With that small brook beneath, where he would stand,

And stooping fill the hollow of his hand To quench th' impatient thirst-then stop awhile

To see the sun upon the waters smile,
In that sweet weariness, when, long denied,
We drink and view the fountain that supplied
The sparkling bliss-and feel, if not express,
Our perfect ease in that sweet weariness.
The oaks yet flourish'd in that fertile
ground,

Where still the church with lofty tower was found;

And still that Hall, a first, a favourite view, But not the elms that form'd its avenue; They fell ere George arrived, or yet had stood,

For he in reverence held the living wood, That widely spreads in earth the deepening root,

And lifts to heaven the still aspiring shoot; From age to age they fill'd a growing space, But hid the mansion they were meant to grace.

It was an ancient, venerable Hall,
And once surrounded by a moat and wall;
A part was added by a squire of taste,
Who, while unvalued acres ran to waste,
Made spacious rooms, whence he could look
about,

And mark improvements as they rose without.
He fill'd the moat, he took the wall away,
He thinn'd the park, and bade the view be gay;
The scene was rich, but he who should
behold

| On which the names of wanton boys appear, Who died old men, and left memorials here, Carvings of feet and hands, and knots and flowers,

The fruits of busy minds in idle hours. Here, while our squire the modern part possess'd,

His partial eye upon the old would rest; That best his comforts gave-this sooth'd his feelings best.

Here day by day, withdrawn from busy life, No child t' awake him, to engage no wife, When friends were absent, not to books inclined,

He found a sadness steal upon his mind; Sighing, the works of former lords to see, "I follow them," he cried, "but who will follow me?"

Here George had found, yet scarcely hoped to find,

sold.

Just then our merchant from his

desk

retired, And made the purchase that his heart desired: The Hall of Binning, his delight a boy, That gave his fancy in her flight employ; Here, from his father's modest home, he gazed,

Its grandeur charm'd him, and its height amazed:

Work of past ages; and the brick-built place Where he resided was in much disgrace; But never in his fancy's proudest dream Did he the master of that mansion seem: Young was he then, and little did he know What years on care and diligence bestow; Now young no more, retired to views well known,

He finds that object of his awe his own; The Hall at Binning!—how he loves the gloom

That sun-excluding window gives the room; Those broad brown stairs on which he loves to tread; Those beams within; without, that length of lead,

Boys on one form they parted, now to meet In equal state, their worships on one seat. Here were a sister-pair, who seem'd to live With more respect than affluence can give; Although not affluent, they, by nature graced, Had sense and virtue, dignity and taste; Their minds by sorrows, by misfortunes tried, Were vex'd and heal'd, were pain'd and purified.

Hither a sage physician came, and plann'd, With books his guides, improvements on his land;

Nor less to mind than matter would he give His noble thoughts, to know how spirits live, And what is spirit; him his friends advised To think with fear, but caution he despised, And hints of fear provoked him till he dared Beyond himself, nor bold assertion spared, But fiercely spoke, like those who strongly feel,

"Priests and their craft, enthusiasts and their zeal." More yet appear'd, of whom as we proceedAh! yield not yet to languor-you shall read.

rose,

Ee they of pain or pleasure, we disclose,
It is of custom, doubtless is of use,
That we our heroes first should introduce.
Come, then, fair Truth! and let me clearly see
The minds I paint, as they are seen in thee;
To me their merits and their faults impart;
Give me to say, "frail being! such thou art!"
And closely let me view the naked human
heart.

GEORGE loved to think; but as he late began
To muse on all the grander thoughts of man,
He took a solemn and a serious view
Of his religion, and he found it true;
Firmly, yet meekly, he his mind applied
To this great subject, and was satisfied.
He then proceeded, not so much intent,
But still in earnest, and to church he went:
Although they found some difference in
their creed,

He and his pastor cordially agreed; Convinced that they who would the truth obtain

By disputation, find their efforts vain; The church he view'd as liberal minds will view,

And there he fix'd his principles and pew. He saw, he thought he saw, how Weakness, Pride,

And Habit, draw seceding crowds aside: Weakness that loves on trifling points to dwell,

Pride that at first from Heaven's own worship fell,

And Habit, going where it went before,
Or to the Meeting or the Tavern-Door.

George loved the cause of freedom, but reproved All who with wild and boyish ardour loved; Those who believed they never could be free,

Except when fighting for their liberty;
Who by their very clamour and complaint

Invite coercion or inforce restraint:
He thought a trust so great, so good a cause,
Was only to be kept by guarding laws;
For public blessings firmly to secure,
We must a lessening of the good endure.
The public waters are to none denied,
All drink the stream, but only few must
guide;

There must be reservoirs to hold supply,
And channels form'd to send the blessing by;
The public good must be a private care,
None all they would may have, but all a

share :

So we must freedom with restraint enjoy, What crowds possess they will, uncheck'd,

destroy;

The Constitution was the ark that he
Join'd to support with zeal and sanctity,
Nor would expose it, as th' accursed son
His father's weakness, to be gazed upon.
I for that Freedom make, said he, my prayer,
That suits with all, like atmospheric air;
That is to mortal man by heaven assign'd,
Who cannot bear a pure and perfect kind:
The lighter gas, that, taken in the frame,
The spirit heats, and sets the blood in flame,
Such is the freedom which when men ap-
prove,

They know not what a dangerous thing they love.

spurn'd;

Through ways more rough had fortune
RICHARD led,
The world he traversed was the book he
read;

Hence clashing notions and opinions strange
Lodged in his mind; all liable to change.
By nature generous, open, daring, free,
The vice he hated was hypocrisy :
Religious notions, in her latter years,
His mother gave, admonish'd by her fears;
To these he added, as he chanced to read
A pious work or learn a christian creed :
He heard the preacher by the highway-side,
The church's teacher, and the meeting's
guide;

And mixing all their matters in his brain,
Distill'd a something he could ill explain;
But still it served him for his daily use,
And kept his lively passions from abuse;
For he believed, and held in reverence high,
The truth so dear to man-not all shall die.
The minor portions of his creed hung loose,
For time to shapen and an whole produce;
This love effected and a favourite maid,
With clearer views, his honest flame repaid;
Hers was the thought correct, the hope
sublime,

She shaped his creed, and did the work of time.

move, Be it our wisdom to confide and love!

So pleasures came, (not purchased first or plann'd)

But the chance-pleasures that the poor command;

They came but seldom, they remain'd not long, Nor gave him time to question, are they wrong? These he enjoy'd, and left to aftertime To judge the folly or decide the crime; Sure had he been, he had perhaps been pure From this reproach—but Richard was not Yet from the sordid vice, the mean, the base, He stood aloof-death frown'd not like disgrace.

sure

With handsome figure, and with manly air, He pleased the sex, who all to him were fair;

With filial love he look'd on forms decay'd,
And Admiration's debt to Beauty paid;
On sea or land, wherever Richard went,
He felt affection, and he found content;
There was in him a strong presiding hope
In Fortune's tempests, and it bore him up:
But when that mystic vine his mansion
graced,

When numerous branches round his board
When sighs of apprehensive love were heard,
were placed,
Then first the spirit of the hero fear'd;
And all an husband's sorrow touch'd his
Then he reflected on the father's part,
heart;

Then thought he: Who will their assistance lend?

And be the children's guide, the parent's friend?

Who shall their guardian, their protector be?

I have a brother-Well!—and so has he.

And now they met: a message-kind, 'tis But verbal only-ask'd an interview; true, And many a mile, perplex'd by doubt and fear,

Had Richard past, unwilling to appear— How shall I now my unknown way explore, He proud and rich-I very proud and poor? Perhaps my friend a dubious speech mistook, And George may meet me with a stranger's look;

Then to my home when I return again, How shall I bear this business to explain,