His spirits wearied in the prime of life,
By fears and wishes in eternal strife;
At length he urged impatient-" Now consent;
With thee united, fortune may relent."
I paused, consenting; but a friend arose,
Pleased a fair view, though distant, to dis-
close;

From the rough ocean we beheld a gleam
Of joy, as transient as the joys we dream;
By lying hopes deceived, my friend retired,
And sail'd-was wounded-reach'd us-and
expired!

You shall behold his grave, and when I die, There-but 'tis folly-I request to lie.' 'Thus,' said the lass, to joy you bade adieu !

But how a widow ?-that cannot be true; Or was it force, in some unhappy hour, That placed you, grieving, in a tyrant's power?'

'Force, my young friend, when forty years
are fled,

Is what a woman seldom has to dread;
She needs no brazen locks nor guarding walls;
And seldom comes a lover though she calls:
Yet moved by fancy, one approved my face,
Though time and tears had wrought it much
disgrace.

'The man I married was sedate and meek,
And spoke of love as men in earnest speak;
Poor as I was, he ceaseless sought, for years,
A heart in sorrow and a face in tears;
That heart I gave not; and 'twas long before
I gave attention, and then nothing more;
But in my breast some grateful feeling rose
For one whose love so sad a subject chose;
Till long delaying, fearing to repent,
But grateful still, I gave a cold assent.

'Thus we were wed; no fault had I to find, And he but one; my heart could not be kind : Alas! of every early hope bereft, There was no fondness in my bosom left; So had I told him, but had told in vain, He lived but to indulge me and complain: His was this cottage, he inclosed this ground, And planted all these blooming shrubs around; He to my room these curious trifles brought, And with assiduous love my pleasure sought; He lived to please me, and I ofttimes strove, Smiling, to thank his unrequited love: "Teach me," he cried, "that pensive mind

to ease,

For all my pleasure is the hope to please."

'Serene, though heavy, were the days we

spent,

Yet kind each word, and gen'rous each intent;
But his dejection lessen'd every day,
And to a placid kindness died away :
In tranquil ease we pass'd our latter years,
By griefs untroubled, unassail'd by fears.

'Let not romantic views your bosom sway, Yield to your duties, and their call obey: Fly not a youth, frank, honest, and sincere ; Observe his merits, and his passion hear! 'Tis true, no hero, but a farmer sues→→ Slow in his speech, but worthy in his views ; With him you cannot that affliction prove, That rends the bosom of the poor in love: Health, comfort, competence, and cheerful days,

Your friends' approval, and your father's

praise,

Will crown the deed, and you escape their fate Who plan so wildly, and are wise too late.' The damsel heard; at first th' advice was

strange,

Yet wrought a happy, nay, a speedy change:
'I have no care,' she said, when next they met,
But one may wonder he is silent yet;
He looks around him with his usual stare,
And utters nothing-not that I shall care.'

This pettish humour pleased th' experienced

friend

None need despair, whose silence can offend; Should I,' resumed the thoughtful lass,

As prudent travellers for their ease assume Their modes and language to whose lands

they come :

So to the farmer this fair lass inclined,
Gave to the business of the farm her mind;
To useful arts she turn'd her hand and eye;
And by her manners told him-'You may try.'
Th' observing lover more attention paid,
With growing pleasure, to the alter'd maid;
He fear'd to lose her, and began to see
That a slim beauty might a helpmate be:
"Twixt hope and fear he now the lass address'd,
And in his Sunday robe his love express'd:
She felt no chilling dread, no thrilling joy,
Nor was too quickly kind, too slowly coy;
But still she lent an unreluctant ear
To all the rural business of the year;
Till love's strong hopes endured no more delay,
And Harry ask'd, and Nancy named the day.
A happy change! my boy,' the father
cried :

'How lost your sister all her school-day pride ? '

The youth replied, 'It is the widow's deed: The cure is perfect, and was wrought with speed.'

'And comes there, boy, this benefit of books, Of that smart dress, and of those dainty looks? We must be kind-some offerings from the farm

To the white cot will speak our feelings warm; Will show that people, when they know the fact,

Where they have judged severely, can retract. Oft have I smiled, when I beheld her pass With cautious step, as if she hurt the grass; Where if a snail's retreat she chanced to storm, She look'd as begging pardon of the worm ; And what, said I, still laughing at the view, Have these weak creatures in the world to do? But some are made for action, some to speak; And, while she looks so pitiful and meek, Her words are weighty, though her nerves are weak.'

Soon told the village-bells the rite was done, That join'd the school-bred miss and farmer's

son;

Her former habits some slight scandal raised, But real worth was soon perceived and praised;

She, her neat taste imparted to the farm, And he, th' improving skill and vigorous arm.

What though you have no beauty, Must you be therefore proud and pitiless? As You Like It, Act iii, Scene 5.

I would not marry her, though she were endowed with all that Adam had left him before he transgressed.

Much Ado about Nothing, Act ii, Scene 1. Wilt thou love such a woman? What! to make thee an instrument, and play false strains upon thee !-Not to be endured.

As You Like It, Act iv, Scene 3.

Your son, As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know Her estimation home. All's Well that Ends Well, Act v, Scene 3.

THERE was a worthy, but a simple pair,
Who nursed a daughter, fairest of the fair:
Sons they had lost, and she alone remain❜d,
Heir to the kindness they had all obtain'd;
Heir to the fortune they design'd for all,
Nor had th' allotted portion then been small;
But now, by fate enrich'd with beauty rare,
They watch'd their treasure with peculiar

care:

Be this sweet Helen's knell ; He a wife lost whose words all ears took captive, Whose dear perfection, hearts that scorn'd to

serve

Humbly call'd mistress.

All's Well that Ends Well, Act v,

Who for a poor support herself resign'd
To the base toil of a dependent mind:
By nature cold, our heiress stoop'd to art,
To gain the credit of a tender heart.
Hence at her door must suppliant paupers
stand,

To bless the bounty of her beauteous hand :
And now, her education all complete,
She talk'd of virtuous love and union sweet;
She was indeed by no soft passion moved,
But wish'd, with all her soul, to be be-
loved..

Here on the favour'd beauty fortune smiled;
Her chosen husband was a man so mild,
So humbly temper'd, so intent to please,
It quite distress'd her to remain at ease,
Without a cause to sigh, without pretence to
tease:

She tried his patience in a thousand modes,
And tired it not upon the roughest roads.
Pleasure she sought, and, disappointed, sigh'd
For joys, she said, ' to her alone denied ;
And she was 6
sure her parents, if alive,
Would many comforts for their child con-
trive:

The gentle husband bade her name him one; 'No-that,' she answer'd, 'should for her be done;

How could she say what pleasures were around ?

But she was certain many might be found.''Would she some sea-port, Weymouth,

Scarborough, grace? '—

'He knew she hated every watering-place :''The town?'-'What! now 'twas empty, joyless, dull ? '

-In winter?—No; she liked it worse when full.'

She talk'd of building-'Would she plan a room?'

'No! she could live, as he desired, in gloom:' Call then our friends and neighbours :

'He might call,

And they might come and fill his ugly hall; A noisy vulgar set, he knew she scorn'd them all:

'Then might their two dear girls the time employ,

And their improvement yield a solid joy.''Solid indeed! and heavy-oh! the bliss Of teaching letters to a lisping Miss ! '— 'My dear, my gentle Dorothea, say, Can I oblige you?'-' You may go away.'

With a plain face, strong sense, and temper mild,

Who keenly felt the mother's angry taunt, Thou art the image of thy pious aunt:' Long time had Lucy wept her slighted face, And then began to smile at her disgrace. Her father's sister, who the world had seen Near sixty years when Lucy saw sixteen, Begg'd the plain girl: the gracious mother smiled,

And freely gave her grieved but passive child; And with her elder-born, the beauty bless'd, This parent rested, if such minds can rest : No miss her waxen babe could so admire, Nurse with such care, or with such pride attire;

They were companions meet, with equal mind, Bless'd with one love, and to one point inclined;

Beauty to keep, adorn, increase, and guard,
Was their sole care, and had its full reward:
In rising splendor with the one it reign'd,
And in the other was by care sustain❜d,
The daughter's charms increased, the parent's
yet remain'd.

Leave we these ladies to their daily care,
To see how meekness and discretion fare :-
A village maid, unvex'd by want or love,
Could not with more delight than Lucy

move;

The village-lark, high mounted in the spring,
Could not with purer joy than Lucy sing;
Her cares all light, her pleasures all sincere,
Her duty joy, and her companion dear;
In tender friendship and in true respect
Lived aunt and niece, no flattery, no neglect—
They read, walk'd, visited-together pray'd,
Together slept the matron and the maid:
There was such goodness, such pure nature

*seen

In Lucy's looks, a manner so serene;
Such harmony in motion, speech, and air,
That without fairness she was more than fair :
Had more than beauty in each speaking grace,
That lent their cloudless glory to the face;

shown,

And felt in every bosom but her own.
The one presiding feature in her mind,
Was the pure meekness of a will resign'd;
A tender spirit, freed from all pretence
Of wit, and pleased in mild benevolence;
Bless'd in protecting fondness she reposed,
With every wish indulged though undisclosed;
But love, like zephyr on the limpid lake,
Was now the bosom of the maid to shake,
And in that gentle mind a gentle strife to
make.

Among their chosen friends a favour'd few,
The aunt and niece a youthful rector knew;
Who, though a younger brother, might address
A younger sister, fearless of success:
His friends, a lofty race, their native pride
At first display'd, and their assent denied ;
But, pleased such virtues and such love to
trace,

They own'd she would adorn the loftiest race.
The aunt, a mother's caution to supply,
Had watch'd the youthful priest with jealous
eye;

And, anxious for her charge, had view'd

unseen

The cautious life that keeps the conscience clean :

In all she found him all she wish'd to find,
With slight exception of a lofty mind:
A certain manner that express'd desire,
To be received as brother to the 'squire.
Lucy's meek eye had beam'd with many a tear,
Lucy's soft heart had beat with many a fear,
Before he told (although his looks, she thought,
Had oft confess'd) that he her favour sought:
But when he kneel'd, (she wish'd him not to
* kneel,)

And spoke the fears and hopes that lovers feel;

When too the prudent aunt herself confess'd,
Her wishes on the gentle youth would rest;
The maiden's eye with tender passion beam'd,
She dwelt with fondness on the life she
schemed ;

The household cares, the soft and lasting ties
Of love, with all his binding charities;
Their village taught, consoled, assisted, fed,
Till the young zealot tears of pleasure shed.
But would her mother? Ah! she fear'd

it wrong

Favours so freely as her gentle aunt.-
Her gentle aunt, with smiles that angels wear,
Dispell'd her Lucy's apprehensive tear :
Her prudent foresight the request had made
To one whom none could govern, few per-
suade;

She doubted much if one in earnest woo'd
A girl with not a single charm endued ;
The sister's nobler views she then declared,
And what small sum for Lucy could be spared;
'If more than this the foolish priest requires,
Tell him,' she wrote, to check his vain
desires.'

At length, with many a cold expression mix'd, With many a sneer on girls so fondly fix'd, There came a promise-should they not repent,

But take with grateful minds the portion meant,

And wait the sister's day-the mother might consent.

And here, might pitying hope o'er truth

prevail,

Or love o'er fortune, we would end our tale: For who more bless'd than youthful pair removed

From fear of want-by mutual friends approved

Short time to wait, and in that time to live With all the pleasures hope and fancy give ; Their equal passion raised on just esteem, When reason sanctions all that love can dream?

Yes! reason sanctions what stern fate

denies :

The early prospect in the glory dies,
As the soft smiles on dying infants play
In their mild features, and then pass away.
The beauty died, ere she could yield her

hand

In the high marriage by the mother plann'd: Who grieved indeed, but found a vast relief In a cold heart, that ever warr'd with grief.

Lucy was present when her sister died, Heiress to duties that she ill supplied: There were no mutual feelings, sister arts, No kindred taste, nor intercourse of hearts When in the mirror play'd the matron's smile, The maiden's thoughts were trav'lling all the

while;

·

Tasteless she was, nor had a claim in life
Above the station of a rector's wife;
Yet as an heiress, she must shun disgrace,
Although no heiress to her mother's face:
It is your duty,' said th' imperious dame,
'(Advanced your fortune) to advance your

name,

And with superior rank, superior offers claim:
Your sister's lover, when his sorrows die,
May look upon you, and for favour sigh;
Nor can you offer a reluctant hand;
His birth is noble, and his seat is grand.'

?'

Alarm'd was Lucy, was in tears- A fool! Was she a child in love ?-a miss at school? Doubts any mortal, if a change of state Dissolves all claims and ties of earlier date? The rector doubted, for he came to mourn A sister dead, and with a wife return : Lucy with heart unchanged received the youth,

True in herself, confiding in his truth; But own'd her mother's change: the haughty dame

Pour'd strong contempt upon the youthful flame;

She firmly vow'd her purpose to pursue, Judged her own cause, and bade the youth adieu !

The lover begg'd, insisted, urged his pain
His brother wrote to threaten and complain,
Her sister reasoning proved the promise made,
Lucy appealing to a parent pray'd;
But all opposed th' event that she design'd,
And all in vain-she never changed her mind;
But coldly answer'd in her wonted way,
That she would rule, and Lucy must obey.
With peevish fear, she saw her health
decline,

And cried, 'Oh! monstrous, for a man to pine;

But if your foolish heart must yield to love, Let him possess it whom I now approve; This is my pleasure: '-Still the rector came With larger offers and with bolder claim; But the stern lady would attend no moreShe frown'd, and rudely pointed to the door; Whate'er he wrote, he saw unread return'd, And he, indignant, the dishonour spurn'd; Nay, fix'd suspicion where he might confide, And sacrificed his passion to his pride.

Lucy, meantime, though threaten'd and distress'd,

Against her marriage made a strong protest:

All was domestic war: the aunt rebell'd
Against the sovereign will, and was expell'd;
And every power was tried and every art,
To bend to falsehood one determined heart;
Assail'd, in patience it received the shock,
Soft as the wave, unshaken as the rock :
But while th' unconquer'd soul endures the
storm

Of angry fate, it preys upon the form;
With conscious virtue she resisted still,
And conscious love gave vigour to her will:
But Lucy's trial was at hand; with joy
The mother cried-' Behold your constant
boy-

Thursday-was married :-take the paper, sweet,

And read the conduct of your reverend cheat; See with what pomp of coaches, in what crowd The creature married-of his falsehood proud! False, did I say ?—at least no whining fool; And thus will hopeless passions ever cool: But shall his bride your single state reproach? No! give him crowd for crowd, and coach for coach.

Oh! you retire; reflect then, gentle miss, And gain some spirit in a cause like this.'

Some spirit Lucy gain'd; a steady soul, Defying all persuasion, all control:

In vain reproach, derision, threats were tried;
The constant mind all outward force defied,
By vengeance vainly urged, in vain assail'd
by pride:

Fix'd in her purpose, perfect in her part,
She felt the courage of a wounded heart;
The world receded from her rising view,
When Heaven approach'd as earthly things
withdrew ;

Not strange before, for in the days of love, Joy, hope, and pleasure, she had thoughts above;

Pious when most of worldly prospects fond, When they best pleased her she could look