d her for playing ill;

But this was error; she disdain’d to cheat,

When she could lawfully and fairly beat;

Beside, she felt a Scruple to the Deed,

Except in Times of the extremest Need.

Rebells she scorn’d, and wish’d, with all her Soul,

That Ropes might choak whom Laws could not controul,

And a Staunch Patriot was to her a word

For factious wretches, impious and absurd.

Yet to the Cause she lov’d with so much Zeal 550

455She could no more than Approbation deal,

And had her Schemes to lessen or evade

The fairest Tax that could on Man be laid;

Thinking that one so loyal should requite

Her Self for shewing what was just and right.

She kept her Church, and often would exclaim

To her unwilling Partner, “What a Shame!

Is it so much, a quiet hour to pass

And give Example to the lower Class!”

She heard of Battles, where ten thousand fell, 560

And beg’d that none would on the Subject dwell:

“Such Wounds and Carnage, fire, blood, and Smoke!

Good God! it poison’d every Meal she took!”

Active and able to contend, she still }

Found in her Lord a Stubbornness of Will; }

A dull resisting Strength, that baffled all her Skill; }

A Vis inertiæ—and, in fact, no stone

Could be more stubborn to be wrought upon—

A Mind at rest, that she could neither please }

By any Effort, nor by any teize; 570}

A Soul envelop’d deep in intellectual Ease— }

But this not always; favourite points to gain,

He would a Warfare valiantly maintain;

And then her Prudence taught the Dame to yield,

That she with double strength might take the field;

And, when victorious in some grand affair,

She [yielded] others as beneath her Care.

The first-born Child had every dawning Grace

And promis’d Beauty in her form and face.

“We’ll call her Julie, if you please, my dear,” 580

The Mother cry’d, “I doat on Julie Vere.”—

“What! no Remembrance of her Aunt! for shame!

You doat indeed! be Barbara her name!”—

“Oh! never, never”—and a storm began

That quite o’erpower’d the Spirit of the Man.

The Babe was Julie, nor a Word was heard

That spoke his Wishes to have interfer’d.

Succeeding Daughters came with feeble Cry

Who caus’d few Cares, and only liv’d to die;

But ten years past, when, to the Father’s Joy 590

And Mother’s Glory, she produc’d a Boy.

Now said the Lady, “If you would consent

To call him Frederick, I should be content.”

“Be [sure],” he answer’d with a Sneer, “my Love,

I’ll give the Boy a Name you must approve:

He shall be Julian!” “An heroic Name

Of some old fool!” said the indignant Dame.

“Fool!” said the Husband; “nay, a glorious Prince;

Nor have Mankind beheld his equal since.

He the whole World from Superstition free’d, 600

A[nd] left the Bigots neither Cross nor Creed.”

“Well,” said the Wife, with infinite Disdain,

“Could not the Bigots get a Creed again?

456And ’tis your Maxim that all Crimes are bred

By Men with new Opinions in their Head;

Was it not foolish in your Prince to force

These quiet Bigots from their antient Course?”—

“Nay, you mistake; he wanted to restore

Things as they had been in the Times of yore.”

“What!” quoth the Lady; “both a foe and friend 610

To Superstition! this can you defend?

I knew him not; but I suppose, if known,

He wish’d his people’s folly like his own;

He whom he could of his Religion made,

And punish’d those whom he could not persuade.—

But let your favourite Prince his name afford;

I will not quarrel with you for a Word.”

The Name she thought would not ungraceful be,

And nothing knew of the Apostacy.

The Priest objected, but the Squire maintain’d 620

The Point with Vigor, and his purpose gain’d.

Thus liv’d the Couple, daily to contend,

And never wish’d their Quarrels at an End.

They felt no fondness, and no more of hate

Than gave an Edge and pleasure to debate.

Contentions sprang from themes of every kind

And wak’d from Sloth to Energy the Mind;

Quarrels they took, like Bitters, to excite

And give Exertion to the Appetite.

For twice ten years the sprightly Course they try’d; 630

When the Strife ended, and the Husband died.

But first he thought that she who had been long

A Plague to him would lead his Julian wrong;

Nor would she fail to soothe and to decoy

To her own Will th’affection of the boy.

Therefore a Friend and Neighbour he besought

That no such Evil on the Child be wrought;

And, tho’ the friend was Christian, all was well.

This rather pleas’d the dying Infidel;

For he confess’d he had among them seen, 640

As spake their Actions, some with Conscience clean;

And not Philosophers themselves were found

Above all seeming and within all sound.

Julian was thus in purest knowledge train’d,

In all the Father slighted or disdain’d:

Honour to value at the noblest price;

To hold no parly with a pleading Vice;

And true Religion to defend in Times

When Truth and faith were heresies and Crimes.

The Man whom Vere judg’d fittest to protect 650

His Boy, when young, and into Life direct

Was one who made of Talents no display: }

A mild good Man, of whom his friends could say }

That Foes in vain might blame the Lord of Etheringay— }

The “virtuous Boyle,” a Name that he sustain’d,

And well preserv’d the fame that others gain’d.

457He with a widow’d Father past his Time

In aiding Merit and suppressing Crime;

Nor till his fortieth year had found the fair

For whom he sigh’d, and sigh’d not in Despair. 660

Happy with her he seem’d as Man could be—

Still happier with the Infant Emely.

In her fifth year, she saw with childish Joy,

Then in his tenth, her Sire’s adopted boy.

Tall, handsome, unabash’d, in Spirit gay

She found a friend in study and in play.

But brief the happy Season; Summons stern

Call’d Julian hence in other place to learn,

For other Studies of severer kind,

And by harsh Contest form the manly Mind. 670

But, in the time when youthful bosoms beat

Twice in each year for the paternal Seat,

A few Dull Days he with his Mother past,

But gave to Emely the best and last.

Young as he was, he found himself too old

This youthful beauty coolly to behold.

Domestics idly talk’d of future Tyes,

And Julian’s Mother of her new Allies.

She pleas’d her boy by praises of his choice,

Before he chose, and gave, unask’d, her voice; 680

Bade him by Care assiduous to retain

The Influence that his Sex and age must gain;

He was no Child, and, if he were, ’twas just

For him to look to what he had to trust.

His Father left him with involv’d Affairs,

Who had no Mercy on his Wife and Heirs;

He must take heed to what he was about,

Nor fill a Parent’s mind with foolish Doubt.

His Person, Mind, Connection, and Degree

Might win a wealthier Maid than Emely; 690

But still, as providence had seem’d to knit

The destin’d knot, she deem’d it right and fit,

And charged him, on her blessing, well to play

His Cards, and never throw his Luck away!

Young as he was, the Boy was not at ease.

He now had Motives [and] designs to please;

They hurt his feelings, and he seem’d to trace

Something unpleasant in his Guardian’s face.

He now had thoughts that he could not express,

And fear’d that Guardian more and lov’d him less. 700

But still, to please his Emely, he strove

With all the eager Haste of boyish Love.

She, pure and thoughtless, of all meaning void,

Their walks, their Sports, their Liberty enjoy’d,

But was at times offended by the Care

And strange politeness she disdain’d to share.

When with his Mother Tracy chanc’d to come,

Who had no Care, no Manhood, to assume,

The happy Damsel join’d the laughing boy,

458And all was careless Ecstacy and Joy. 710

He had no Love, no Hate, nor Fear nor Hope,

But gave [his] Humour and his passions Scope;

And oft, when Julian warn’d the nymph to shun

The Rain and Cold, the Shadow and the Sun,

Her favourite Cecil to the roughest Play

Would call, and quarrel if she dar’d delay.

Yet she perversely from the Kindness fled,

And follow’d Cecil wheresoe’er he led;

Nor had the Garden or the Lawn a spot

Where they could venture and they ventur’d not. 720

Now from domestic Joy and Youthful Love

To woes domestic we awhile remove.

[Ere] the Good Man his fiftieth year had seen,

With those he number’d who had living been.

Slight was the Warning, and as slight the Need,

When the pure Soul was from the Body freed;

When the griev’d Wife and antient Parent shed

Their Tears of envying Anguish o’er the Dead.

They saw before them but a length of Woes,

And long’d for Death, and languish’d for repose. 730

But the fair Child, their pity and their pride,

Their sad affections to the World allied,

And on their natures’ Tenderness she wrought; }

Till they some transient fits of Pleasure caught }

And, first forbidding, next received them sought. }

Seldom the Boys their fairy Mistress met;

The Mother sigh’d and lov’d retirement yet;

Nor could she part with the consoling Aid,

But purchas’d Help to teach the willing Maid.

Joy of her House, the Child sustained her part, 740

And won from woe severe the wounded Heart.

The good old Man, to Heav’n’s will resign’d,

With Faith and Hope sustain’d his modest Mind.

Time and Reflection had their sure Success,

And soft’ned Sorrow rose from deep distress.

To this Religion added thoughts that force

The keenest Anguish from its wasteful Course.

Oft would the Widow, oft the Sire, relate

Their lofty Hopes of an eternal State;

Of Souls that meet in regions where they dwell 750

In bliss untold and indescribable.

Then, when unceasing Love had brought in View

A Form so graceful and an Heart so true,

And every Action painted to the Life

For the fond father and deserted wife,

Hope stronger still before the Image cast

A veil oblivious, to conceal the past;

Then on the future threw so bright a ray

That Sorrow smil’d in Tears and softly died away.

So, when the heavy Rain[s] more gentle grow 760}

O’er the soft Shower bright gleams the colour’d bow, }

That never shines abroad till first the Waters flow; }

459But on the Eye no cheerful Colours fall,

When not a Cloud appears, or when ’tis cloudy all.

Now for the World their Emely they train’d,

Who in that World their only good remain’d;

For her they read, and, to enlarge her Views, }

Gave Books t’ instruct her, to inform, amuse, }

And [chose] the best of each; and well they knew to choose. }

Some were forbid, and these they laid aside 770

Nor [raised] a Wish that was not gratified;

Nor were these Parents so extremely nice

That their fair Charge must not be told of Vice.

They better knew the texture of the Mind;

Nor kept a lively Lass, and curious, blind;

But of the useful and the good supplied

A copious Store, and she was satisfied.

The kind old Student, to oblige the Maid,

The Tricks of Science with its pride display’d:

The Captive Mouse, half-dead for want of Air, 780

Had Freedom granted at the Virgin’s prayer,

Who had no pleasure in th’ exhausted House

To view the panting of the captive Mouse.

[For her] Electric fire illum’d the Gloom,

And mimic Lightning flash’d along the room;

Maidens and men, the nymph to entertain,

With rueful Wonder felt the numbing pain;

Amaz’d to think what Creature could bestow

Strokes without force and pain without a blow.

All on a Stool, high raised on feet of Glass, 790

She saw the fiery Sparks her fingers pass;

All who approached the pungent Spark sustain’d;

They felt alike who gave it and who gain’d;

No Arrows Cupid sent from Heart to Heart

Were so alike or gave such equal Smart.

A Pleasant Sight it was the Sire to view,

In loose, long gown, that brush’d the morning Dew,

With feeble Call the lively Girl delay,

And his light Learning mid her flowers display;

Then show the Species, Genus, Order, Class 800

To the half-wond’ring and half-laughing Lass.

With Care parental he the learned Swede

From all his folly and Allusion freed;

And, when they spake of Stamina and threads, }

Nor Wives nor Husbands floated in their Heads; }

And flowers were flowers alone, and were not bridal beds. }

Polygamy in all its various kind

Was never suffer’d to disturb the Mind;

Nor could she in a simple Daisy see

(Ah, Crime!) superfluous polygamy; 810

In a bright Sunflower she had not the pain

To find this same polygamy again;

Nor could a Marigold the more approve

To find it there was necessary Love.

As up the hill and o’er the heath they stray’d,

460A curious form beside the hawthorn laid.

A silvery white its outer surface shone;

Its bottom ended in a pointed Cone,

One inch in length; and in the broader Space

Was the faint picture of an human face— 820

Dead to the Eye, but in the hand a Strife

Of waking Nature shew’d the latent Life.

“Now tell me, Maiden, from that silver shape,

What prison’d Beauty shall from hence escape?

Shall a slow Moth the silvery Prison leave,

That, when a Worm, she left her food to weave,

And slowly flutter in the dying day—

The Schoolboy’s Pleasure and the Swallow’s prey?

Or shall, with broader Wing and brighter dyes,

A soaring Creature from her Coffin rise, 830

Spread to the Morning Sun her glowing Hue

Hang o’er the honey’d flower and drink the nectar dew?”

Young Emely the pencil’d figure view’d, }

And knew the Image that would soon [protrude], }

That she with rapture o’er the Hills pursu’d. }

“I know her well,” the infant Beauty cried:

“The Woodland Glory and the Garden’s pride;

I see the Colours o’er her form bespread,

The softned brown, faint green and dusky red,

And [glowing] eye of [a] bright azure blue 840

On either [angle] of the Wings I view.

Beneath, her shading puts all art to Shame;

Queen of her race she reigns, and Io is her Name.”

Sometimes the Rock within the Quarry gave

The Shell that roll’d beneath the Ocean’s wave—

Shell now no more: a gradual Change came on,

And the thin Shell became the Solid Stone.

Yet Shape and Size and Hue and Hinge remain’d,

And a Stone-fish the rocky Valves contain’d.

This led to Questions from the curious Mind; 850

But who shall Answers to these Questions find?

“Such Wonders are,” replied the Sire; “no more

I know, my Child; be silent and adore!”

Oft would the Lass with either Parent go

And hear the wonted Tales of village woe.

She saw their bounteous Hand the bliss impart,

And they the Gladness of her feeling Heart;

Yet Prudence here the various Tale explain’d,

The Signs of Grief sincere and Sorrow feign’d.

Yet here they own’d how much our rules deceive, 860

And, e’en when wrong, ’tis Kindness to believe.

By Preachers guided, by her Parents train’d

The favour’d Beauty Grace and Knowledge gain’d;

A happy Temper and a Soul sincere,

A lively Spirit and a Conscience clear,

A Taste that seem’d instinctively to fly

The base and mean, were found in Emely.

Hers was a Beauty every Eye approv’d,

461Hers the meek sweetness that all tempers mov’d.

The Grave esteem’d her, and the gay and light 870

Affected Prudence in the Virgin’s sight.

Thus Good and happy, of her Friends the pride,

No Wishes hidden and no Wants denied,

She liv’d serenely, honour’d and belov’d,

Meek tho’ indulged, and modest tho’ approv’d,

The Sick, the Poor, the suffering and oppress’d

Could all the Grandsire’s liberal Soul attest;

While the more griev’d, disturb[‘d] and doubtful sought

The Widow’s Aid, a Mind with Wisdom fraught,

And from the Sister-Spirit found relief 880

In all the various pangs of mental Grief.

All this the Virgin saw, and she became

Kind as the father, prudent as the dame;

Pleas’d with the Life she liv’d, the Joy she felt,

The Love she shar’d, and the Delight she dealt.

Such were the three by liberal fortune plac’d

Mid all the Good of Life they wish’d to taste;

And, guarded well by Griefs correcting touch,

They tasted not too often or too much.

His Guardian lost, young Julian and his friend 890

Their rural Sports for graver tasks forsook,

Pleas’d the same Years in the same place to spend,

In the same Seat the Students of one book.

Their tastes alike, like Pleasures they partook;

For some Events had Julian’s studies stay’d

And of his younger friend an Equal made.

There was no bitter Rivalship at heart,

No Emulation that like Envy burns;

But what they gain’d they hasten’d to impart,

The Pupil and the Teacher each in turns; 900

And each a Wish for selfish Pleasure spurns.

A bond so strong the youthful friendship tied

That all but Death to break it they defied.

When ceas’d the gentle bondage of the Schools,

To the same College the Companions went;

Theirs was no Friendship that Experience cools;

But still together was the Season spent;

Whether on Study or on Sports intent,

Each on the other happy to attend,

He found an Home where’er he found his friend. 910

Cecil was happy in a taste refin’d,

Julian in points abstruse his knowledge sought;

Cecil to classic beauty most inclin’d,

The Mind of Julian was with Science fraught;

But each so much from his Companion caught

That none could here a want of taste detect,

Nor there of points abstruse appear’d Neglect.

462

[SUSAN AND HER LOVERS.]

The Miller’s Son, a foolish Boy who ran

From his dull home, returned a favourite Man;

And not a Daughter of the Village view’d

The Handsome Youth, but Wishes would intrude.

His person all that charms a vacant Eye;

His Air what vacant Minds are fetter’d by;

His Song enchanting, and his manners free;

A dangerous youth in Village Wakes was he!

To all that Nature gave in form or face

He added all that Heroes gain of Grace— 10

Not all that Grace for Stanhope’s self had done,

But what suffic’d to raise the Miller’s Son;

To make him first, where many a Youth was seen,

Th’ accomplish’d Chesterfield of Stanton Green.

The good old Father blest his lucky Lot

And all his Darling’s early Sins forgot;

These “youthful Follies” he was pleas’d to call,

And fondly prais’d the feasted prodigal.

He ask’d no Questions: where the youth had gain’d }

What pleas’d so many and what some had pain’d; 20}

He saw not—thought not—if the Soul were stain’d; }

Vice was not written on the front, nor where

Those Locks appeared so carelessly with Care.

He saw him sprightly, active, ardent, brave,

Nor found in one so free his passions’ Slave;

Knew not the daring Wishes he obey’d,

The Friend deluded and the ruin’d Maid;

Knew not the Sums the absent Hero spent,

What means acquir’d them, or for what they went;

None saw in him, so form’d [midst men] to shine, 30

The Wretch whom Sin compell’d to herd with Swine.

Yet in that Person there were some who found

The hidden Scars of many a former Wound—

Not gain’d by Valour’s Chance in noble Wars,

But vulgar Signs and ignominious Scars.

And there were some, whose hint of grosser kind,

Or true or false, betray’d the Envious Mind.

It could not be but Youth so gay and vain

Should strive the loveliest of her Sex to gain;

And sure it added Spur to the pursuit, 40

When the fair prize was called forbidden fruit.

There are who feel a triumph with the Joy,

When their Success another’s peace destroy;

When they Contrition with Desire impart

And break a Contract, while they win a heart.

The greatest pleasures that the Vicious know

From a large mixture of Injustice flow;

Before the jaded Sinner drinks it up,

463There must be fire and poison in the Cup.

A mutual pleasure lulls the Wretch to sleep; 50

He loves th’ Enjoyment, where his Victims weep;

Who, fond yet wretched, with indignant Eyes

Spell Rage with Love, and when they bless, despise;

Who both their Weakness and their Virtue prove,

And scorn the Lover, while they yield to Love.

Our Hero in the Army learn’d some Skill,

Where he had past a kind of twofold Drill:

First, in the Field, where he for War was train’d,

And in the Tent, where he Assurance gain’d;

Knowledge of Life, and Life’s superior Bliss, 60

And Soldiers’ Comforts in a World like this.

When first the Youth address’d the Village Maid,

He but the Impulse of his pride obey’d;

But when he knew her an affianc’d Bride,

A rival’s Grief increas’d th’ heroic Pride.

[Susan’s first lover Joseph expostulates.]

“Then, dear my Susan, let me now advise, }

Upon this handsome Soldier shut your eyes! }

Nay, shed no more these tears, nay, now suppress these Sighs! }

Think not a Tyrant in your Joseph lives;

More than his Life in giving you he gives, 70

And yet will give; but oh! let me enquire;

If he deserve you, he must needs admire.”

Susan agree’d, but not without a fear;

And his report was prudent and sincere.

He could assure her that he would not lie

To gain the Hand for which he dar’d to die;

And he was sorry to report the Truth,

For that was not in Favour of the Youth.

First, that he drank and lov’d to sit and prate

At the new Inn upon his Chair of State, 80

Making the Clowns about him in Surprise

Stare at improbable and boasting Lies.

He no Religion in the World profest,

But made the parson and the Church his jest.

He talk’d of Women with unworthy Mind,

As if they all were wickedly inclin’d;

Spinster or married, he declar’d, not one

Could his Addresses and Advances shun,

And all the difference he could ever trace

Between the Girls in Credit and Disgrace 90

Was, that the former were demure and tried,

What their free Sisters never fear’d, to hide.

“Such are his Manners; such I fear his Life—

And can he merit Virtue for a Wife?”

Poor Susan sigh’d; she cried; she did not think

That Mr Frank was so dispos’d to drink;

He was intic’d, and that she knew full well,

464By them that lov’d the Stories he could tell—

Things strange to us indeed upon the Green;

But they that travel have such wonders seen! 100

’Twas very wicked, that must be confest,

To make Religion and the Church a Jest;

But wicked Masters, she had heard, discours’d

Before their Servants and such things enforc’d.

Young, and in Camp, and looking up to them,

He might be pardon’d—tho’ she must condemn.

’Tis true his vile Opinion of her Sex

Vex’d her at Heart, but was not [meant] to vex;

There were such Women, that was true enough,

And that provok’d the Men to talk such Stuff; 110

Still, there is too much Licence in his Tongue

And in his Conduct—but he now is young.

[A long passage follows, only very partially legible, ending with the following lines:]

’Tis hard to say what fears and troubles rose

In Susan’s breast, each other to oppose!

Absent the Father, Lover, Friend, she fear’d

For each in turn, and all were more endear’d;

And much she griev’d, that Men she lov’d so well

Could not in Comfort with each other dwell.

Poor Susan then forth hurried, with a Dread

Of Unknown Evil pending o’er her Head! 120

’Twas in a luckless Hour, when Joseph’s Mind

Was full of Care, he anything but kind;

When he look’d back upon the Days serene

That he and Susan had together seen,

[Ere] this free Soldier his fair Maid address’d

And broke with Dreams of Bliss the [wonted] rest.

Yet had he past the Sign, nor turn’d again

For Speech insulting nor for threat’ning vain,

Had not the Youth, contemptuous, from the Inn

Reach’d him, resolv’d a Quarrel to begin: 130

“Come, stay, my Hero, and determine now

To whom fair Susan shall engage her Vow!

Win her and wear her; fight for or decline;

Begin the battle, or the Bride is mine!”

“Coxcomb!” said Joseph; and by force he free’d

His captive Arm and hasten’d to proceed.

“‘Coxcomb!’” said Francis; “you shall quickly know

The force and Value of a ‘Coxcomb’s’ blow!”

“A Ring! a Ring!” for now a gathering Crowd

Had vulgar and tumultuous Joy avow’d. 140

“If the Great Cesar had presum’d to Call,

Him and his Mirmidons—I’d face them all!

But first I will wipe off this foul Disgrace,

And bring the Blush of shame upon thy face.”

465And [on] the Instant, as he ceas’d to speak,

He struck th’ insulted Joseph on the Cheek.

For Frank was one who Lectures never mist

On all the glorious Science of the fist,

Nor wanted Courage for the noble Strife,

And would have fought for Glory or a Wife. 150

Here too he saw a Foe who could not boast

Of more than Courage and plain strength at most;

“And this,” said he, “the Maiden’s Heart must gain:

Success and Courage never plead in vain.”

With open palm he struck, and hasten’d then

To the warm Conflict of experienc’d Men;

For he was train’d in both the useful Arts

Of breaking Heroes’ Ribs and Women’s Hearts.

Joseph tho’ patient, [now] the blow was dealt

[Both] coming Shame and rising Vengeance felt. 160

“Scoundrel!” he cried, and yet for patience strove,

By Nature form’d for Harmony and Love;

But, urg’d by Insult of the grossest kind,

He gave to Vengeance and to War his Mind.

He knew his Rival’s Strength, his boasted art,

And saw the soulless Crowd upon his part;

He wanted Skill, he car’d not for Applause;

But he had Courage and the better Cause.

There was one friend of Joseph, one indeed

Almost unknown and now a friend in need, 170

With whom nor Time nor Cash he deign’d to spend—

The Landlord of the Bell was Joseph’s friend.

But why this Love? for Francis was in Truth,

His Father witness’d, [an] expensive Youth;

And all he spent, as all the Green could tell,

Save short Excursions, all was at the Bell.

But, when the Landlord would at Night repair

To the fair Wife and to the favourite Chair,

He found the Chair wherein he sang and drank

Still near[er] plac’d, and fill’d by Mr Frank; 180

And from such Trifle—strange as it appears—

Harry was harried by an Husband’s fears.

He wish’d that Joseph by some lucky blow

Might lay the Hero of the people low;

It would have pleas’d him to have told his Wife

How the poor youth had struggled for his life.

For Harry’s Malice was of fatal kind;

He had no milky Softness in his Mind;

His Love and Favour from his Hatred rose;

His Friend was help’d, his Rival to oppose. 190

Muse of my Choice and Mistress of my Time,

Who leav’st the gay, the grand, and the sublime—

These who without an Atmosphere are known,

And paintest Creatures just as they are shown:

Say, can’st thou ken the Science of the Fist

And know the Language of the Pugilist?

Not so, alas! What Glory had we found,

466Could’st thou have sweetly sung of every Round?

Well! but we saw, and briefly can declare,

The Blows’ Effect, if not what Blows they were. 200

First, strong in Ale and Anger Frank appear’d,

Already Conqueror by the Rabble cheer’d;

Who, when the weaker Man is driv’n about

And Soul and Body hurt, insulting shout;

When the elated Victor stares around,

His Ears are tickled with th’ applauding sound;

[While] the poor Wretch who sobs upon the Earth

Hears the unfeeling Rabble’s mad’ning Mirth.

But Joseph, patient and with patience strong,

Felt not the Insult, nor perceiv’d it long. 210

Warm’d in the war, the clamour he disdain’d,

And half the Victory by his Temper gain’d.

He saw the rage of youth; he saw the pride,

And felt that both would lessen or subside;

His Tendons stiff grew pliant by the use

That relaxation in the young produce;

And, when he grew more eager for the fight,

It did not yield his Rival such delight.

When he could bravely in the Action mix,

He backward drew with scientific Tricks, 220

And watched and waited, till in Harry’s face

He saw a Smile betok’ning his Disgrace.

And now had Victory crown’d the juster Cause,

And patient Virtue gain’d the fond Applause—

For even Virtue when it meets Success

Will Crowds Applaud, altho’ they love it less.

A Round was over, and our Soldier found

No Inclination for another Round;

But Shame compell’d and Hatred, and he flew

To end his work, and was successful too. 230

By one dread blow on his unguarded Side

Poor Joseph fell, and, “he is gone,” they cry’d.

“Foul and dishonest!” said the Friends of Truth;

“Lawful and fair!” th’ Abettors of the Youth.

Or fair or foul, the now unhappy Man

Was lost, and the victorious Champion ran,

He knew not where, the army in his Sight,

And Susan fond companion of his flight.

Just to his Wish and in his Way, the Maid

Was with her friend dejected and afraid; 240

Sad her Conjectures, and she hasten’d on

Till Strength and Life and Thought and Hope were gone.

A fallen Tree receiv’d her, and she wept,

Till Nature fainted and Sensation slept.—

“Arise, my Charmer, Mistress of my Heart;

Share in my Joy, and never will we part!

Thine old pretender has presum’d to try

Our right in Battle—we awhile must fly.

Come then, my Beauty; and to-morrow’s Sun,

That shews thee lovely, shall behold us one.” 250

467Affrighted Susan heard th’ imperfect boast;

“And Joseph dead?”—“Disabled, love, at most.

But, tho’ no Laws could my fair Deeds condemn,

Their Laws have agents, and I fly from them.

The Man will live, but he demands his Bed,

And thy kind Father will support his Head;

[Meanwhile], sweet Susan, shall thy Charms repose

In Arms destructive only to our foes.”

“Injur’d and dying!” said the Maid, “and I

Th’ accursed Cause! Go, Man of Terror, fly! 260

I dream’d of one like thee, but he was kind

And did no Murder! Go, thy Safety find!

Where is my Father?” and, of Soul bereft,

She rose and sought the Cottage she had left.

In vain the Youth intreated—vainly tried

Alarm; his Words rejected or despised.

Yet still he follow’d, but at Distance saw

The Father’s Cot that forc’d him to withdraw.

Borne to his Bed, th’ unhappy Joseph found

The wounded Mind inflam’d his Body’s wound; 270

Deeply he griev’d to think a Youth so vile

And so deprav’d must win his Susan’s smile;

[That] this vindictive Stroke should Victory gain

And all his Hope and Courage be in vain!

“And is it then a World where none can trust

On Truth and Virtue—’tis a World unjust!”

Sorely he griev’d, till Sleep a short suspense

Gave to his Sorrow and overcame the Sense.

E’en in his Dream he saw his Rival blest

With the false Maid, and anguish broke his rest— 280

Anguish no more, for watchful at his bed

He saw the Maid, by genuine pity led.

’Twas fond Esteem! and that immoral boy

She now despis’d and his accursed Joy.

[Ere] yet the wicked Vengeance she was told,

The vile Avenger she could ill behold,

And, as he urg’d his prayer, indignant grew,

And all her fondness [and her faith] withdrew.

Joseph she saw, his Virtues and his Worth,

And Love from grateful Sorrow took his Birth. 290

He had her pity, her Esteem, before,

When he was glad—he suffer’d, and had more;

Nor Groan escap’d him, but it touch’d the Maid,

Who, as he did not, would herself upbraid.

Advis’d, the Father, when he saw her Care,

Forbore to urge her and agreed to spare;

And the sick-room was made a mild retreat

For rising Hope and opening Love to meet.

Then Joseph told her he could yet forgive,

Would Frank reform, and they in joy might live; 300

While he—“Oh! speak not!” [quickly] she replied,

468“Thine will I be, and that will be my pride!

It was a foolish Thought, a Fancy fled,

A Dream dissolv’d—the very wish is dead.

I thought that all things yielded to my Youth,

And follow’d Fancy till she fled from Truth;

Now I behold thee virtuous, as thou art,

Nor yield Esteem more freely than my Heart,

And him the worthless being he appears,

Taught to create our Terrors and our tears.” 310

CAPTAIN GODFREY.

Musing, he said—“So rich, and so addressed,

What can I hope? be, foolish heart, at rest!

Here fate has brought me—now, suppose I write,

If but my Name, and leave it for her sight?”

That instant sank the moon, and Godfrey cried:

“So perish all my Views!” and deeply sighed;

Then, with heroic Motion striding far

And Voice of Valour—“Let us to the War!”

But, as he sighed, he heard approaching feet

Behind those trees so shady and so sweet; 10

Then, dimly seen, came on with Motion slow

That pair whose Hearts he most desired to know.

The Lady’s Accent he remembered well;

The Lover’s Name his Rival’s fears could spell.

He shrank, disordered, to his hiding place;

To be detected was for life disgrace.

The best, the wisest, method he could take

Was, undisguised, a safe retreat to make;

But some mix’d Motives, not defin’d with Ease,

Led [him] behind the Phalanx of the trees.— 20

But who will pardon to an act extend

So full of Fear, so doubtful in the End?—

Cautious he stood, this Hand upon the Sword

That on his Heart, and listened to each Word.

Yes, you are good, and have in this complied;

Be kinder yet, and now my Fate decide!

Thought I, that months, nay years, attending still

Could soften that dear Heart or lead that will,

Thro’ many an arduous Month and many a year

I would attend, adore, and persevere; 30

But thou, tho’ gentlest of the gentle Kind,

Hast with the frankest heart the firmest Mind;

Tho’ with that firmness true Compassion lives,

And thy Heart murmurs at the Grief it gives.

Then, when I view thee so unmov’d tho’ mild,

Gentle yet just, my Judgment is beguil’d.

Oh! could I see thee angry and, when teiz’d,

469Mov’d to resent—now sooth’d, and now displeas’d—

I should have hope; for, as thy Anger rose,

The Grief it caused thy Pity would compose. 40

Could I a weakness in thy Heart discern,

Love there might enter and enjoy his turn;

But, tho’ I seek thee early, leave thee late, }

And all day long upon thy pleasure wait, }

I find thee firm as Truth and fixed as Fate. }

Yet, what forbids? my years beyond thy own }

Are few, nor these in peevish Manners shewn; }

My Title, fortune, friends and family are known. }

These are not much; but I have more than these;

Sure, love like mine and faithfulness might please. 50

Our Thoughts in all their Views appear to strike

On the same Chords, and we have tastes alike—

And shall we here alone the difference prove,

And there be no Similitude in Love?

“Would’st thou thy Sister call to Life, O take

My Heart instead and what shall please thee make!

If Time, Entreaty and thy friends, incline

That Heart to love, I could insure thee mine;

But, if that Heart have purpose fix’d and sure,

And I must Coldness tho’ not scorn endure; 60

If something tell thee, ‘Heed not Fancy’s tale

Nor let her Visions o’er my Truth prevail’;

If that dread something, call it what you will,

Oppose me strongly and oppose me still:

Be like thyself, be candid, and impart

Thyself the Tidings to a doubtful Heart;

If Bliss await him, make thy Lover blest;

If not, oh, give these doubts and Terrors rest!”

“It grieves me much,” replied the gentle Maid,

While Godfrey listened, of each Word afraid, 70

That I am urged those Motives to explain

Which safe Experience bids the Sex retain.

What would my Friend? hast thou a Right to see

The Heart’s fond folly, scarcely known to me?

Say, is it friendly, is it kind to trace }

The tender failings of an erring race, }

In whom the faintest Speck is held Disgrace? }

’Tis true I cannot with thy wish comply;

But is it right that I should tell thee why,

And to thy harder Sex make failings known 80

That I conceal with Caution from my own?

“Then [hear]—and know I own thee for a friend;

And my Confession thy Suspense shall end.

Know then, I cannot from my breast expel

A strong Impression fated there to dwell;

Time but confirms it, and the pain it brings

Proves that it lives, for it has life that stings.

Ere yet my Father knew this Load of Wealth,

And my lov’d Sisters shar’d my Views in Health,

A Youth addressed me—I prefer’d him then; 90

470But I was warn’d of the Designs of Men.

His Views in Life were humble, he confest;

But this * * *, nor could it be suppress’d.

In him ’twas policy to win the Truth;

And then I fear’d the fickle Soul of Youth.

Yet, [though] rejected, he was ever near,

And uninvited—let me own it, dear!

My parents doubted; I was urged to prove

The Heart I valued, [ere] I own’d the love.

My Sister only was his friend; she knew— 100

So love persuades—that one so brave was true;

For he was brave and had in battle shown

That War and Danger had familiar grown.

An Hero’s favourite Nymph the poet sings,

But Heroes’ Widows are neglected Things.—

Thus, while Affection shone with Fear, an Hour

Arrived to prove his patience and my power.

For an offence so trifling, that one day

Had swept the memory of the Crime away,

In spleen, in spite, in folly I reprov’d 110

And banish’d from my Sight the Man I lov’d!

[His] purpos’d visit in the morn I knew,

And bore in mind my purpos’d pardon too.

‘’Tis a last trial,’ to my Heart I said;

‘When [he returns], thy Will shall be obey’d.’

Ah! my kind Friend, remember, in thy Woes,

No Self-reproach forbids thy Soul repose!

But I detain thee; would I had detain’d

The Man my Folly, but not solely, pain’d!

Ere that return a sudden order bore 120

My Godfrey hence, and he return’d no more.

Dear Suffering Youth, forgive me; I lament }

A Man to Misery by my Humour sent; }

Doomed to rude War, sore Wounds, and long Imprisonment! }

How has he curs’d the fickle Mind! how long

Brooded in Anguish o’er the causeless Wrong!

* * *—or now perhaps a foreign Grave

Holds one so dear, so tender and so brave!

Nay, give thy Pardon; did’st thou not implore

The frank Confession? I will add no more. 130

Choose thou a virgin Heart, nor now behold

This face of Calmness with a bosom cold—

Cold to new Love and, while my Life shall last,

Hopeless of Joy and dwelling in the past!

Tho’ he returns not, justice bids me fly

Thy prayer; thy Hand ’tis Honour to deny;

And oh! if yet I might my Visions trust,

And he returns, Love, tell me to be just!”

471

THE AMOURS OF G[EORGE].

“Brother, what tho’ thy mind is strong,

And thou art classed the wise among,

Yet in thy earlier Life did’st thou

To Love’s imperious Godhead bow,

And [worshipp’dst] ardently in Truth

The Idol of thy giddy youth.”

G. “I read Romances, Joseph, then,

And wrote with a poetic Pen;

I chose in lonely walks to tread,

And held my Converse with the Dead. 10

I built me Castles rich and fair,

And shut in Wealth and Virtue there,

With Bliss that nowhere else will grow,

And Fame not realized below,

And power that none should dare contest,

And Beauty none beside possess’d;

With all that Fancy ever gave

To Man who would his Miseries brave.

My Form was slender; I was tall,

And awkward were my Motions all; 20

Nor was a Form indebted less

To Fashion, Manner, Grace or Dress.

This Form was not for Love designed,

But he intirely ruled the Mind;

And, as I felt that I should prove

A most obedient Slave to Love,

So did I judge that he should be

A most propitious God to me:

To give to me the gentlest Heart

That ever felt his keenest Dart, 30

Or that inspired the sweetest Look,

Or kindly in the features spoke.

“Possessed of Fancies vain and proud

I spurned the male and female Crowd,

And hoped in some auspicious Hour

In some May Morn, in some green Bower,

Where I should soothe my dream of Grief,

To meet the Lady of the Leaf;

Her Love and Favour to implore

And be her Knight for evermore. 40

But let me raise my Style, and tell

What in my Vision me befell.

“One day I mus’d beside a Wood,

As I had often done before,

And [seemed] so rich and brave and good

As never Man was made before.

A green Inclosure was beside,

And, not far distant on the Hill,

472A noble Seat, our County’s Pride,

Built with abundant Care and Skill; 50

And thence had issued Ladies fair

And walked within the Place below,

But the green Wood conceal’d the pair

From me, who walking felt the Glow

Of all the Vanity and pride

That push’d the intruding World aside.

And now, while thus enwrap’d and fed

With thoughts that self indulgence bred,

I heard a Shriek so long and loud

That prov’d the Shriekers were not proud, 60

But would accept the meanest Aid

That ever succour’d folk afraid.

“For so it was: that pair divine

Were met by some rebellious Kine,

Who, in their stubborn Pride and Scorn,

With surly Hoof and threat’ning Horn

Usurp’d the Path, and, as the Maids

Drew near, and [would have] sought its Shades,

[Ere] they could reach the guarding Wood,

Some surly Beast their Way withstood. 70

And hence the dismal Shriek that drew

My Eyes, and asked my Action too;

As Justness prompted, forth I ran

Resolv’d to show myself a Man;

And, plucking forth an oaken Bough,

I ran like Guy to fight the Cow,

And, like a valiant Champion, fixed

Myself the Maids and Cows betwixt.

And, tho’ I had not breath to say,

‘Run, Ladies, for the Stile away!’ 80

Yet doubtless, with a warlike Grace,

My hand was pointed to the Place.

“The Ladies took me at my Word,

And each flew lightly like a Bird.

I now had time my thoughts t’ arrange

And should have liked my place to change;

For now the Creatures seemed disposed

For Battle, and in Order closed;

And, tho’ they halted, yet I found

My feet upon precarious Ground; 90

And yet, to turn me and retreat

Was not alone to own Defeat,

But to invite th’ encouraged Foe

To fell pursuit and overthrow.

“The Ladies, who had pass’d the Stile,

Looked on impatiently the while;

And were amazed, for so they said,

To see the horrid Cows afraid,

And kept in coward fear by one

Who had for them such Service done. 100

“Which had the Victory, Man or Cow,

473Can never be determined now.

For lo! some amazons appear’d,

Resolv’d to milk the stubborn Herd;

Who, as they now obedient grew,

Left me my purpose to pursue—

A purpose that I could not well

Distinguish, nor can fairly tell.

“The [quicker] Nymph with gracious Smile

Received me safe beyond the Stile; 110

Where I had time to feast my Eyes

On paradise and prodigies—

Charms, such as Nature once creates,

Then breaks the Mould (the Lover states).

But this, dear Joseph, was a Face

I could not from my fancy chase,

Was more than I had dreamed, was more }

Than Fancy drew for me before, }

And bade me my own Work adore. }

But let me not on Beauty dwell: 120

The trace became indelible.”

[FRAGMENTS OF TALES OF THE HALL.]

“Are there not some things, B[rother], that will seem

Like very Truth and yet like very dream;

That we are ever at a Loss to find,

Are they of fact or are they of the mind?”

“Again a walk, dear R[ichard,] and so long?

Would not M[atilda] tell you, it is wrong,

That she so little of the Man behold,

The Slave rebellious or the Lover cold?

Where hast thou wandered?”—

“I describe but ill.

When past the Park, I made for Depford Mill. 10

Stopt by the Brook, I turned and slowly went

One Mile, I think, upon a smooth Ascent.

There, on that Hill, where clumps of Fir and pine

So bound the Land that they may pass for thine,

As Thy Plantations on the other Side

Give to the Neighbours something of their Pride—

There, as I stood and viewed the empty Hall

And the small Church, remarked as very small,

A sound, not ringing, but from bells a pair,

Hanged between Turrets in the open Air, 20

Called my Attention to the House; and then

I saw there passing and thence coming Men.

474“Then first that Village wore a cheerful Air,

Not like the noisy Concourse of its Fair;

But I distinguished plainly, with my Glass,

Another people thro’ the Gardens pass.

In fact, there seemed a joy diffused around,

As if some long-lost blessing had been found;

And I could judge by both their dress and air

There went some pains to form that gentle pair. 30

You will have Neighbours; nay, perhaps you know

To whom that—Blessing, shall I say?—you owe.—

“Nay, B[rother], I must leave }

The Place I love; but, going, I must grieve.”— }

“True, my dear R[ichard]—but I ask reprieve; }

Speak gentle words, and you shall hear a Tale

Of the new pair who came to Ashford Dale.”

Small was their Garden, and they wished to grow

All that a Gardening Swain could set or sow;

And in that Soil the produce grew so tall 40

About the Path and Porch, the Door and Wall;

The Children crept the stately plants between,

And only Mary’s snow-white Cap was seen—

When the low door was opened, and the Dame

From her small Parlor to her Garden came,

To see if John was coming from the Farm; }

To hear the Village Scholars’ glad Alarm, }

And to behold the Bees, if clustering for the Swarm. }

Such were the daily Cares in Mary’s life,

The easiest Mother and the happiest Wife. 50

TRAGIC TALES, WHY?

“I have observed,” said Richard, “when I ask

Of those around us, and your memory task

For their Adventures and their Lives, what fate,

How tragic most the Stories you relate.

Is it that most are wretched, or have we

The evil fate to live with Misery?”—

“Not so perhaps, but Men of common Lives,

Who live contented with themselves and Wives,

Afford no Subject for the Muse than Mirth.

“Their [lowly] comforts, or a day’s delight, 10

Do not afford [us] matter when we write;

[Though] all the strange prodigious things they do

Are such as move them and are tragic too.

475Amusements, pleasures, comforts, days of Joy,

May a Man’s Mind, but not his Muse, employ;

Marriage and Births of Heirs are pleasant things,

But seldom help a poet when he sings.

A Day of Hunting, fishing, shooting, these—

Music and Dancing, Cards and fiddles—please;

And wealth acquired or wealth bequeathed impart, 20

More than they ought, rejoicing to the Heart.

But these, though Man might for his Comforts choose,

Can give no Inspiration to his Muse.

But, my dear Richard, when this transient Joy

Some sudden Ills and dire Events destroy;

When the fond wife [or] faithful husband [dies]—

Fate unforseen!—when Wealth takes wings and [flies];

When by Deceit a Maiden’s peace is lost;

When tender Love by cruel fate is crost;

When groaning Poverty and fell Disease 30

Upon the happy and the wealthy seize,

And when on Man’s soft Heart these Evils press:

The awakened Poet paints the due Distress;

Tells how it came, and presses on the Mind

That we are Men, and of the suffering Kind.

We own the grieving and opprest as Friends; }

The Mind enlarges as its Grief extends; }

And Grief that’s painted true improves the Heart it rends.” }

[ROBERT AND CATHARINE.]

Time and mild Laws to Robert freedom gave;

And now the Man resolv’d his Cash to save,

If Cash were his; and Catharine felt delight

To see her Cousin in a decent plight;

And now, contracted, they resolved for Life

To join their Fortune to be Man and Wife.

With more than wonted Courage Catharine sought

For Robert’s Pardon, and at length she brought.

Henceforth a mighty Change in him began:

He was [a] sober, saving, serious Man; 10

He lived to save, and had a friend to prove

What pains he took to win his Uncle’s Love;

Till the old Man for Fact the Tales received,

And all that once opposed Belief believed.

The Nephew now increased his humble Store,

And saved as fondly as he spent before;

Yet would he purchase [savoury] things and sweet

That his dear Uncle would vouchsafe to eat.

“Some seaman gave them”—that was what he told,

And not that some confectioner had sold. 20

476No doubt the fact had caused his Uncle pain,

And he perhaps had sold the Sweets again.

But he was grateful, and began to speak

Of Women harshly: they were vain and weak,

Not skill’d to manage in the great Concern

Of saving Cash, and not disposed to learn.

This Catharine heard not or, if aught she heard,

Of Man’s superior Mind she nothing feared;

But to her Uncle paid the Service due,

Nor thought of Giving, but was kind and true. 30

She now conceived their wish they might declare,

But Robert dared not, begg’d her not to dare!

She saw their dear good Kinsman every day }

Wasting in Flesh, and soon must waste away; }

And then would all be Well! well paid for their Delay! }

She, gentle Girl, though loth, yet acquiesc’d;

It pleased her Cousin, and it might be best.

Yet, as he often came and talk’d at Ease,

She judged it right; but, “Cousin, as you please!”

And now between them and their Wishes rose 40

The old Man’s Life—that only—to oppose

The purposed Union; and that Bar between }

Was now removed, as we remove a Screen }

From what we would not see, or would should not be seen. }

Death was announced; and buried was the Dead,

Relations summon’d, and the Will was read—

Brief but yet clear—Some trifles to some few;

To the dear Niece—in fact, a Trifle too.

Look at that Cottage and its only door:

’Tis poor without, within exceeding poor. 50

Now cast your Eye to yonder splendid scene;

Contrasted see the Prospects proud and mean!

In that proud Seat dwells Robert; in yon Cot

Catharine sits, knitting.—Such the Cousins’ lot.

DAVID JONES.

Shall I not bid to David Jones adieu—

He who had sail’d with [Anson’s] hardy Crew;

He who had been about the world and found,

On his [protested] word, it was not round!

“’Tis all like England, every earthly Spot;

The Days are short and long, and cold and hot.

So they are here! Of all that I could trace

Are, just like us, a little darker race;

But striving all, by measures foul and fair,

To get our Nails, for Nails are many there. 10

They tipple grog; they love their dance and feasts,

477And are taboo’d and terrified by priests.

Civil enough, when nothing thwarts their Will,

But very Devils when you use them ill;

Vain like ourselves and very fond of praise,

Proud of their lands, and [their peculiar ways].

They have no money, but they change their Hams

And the whole Pig for * * * and yams;

There are some honest, as I may believe;

But all I saw have a delight to thieve. 20

So should we feel—at least ’tis my Belief—

If we had not our Law to hang a Thief.

They go to War like us, their Queens and Kings—

And, just like us, for mighty trivial things.

There is a difference in our Ways[, ’tis true];

But Men are Men and Women Women too.

As far as I could see into their Hearts,

They act, as we do, well and ill their parts;

And we must think, the more of [man] we see,

That he is not the thing he ought to be; 30

But, go where’er you will, you’ll ever find

Man is a selfish and a sinful kind.”

So David thought, when he was stout and stern

And had his Pittance by his toil to earn.

On my return a pensioned man I found,

For a [lost leg] and many a grievous Wound.

Grateful he was and good, and loved to sing,

“Rule, Rule Brittania!” and “God save the King!”

THE DESERTED FAMILY.

It is the Evening of the brightest Day

The Year can boast; it is the last of May.

On my right Hand the Ocean fills the Eye,

Far on the East there, till it meets the Sky;

Westward, a Range of lofty Hills is seen;

A Farm’s large Lands and Mansion lie between—

A lonely Mansion. From the nearest Town

The Evening Bell comes faintly floating down;

While the vast Ocean rolls its Waves so near,

The fallen Billow strikes the listless Ear. 10

Before the Mansion, and extended wide,

A level Green appears on either Side;

Which, though so lovely it must seem to all,

Some would a Lawn and some a Meadow call:

On that same Green and gazing at the tide

478A Lady stands, her Children at her Side;

Save yon light Boy, who tries with restless Zeal }

His Mother’s Spirit of its Wounds to heal, }

And make her love that life which ’tis his Joy to feel; }

When the sad Lady some poor Effort makes, 20

And a faint Smile repays the Pains he takes.

To these comes One, and see! he comes with speed

And cries, “No further on your Way proceed!

No further, dear Matilda, must you go,

To muse in secret and indulge your Woe.

Pride of my Life, but Grief as well as Pride,

Why will you thus in Wretchedness abide?

Why in these Scenes of Solitude delight?

It may be soothing, but cannot be right.”

Thus spake the Squire; for he was vext to find 30

His Sister sad; for all he meant was kind.

Yet this he added—“I will not believe

In thy Religion, if I see thee grieve.

Of that Religion hast thou not enough

To baffle Grief and make thee Sorrow-Proof?

Hast thou not said, that all Mankind endure

Finds in their Faith a Comfort or a Cure?

I know thy Prayers are offered day by day,

And yet thy Griefs will obstinately stay,

To war with Grace—Come, take a chearful View 40

Of Life, and think its Pleasures are thy due!

“Why mourn an Husband, were he good, so long?

But One like thine! ’Tis desperately wrong!

One who deceived thee, whom we should despise

A Wretch, all Falsehood, Treachery and Disguise!

“Nay, my Matilda, let me not offend:

Would’st have thy Brother be a Villain’s Friend?

A vile, false, flattering Scoundrel—nay, but how

Can you thus grieve? I’m speaking kindly now—

A base deceiver, studied to betray; 50

But, come! he’s gone, and I’ve no more to say.”

Pensive and silent, passive in her Woe,

She went with him, though indisposed to go;

And to the loud Reproof and threat’ning tone

She school’d her Heart, and said, “I’ll grieve alone.”

When near their Home, again the Brother cried:

“Come let thy Griefs be still, thine Eyes be dried!

Here Captain Gale, the May’r too from the Town,

And both their Wives and Children, are come down;

Do let them see, an English Woman’s heart 60

Forbears to take a foreign Scoundrel’s Part!”

Patient and firm, the gentle Dame obey’d.

“He was not foreign,” that alone she said,

And that he heard not.—Then the hours were spent

In small discourse and petty merriment—

Such as the Men with little Minds admire;

Such as became the May’r and pleased the Squire;

Such as the Mayor’s and the Captain’s Wife

479Could best display and picture to the Life—

All the small Scandal of a Place so small 70

That we might wonder whence arose it all;

With Borough-Business of such high Concern,

That poor Matilda was compell’d to learn

What Honours fell upon their Heads, and how

The worthy Burgess took the Member’s Bow,

And how returned, and what a joyous Look

His face discover’d, when their hands they shook.

The Brother, grieving for the patient Grief

Of the fair Mourner, strove for her Relief;

And, finding Wrath disturbed her gentle Breast, 80

In gentler Tone his Love and Care exprest.

“’Tis now five Years, and this about the day,

Since the Bellair was wreckt in Liddel-Bay;

When Fredrick came a Sufferer to our Home,

As for our Sins destroying Angels come.

He came alone, in Misery, to our Care;

Then fled the Home and left the Misery there.

“Nay, Sister, be not thus to Anguish wrought;

I only try to think—what can be thought.

“All seemed so fair: he no Pretences made, 90

Was poor, and owned it—that could not persuade;

His Temper gay, his Mind without a Cloud, }

Of Honour and his Country justly proud. }

No Fear, no Mask—this all must be allow’d; }

And yet, he left us.—Sister, I must go,

To seek this Angel-Dæmon, Friend and Foe.”

The gentle Mourner for a while appeared

Absorbed in thought; her Brother’s Words she feared,

His Love she owned; she thanked him from her Soul,

But begged he would these angry thoughts controul. 100

“You must not meet,” she said, with deep-drawn Sigh

And flowing Tears—“you must not, nor must I.”

There was a Pause; but Richard could not hide

The rising Anger or the wounded Pride.

“Ask me not, Sister, while Your Wrong is mine,

To bear a Blow and like a Dog to whine!

But, if I could my Sense of Wrong subdue,

I must revenge an Insult offered you.

Let him for all account, for all repent,

For all atone; and then I may relent. 110

Him I must seek; for never Man of Sense

Can live in all this horrible Suspense.

Him must I seek.”—

“Nay Richard, Brother, Friend!

Grieve not thy Sister, whom thou wouldst defend!

War not with Death or Sorrow; what I crave

Is Peace on Earth. O war not with the Grave!

Let all that Death can touch untroubled lie,

And who would strive with that which cannot die!”—

“Is he no more?”—

“’Tis painful to reply.

480To us he is; and let the Subject die! 120

For, if he lives, he suffers, and he feels

The Pangs that Death concludes—at least conceals.”

“I know not this; or, grant repentance true,

I still am wronged[, and] Vengeance is my due.

You may forgive your Husband, if you can;

But I must wreak my Vengeance on the Man.

You had refused him; but for my Request

That thought disturbs me. Hence I cannot rest.

True, he was handsome; all that Women love

In Air and Manner, all that Men approve 130

In Sense and Courage; yet, before he fled,

The better Spirit of the Man was dead.

You saw he grieved and moped alone about;

The Date of Virtue, Love and Peace was out;

He for a Man of Worth awhile was known,

And then the Devil came to claim his own.”—

“No more, my Brother! I must now prepare

The one sad Secret of my Soul to share;

To make my mystic Fortune understood,

And keep thee free from peril and from blood.— 140

But I must bind thee, Richard; thou must keep

The Peace, and let thy strong Resentment sleep!”

He gave Assent.

“To know my present State,

I must a Portion of the past relate.

Remember you, before my Fred’rick’s flight,

How anxious grew that Spirit once so light?

You laught at this—”

“’Tis true; for I supposed

The Man was hypped, and Wine and Mirth proposed;

For I had some Misgiving, and could trace

The Marks that Mystics term the Signs of Grace. 150

Then, was it so? Alas! ere yet he fled,

I saw that something in his Mind had bred.

But yet I spoke not, thinking every Day

Life’s common Cares would wear the gloom away;

Indeed, I jested; for your Husband’s Style

And his sad look would often cause a smile.

But now proceed!”—

“You recollect the Praise

You gave that Spirit in our early Days.

From a light Heart we said those Spirits rise;

’Tis Virtue sparkles in those brilliant Eyes; 160

That Mirth arises from the Soul’s Content,

And all is Gay, for all is innocent.

But oh, my Brother! I had Cause to fear }

That all within that Heart did not appear; }

Frank as he ever seemed, he was not now sincere. }

His Sleep was troubled; in the solemn Night

He woke in Terror and demanded Light.

He then some Guilt with fearful Haste Avow’d,

And bade his Silent Wife not speak so loud.

481Yet was he cautious, and his Words were weighed 170}

With fretful Care, like One who seems afraid }

By his own speech his Crime should be betrayed. }

Temperate before, he now would often fly }

To Wine for Aid, that treacherous Ally }

That undermines the Strength it should supply; }

That, like to Money borrowed in Distress,

Seems to increase our Power, but makes it less.—

All this I saw, not hopeless; I believed

A Man, awakened, for his Error grieved;

His seemed to me the Salutary Storm 180

That shakes the Soul it will at Length reform.

“I spoke in Love and Pity, ‘Let us Pray!’

Wherefore he cried, and turned Alarmed away.

This I had known: the new Awaken’d hide

Their Fears from Man—it is false Nature’s Pride—

But Hope still whispered, ‘Ease will follow Pain;

The broken Heart will soon be healed again.’

Nor knew I yet there was the Part unsound;

Untouched, unseen, the ever rankling Wound!

“Yet more distressed he grew; and then I cried, 190

‘Go to the Priest and take him for thy Guide!’

But Frederick’s Grief was not the transient Rage

Of Clouds that Winds collect and Rains asswage;

But still more Dark the mental Prospect grew,

And weary Hope could not her smile renew.

“Alas! I erred; I knew not that the Sin

Of my poor Frederick rankled yet within,

Nor granted Rest; but all his Crime had gained,

What Sin had purchased, that with him remained.

I saw his Self-reproach, and I could View 200

Through all his Care his Self-denial too.

He wants, I said, some meek religious Guide,

And is forbid to seek him by his Pride.

In fact, my Husband had ere this address’d }

A meek good priest; he had in part confest }

His bosom’s wound, but had in part supprest. }

“I urged my Love.—‘Thy Love shall I requite

With endless Suffering?’ I maintain’d my Right

To what he said—the Right that Martyrs have

To lingering Torture and an early Grave. 210

“‘Would I had yet,’ he said, ‘myself restrained,

And not this knowledge with this Evil gained!

Go to the Priest, thou said’st; and I receive

My Sight of Sin; I tremble and believe.

Why should I go to hear that warning Voice?

Let them attend who hearing can rejoice;

Let them exult who feel that all is well!

Why talk of Heavens to a Child of Hell?

Thy tender Sins are nipt and gently die

Without a Pang, like Girls in Infancy; 220

My Crimes are strong, and ’tis a dreadful Part

482At once to tear them from the wounded heart.

Nor that the worst! I know the mighty Cost

Of my dear Sin: or that or Heav’n is lost—

And Heav’n is lost. That Sin, if Sin it be, }

Clings to the Soul, that never can be free; }

I cannot lose thee, Love, and thou art Sin to me.’” }

“Oh, my poor Sister,” Richard said, in Haste;

“What a strange Fancy has the Man embraced!

He wished to please thee and thy Way to take, 230

And lost his Reason for Matilda’s sake.

Puzzled and vext, he heard, he pray’d, he read,

Love in his Heart and Frenzy in his Head;

Led, as I doubt not Mystics always lead,

Their Flocks; no Wonder Frenzy should succeed!

But, when so sound a Mind is wrecked, we feel

Pity and Wrath and Curse the mad’ning Zeal.

Strange that a Man, from all Delusion free

And all Conceit, should not the Folly see!”—

“No, my dear Richard; Facts I now must state 240

A different Cause assign and different Fate

Describe: ’tis true that he was sore afraid

And, pierced by Sorrows, to his Maker prayed;

True that, by Guilt as well as Grief oppressed,

He asked for Mercy as he longed for Rest;

But his true Reason was an inward Sense

And a deep feeling of his own Offence.

“See, my dear Brother, when his restless Mind

Urged him to leave us, what he left behind.

Thus wrote th’ unhappy Man before he fled; 250

Read thou, and judge my feelings as I read!

Then will you learn why thus, from day to day,

Hopeless I grieve and weep my Hours away.

My Boy afflicts me, when he dares not ask,

Where is he gone, and sees I wear a Mask.

He reads my Looks; he saddens at my Sigh,

And fears alike my Silence and Reply.

My Girl, yet younger, wonders at my Woes

And seems to question whence the Grief arose.

The very Infant takes a solemn tone 260

Of silent woe [nor] lets me grieve alone.

But why is Sorrow wordy? Now receive

What he relates, nor wonder that I grieve.”—

“Bear Witness, Heav’n and all the Powers above,

Ye who in boundless, endless Glory dwell:

It is with breaking Heart I speak of Love,

For I must bid to Love and Hope farewell.

“I came to thee, when thou wert all content,

Loving and loved, a Creature half-divine;

I came, a Robber for thy Misery sent, 270

Whilst thou wert anxious in removing mine.

483“On a Sick-bed, attended, soothed, caressed,

Healed of my Wounds, but smitten in my heart—

‘And must we part?’ were Words my Love exprest;

Some listening Daemon eccho’d: ‘Must you part?

“‘Art thou not dead to all the World beside,

Save these, the kind Preservers of thy Life?

Can’st thou not ask that Angel for thy Bride,

And quit the Woman who is now thy Wife?

“‘’Tis a sad Truth; but Truth may be denied. 280

Who would not Strive this matchless Maid to Win?

Is it a Sin to be to Truth allied;

Or, if it be, who could escape the sin?’

“Wretch that I am, to wear a vile disguise

With Virtue, Truth and Piety in View!

My Words, my Thoughts, my very looks were Lyes;

My Vow alone and my fond Love were true.

“Why hast thou shown me that I went astray;

Why tell What Sin the World’s Redeemer Cost?

I heard and trembled, forced myself to pray, 290

Pray’d for Conviction, was convinced—and lost.

“Chearful and Gay my Years of Unbelief;

They fled, and now a sad Reverse I see:

Like Judas I, or like the dying Thief,

But not the One who said, ‘Remember Me!’

“I go, Matilda, for my Peace is gone;

Nor would thy Heart a Lawless Love allow.

I dare not die; but must a Wretch live on,

And Life once blest must be my Torment now.

“Oh! when convinced that Jesus died for man, 300

For Sinners Suffered on th’ accursed Tree,

A dreadful Choice to shake my Soul began—

Loss of the Soul’s best Hope or loss of thee.

“I said, as Cain when Banished said before:

’Tis more than I can bear, for what can I?