Against her fate; she look'd on every side, But there were none to help her, none to guide ;
Where rush'd the falling waters wildly out,
I scarcely heard the good man's fearful shout,
Who saw a something on the billow ride,
And he, the man who should have taught the And-Heaven have mercy on our sins! he soul,
Wish'd but the body in his base control.
"She left her infant on the Sunday morn, A creature doom'd to shame! in sorrow born; A thing that languish'd, nor arrived at age When the man's thoughts with sin and pain engage
She came not home to share our humble meal,
Her father thinking what his child would feel
From his hard sentence-still she came not
home.
The night grew dark, and yet she was not
It is my child!—and to the present hour
So he believes-and spirits have the power.
"And she was gone! the waters wide and
deep
Roll'd o'er her body as she lay asleep.
She heard no more the angry waves and wind,
She heard no more the threat'ning of man-
kind;
Wrapt in dark weeds, the refuse of the storm,
To the hard rock was borne her comely form!
"But O! what storm was in that mind?
what strife,
The east-wind roar'd, the sea return'd the That could compel her to lay down her life?
For she was seen within the sea to wade,
By one at distance, when she first had pray'd;
Then to a rock within the hither shoal
Softly and with a fearful step she stole ;
Then, when she gain'd it, on the top she stood
A moment still-and dropt into the flood!
The man cried loudly, but he cried in vain,-
She heard not then-she never heard again!
She had-pray, Heav'n !—she had that world
in sight,
And the rain fell as if the world were drown'd:
There were no lights without, and my good man,
To kindness frighten'd, with a groan began
To talk of Ruth, and pray; and then he took
The Bible down, and read the holy book;
For he had learning: and when that was done
We sat in silence-whither could we run ?
We said, and then rush'd frighten'd from the
door,
For we could bear our own conceit no more:
We call'd on neighbours-there she had not
been;
Where frailty mercy finds, and wrong has right;
But, sure, in this her portion such has been, We met some wanderers-ours they had not Well had it still remain'd a world unseen!"
Thus far the dame: the passions will dispense
To such a wild and rapid eloquence
Then join'd, and wander'd to our haven's Will to the weakest mind their strength impart, mouth: And give the tongue the language of the heart.'
BOOK VI. ADVENTURES OF RICHARD CONCLUDED
Richard relates his Illness and Retirement-
A Village Priest and his two Daughters-
His peculiar Studies-His Simplicity of
Character-Arrival of a third Daughter
Her Zeal in his Conversion-Their Friend-
ship-How terminated-An happy Day
Its Commencement and Progress-A
Journey along the Coast-Arrival as
Guest-Company-A Lover's Jealousy-
it increases-dies away-An Evening Walk I know thy first embarking in the fleet,
-Suspense-Apprehension-Resolution- Thy entrance in the army, and thy gain
Of plenteous laurels in the wars in Spain,
THIS then, dear Richard, was the way
you took
To gain instruction-thine a curious book, Containing much of both the false and true;
But thou hast read it, and with profit too;
6 Come, then, my Brother, now thy tale
complete-
And what then follow'd; but I wish to know When thou that heart hadst courage to bestow,
When to declare it gain'd, and when to stand
Before the priest, and give the plighted hand;
So shall I boldness from thy frankness gain
To paint the frenzy that possess'd my brain;
For rather there than in my heart I found
Was my disease; a poison, not a wound,
A madness, Richard-but, I pray thee, tell
Whom hast thou loved so dearly and so well?'
The younger man his gentle host obey'd,
For some respect, though not required, was
paid,
Perhaps with all that independent pride Their different states would to the memory glide;
Yet was his manner unconstrain'd and free, And nothing in it like servility.
Then he began :- When first I reach'd the land,
I was so ill that death appeared at hand;
And though the fever left me, yet I grew
So weak 'twas judged that life would leave
me too.
I sought a village-priest, my mother's friend,
And I believed with him my days would end:
The man was kind, intelligent, and mild,
Careless and shrewd, yet simple as the child;
For of the wisdom of the world his share
And mine were equal-neither had to spare;
Else with his daughters, beautiful and
poor-
He would have kept a sailor from his door: Two then were present, who adorn'd his home,
But ever speaking of a third to come; Cheerful they were, not too reserved or free, I loved them both, and never wish'd them three.
'The vicar's self, still further to describe, Was of a simple, but a studious tribe; He from the world was distant, not retired, Nor of it much possess'd, nor much desired: Grave in his purpose, cheerful in his eye, And with a look of frank benignity. He lost his wife when they together past Years of calm love, that triumph'd to the last. He much of nature, not of man had seen, Yet his remarks were often shrewd and keen; Taught not by books t' approve or to condemn,
He gain'd but little that he knew from them;
He read with reverence and respect the few, Whence he his rules and consolations drew; But men and beasts, and all that lived or moved,
Were books to him; he studied them and loved.
'He knew the plants in mountain, wood,
He knew the worms that on the foliage feed; Knew the small tribes that 'scape the careless
The plant's disease that breeds the embryofly;
And the small creatures who on bark or bough Enjoy their changes, changed we know not how;
But now th' imperfect being scarcely moves,
And now takes wing and seeks the sky it loves.
'He had no system, and forbore to read
The learned labours of th' immortal Swede;
But smiled to hear the creatures he had known
So long, were now in class and order shown,
Genus and species" is it meet," said he,
"This creature's name should one so sounding
be?
'Tis but a fly, though first-born of the spring-
Bombylius majus, dost thou call the thing?
Majus, indeed! and yet, in fact, 'tis true,
We all are majors, all are minors too,
Except the first and last,-th' immensely
And here again,-what call the learned this?
Both Hippobosca and Hirundinis ?
Methinks the creature should be proud to find
That he employs the talents of mankind;
And that his sovereign master shrewdly looks,
Counts all his parts, and puts them in his
books.
Well! go thy way, for I do feel it shame
To stay a being with so proud a name."
Such were his daughters, such my quiet
And pleasant was it thus my days to spend ;
But when Matilda at her home I saw,
Whom I beheld with anxiousness and awe,
The ease and quiet that I found before
At once departed, and return'd no more.
No more their music soothed me as they
play'd,
But soon her words a strong impression made;
The sweet enthusiast, so I deem'd her, took
My mind, and fix'd it to her speech and
look;
My soul, dear girl! she made her constant And then the hopes that came and then were
But never whisper'd to my heart" beware!
In love no dangers rise till we are in the snare.
Her father sometimes question'd of my creed,
And seem'd to think it might amendment
need;
But great the difference when the pious maid
To the same errors her attention paid;
Her sole design that I should think aright,
And my conversion her supreme delight:
Pure was her mind, and simple her intent,
Good all she sought, and kindness all she
meant.
Next to religion friendship was our theme,
Related souls and their refined esteem:
We talk'd of scenes where this is real found,
And love subsists without a dart or wound;
But there intruded thoughts not all serene,
And wishes not so calm would intervene.'
'Saw not her father?'
Quick as the clouds beneath the moon past
Now, in this instant, shall my love be shown, I said-O! no, the happy time is flown!
You smile; remember, I was weak and
low,
And fear'd the passion as I felt it grow:
Will she, I said, to one so poor attend,
Without a prospect, and without a friend?
I dared not ask her-till a rival came,
But hid the secret, slow-consuming flame.
'I once had seen him; then familiar, free,
More than became a common guest to be;
And sure, I said, he has a look of pride
And inward joy-a lover satisfied.
'Can you not, Brother, on adventures past A thought, as on a lively prospect, cast? On days of dear remembrance! days that seem,
When past-nay, even when present, like a dream
These white and blessed days, that softly shine
'Yes; but saw no more Than he had seen without a fear before : He had subsisted by the church and plough, And saw no cause for apprehension now. We, too, could live: he thought not passion On few, nor oft on them-have they been wrong,
But only wonder'd we delay'd so long.
More had he wonder'd had he known esteem
Was all we mention'd, friendship was our
theme.-
Laugh, if you please, I must my tale pursue-
This sacred friendship thus in secret grew
An intellectual love, most tender, chaste, and
true :
Unstain'd, we said, nor knew we how it chanced
To gain some earthly soil as it advanced; But yet my friend, and she alone, could prove How much it differ'd from romantic loveBut this and more I pass-No doubt, at length,
We could perceive the weakness of our strength.
'O! days remember'd well! remember'd all!
The bitter-sweet, the honey and the gall; Those garden rambles in the silent night, Those trees so shady, and that moon so bright;
That thickset alley by the arbour closed, That woodbine seat where we at last re
George answer'd, Yes! dear Richard, through the years
Long past, a day so white and mark'd appears:
As in the storm that pours destruction round,
Is here and there a ship in safety found;
So in the storms of life some days appear
More blest and bright for the preceding fear;
These times of pleasure that in life arise,
Like spots in deserts, that delight, surprise,
And to our wearied senses give the more,
For all the waste behind us and before;
And thou, dear Richard, hast then had thy
share
Of those enchanting times that baffle care?'
'Yes, I have felt this life-refreshing gale
That bears us onward when our spirits fail;
That gives those spirits vigour and delight-
I would describe it, could I do it right.
'Such days have been—a day of days was
When, rising gaily with the rising sun,
I took my way to join a happy few,
Known not to me, but whom Matilda knew,
To whom she went a guest, and message
"Come thou to us," and as a guest I went.
There are two ways to Brandon-by the
heath
Above the cliff, or on the sand beneath,
Where the small pebbles, wetted by the wave,
To the new day reflected lustre gave:
At first above the rocks I made my way,
Delighted looking at the spacious bay,
And the large fleet that to the northward
steer'd
When I, a stranger and on strangers cast,
Beheld the gallant man as he display'd
Uncheck'd attention to the guilty maid:
O! how it grieved me that she dared t' excite
Those looks in him that show'd so much
delight;
Egregious coxcomb! there-he smiled again, Full sail, that glorious in my view appear'd; As if he thought to aggravate my pain: For where does man evince his full control Still she attends-I must approach—and find, O'er subject matter, where displays the soul Or make, a quarrel, to relieve my mind. Its mighty energies with more effect 'In vain I try-politeness as a shield Than when her powers that moving mass The angry strokes of my contempt repell'd; direct? Nor must I violate the social law Than when man guides the ship man's art That keeps the rash and insolent in awe. has made, Once I observed, on hearing my replies,
And makes the winds and waters yield him The woman's terror fix'd on me the eyes
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High beat my heart when to the house
I came,
And when the ready servant gave my name;
But when I enter'd that pernicious room,
Gloomy it look'd, and painful was the gloom;
And jealous was the pain, and deep the sigh
Caused by this gloom, and pain, and jealousy,
For there Matilda sat, and her beside
That rival soldier, with a soldier's pride;
With self-approval in his laughing face,
His seem'd the leading spirit of the place:
She was all coldness-yet I thought a look,
But that corrected, tender welcome spoke :
It was as lightning which you think you see,
But doubt, and ask if lightning it could be,
That look'd entreaty; but the guideless rage
Of jealous minds no softness can assuage.
But, lo! they rise, and all prepare to take
The promised pleasure on the neighbouring
lake.
'Good heaven! they whisper! Is it come
to this?
Already!-then may I my doubt dismiss :
Could he so soon a timid girl persuade ?
What rapid progress has the coxcomb made;
And yet how cool her looks, and how demure!
The falling snow nor lily's flower so pure:
What can I do? I must the pair attend,
And watch this horrid business to its end.
There, forth they go! He leads her to
Nay, I must follow,-I can bear no more:
What can the handsome gipsy have in view
In trifling thus, as she appears to do?
I, who for months have labour'd to succeed,
Have only lived her vanity to feed.
'O! you will make me room-'tis very
And meant for him-it tells him he must
mind;
Must not be careless :-I can serve to draw
The soldier on, and keep the man in awe.
O! I did think she had a guileless heart,
Without deceit, capriciousness, or art;
And yet a stranger, with a coat of red,
Has, by an hour's attention, turn'd her head.
"Ah! how delicious was the morning-drive,
The soul awaken'd, and its hopes alive:
How dull this scene by trifling minds enjoy'd,
The heart in trouble and its hope destroy'd.
'Well, now we land-And will he yet sup- Clouds in white volumes roll'd beneath the port
This part? What favour has he now to court?
Favour! O, no! He means to quit the fair;
How strange! how cruel! Will she not de-
spair ?
Softening her light that on the waters shone: This was such bliss! even then it seem'd relief
To veil the gladness in a show of grief:
'Well! take her hand-no further if you We sighed as we conversed, and said, how please,
I cannot suffer fooleries like these:-
How?"Love to Julia!" to his wife ?—
And injured creature, how must I appear,
Thus haughty in my looks, and in my words
severe ?
Her love to Julia, to the school-day friend
To whom those letters she has lately penn'd!
Can she forgive? And now I think again,
The man was neither insolent nor vain;
Good humour chiefly would a stranger trace,
Were he impartial, in the air or face;
And I so splenetic the whole way long,
And she so patient-it was very wrong.
The boat had landed in a shady scene;
The grove was in its glory, fresh and green;
The showers of late had swell'd the branch
and bough,
This lake on which those broad dark shadows
There is between us and a watery grave
But a thin plank, and yet our fate we brave.
"What if it burst? " Matilda, then my care
Would be for thee: all danger I would dare,
And, should my efforts fail, thy fortune would
I share.
"The love of life," she said, " would powerful
prove!
And the sun's fervour made them pleasant The very native of his doubt complains ;
Hard by an oak arose in all its pride,
And threw its arms along the water's side;
Its leafy limbs, that on the glassy lake
Stretch far, and all those dancing shadows
make.
And now we walk-now smaller parties
seek
Or sun or shade as pleases-Shall I speak?
Shall I forgiveness ask, and then apply
For O! that vile and intercepting cry.
Alas! what mighty ills can trifles make,-
An hat! the idiot's-fallen in the lake!
What serious mischief can such idlers do?
I almost wish the head had fallen too.
'No more they leave us, but will hover
round,
As if amusement at our cost they found;
Vex'd and unhappy I indeed had been,
Had I not something in my charmer seen
Like discontent, that, though corrected, dwelt
On that dear face, and told me what she
felt.
No wonder then that in such lonely ways
A stranger, heedless of the country, strays;
A stranger, too, whose many thoughts all
In one design, and none regard his feet.
"Is this the path?" the cautious fair one cries;
I answer, Yes!" We shall our friends surprise,"
She added, sighing-I return the sighs.
"Will they not wonder?" O! they
Could they the secrets of this bosom read,
These chilling doubts, these trembling hopes
I feel!
The faint, fond hopes I can no more conceal-
I love thee, dear Matilda !—to confess
The fact is dangerous, fatal to suppress.
And now in terror I approach the home
Where I may wretched but not doubtful come,
Where I must be all ecstasy, or all,—
O! what will you a wretch rejected call?
Not man, for I shall lose myself, and be
'Now must we cross the lake, and as we A creature lost to reason, losing thee.
cross'd
'Speak, my Matilda! on the rack of fear
Was my whole soul in sweet emotion lost; Suspend me not-I would my sentence hear,
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