Here in this land of freedom, live distinguish'd, And mark'd the willing slave of some proud subject,

And swell his useless train for broken fragments-
The cold remains of his superfluous board?
I would aspire to something more and better-
Turn thy eyes then to the prolific ocean,
Whose spacious bosom opens to thy view:
There deathless honour, and unenvied wealth
Have often crown'd the brave adventurer's toils.
This is the native uncontested right,
The fair inheritance, of ev'ry Briton

That dares put in his claim-My choice is made:
A long farewell to Cornwall, and to England!
If I return-But stay, what stranger's this,
Who, as he views me, seems to mend his pace?

Y. Wilm. I have not yet embraced My parents-I shall see you at my father's. Rand. No, I'm discharged from thence-O, sir, such ruin—

Y. Wilm. I've heard it all, and hasten to relieve 'em :

Sure Heaven hath blest me to that very end: I've wealth enough; nor shalt thou want a part. Rand. I have a part already-I am blest

In your success and share in all your joys.

Y. Wilm. I doubt it not-But tell me, dost
thou think,

My parents, not suspecting my return,
That I may visit them, and not be known?

Rand. "Tis hard for me to judge. You are
already

Grown so familiar to me, that I wonder
I knew you not at first: yet it may be;
For you're much alter'd, and they think you dead.
Y. Wilm. This is certain: Charlotte beheld
me long,

And heard my loud reproaches and complaints
Without rememb'ring she had ever seen me.
My mind at ease grows wanton: I would fain
Refine on happiness. Why may I not
Indulge my curiosity, and try

If it be possible by seeing first
My parents as a stranger, to improve
Their pleasure by surprise!

Rand. It may, indeed,

Y. Wilm. Nay, no objections—”Twill save time, Most precious with me now. For the deception, If doing what my Charlotte will approve, 'Cause done for me and with a good intent, Deserves the name, I'll answer it myself. If this succeeds, I purpose to defer Discov'ring who I am till Charlotte comes, And thou, and all who love me. Ev'ry friend Who witnesses my happiness to-night, Will, by partaking, multiply my joys.

Rand. You grow luxurious in your mental pleasures:

Could I deny you aught, I would not write
This letter. To say true, I ever thought
Your boundless curiosity a weakness.

Y. Wilm. What canst thou blame in this?
Rand. Your pardon, sir;

I only speak in general: I'm ready
T'obey your orders.

Y. Wilm. I am much thy debtor,
But I shall find a time to quit thy kindness.
O Randal! but imagine to thyself

The floods of transport, the sincere delight
That all my friends will feel, when I disclose
To my astonish'd parents my return;
And then confess, that I have well contrived
By giving others joy t' exalt my own.
As pain, and anguish, in a gen'rous mind,
While kept conceal'd and to ourselves confined,
Want half their force; so pleasure, when it flows
In torrents round us, more ecstatic grows.

SCENE-A Room in Old Wilmot's House.

OLD WILMOT and his Wife AGNES.

[Exeunt.

O. Wilm. Here, take this Seneca, this haughty pedant,

Who governing the master of mankind,
And awing power imperial, prates of patience;
And praises poverty-possess'd of millions:
-Sell him, and buy us bread. The scantiest meal
The vilest copy of his book e'er purchased,
Will give us more relief in this distress,
Than all his boasted precepts.-Nay, no tears;
Keep them to move compassion when you beg.
Agn. My heart may break, but never stoop to
that.

O. Wilm. Nor would I live to see it.-But
despatch.
[Erit AGNES.

Where must I charge this length of misery,

That gathers force each moment as it rolls,
And must at last o'erwhelm me; but on hope,
Vain, flattering, delusive, groundless hope;
A senseless expectation of relief

That has for years deceived me?-Had I thought
As I do now, as wise men ever think,
When first this hell of poverty o'ertook me,
That power to die implies a right to do it,
And should be used when life becomes a pain,
What plagues had I prevented. True, my wife

Is still a slave to prejudice and fear—
I would not leave my better part, the dear

What wild neglect, the token of despair,
What indigence, what misery appears
In each disorder'd, or disfurnish'd room
Of this once gorgeous house! What discontent,
What anguish and confusion fill the faces
Of its dejected owners!

[Aside.]

O. Wilm. Sir, such welcome As this poor house affords, you may command. Our ever friendly neighbour- -Once we hoped T'have call'd fair Charlotte by a dearer nameBut we have done with hope-I pray excuse This incoherence-we had once a son.

[Weeps. Agn. That you are come from that dear virtuous Revives in us the mem'ry of a loss, [maid, Which though long since, we have not learn'd to bear.

Y. Wilm. [Aside.] The joy to see them, and the bitter pain

It is to see them thus, touches my soul
With tenderness and grief, that will o'erflow.
My bosom heaves and swells, as it would burst;
My bowels move, and my heart melts within me.
-They know me not, and yet, I fear, I shall
Defeat my purpose and betray myself.

O. Wam. The lady calls you here her valued
friend;

Enough, though nothing more should be implied, To recommend you to our best esteem,

-A worthless acquisition!-May she find Some means that better may express her kindness! But she, perhaps, hath purposed to enrich You with herself, and end her fruitless sorrow For one whom death alone can justify For leaving her so long. If it be so, May you repair his loss, and be to Charlotte A second, happier Wilmot. Partial nature, Who only favours youth, as feeble age Were not her offspring, or below her care, Has seal'd our doom: no second hope shall spring From my dead loins, and Agnes' sterile womb, To dry our tears, and dissipate despair.

Agn. The last and most abandon'd of our kind, By heaven and earth neglected or despised, The loathsome grave, that robb'd us of our son, And all our joys in him, must be our refuge.

Y. Wilm. Let ghosts unpardon'd, or devoted
fiends,

Fear without hope, and wail in such sad strains;
But grace defend the living from despair.
The darkest hours precede the rising sun;
And mercy may appear when least expected.
O. Wilm. This I have heard a thousand times
repeated,

And have, believing, been as oft deceived.

Y. Wilm. Behold in me an instance of its truth. At sea twice shipwreck'd, and as oft the prey Of lawless pirates; by the Arabs thrice Surprised, and robb'd on shore; and once reduced To worse than these, the sum of all distress That the most wretched feel on this side hell, Ev'n slavery itself: yet here I stand, Except one trouble that will quickly end, The happiest of mankind.

O. Wilm. A rare example Of fortune's caprice; apter to surprise Or entertain, than comfort, or instruct. If you would reason from events, be just, And count, when you escaped, how many perish'd; And draw your inf'rence thence.

Agn. Alas! who knows

But we were render'd childless by some storm,
In which you, though preserved, might bear a part.
Y. Wilm. How has my curiosity betray'd me
Into superfluous pain! I faint with fondness;
And shall, if I stay longer, rush upon 'em,
Proclaim myself their son, kiss and embrace 'em
Till their souls, transported with the excess
Of pleasure and surprise, quit their frail mansions,
And leave 'em breathless in my longing arms.
By circumstances then, and slow degrees,
They must be let into a happiness
Too great for them to bear at once, and live:
That Charlotte will perform: I need not feign
To ask an hour for rest. [Aside.] Sir, I entreat
The favour to retire where, for a while,
I may repose myself. You will excuse
This freedom, and the trouble that I give you:
'Tis long since I have slept, and nature calls.

O. Wilm. I pray, no more: believe we're only troubled

That you should think any excuse were needful. Y. Wilm. The weight of this is some incum

He says it is of value, and yet trusts it,
As if a trifle, to a stranger's hand-
His confidence amazes me-Perhaps

It is not what he says-I'm strongly tempted
To open it, and see-No, let it rest.
Why should my curiosity excite me

To search and pry into th' affairs of others,
Who have t' employ my thoughts, so many cares
And sorrows of my own?-With how much ease
The spring gives way! Surprising! most pro-
digious!

My eyes are dazzled, and my ravish'd heart Leaps at the glorious sight. How bright 's the lustre,

How immense the worth of these fair jewels!
Ay, such a treasure would expel for ever
Base poverty, and all its abject train;
The mean devices we're reduced to use
To keep out famine, and preserve our lives
From day to day; the cold neglect of friends;
The galling scorn, or more provoking pity
Of an insulting world- -Possess'd of these,
Plenty, content, and power, might take their turn,
And lofty pride bare its aspiring head

At our approach, and once more bend before us.
-A pleasing dream! 'Tis past; and now I wake
More wretched by the happiness I've lost;
For sure it was a happiness to think,
Though but a moment, such a treasure mine.
Nay, it was more than thought-I saw and

touch'd

The bright temptation, and I see it yet—
"Tis here-'tis mine-I have it in possession-
-Must I resign it? Must I give it back?
Am I in love with misery and want?-
To rob myself, and court so vast a loss?-
Retain it then- -But how? there is a way-
Why sinks my heart? Why does my blood run
cold?

Why am I thrill'd with horror? "Tis not choice,
But dire necessity suggests the thought.

Enter OLD WILMOT.

O. Wilm. The mind contented, with how little pains

The wand'ring senses yield to soft repose,
And die to gain new life! He's fallen asleep
Already―Happy man! What dost thou think,

My Agnes, of our unexpected guest!

He seems to me a youth of great humanity :
Just ere he closed his eyes, that swam in tears,
He wrung my hand, and press'd it to his lips;
And with a look, that pierced me to the soul,
Begg'd me to comfort thee: and-Dost thou hear
me?

What art thou gazing on? Fie, 'tis not well-
This casket was deliver'd to you closed:
Why have you open'd it? Should this be known,
How mean must we appear!

Agn. And who shall know it?

O. Wilm. There is a kind of pride, a decent

dignity

Due to ourselves; which, spite of our misfortunes,
May be maintain'd and cherish'd to the last.
To live without reproach, and without leave
To quit the world, shows sovereign contempt,
And noble scorn of its relentless malice. [sense!
Agn. Shows sovereign madness, and a scorn of
Pursue no further this detested theme:

I will not die,-I will not leave the world
For all that you can urge, until compell'd. [sun

O. Wilm. To chase a shadow, when the setting
Is darting his last rays, were just as wise
As your anxiety for fleeting life,
Now the last means for its support are failing:
Were famine not as mortal as the sword,
This warmth might be excused-But take thy
Die how you will, you shall not die alone. [choice:
Agn. Nor live, I hope.

O. Wilm. There is no fear of that.
Agn. Then we'll live both.

O. Wilm. Strange folly! where's the means?
Agn. The means are there; those jewels——
O. Wilm. Ha!-Take heed:

Perhaps thou dost but try me; yet take heed-
There's nought so monstrous but the mind of man
In some conditions may be brought t' approve;
Theft, sacrilege, treason, and parricide,
When flatt'ring opportunity enticed,
And desperation drove, have been committed
By those who once would start to hear them named.
Agn. And add to these detested suicide,
Which, by a crime much less, we may avoid.
O. Wilm.Th' inhospitable murder of our guest!-
How couldst thou form a thought so very tempting,
So advantageous, so secure, and easy;
And yet so cruel, and so full of horror?

Agn. "Tis less impiety, less against nature,
To take another's life, than end our own.

O. Wilm. It is no matter, whether this or that Be, in itself, the less or greater crime: Howe'er we may deceive ourselves or others, We act from inclination, not by rule, Or none could act amiss- -And that all err, None but the conscious hypocrite denies.

-O! what is man, his excellence and strength,
When in an hour of trial and desertion,
Reason, his noblest power, may be suborn'd
To plead the cause of vile assassination!
Agn. You're too severe: reason may justly plead
For her own preservation.

O. Wilm. Rest contented:
Whate'er resistance I may seem to make,

I am betrayed within: my will's seduced, And my whole soul infected. The desire Of life returns, and brings with it a train Of appetites, that rage to be supplied. Whoever stands to parley with temptation, Does it to be o'ercome.

Agn. Then nought remains,

But the swift execution of a deed

That is not to be thought on, or delay'd.

To waste my fortune, rob me of my son;
To drive me to despair, and then reproach me
For being what thou'st made me.

O. Wilm. Dry thy tears:

I ought not to reproach thee. I confess

That thou hast suffer'd much so have we both.
But chide no more: I'm wrought up to thy pur-
The poor, ill-fated, unsuspecting victim,
Ere he reclined him on the fatal couch,

[pose.

'Twere madness to attempt it.

O. Wilm. True; his strength

Single is more, much more than ours united;
So may his life, perhaps, as far exceed

Ours in duration, should he 'scape this snare.
Gen'rous, unhappy man! O what could move thee
To put thy life and fortune in the hands
Of wretches mad with anguish?
Agn. By what means?

By stabbing, suffocation, or by strangling,
Shall we effect his death?

O. Wilm. Why, what a fiend!-
How cruel, how remorseless and impatient
Have pride and poverty made thee!

Agn. Barbarous man!

Whose wasteful riots ruin'd our estate,
And drove our son, ere the first down had spread
His rosy cheeks, spite of my sad presages,
Earnest intreaties, agonies and tears,

To seek his bread 'mongst strangers, and to perish
In some remote, inhospitable land-

The loveliest youth, in person and in mind, That ever crown'd a groaning mother's pains! Where was thy pity, where thy patience then? Thou cruel husband! thou unnat'ral father! Thou most remorseless, most ungrateful man,

And costly dagger that thou saw'st him wear; And thus, unthinking, furnish'd us with arms Against himself. Which shall I use?

Agn. The sash.

If you make use of that, I can assist.
O. Wilm. No.

"Tis a dreadful office, and I'll spare

Thy trembling hands the guilt-steal to the

door,

And bring me word; if he be still asleep.

[Exit AGNES.

Or I'm deceived, or he pronounced himself
The happiest of mankind. Deluded wretch!
Thy thoughts are perishing, thy youthful joys,
Touch'd by the icy hand of grisly death,
Are with'ring in their bloom--But, thought
extinguish'd,

He'll never know the loss, nor feel the bitter

Pangs of disappointment- -Then I was wrong
In counting him a wretch: To die well pleased,
Is all the happiest of mankind can hope for.
To be a wretch, is to survive the loss
Of every joy, and even hope itself,
As I have done--Why do I mourn him then?
For, by the anguish of my tortured soul,
He's to be envied, if compared with me.

How silent did his old companions tread,
By midnight lamps, the mansions of the dead,
Through breathing statues, then unheeded things,
Through rows of warriors, and through walks
of kings!

What awe did the slow solemn knell inspire;
The pealing organ, and the pausing choir;
The duties by the lawn-robed prelate paid:
And the last words, that dust to dust convey'd!
While speechless o'er thy closing grave we bend,
Accept these tears, thou dear departed friend.
Oh, gone for ever! take this long adieu;
And sleep in peace, next thy loved Montague.
To strew fresh laurels, let the task be mine,
A frequent pilgrim at thy sacred shrine;
Mine with true sighs thy absence to bemoan,
And grave with faithful epitaphs thy stone.
If e'er from me thy loved memorial part,
May shame afflict this alienated heart;
Of thee forgetful, if I form a song,
My lyre be broken, and untuned my tongue;
My grief be doubled from thy image free,
And mirth a torment, unchastised by thee!

Oft let me range the gloomy aisles alone,
Sad luxury to vulgar minds unknown,
Along the walls where speaking marbles show
What worthies form the hallow'd mould below;
Proud names, who once the reins of empire held;
In arms who triumph'd; or in arts excell'd;
Chiefs, graced with scars, and prodigal of blood;
Stern patriots, who for sacred freedom stood;
Just men, by whom impartial laws were given;
And saints, who taught and led the way to
heaven;

Ne'er to these chambers, where the mighty rest,
Since their foundation came a nobler guest;
Nor e'er was to the bowers of bliss convey'd
A fairer spirit or more welcome shade.

In what new region, to the just assign'd, What new employments please th' unbodied mind?

A winged Virtue, through th' ethereal sky,
From world to world unwearied does he fly?
Or curious trace the long laborious maze
Of heaven's decrees, where wondering angels
gaze?

Does he delight to hear bold seraphs tell
How Michael battled, and the dragon fell;
Or, mix'd with milder cherubim, to glow
In hymns of love, not ill essay'd below?
Or dost thou warn poor mortals left behind,
A task well suited to thy gentle mind?
Oh! if sometimes thy spotless form descend,
To me thy aid, thou guardian,genius, lend!
When rage misguides me, or when fear alarms,
When pain distresses, or when pleasure charms,
In silent whisperings purer thoughts impart,
And turn from ill a frail and feeble heart;
Lead through the paths thy virtue trod before,
Till bliss shall join, nor death can part us more.

That awful form, which, so the heavens decree, Must still be loved and still deplored by me;

In nightly visions seldom fails to rise,
Or, roused by fancy, meets my waking eyes.
If business calls, or crowded courts invite,
Th' unblemish'd statesman seems to strike my
sight;

If in the stage I seek to soothe my care,
I meet his soul which breathes in Cato there;
If pensive to the rural shades I rove,
His shape o'ertakes me in the lonely grove;
"Twas there of just and good he reason'd strong,
Clear'd some great truth, or raised some serious
song:

There patient show'd us the wise course to steer,
A candid censor, and a friend severe;
There taught us how to live; and (oh! too high
The price for knowledge,) taught us how to die.

Thou hill, whose brow the antique structures

grace,

Rear'd by bold chiefs of Warwick's noble race, Why, once so loved, whene'er thy bower appears, O'er my dim eye-balls glance the sudden tears? How sweet were once thy prospects fresh and fair,

Thy sloping walks, and unpolluted air!

How sweet the glooms beneath thy aged trees,
Thy noontide shadow, and thy evening breeze!
His image thy forsaken bowers restore;
Thy walks and airy prospects charm no more;
No more the summer in thy glooms allay'd,
Thy evening breezes, and thy noon-day shade.

From other ills, however fortune frown'd,
Some refuge in the Muse's art I found;
Reluctant now I touch the trembling string,
Bereft of him who taught me how to sing;
And these sad accents, murmur'd o'er his urn,
Betray that absence they attempt to mourn.
O! must I then (now fresh my bosom bleeds,
And Craggs in death to Addison succeeds,)
The verse, begun to one lost friend, prolong,
And weep a second in th' unfinish'd song!

These works divine, which on his death-bed laid,

To thee, O Craggs! th' expiring sage convey'd,
Great, but ill-omen'd, monument of fame,
Nor he survived to give, nor thou to claim.
Swift after him thy social spirit flies,
And close to his, how soon! thy coffin lies.
Blest pair! whose union future bards shall tell
In future tongues: each other's boast! farewell!
Farewell! whom, join'd in fame, in friendship

tried,

No chance could sever, nor the grave divide.

COLIN AND LUCY.

A BALLAD.

OF Leinster, famed for maidens fair,
Bright Lucy was the grace;
Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid stream
Reflect so sweet a face: