His spirit fell, and from that hour assured
How vain his dreams, he suffer'd and was cured.
Our poet hurried on, with wish to fly
From all mankind, to be conceal'd, and die.
Alas! what hopes, what high romantic views
Did that one visit to the soul infuse,

"Our brother, speak!" they all exclaim'd; "ex

plain

And he was cured; for quiet, love, and care

To walk in this appointed road of life;

On these low duties duteous he would wait,
And patient bear the anguish of his fate.
Thanks to the patron, but of coldest kind,
Express'd the sadness of the poet's mind;
Whose heavy hours were pass'd with busy men
In the dull practice of th' official pen;
Who to superiors must in time impart
(The custom this) his progress in their art:
But so had grief on his perception wrought,
That all unheeded were the duties taught;
No answers gave he when his trial came,
Silent he stood, but suffering without shame;
And they observed that words severe or kind
Made no impression on his wounded mind;
For all perceived from whence his failure rose,
Some grief whose cause he deign'd not to dis-
close.

A soul averse from scenes and works so new,
Fear ever shrinking from the vulgar crew;
Distaste for each mechanic law and rule,
Thoughts of past honour and a patron cool;
A grieving parent, and a feeling mind,
Timid and ardent, tender and refined:
These all with mighty force the youth assail'd,
Till his soul fainted, and his reason fail'd:
When this was known, and some debate arose
How they who saw it should the fact disclose,
He found their purpose, and in terror fled
From unseen kindness, with mistaken dread.

Meantime the parent was distress'd to find
His son no longer for a priest design'd;
But still he gain'd some comfort by the news
Of John's promotion, though with humbler views:
For he conceived that in no distant time
The boy would learn to scramble, and to climb :
He little thought a son, his hope and pride,
His favour'd boy was now a home denied:
Yes! while the parent was intent to trace
How men in office climb from place to place,
By day, by night, o'er moor, and heath, and hill,
Roved the sad youth, with ever-changing will,
Of every aid bereft, exposed to every ill.
Thus as he sat, absorb'd in all the care
And all the hope that anxious fathers share,
A friend abruptly to his presence brought,
With trembling hand, the subject of his thought;
Whom he had found afflicted and subdued
By hunger, sorrow, cold, and solitude.

Silent he entered the forgotten room,

As ghostly forms may be conceived to come;
With sorrow-shrunken face and hair upright,
He look'd dismay, neglect, despair, affright;
But dead to comfort, and on misery thrown,
His parent's loss he felt not, nor his own.

The good man, struck with horror, cried aloud,
And drew around him an astonish'd crowd;
The sons and servants to the father ran,
To share the feelings of the grieved old man.

Yet slow their progress, and, as vapours move
Dense and reluctant from the wintry grove,
All is confusion till the morning light
Gives the dim scene obscurely to the sight;
More and yet more refined the trunks appear,
Till the wild prospect stands distinct and clear;
So the dark mind of our young poet grew
Clear and sedate; the dreadful mist withdrew:
And he resembled that bleak wintry scene,
Sad, though unclouded; dismal, though serene.

At times he utter'd, "What a dream was mine!
And what a prospect! glorious and divine!
O! in that room, and on that night, to see
These looks, that sweetness beaming all on me;
That syren flattery-and to send me then,
Hope-raised and soften'd, to those heartless men;
That dark brow'd stern director pleased to show
Knowledge of subjects, I disdain'd to know;
Cold and controlling-but 'tis gone, 'tis past;
I had my trial, and have peace at last."

Now grew the youth resign'd; he bade adieu To all that hope, to all that fancy drew; His frame was languid, and the hectic heat Flush'd on his pallid face, and countless beat The quickening pulse, and faint the limbs that bore The slender form that soon would breathe no

more.

Then hope of holy kind the soul sustain'd, And not a lingering thought of earth remain'd; Now Heaven had all, and he could smile at love, And the wild sallies of his youth reprove; Then could he dwell upon the tempting days, The proud aspiring thought, the partial praise; Victorious now, his worldly views were closed, And on the bed of death the youth reposed.

The father grieved-but as the poet's heart Was all unfitted for his earthly part; As, he conceived, some other haughty fair Would, had he lived, have led him to despair; As, with this fear, the silent grave shut out All feverish hope, and all tormenting doubt; While the strong faith the pious youth possess'd, His hope enlivening, gave his sorrows rest; Soothed by these thoughts, he felt a mournful joy For his aspiring and devoted boy.

Meantime the news through various channels spread, [dead The youth, once favour'd with such praise, was Emma," the lady cried, "my words attend, Your syren smiles have kill'd your humble friend; The hope you raised can now delude no more, Nor charms, that once inspired, can now restore." Faint was the flush of anger and of shame That o'er the cheek of conscious beauty came: You censure not," said she, "the sun's brigh rays,

When fools imprudent dare the dangerous gaze; And should a stripling look till he were blind, You would not justly call the light unkind

to whom the poet's fate was told, affected, for a man so cold:

id his lordship, "run distracted, mad! oul I'm sorry for the lad;

no doubt, th' obliging world will say arsh usage help'd him on his way: ppose, I should have nursed his muse, champagne have brighten'd up his

18;

le made me famed my whole life long, d my ears with gratitude and song. the father hear that I regret isfortune-yes! I'll not forget."— y:-The father to his grave convey'd loved, and his last duties paid.

lies my boy," he cried, " of care bereft, en be praised, I've not a genius left: ong ye, sons! is doom'd to live

ised hopes of what the great may give; exalted views and fortunes mean, inguish, or to live in spleen: brother soon escaped the strife ntention, but it cost his life; my sons, upon yourselves depend, ir own exertions find the friend."

TALE VI.

THE FRANK COURTSHIP.

it is my cousin's duty to make a courtesy, and =r, as it please you;" but for all that, cousin,

a handsome fellow, or else make another nd say, "Father, as it pleases me."

Much Ado about Nothing, act ii. sc. 1.
He cannot flatter, he!

t mind and plain-he must speak truth.
King Lear, act ii. sc. 2.
given you one face, and you make yourselves
u jig, you amble, you nick-name God's crea-
make your wantonness your ignorance.
Hamlet, act iii. sc. 1.

is in mine ears? Can this be true? emn'd for pride and scorn so much? Much Ado about Nothing, act ii. sc. 1.

as Kindred, Sybil Kindred's sire, et high, and look'd six inches higher; ose, determined, solemn, slow,

the man, could never cease to know; 1 spouse, when Jonas was not by, à presence and a steady eye; her husband dropp'd her look and tone, ruled unquestion'd and alone.

- and oft would quote the sacred words, husbands of their wives were lords; ed Abraham lord! and who could be, hought, a greater man than he?

e view'd with undisguised respect, pardon'd freedom or neglect.

ad one daughter, and this favourite child e father of his spleen beguiled;

Peace in the sober house of Jonas dwelt,
Where each his duty and his station felt:
Yet not that peace some favour'd mortals find,
In equal views and harmony of mind;
Not the soft peace that blesses those who love,
Where all with one consent in union move;
But it was that which one superior will
Commands, by making all inferiors still;
Who bids all murmurs, all objections cease,
And with imperious voice announces-Peace!
They were, to wit, a remnant of that crew,
Who, as their foes maintain, their sovereign slew;
An independent race, precise, correct,
Who ever married in the kindred sect:
No son or daughter of their order wed
A friend to England's king who lost his head;
Cromwell was still their saint, and when they met,
They mourn'd that saints* were not our rulers yet.
Fix'd were their habits: they arose betimes,
Then pray'd their hour, and sang their party
rhymes:

Their meals were plenteous, regular, and plain;
The trade of Jonas brought him constant gain;
Vender of hops and malt, of coals and corn-
And, like his father, he was merchant born:
Neat was their house; each table, chair and stool
Stood in its place, or moving moved by rule;
No lively print or picture graced the room;
A plain brown paper lent its decent gloom;
But here the eye, in glancing round, survey'd
A small recess that seem'd for china made;
Such pleasing pictures seem'd this pencill'd ware,
That few would search for nobler objects there-
Yet turn'd by chosen friends, and there appear'd
His stern, strong features, whom they all revered;
For there in lofty air was seen to stand
The bold protector of the conquer'd land;
Drawn in that look with which he wept and swore,
Turn'd out the members, and made fast the door,
Ridding the house of every knave and drone,
Forced, though it grieved his soul, to rule alone.
The stern still smile each friend approving gave,
Then turn'd the view, and all again were grave.
There stood a clock, though small the owner's

need,

For habit told when all things should proceed;
Few their amusements, but when friends appear'd,
They with the world's distress their spirits cheer'd;
The nation's guilt, that would not long endure
The reign of men so modest and so pure :
Their town was large, and seldom pass'd a day
But some had fail'd, and others gone astray;
Clerks had absconded, wives eloped, girls flown
To Gretna Green, or sons rebellious grown;
Quarrels and fires arose ;-and it was plain
The times were bad; the saints had ceased to
reign!

A few yet lived to languish and to mourn
For good old manners never to return.

This appellation is here used not ironically, nor with

Jonas had sisters, and of these was one Who lost a husband and an only son; Twelve months her sables she in sorrow wore, And mourn'd so long, that she could mourn no

more.

Distant from Jonas, and from all her race.
She now resided in a lively place;

There, by the sect unseen, at whist she play'd,
Nor was of churchmen or their church afraid:
If much of this the graver brother heard,
He something censured, but he little fear'd;
He knew her rich and frugal; for the rest
He felt no care, or, if he felt, suppress'd;
Nor for companion when she ask'd her niece,
Had he suspicions that disturb'd his peace;
Frugal and rich, these virtues as a charm
Preserved the thoughtful man from all alarm;
An infant yet, she soon would home return,
Nor stay the manners of the world to learn;
Meantime his boys would all his care engross,
And be his comforts if he felt the loss.

The sprightly Sybil, pleased and unconfined,
Felt the pure pleasure of the opening mind ·
All here was gay and cheerful; all at home
Unvaried quiet, and unruffled gloom :
There were no changes, and amusements few;
Here all was varied, wonderful, and new:
There were plain meals, plain dresses, and grave
looks;

Here, gay companions and amusing books:
And the young beauty soon began to taste
The light vocations of the scene she graced.
A man of business feels it as a crime
On calls domestic to consume his time;
Yet this grave man had not so cold a heart,
But with his daughter he was grieved to part:
And he demanded that in every year

The aunt and niece should at his house appear.

64

Yes! we must go, my child, and by our dress A grave conformity of mind express; Must sing at meeting, and from cards refrain, The more t' enjoy when we return again."

Thus spake the aunt, and the discerning child Was pleased to learn how fathers are beguiled. Her artful part the young dissembler took, And from the matron caught th' approving look: When thrice the friends had met, excuse was sent For more delay, and Jonas was content; Till a tall maiden by her sire was seen, In all the bloom and beauty of sixteen; He gazed admiring ;-she, with visage prim, Glanced an arch look of gravity on him; For she was gay at heart, but wore disguise, And stood a vestal in her father's eyes: Pure, pensive, simple, sad; the damsel's heart, When Jonas praised, reproved her for the part; For Sybil, fond of pleasure, gay and light, Had still a secret bias to the right; Vain as she was-and flattery made her vainHer simulation gave her bosom pain.

Again return'd, the matron and the niece Found the late quiet gave their joy increase; The aunt, infirm, no more her visits paid, But still with her sojourn'd the favourite maid. Letters were sent when franks could be procured, And when they could not, silence was endured; All were in health, and if they older grew,

It seem'd a fact that none among them knew:

The aunt and niece still led a pleasant life,
And quiet days had Jonas and his wife.

Near him a widow dwelt of worthy fame,
Like his her manners, and her creed the same;
The wealth her husband left, her care retain'd
For one tall youth, and widow she remain'd;
His love respectful all her care repaid,
Her wishes watch'd, and her commands obey'd
Sober he was and grave from early youth,
Mindful of forms, but more intent on truth;
In a light drab he uniformly dress'd,
And look serene th' unruffled mind express'd;
A hat with ample verge his brows o'erspread.
And his brown locks curl'd graceful on his head;
Yet might observers in his speaking eye
Some observation, some acuteness spy;
The friendly thought it keen, the treacherous
deem'd it sly;

Yet not a crime could foe or friend detect,
His actions all were, like his speech, correct;
And they who jested on a mind so sound,
Upon his virtues must their laughter found;
Chaste, sober, solemn, and devout they named
Him who was thus, and not of this ashamed.

Such were the virtues Jonas found in one
In whom he warmly wish'd to find a son:
Three years had pass'd since he had Sybil seen;
But she was doubtless what she once had been,
Lovely and mild, obedient and discreet;
The pair must love whenever they should meet
Then ere the widow or her son should choose
Some happier maid, he would explain his views.
Now she, like him, was politic and shrewd,
With strong desire of lawful gain imbued
To all he said she bow'd with much respect,
Pleased to comply, yet seeming to reject;
Cool and yet eager, each admired the strength
Of the opponent, and agreed at length:
As a drawn battle shows to each a force,
Powerful as his, he honours it of course;
So in these neighbours, each the power discern'd
And gave the praise that was to each return'd.

Jonas now ask'd his daughter; and the aunt, Though loath to lose her, was obliged to grant:But would not Sybil to the matron cling, And fear to leave the shelter of her wing? No! in the young there lives a love of change. And to the easy they prefer the strange! Then too the joys she once pursued with zeal. From whist and visits sprung, she ceased to feel; When with the matrons Sybil first sat down, To cut for partners and to stake her crown, This to the youthful maid preferment seem'd, Who thought what woman she was then esteem'd But in few years, when she perceived, indeed. The real woman to the girl succeed, No longer tricks and honours fill'd her mind, But other feelings, not so well defined; She then reluctant grew, and thought it hard To sit and ponder o'er an ugly card; Rather the nut tree shade the nymph preferr'd, Pleased with the pensive gloom and evening bird Thither, from company retired, she took The silent walk, or read the favourite book

The father's letter, sudden, short, and kind, Awaked her wonder, and disturb'd her mind; She found new dreams upon her fancy seize Wild roving thoughts and endless reveries