He shew'd a softer feeling in his eye, And watch'd my looks, and own'd the sympathy:

Twas now the calm of wearied pride; so long
As he had strength was his resentment strong,
But in such place, with strangers all around,
And they such strangers, to have something
found

Allied to his own heart, an early friend,
One, only one, who would on him attend,
To give and take a look! at this his jour-
ney's end;

One link, however slender, of the chain That held him where he could not long remain ;

The one sole interest!—No, he could not now
Retain his anger; Nature knew not how;
And so there came a softness to his mind,
And he forgave the usage of mankind.
His cold long fingers now were press'd to
mine,

And his faint smile of kinder thoughts gave sign;

His lips moved often as he tried to lend His words their sound; and softly whisper'd ⚫ friend!'

Not without comfort in the thought express'd By that calm look with which he sank to rest.

The man, said George, you see, through life retain'd

The boy's defects; his virtues too remain'd.
But where are now those minds so light
and gay,
So forced on study, so intent on play,
Swept, by the world's rude blasts, from hope's
dear views away?
Some grieved for long neglect in earlier times,
Some sad from frailties, some lamenting
crimes;

Thinking, with sorrow, on the season lent
For noble purpose, and in trifling spent;
And now, at last, when they in earnest view
The nothings done-what work they find

to do!

Where is that virtue that the generous boy Felt, and resolved that nothing should destroy?

He who with noble indignation glow'd
When vice had triumph? who his tear

bestow'd

On injured merit? he who would possess
Power, but to aid the children of distress!
Who has such joy in generous actions shown,
And so sincere, they might be call'd his own;
Knight, hero, patriot, martyr! on whose
tongue,

And potent arm, a nation's welfare hung;
He who to public misery brought relief,
And sooth'd the anguish of domestic grief.
Where now this virtue's fervour, spirit, zeal?
Who felt so warmly, has he ceased to feel?
The boy's emotions of that noble kind,
Ab! sure th' experienced man has not resign'd;

Or are these feelings varied? has the knight, Virtue's own champion, now refused to fight? Is the deliverer turn'd th' oppressor now? Has the reformer dropt the dangerous vow? Or has the patriot's bosom lost its heat, And forced him, shivering, to a snug retreat? Is such the grievous lapse of human pride? Is such the victory of the worth untried?

Here will I pause, and then review the shame Of Harry Bland, to hear his parent's name; That mild, that modest boy, whom well we knew,

In him long time the secret sorrow grew; He wept alone; then to his friend confess'd The grievous fears that his pure mind oppress'd;

And thus, when terror o'er his shame obtain'd
A painful conquest, he his case explain'd:
And first his favourite question'd-Willie,
tell,

Do all the wicked people go to Hell?
Willie with caution answer'd: Yes, they do,
Or else repent; but what is this to you?
O! yes, dear friend: he then his tale began-
He fear'd his father was a wicked man,
Nor had repented of his naughty life;
The wife he had indeed was not a wife,
Not as my mother was; the servants all
Call her a name-I'll whisper what they call.
She saw me weep, and ask'd, in high disdain,
If tears could bring my mother back again?
This I could bear, but not when she pretends
Such fond regard, and what I speak com-
mends;

Talks of my learning, fawning wretch! and
tries
To make me love her,-love! when I despise.
Indeed I had it in my heart to say
Words of reproach, before I came away;
And then my father's look is not the same,
He puts his anger on to hide his shame.

With all these feelings delicate and nice,
This dread of infamy, this scorn of vice,
He left the school, accepting, though with
pride,

His father's aid-but there would not reside;
He married then a lovely maid, approved
Of every heart as worthy to be loved;
Mild as the morn in summer, firm as truth,
And graced with wisdom in the bloom of
youth.

How is it, men, when they in judgment sit
On the same fault, now censure, now acquit?
Is it not thus, that here we view the sin,
And there the powerful cause that drew us in?
'Tis not that men are to the evil blind,
But that a different object fills the mind.
In judging others we can see too well
Their grievous fall, but not how grieved
they fell;

away.

"Tis said th' offending man will sometimes sigh,

And say, 'My God, in what a dream am I?
I will awake:' but, as the day proceeds,
The weaken'd mind the day's indulgence
needs;

Hating himself at every step he takes,
His mind approves the virtue he forsakes,
And yet forsakes her. O! how sharp the pain,
Our vice, ourselves, our habits to disdain;
To go where never yet in peace we went,
To feel our hearts can bleed, yet not relent;
To sigh, yet not recede; to grieve, yet not
repent!

BOOK IV.

ADVENTURES OF RICHARD. EIGHT days had past! the Brothers now could

meet

With ease, and take the customary seat. These said the host, for he perceived where stray'd

His brother's eye, and what he now survey'd; These are the costly trifles that we buy, Urged by the strong demands of vanity, The thirst and hunger of a mind diseased, That must with purchased flattery be appeased;

But yet, 'tis true, the things that you behold Serve to amuse us as we're getting old:

These pictures, as I heard our artists say,
Are genuine all, and I believe they may;
They cost the genuine sums, and I should
grieve

If, being willing, I could not believe.
And there is music; when the ladies come,
With their keen looks they scrutinize the

room

To see what pleases, and I must expect
To yield them pleasure, or to find neglect:
For, as attractions from our person fly,
Our purses, Richard, must the want supply;
Yet would it vex me could the triflers know
That they can shut out comfort or bestow.

But see this room: here, Richard, you will find

Books for all palates, food for every mind;
This readers term the ever-new delight,
And so it is, if minds have appetite:
Mine once was craving; great my joy, indeed,
Had I possess'd such food when I could feed;
When at the call of every new-born wish
I could have keenly relish'd every dish—
Now, Richard, now, I stalk around and look
Upon the dress and title of a book,
Try half a page, and then can taste no more,
But the dull volume to its place restore;
Begin a second slowly to peruse,
Then cast it by, and look about for news;
The news itself grows dull in long debates,—
I skip, and see what the conclusion states;
And many a speech, with zeal and study made
Cold and resisting spirits to persuade,
Is lost on mine; alone, we cease to feel
What crowds admire, and wonder at their
zeal.

But how the day? No fairer will it be? Walk you? Alas! 'tis requisite for meNay, let me not prescribe my friends and guests are free.

It was a fair and mild autumnal sky,
And earth's ripe treasures met th' admiring

eye,

As a rich beauty, when her bloom is lost, Appears with more magnificence and cost: The wet and heavy grass, where feet had stray'd, Not yet erect, the wanderer's way betray'd; Showers of the night had swell'd the deep'ning rill,

The morning-breeze had urged the quick'ning mill; Assembled rooks had wing'd their sea-ward flight,

By the same passage to return at night, While proudly o'er them hung the steady kite, Then turned him back, and left the noisy throng, Nor deign'd to know them as he sail'd along.

Beside th' accumulated evils borne
From the bold outset to the safe return.
These men abuse; but thou hast fair pretence
To modest dealing, and to mild good sense;
Then let me hear thy struggles and escapes
In the far lands of crocodiles and apes:
Say, hast thou, Bruce-like, knelt upon the bed
Where the young Nile uplifts his branchy
head?

Or been partaker of th' unhallow'd feast, Where beast-like man devours his fellowbeast,

And churn'd the bleeding life? while each great dame

And sovereign beauty bade adieu to shame? Or did the storm, that thy wreck'd pinnace bore,

Impel thee gasping on some unknown shore; Where, when thy beard and nails were

On all things fixing, not a moment fix’d: Vague thoughts of instant danger brought their pain,

New hopes of safety banish'd them again; Then the swoln billow all these hopes destroy'd,

And left me sinking in the mighty void:
Weaker I grew, and grew the more dismay'd,
Of aid all hopeless, yet in search of aid;
Struggling awhile upon the wave to keep,
Then, languid, sinking in the yawning deep:
So tost, so lost, so sinking in despair,
I pray'd in heart an indirected prayer,
And then once more I gave my eyes to view
The ship now lost, and bade the light adieu!
From my chill'd frame th' enfeebled spirit
fled,

Rose the tall billows round my deep'ning bed,
Cold seized my heart, thought ceased, and
I was dead.

Brother, I have not,-man has not the power To paint the horrors of that life-long hour; Hour!-but of time I knew not-when I found

Hope, youth, life, love, and all they promised, drown'd;

When all so indistinct, so undefined,
So dark and dreadful, overcame the mind;
When such confusion on the spirit dwelt,
That, feeling much, it knew not what it felt.

Can I, my Brother-ought I to forget
That night of terror? No! it threatens yet.
Shall I days, months-nay, years, indeed
neglect,

Who then could feel what moments must
effect
Were aught effected? who, in that wild storm,
Found there was nothing I could well perform;
For what to us are moments, what are hours,
If lost our judgment, and confused our powers?

draws

This view of death, and folly makes a pauseThe view o'ercomes the vice, the fear the frenzy awes.

I know there wants not this to make it true,
What danger bids be done, in safety do;
Yet such escapes may make our purpose sure,
Who slights such warning may be too secure.

But the escape!'- Whate'er they judged might save Their sinking friend they cast upon the wave; Something of these my heaven-directed arm Unconscious seized, and held as by a charm: The crew astern beheld me as I swam, And I am saved-O! let me say I am.

Brother, said George, I have neglected long
To think of all thy perils:-it was wrong;
But do forgive me; for I could not be
Than of myself more negligent of thee.
Now tell me, Richard, from the boyish years
Of thy young mind, that now so rich appears,
How was it stored? 'twas told me, thou
wert wild,

A truant urchin, a neglected child.
I heard of this escape, and sat supine
Amid the danger that exceeded thine;
Thou couldst but die-the waves could but
infold

Thy warm gay heart, and make that bosom

coldWhile I but no! Proceed, and give me truth;

How past the years of thy unguided youth?
Thy father left thee to the care of one
Who could not teach, could ill support a son;
Yet time and trouble feeble minds have stay'd,
And fit for long-neglected duties made:

I see thee struggling in the world, as late
Within the waves, and with an equal fate,
By Heaven preserved--but tell me, whence

and how

Thy gleaning came? — a dexterous gleaner

thou!

Left by that father, who was known to few, And to that mother, who has not her due Of honest fame, said Richard-our retreat Was a small cottage, for our station meet, OaBarford Downs: that mother, fond and poor, There taught some truths, and bade me

seek for more, Such as our village-school and books a few Sapplied; but such I cared not to pursue; I sought the town, and to the ocean gave My mind and thoughts, as restless as the wave: Where crowds assembled, I was sure to run, Hear what was said, and mused on what was done;

mean.

When ships at sea made signals of their need,
I watch'd on shore the sailors, and their speed:
Mix'd in their act, nor rested till I knew
Why they were call'd, and what they were
to do.
Whatever business in the port was done,
I, without call, was with the busy one;
Not daring question, but with open ear
And greedy spirit, ever bent to hear.
To me the wives of seamen loved to tell
What storms endanger'd men esteem'd so well;
What wond'rous things in foreign parts they

saw,

Lands without bounds, and people without law.

No ships were wreck'd upon that fatal beach,
But I could give the luckless tale of each
Eager I look'd, till I beheld a face
Of one disposed to paint their dismal case;
Who gave the sad survivors' doleful tale,
From the first brushing of the mighty gale
Until they struck; and, suffering in their fate,
I long'd the more they should its horrors state;
While some, the fond of pity, would enjoy
The earnest sorrows of the feeling boy.
I sought the men return'd from regions cold,
The frozen straits, where icy mountains roll'd;
Some I could win to tell me serious tales
Of boats uplifted by enormous whales,
Or, when harpoon'd, how swiftly through the