They had warm passions, tender hopes, desires That youth indulges, and that love inspires; But fortune frown'd on their designs, displaced

The views of hope, and love's gay dreams disgraced;

Took from the soul her sunny views, and spread

A cloud of dark but varying gloom instead: And shall we these with ridicule pursue, Because they did not what they could not do? If they their lot preferr'd, still why the jest On those who took the way they judged the best?

But if they sought a change, and sought in vain,

'Tis worse than brutal to deride their painBut you will see them; see the man I praise, The kind protector in my troubled days, Himself in trouble; you shall see him now, And learn his worth! and my applause allow.' This friend appear'd, with talents form'd to please,

And with some looks of sprightliness and ease; To him indeed the ills of life were known, But misery had not made him all her own. They spoke on various themes, and George design'd

To show his brother this, the favourite mind; To lead the friend, by subjects he could choose, To paint himself, his life, and earlier views, What he was bless'd to hope, what he was doom'd to lose.

They spoke of marriage, and he understood Their call on him, and said, 'It is not good To be alone, although alone to be

Is freedom; so are men in deserts free; Men who unyoked and unattended groan, Condemn'd and grieved to walk their way alone :

Whatever ills a married pair betide,
Each feels a stay, a comfort, or a guide;
"Not always comfort," will our wits reply.~
Wits are not judges, nor the cause shall try.
'Have I not seen, when grief his visits paid,
That they were easier by communion made?
True, with the quiet times and days serene,
There have been flying clouds of care and
spleen ;

But is not man, the solitary, sick
Of his existence, sad and splenetic ?
And who will help him, when such evils come,
To bear the pressure or to clear the gloom?

'Do you not find, that joy within the breast Of the unwedded man is soon suppress'd; While, to the bosom of a wife convey'd, Increase is by participation made?— The lighted lamp that gives another light, Say, is it by th' imparted blaze less bright ? Are not both gainers when the heart's distress Is so divided, that the pain is less? And when the tear has stood in either eye, Love's sun shines out, and they are quickly dry.'

He ended here,-but would he not confess, How came these feelings on his mind to

press?

He would! nor fear'd his weakness to display To men like them; their weakness too had they.

Bright shone the fire, wine sparkled, sordid

care

Was banish'd far, at least appear'd not there;
A kind and social spirit each possess'd,
And thus began his tale the friendly guest.

Near to my father's mansion,—but apart, I must acknowledge, from my father's heartDwelt a keen sportsman, in a pleasant seat; Nor met the neighbours as should neighbours meet:

To them revenge appear'd a kind of right,
A lawful pleasure, an avow'd delight;
Their neighbours too blew up their passions'
fire,

And urged the anger of each rival-squire ;
More still their waspish tempers to inflame,
A party-spirit, friend of anger, came:
Oft would my father cry, "that tory-knave,
That villain-placeman, would the land en-
slave."

Not that his neighbour had indeed a place,
But would accept one-that was his disgrace;
Who, in his turn, was sure my father plann'd
To revolutionize his native land.
He dared the most destructive things advance,
And even pray'd for liberty to France;
Had still good hope that Heaven would grant

his prayer,

That he might see a revolution there. At this the tory-squire was much perplex'd, "Freedom in France!-what will he utter

next?

Sooner should I in Paris look to see
An English army sent their guard to be."

subdued

By whig-control, and hated every feud, Would have her neighbour met with mind serene;

But fiercer spirit fired the tory-queen:
My parents both had given her high disgust,
Which she resenting said, Revenge is just;
And till th' offending parties chose to stoop,
She judged it right to keep resentment up;
Could she in friendship with a woman live
Who could the insult of a man forgive?
Did not her husband in a crowded room
Once call her idiot, and the thing was dumb?
The man's attack was brutal, to be sure,
But she no less an idiot to endure.

6

'This lofty dame, with unrelenting soul, Had a fair girl to govern and control; The dear Maria !—whom, when first I met,Shame on this weakness! do I feel it yet? 'The parents' anger, you will oft-times see Prepares the children's minds for amity; Youth will not enter into such debate, 'Tis not in them to cherish groundless hate; Nor can they feel men's quarrels or their cares, Of whig or tory, partridges or hares.

'Long ere we loved, this gentle girl and I Gave to our parents' discord many a sigh; It was not ours,-and when the meeting came, It pleased us much to find our thoughts the

same;

But grief and trouble in our minds arose
From the fierce spirits we could not compose;
And much it vex'd us that the friends so dear
To us should foes among themselves appear.
'Such was this maid, the angel of her race,
Whom I had loved in any time and place,
But in a time and place which chance assign'd,
When it was almost treason to be kind;
When we had vast impediments in view,
Then wonder not that love in terror grew
With double speed-we look'd, and strove to
find

A kindred spirit in the hostile mind;
But is it hostile! there appears no sign
In those dear looks of warfare-none have
mine:

At length I whisper'd-" Would that war might cease

Between our houses, and that all was peace!" A sweet confusion on her features rose, "She could not bear to think of having foes,

live,

And for that blessing, O! what would she give?"

"Then let us try and our endeavours blend," I said, "to bring these quarrels to an end; Thus, with one purpose in our hearts, we strove,

And, if no more, increased our secret love; Love that with such impediments in view To meet the growing danger stronger grew; And from that time each heart, resolved and sure,

Grew firm in hope, and patient to endure.

To those who know this season of delight I need not strive their feelings to excite; To those who know not the delight or pain, The best description would be lent in vain ; And to the grieving, who will no more find The bower of bliss, to paint it were unkind; I pass it by, to tell that long we tried To bring our fathers over to our side; 'Twas bootless on their wives our skill to try, For one would not, and one in vain comply.

'First I began my father's heart to move, By boldly saying, "We are born to love; My father answer'd, with an air of ease, "Well! very well! be loving if you please! Except a man insults us or offends, In my opinion we should all be friends."

'This gain'd me nothing; little would

accrue

From clearing points so useless though so true;

But with some pains I brought him to confess, That to forgive our wrongs is to redress :

"It might be so," he answer'd, yet with

doubt,

That it might not, "but what is this about?"
I dared not speak directly, but I strove
To keep my subjects, harmony and love.

'Coolly my father look'd, and much enjoy'd The broken eloquence his eye destroy'd; Yet less confused, and more resolved at last, With bolder effort to my point I past; And fondly speaking of my peerless maid, I call'd her worth and beauty to my aid, "Then make her mine!" I said, and for his favour pray'd.

'My father's look was one I seldom saw, It gave no pleasure, nor created awe; It was the kind of cool contemptuous smile Of witty persons, overcharged with bile;

At first he spoke not, nor at last to me-
"Well now, and what if such a thing
could be ?

What, if the boy should his addresses pay
To the tall girl, would that old tory say?
I have no hatred to the dog,-but, still,
It was some pleasure when I used him ill;
This I must lose if we should brethren be,
Yet may be not, for brethren disagree;
The fool is right,-there is no bar in life
Against their marriage,-let her be his wife.
Well, sir, you hear me ! "-Never man com-
plied,

And left a beggar so dissatisfied;
Though all was granted, yet was grace
refused;

I felt as one indulged, and yet abused, And yet, although provoked, I was not unamused.

'In a reply like this appear'd to meet
All that encourage hope, and that defeat;
Consent, though cool, had been for me enough,
But this consent had something of reproof;
I had prepared my answer to his rage,
With his contempt I thought not to engage :
I, like a hero, would my castle storm,
And meet the giant in his proper form;
Then, conquering him, would set my princess
free,

This would a trial and a triumph be:
When lo! a sneering menial brings the keys,
And cries in scorn, "Come, enter, if you

please; You'll find the lady sitting on her bed, And 'tis expected that you woo and wed."

'Yet not so easy was my conquest found; I met with trouble ere with triumph crown'd. Triumph, alas!-My father little thought, A king at home, how other minds are wrought; True, his meek neighbour was a gentle squire, And had a soul averse from wrath and ire; He answer'd frankly, when to him I went, I give you little, sir, in my consent: He and my mother were to us inclined, The powerless party with the peaceful mind; But that meek man was destined to obey A sovereign lady's unremitted sway; Who bore no partial, no divided rule,— All were obedient pupils in her school. She had religious zeal, both strong and sour, That gave an active sternness to her power; But few could please her, she herself was one By whom that deed was very seldom done;

With such a being, so disposed to feed
Contempt and scorn-how was I to succeed?
But love commanded, and I made my prayer
To the stern lady, with an humble air;
Said all that lovers hope, all measures tried
That love suggested, and bow'd down to pride.
'Yes! I have now the tygress in my eye-
When I had ceased and waited her reply,
A pause ensued, and then she slowly rose,
With bitter smile predictive of my woes;
A look she saw was plainly understood-

"Admire my daughter! Sir, you're very
good.

The girl is decent, take her all in all,—
Genteel, we hope-perhaps a thought too tall;
A daughter's portion hers-you'll think her
fortune small.

Perhaps her uncles, in a cause so good,
Would do a little for their flesh and blood;
We are not ill allied,-and say we make
Her portion decent-whither would you take?
Is there some cottage on your father's ground,
Where may a dwelling for the girl be found?
Or a small farm,-your mother understands
How to make useful such a pair of hands.

"But this we drop at present, if you

please,

We shall have leisure for such things as these ;
They will be proper ere you fix the day
For the poor girl to honour and obey;
At present therefore we may put an end
To our discourse-Good morrow to you,

friend!"

'Then, with a solemn curtsey and profound, Her laughing eye she lifted from the ground, And left me lost in thought, and gazing idly round.

Still we had hope, and, growing bold in time,
I would engage the father in our crime;
But he refused, for though he wish'd us well,
He said, "he must not make his house a
hell ;-"

And sure the meaning look that I convey'd
Did not inform him that the hell was made.

'Still hope existed that a mother's heart Would in a daughter's feeling take a part; Nor was it vain,-for there is found access To a hard heart, in time of its distress:

'The mother sicken'd, and the daughter

sigh'd,

And we petition'd till our queen complied; She thought of dying, and if power must cease, Better to make, than cause, th' expected peace;