And of his mind-he ponder'd for a while,
Then met his Fanny with a borrow'd smile.
Not much remain'd; for money and my Lord
Soon made the father of the youth accord;
His prudence half resisted, half obey'd,
And scorn kept still the guardians of the
maid:

Cecilia never on the subject spoke,
She seem'd as one who from a dream awoke;
So all was peace, and soon the married pair
Fix'd with fair fortune in a mansion fair.

Five years had pass'd, and what was Henry then?

The most repining of repenting men ;
With a fond, teasing, anxious wife, afraid
Of all attention to another paid :
Yet powerless she her husband to amuse,
Lives but t' entreat, implore, resent, accuse:
Jealous and tender, conscious of defects,
She merits little, and yet much expects;
She looks for love that now she cannot see,
And sighs for joy that never more can be;
On his retirements her complaints intrude,
And fond reproof endears his solitude:
While he her weakness (once her kindness)

sees,

And his affections in her languor freeze;
Regret, uncheck'd by hope, devours his mind,
He feels unhappy, and he grows unkind.
Fool! to be taken by a rosy cheek,
And eyes that cease to sparkle or to speak;
Fool! for this child my freedom to resign,
When one the glory of her sex was mine;
While from this burthen to my soul I hide,
To think what Fate has dealt, and what
denied.

What fiend possess'd me when I tamely gave
My forced assent to be an idiot's slave?
Her beauty vanish'd, what for me remains?
Th' eternal clicking of the galling chains:
Her person truly I may think my own,
Seen without pleasure, without triumph

shown: Doleful she sits, her children at her knees, And gives up all her feeble powers to please; Whom I, unmoved, or moved with scorn, behold,

Melting as ice, as vapid and as cold.'

Such was his fate, and he must yet endure
The self-contempt that no self-love can cure:
Some business call'd him to a wealthy town
When unprepared for more than Fortune's
frown;

There at a house he gave his luckless name,
The master absent, and Cecilia came;
Unhappy man! he could not, dared not speak,
But look'd around, as if retreat to seek:
This she allow'd not; but, with brow severe,
Ash'd him his business, sternly bent to hear;
He had no courage, but he view'd that face
As if he sought for sympathy and grace;
As if some kind returning thought to trace:

In vain; not long he waited, but with air, That of all grace compell'd him to despair, She rang the bell, and, when a servant came, Left the repentant traitor to his shame; But, going, spoke: Attend this person out, And if he speaks, hear what he comes about! Then, with cool curtesy, from the room withdrew,

That seem'd to say: Unhappy man, adieu!

Thus will it be when man permits a vice First to invade his heart, and then entice; When wishes vain and undefined arise, And that weak heart deceive,seduce, surprise; When evil Fortune works on Folly's side, | And rash Resentment adds a spur to Pride; Then life's long troubles from those actions

come,

In which a moment may decide our doom.

BOOK XIV.

THE NATURAL DEATH OF LOVE.

RICHARD one month had with his Brother been,

And had his guests, his friends, his favourites seen;

Had heard the Rector, who with decent force,
But not of action, aided his discourse:
A moral teacher! some, contemptuous, cried;
He smiled, but nothing of the fact denied,
Nor, save by his fair life, to charge so strong
replied.

Still, though he bade them not on aught rely
That was their own, but all their worth deny,
They call'd his pure advice his cold morality;
And though he felt that earnestness and zeal,
That made some portion of his hearers feel,
Nay, though he loved the minds of men to
lead

To the great points that form the Christian's

creed,

Still he offended, for he would discuss
Points that to him seem'd requisite for us;
And urge his flock to virtue, though he knew
The very heathen taught the virtues too:
Nor was this moral minister afraid
To ask of inspiration's self the aid
Of truths by him so sturdily maintain'd,
That some confusion in the parish reign'd;
Heathens, they said, can tell us right from
wrong,

But to a Christian higher points belong.
Yet Jacques proceeded, void of fear and shame,
In his old method, and obtain'd the name
Of Moral Preacher-yet they all agreed,
Whatever error had defiled his creed,
His life was pure, and him they could com-
mend,

Not as their guide,indeed, but as their friend :

Twice in the week came letters, and delight Beam'd in the eye of Richard at the sight; Letters of love, all full and running o'er, The paper fill'd till it could hold no more; Cross'd with discolour'd ink, the doublings full,

No fear that love should find abundance dull; Love reads unsated all that love inspires, When most indulged, indulgence still requires;

Looks what the corners, what the crossings tell,

And lifts each folding for a fond farewell.
George saw and smiled-To lovers we allow
All this o'erflowing, but a husband thou!
A father too; can time create no change!
Married, and still so foolish?—very strange!
What of this wife or mistress is the art?'.
"The simple truth, my Brother, to impart,
Her heart, whene'er she writes, feels writing

to a heart.'

Fortune, dear Richard, is thy friend—a wife
Like thine must soften every care of life,
And all its woes-I know a pair, whose lives
Run in the common track of men and wives;
And half their worth, at least, this pair
would give

Could they like thee and thy Matilda live.
They were, as lovers, of the fondest kind,
With no defects in manner or in mind;
In habit, temper, prudence, they were those
Whom, as examples, I could once propose;
Now this, when married, you no longer
trace,

But discontent and sorrow in the place:
Their pictures, taken as the pair I saw
In a late contest, I have tried to draw;
'Tis but a sketch, and at my idle time
I put my couple in the garb of rhyme:
Thou art a critic of the milder sort,
And thou wilt judge with favour my report.

Let me premise, twelve months have flown away,

Swiftly or sadly, since the happy day.

Let us suppose the couple left to spend Some hours without engagement or a friend; And be it likewise on our mind impress'd They pass for persons happy and at rest; Their love by Hymen crown'd, and all their prospects bless'd.

Love has slow death and sudden: wretches
prove
That fate severe-the sudden death of love;
It is as if, on day serenely bright,
Came with its horrors instantaneous night;
Others there are with whom love dies away
In gradual waste and unperceived decay;
Such is that death of love that nature finds
Most fitted for the use of common minds,
The natural death; but doubtless there are

some

Who struggle hard when they perceive it

come;

E. Yes, sir, obedience I profess'd; I know My debt, and wish to pay you all I owe, Pay without murmur; but that vow was made To you, who said it never should be paid ;— Now truly tell me why you took such care To make me err? I ask'd you not to swear, But rather hoped you would my mind direct, And say, when married, what you would expect.

You may remember-it is not so long
Since you affirm'd that I could not be wrong;
I told you then-you recollect, I told
The very truth - that humour would not
hold;

Not that I thought, or ever could suppose,
The mighty raptures were so soon to close--
Poetic flights of love all sunk in sullen prose.

E. O! that is now so cool, and with a smile That sharpens insult-I detest the style; And, now I talk of styles, with what delight You read my lines-I then, it seems, could write:

In short, when I was present, you could see But one dear object, and you lived for me; And now, sir, what your pleasure? Let me dress,

Sing, speak, or write, and you your sense express

Of my poor taste-my words are not correct; In all I do is failing or defect

Some error you will seek, some blunder will

I sought to praise thee, and I felt disdain Of my own effort; all attempts were vain. Nor they alone were charming; by that light All loved of thee grew lovely in my sight; Sweet influence not its own in every place Was found, and there was found in all things grace;

Thy shrubs and plants were seen new bloom to bear,

Not the Arabian sweets so fragrant were, Nor Eden's self, if aught with Eden might

compare.

You went the church-way-walk, you reach'd the farm,

And gave the grass and babbling springs a charm;

Crop, whom you rode,

- sad rider though you be,Thenceforth was more than Pegasus to me: Have I not woo'd your snarling cur to bend To me the paw and greeting of a friend? And all his surly ugliness forgave, Because, like me, he was my Emma's slave? Think you, thus charm'd, I would the spell revoke?

Alas! my love, we married, and it broke!
Yet no deceit or falsehood stain'd my breast,
What I asserted might a saint attest;
Fair, dear, and good thou wert, nay, fairest,
dearest, best;

Nor shame, nor guilt, nor falsehood I avow,
But 'tis by heaven's own light I see thee

H. I sought them not; but, madam, 'tis in vain The course of love and nature to restrain; Lo! when the buds expand the leaves are green,

Then the first opening of the flower is seen; Then comes the honied breath and rosy smile, That with their sweets the willing sense beguile;

But, as we look, and love, and taste, and praise, And the fruit grows, the charming flower decays;

Till all is gather'd, and the wintry blast Moans o'er the place of love and pleasure past. So 'tis with beauty,-such the opening grace And dawn of glory in the youthful face; Then are the charms unfolded to the sight, Then all is loveliness and all delight;

The nuptial tie succeeds, the genial hour, And, lo! the falling off of beauty's flower; So, through all nature is the progress made,—

The bud, the bloom, the fruit, and then we fade.

Then sigh no more,—we might as well retain The year's gay prime as bid that love remain, That fond, delusive, happy, transient spell, That hides us from a world wherein we dwell,

And forms and fits us for that fairy-ground, Where charming dreams and gay conceits abound;

Till comes at length th' awakening strife and care, That we, as tried and toiling men, must share.

H. And I alone?-O! Emma, when I pray'd

For grace from thee, transported and afraid,
Now raised to rapture, now to terror doom'd,
Was not the goddess by the girl assumed?
Did not my Emma use her skill to hide-
Let us be frank—her weakness and her pride?

Did she not all her sex's arts pursue,
To bring the angel forward to my view?
Was not the rising anger oft suppress'd?
Was not the waking passion hush'd to rest?
And when so mildly sweet you look'd and
spoke,
Did not the woman deign to wear a cloak?
A cloak she wore, or, though not clear my
sight,

I might have seen her- Think you not I might?

E. O! this is glorious!—while your passion lives, To the loved maid a robe of grace it gives; And then, unjust! beholds her with surprise, Unrobed, ungracious, when the passion dies.

to look

On the grave subjects of one favourite book?
Or have the once-applauded pages power
T'engage
their warm approver for an hour?
Nay, hear me farther-When we view'd
that dell,
Where lie those ruins-you must know it
well-

When that worn pediment your walk delay'd,
And the stream gushing through the arch
When at the venerable pile you stood,
decay'd;
Till the does ventured on our solitude,
We were so still! before the growing day
Call'd us reluctant from our seat away-
Tell me, was all the feeling you express'd
The genuine feeling of my Emma's breast?
Or was it borrow'd, that her faithful slave
So may I judge, for of that lovely scene
The higher notion of her taste might have?
The married Emma has no witness been;
No more beheld that water, falling, flow
Through the green fern that there delights

to grow. Once more permit me-Well, I know, you feel For suffering men, and would their suffer But when at certain huts you chose to call, ings heal, At certain seasons, was compassion all?

I there beheld thee, to the wretched dear
When whispering hope-I saw an infant
As angels to expiring saints appear
And hush'd to slumber on my Emma's breast!
press'd
Hush'd be each rude suggestion!-Well I

know

With a free hand your bounty you bestow; And to these objects frequent comforts send, But still they see not now their pitying friend A merchant, Emma, when his wealth he

states,

Though rich, is faulty if he over-rates

His real store; and, gaining greater trust
For the deception, should we deem him just?
If in your singleness of heart you hide
No flaw or frailty, when your truth is tried,
And time has drawn aside the veil of love,
We may be sorry, but we must approve;
The fancied charms no more our praise
compel,

But doubly shines the worth that stands 60 well.

E. O! precious are you all, and prizes too,
Or could we take such guilty pains for you?
Believe it not-As long as passion lasts,
A charm about the chosen maid it casts;
And the poor girl has little more to do
Than just to keep in sight as you pursue;
Chance to a ruin leads her; you behold,
And straight the angel of her taste is told:
Chance to a cottage leads you, and you trace
A virtuous pity in the angel's face;
She reads a work you chance to recommend,
And likes it well-at least, she likes the
friend;

But when it chances this no more is done,
She has not left one virtue-No! not one!
But be it said, good sir, we use such art,
Is it not done to hold a fickle heart,
And fix a roving eye?-Is that design
Shameful or wicked that would keep you
mine?

If I confess the art, I would proceed
To say of such that every maid has need.
Then when you flatter-in your language
praise,

In our own view you must our value raise;
And must we not, to this mistaken man,
Appear as like his picture as we can?
If you will call-nay, treat us as divine,
Must we not something to your thoughts
incline?

If men of sense will worship whom they love,
Think you the idol will the error prove?
What! show him all her glory is pretence,
And make an idiot of this man of sense?
Then, too, suppose we should his praise
refuse,

And clear his mind, we may our lover lose;
In fact, you make us more than nature makes,
And we, no doubt, consent to your mistakes
You will, we know, until the frenzy cools,
Enjoy the transient paradise of fools;
But fancy fled, you quit the blissful state,
And truth for ever bars the golden gate.

;

II. True! but how ill each other to upbraid,

"Tis not our fault that we no longer staid; No sudden fate our lingering love supprest, It died an easy death, and calmly sank to rest: To either sex is the delusion lent,

And when it fails us, we should rest content, Tis cruel to reproach, when bootless to repent.

E. Then wise the lovers who consent to wait,

And always lingering, never try the state;
But hurried on, by what they call their pain
And I their bliss, no longer they refrain;
To ease that pain, to lose that bliss, they run
To the church-magi, and the thing is done;
A spell is utter'd, and a ring applied,
And forth they walk a bridegroom and a
bride;
To find this counter-charm, this marriage-
Has put their pleasant fallacies to flight!
rite,
But tell me, Henry, should we truly strive,
May we not bid the happy dream revive?

keep

These griefs in memory; they had better sleep. There was a time when this heaven-guarded isle,

Whose valleys flourish―nay, whose mountains smile,

Was steril, wild, deform'd, and beings rude Creatures scarce wilder than themselves pursued;

The sea was heard around a waste to howl, The night-wolf answer'd to the whooting And all was wretched-Yet who now surveys owl, The land, withholds his wonder and his praise?

Improve like this—this have we power to do. Come, let us try and make our moral view

And all you wish, to have these changes come. E. O! I'll be all forgetful, deaf and dumb,