And if there dwells a native pride in her, True, she will speak, in her abundant zeal, Of stainless honour; that she needs must feel; She must lament, that she is now the last She holds, so she believes, her wealth in trust; At church attendance she requires of all, Proud of their lucky lot! behold, how stands That grey-haired butler, waiting her commands; The Lady dines, and every day he feels Another place; and this he deems his own,— But still he fears the time is just at hand, When he no more shall in that presence stand; And he resolves, with mingled grief and pride, To serve no being in the world beside. 'He has enough,' he says, with many a sigh, 'For him to serve his God, and learn to die: He and his lady shall have heard their call, And the new folk, the strangers, may have all.' But, leaving these to their accustom'd way, The Seat itself demands a short delay. We all have interest there-the trees that grow They hide a part, but still the part they shade Here I behold no puny works of art, These very pinnacles, and turrets small, Peeps the low Church and shows the modest spire. Unnumber'd violets on those banks appear, And all the first-born beauties of the year. The grey-green blossoms of the willows bring The large wild bees upon the labouring wing. Then comes the Summer with augmented pride, Whose pure small streams along the valleys glide: Her richer Flora their brief charms display; Then silent groves denote the dying year, Farewell! a prouder Mansion I may see, But much must meet in that which equals thee! II I LEAVE the town, and take a well-known way, To that old Mansion in the closing day, When beams of golden light are shed around, And sweet is every sight and every sound. Pass but this hill, and I shall then behold The Seat so honour'd, so admired of old, And yet admired Alas! I see a change, And spoil a noble house to make it new ? Some true admirer of the time's reform, I miss the grandeur of the rich old scene, And see not what these clumps and patches mean! This shrubby belt that runs the land around Shuts freedom out! what being likes a bound? The shrubs indeed, and ill-placed flowers, are gay, And some would praise; I wish they were away, That in the wild-wood maze I as of old might stray. The things themselves are pleasant to behold, But not like those which we beheld of old,That half-hid mansion, with its wide domain, Unbound and unsubdued!-but sighs are vain; It is the rage of Taste-the rule and compass reign. As thus my spleen upon the view I fed, A man approach'd me, by his grandchild led A blind old man, and she a fair young maid, A cup is fasten'd to the stone, And I would taste the healing spring, That soon its rocky cist forsakes, And green its mossy passage makes.' 'The holy spring is turn'd aside, The rock is gone, the stream is dried; The plough has levell'd all around, And here is now no holy ground.' 'Then, lass, thy grandsire's footsteps guide To Bulmer's Tree, the giant oak, Whose boughs the keeper's cottage hide, And part the church-way lane o'erlook; A boy, I climb'd the topmost bough, And I would feel its shadow now. 'Or, lassie, lead me to the west, Where grew the elm-trees thick and tall, Where rooks unnumber'd build their nestDeliberate birds, and prudent all: Their notes, indeed, are harsh and rude, But they're a social multitude.' 'The rooks are shot, the trees are fell'd, And nest and nursery all expell'd; With better fate the giant-tree, Old Bulmer's Oak, is gone to sea. The church-way walk is now no more, And men must other ways explore: Though this indeed promotion gains, For this the park's new wall contains; And here I fear we shall not meet A shade-although, perchance, a seat.' 'O then, my lassie, lead the way To Comfort's Home, the ancient inn: That something holds, if we can payOld David is our living kin; A servant once, he still preserves 'O then,' the grieving Man replied, TALE XI. THE MERCHANT I Lo! one appears, to whom if I should dare To say farewell, the lordly man would stare, Would stretch his goodly form some inches higher, And then, without a single word, retire; He is the master of these things we see, Where we behold the marble cherubs weep. There are no merchants who with us reside Speaking in tone so high, as if the ware Yet in his seamen not a sign appears, He might contempt for men so humble feel, But this experience taught him to conceal; For sailors do not to a lord at land As to their captain in submission stand; Nor have mere pomp and pride of look or speech, Been able yet respect or awe to teach. Guns, when with powder charged, will make a noise, To frighten babes, and be the sport of boys; But when within men find there's nothing more, They shout contemptuous at the idle roar. fear. His Lady, too, to her large purse applies, She walks attended! how respectful all! There is an auction, and the people shy, Are loth to bid, and yet desire to buy. Jealous they gaze with mingled hope and fear, Of buying cheaply, and of paying dear. That where he goes his badge must with him go. P. Who then is he? Do I behold aright? My lofty Merchant in this humble plight! Still has he pride? F. If common fame be just, P. SAY, what yon buildings, neat indeed, He yet has pride,-the pride that licks the but low, So much alike, in one commodious row? F. You see our Alms-house: ancient men, decay'd, dust; Pride that can stoop, and feed upon the base And wretched flattery of this humbling place; Nay, feeds himself! his failing is avow'd, Are here sustain'd, who lost their way in He of the cause that made him poor is proud; trade; Here they have all that sober men require So thought the Poet-meat, and clothes, and fire;' A little garden to each house pertains, Convenient each, and kept with little pains. Here for the sick are nurse and medicine found; Here walks and shaded alleys for the sound; Books of devotion on the shelves are placed, And not forbidden are the books of taste. The Church is near them-in a common seat The pious men with grateful spirit meet: Thus from the world, which they no more admire, They all in silent gratitude retire. Proud of his greatness, of the sums he spent, And honours shown him wheresoe'er he went. Yes there he walks, that lofty man is he, Who was so rich; but great he could not be. Now to the paupers who about him stand, P. And is it so? Have all, with grateful Admired of all! they sold them for a song. mind, The world relinquish'd, and its ways resign'd? Look they not back with lingering love and slow, You all can witness what my purse could do, And now I wear a badge like one of you, Who in my service had been proud to live,— And this is all a thankless town will give. And fain would once again the oft-tried I, who have raised the credit of that town, follies know? And gave it, thankless as it is, renown— F. Too surely some! We must not think Who've done what no man there had done that all, Call'd to be hermits, would obey the call; We must not think that all forget the state In which they moved, and bless their humbler fate; But all may here the waste of life retrieve, And, ere they leave the world, its vices leave. TALE XII. THE BROTHER BURGESSES I Two busy BROTHERS in our place reside, And wealthy each, his party's boast and pride; Sons of one father, of two mothers born, JAMES is the one who for the people fights, 'And would you, Charles, in that unlucky case, Beg for his life whose death would bring On you, and all the loyal of our race? One neck, and I a patriot then might sing— 'James!' said the graver man, in manner grave your soul would JAMES goes to church-because his father Oh! ere that day, alas, too likely! come, I would prepare your mind to meet your doom, went, But does not hide his leaning to dissent; speak Yet the old pew receives him once a week. That a strong member of his church can feel; He says, his brother and a rebel-crew, JAMES answers sharply-' I will never place If tricks like these to slaves can treasure bring, "Church and King!"' 'Brother!' says Charles,-' yet brother I own with pity, and I speak with shame,- |