I doubted:-fool I was to doubt! In his large view, should pass me by. Thus blest with children, friend, and wife, And mercy sought not to obtain. Come near, I'll softly speak the rest!Alas! 'tis known to all the crowd, Her guilty love was all confess'd; And his, who so much truth avow'd, My faithless friend's. In pleasure proud I sat, when these curs'd tidings came; Their guilt, their flight was told aloud, And envy smil'd to hear my shame! I call'd on Vengeance; at the word She came :-Can I the deed forget? I held the sword, th' accursed sword, The blood of his false heart made wet: And that fair victim paid her debt, She pin'd, she died, she loath'd to live;— I saw her dying-see her yet: Fair fallen thing! my rage forgive! Those cherubs still, my life to bless, Were left could I my fears remove, Sad fears that check'd each fond caress, And poison'd all parental love? Yet that with jealous feelings strove, And would at last have won my will, Had I not, wretch! been doom'd to prove Th' extremes of mortal good and ill. In youth! health! joy! in beauty's pride! And I was curs'd-as I am now- Storms!-not that clouds embattled make, Physician. Peace, peace, my friend; these subjects fly; Collect thy thoughts-go calmly on. Patient. And shall I then the fact deny? I was, thou know'st,-I was begone, Like him who fill'd the eastern throne, To whom the watcher cried aloud; That royal wretch of Babylon, Who was so guilty and so proud. Like him, with haughty, stubborn mind, I, in my state, my comforts sought; Delight and praise I hop'd to find, In what I builded, planted, bought! Oh! arrogance! by misery taught Soon came a voice; I felt it come; "Full be his cup, with evil fraught, Demons his guides, and death his doom!" Then was I cast from out my state; Two fiends of darkness led my way; They wak'd me early, watch'd me late, My dread by night, my plague by day! Oh! I was made their sport, their play, Through many a stormy troubled year; And how they us'd their passive prey, Is sad to tell:-but you shall hear. And first, before they sent me forth, Through this unpitying world to run, They robb'd Sir Eustace of his worth, Lands, manors, lordships, every one; So was that gracious man undone, Was spurn'd as vile, was scorn'd as poor, Whom every former friend would shun, And menials drove from every door. Then those ill-favour'd Ones, whom none But my unhappy eyes could view, Led me, with wild emotion, on, And with resistless terror, drew. Through lands we fled, o'er seas we flew, And halted on a boundless plain; Where nothing fed, nor breath'd, nor grew, But silence rul'd the still domain. Upon that boundless plain, below, The setting sun's last rays were shed, And gave a mild and sober glow, Where all were still, asleep or dead; Vast ruins in the midst were spread, Pillars and pediments sublime, Where the grey moss had form'd a bed, And cloth'd the crumbling spoils of time. There was I fix'd, I know not how, Condemn'd for untold years to stay: Yet years were not;-one dreadful Now Endur'd no change of night or day; The same mild evening's sleeping ray Shone softly-solemn and serene, And all that time, I gaz'd away, The setting sun's sad rays were seen. At length a moment's sleep stole on,— We ran through bleak and frozen land; I had no strength, their strength t' oppose, An infant in a giant's hand. They plac'd me where those streamers play, To see, to feel, that dreadful sight: When down upon the earth I fell,Some hurried sleep was mine by day; But, soon as toll'd the evening bell, They forc'd me on, wherever dwell Far-distant men in cities fair, Cities of whom no trav'llers tell, Nor feet but mine were wanderers there. Their watchmen stare, and stand aghast, The watch-dog shrinks and fears to bark; The free wind blows-we've left the town A wide sepulchral ground I mark, And on a tombstone place me down. What monuments of mighty dead! What tombs of various kinds are found! And stones erect their shadows shed On humble graves, with wickers bound; Some risen fresh, above the ground, Some level with the native clay, What sleeping millions wait the sound, "Arise, ye dead, and come away!" Alas! they stay not for that call; Spare me this woe! ye Demons spare!They come! the shrowded shadows all,'Tis more than mortal brain can bear; Rustling they rise, they sternly glare At man upheld by vital breath; Yes! I have felt all man can feel, Till he shall pay his nature's debt; Ills that no hope has strength to heal, No mind the comfort to forget: Whatever cares the heart can fret, The spirits wear, the temper gall, Woe, want, dread, anguish, all beset My sinful soul!—together all! Those fiends upon a shaking fen Fix'd me in dark tempestuous night; There never trod the foot of men, There flock'd the fowl in wint'ry flight; There danc'd the moor's deceitful light, Above the pool where sedges grow; And when the morning sun shone bright, It shone upon a field of snow. They hung me on a bough, so small, The rook could build her nest no higher; They fix'd me on the trembling ball, That crowns the steeple's quiv'ring spire; They set me where the seas retire, But drown with their returning tide; And made me flee the mountain's fire, When rolling from its burning side. I've hung upon the ridgy steep Of cliffs, and held the rambling brier; Against the life of reasoning man. By hanging from the top-mast-head; I've serv'd the vilest slaves in jail, And pick'd the dunghill's spoil for bread; I've dreaded all the guilty dread, On sand where ebbs and flows the flood, When the swift waves came rolling by; And high they rose, and still more high, Till my lips drank the bitter brine; I sobb'd convuls'd, then cast mine eye And then, my dreams were such as nought Doom'd to dismay, disgrace, despair. Harmless I was; yet hunted down For trampling on the pit of hell. Come hear how thus the charmers cry To wandering sheep, the strays of sin; While some the wicket-gate pass by, And some will knock and enter in: Full joyful 'tis a soul to win, For he that winneth souls is wise; Now hark! the holy strains begin, And thus the sainted preacher cries:"Pilgrim, burthen'd with thy sin, "Come the way to Zion's gate, "There, till mercy let thee in, "Knock and weep and watch and wait. "Knock!-He knows the sinner's cry: "Hark! it is the bridegroom's voice; "Safe and seal'd and bought and blest! "Holy Pilgrim! what for thee, "In a world like this remain? "From thy guarded breast shall flee, "Fear and shame and doubt and pain. "Fear-the hope of Heaven shall fly, "Shame-from glory's view retire, "Doubt-in certain rapture die, "Pain-in endless bliss expire." But though my day of grace was come, Yet still my days of grief I find; The former clouds' collected gloom Still sadden the reflecting mind; The soul, to evil things consign'd, Will of their evil some retain; The man will seem to earth inclin'd, And will not look erect again. Thus, though elect, I feel it hard, To lose what I possess'd before, The brave Sir Eustace is no more: But old I wax and passing poor, Stern, rugged men my conduct view, They chide my wish, they bar my door, "Tis hard-I weep-you see I do. Must you, my friends, no longer stay? My kind physician and his friend; And those sad hours, you deign to spend With me, I shall requite them all; Sir Eustace for his friends shall send, And thank their love at Greyling Hall. Visitor. The poor Sir Eustace!-Yet his hope His views of heavenly kind remain:— Physician. No! for the more he swell'd with pride, And bound him to his fiends a slave. Though the wild thoughts had touch'd his brain, Then was he free:-So, forth he ran; To soothe or threat, alike were vain: He spake of fiends; look'd wild and wan; Year after year, the hurried man Obey'd those fiends from place to place; Till his religious change began To form a frenzied child of grace. For, as the fury lost its strength, The mind repos'd; by slow degrees, Came lingering hope, and brought at length, To the tormented spirit, ease: This slave of sin, whom fiends could seize, Felt or believ'd their power had end;""Tis faith," he cried, " my bosom frees, "And now my Saviour is my friend." But ah! though time can yield relief, To have our reason sound and sure? Our fancy's favourite flights suppress; Prepare the body to endure, And bend the mind to meet distress; And then His guardian care implore, Whom demons dread and men adore. THE BOROUGH. LETTER I. GENERAL DESCRIPTION. "Describe the Borough"-though our idle tribe Cities and towns, the various haunts of men, Far other craft our prouder river shows, [snows: Renewing oft his poor attempts to beat He shall again be seen when evening comes, Yon is our quay! those smaller hoys from town, Near these a crew amphibious, in the docks, Dabbling on shore half-naked sea boys crowd, Before you bid these busy scenes adieu, This shall pass off, and you behold, instead, Lively-the village-green, the inn, the place And shepherds pen their folds, and rest upon their crook. We prune our hedges, prime our slender trees, And nothing looks untutor❜d and at ease; On the wide heath, or in the flowery vale, We scent the vapours of the sea-born gale; Broad-beaten paths lead on from stile to stile, And sewers from streets the road-side banks defile; Our guarded fields a sense of danger show, Where garden-crops with corn and clover grow; Fences are formed of wreck, and plac'd around, (With tenters tipp'd) a strong repulsive bound; Wide and deep ditches by the gardens run, And there in ambush lie the trap and gun; Or yon broad board, which guards each tempting prize, "Like a tall bully, lifts its head and lies." There stands a cottage with an open door, Its garden undefended blooms before: Her wheel is still, and overturn'd her stool, While the lone widow seeks the neighb'ring pool: This gives us hope, all views of town to shunNo! here are tokens of the sailor son; That old blue jacket, and that shirt of check, And silken kerchief for the seaman's neck; Sea spoils and shells from many a distant shore, And furry robe from frozen Labrador. Our busy streets and sylvan walks between, Fen, marshes, bog, and heath all intervene ; Here pits of crag, with spongy, plashy base, To some enrich th' uncultivated space: For there are blossoms rare, and curious rush, The gale's rich balm, and sun-dew's crimson blush, Whose velvet leaf with radiant beauty drest, Forms a gay pillow for the plover's breast. Not distant far, a house commodious made, (Lonely yet public) stands, for Sunday-trade; Thither, for this day free, gay parties go, Their tea-house walk, their tipling rendezvous; There humble couples sit in corner-bowers, Or gaily ramble for th' allotted hours; Sailors and lasses from the town attend, The servant-lover, the apprentice-friend; With all the idle social tribes who seek, And find their humble pleasures once a week. Turn to the watery world!—but who to thee (A wonder yet unview'd) shall paint-the sea? Various and vast, sublime in all its forms, When lull'd by zephyrs, or when rous'd by storms, Its colours changing, when from clouds and sun Shades after shades upon the surface run; Embrown'd and horrid now, and now serene, In limpid blue, and evanescent green; And oft the foggy banks on ocean lie, Lift the fair sail, and cheat th' experienced eye. Be it the summer-noon: a sandy space The ebbing tide has left upon its place; Then just the hot and stony beach above, Light twinkling streams in bright confusion move; (For heated thus, the warmer air ascends, And with the cooler in its fall contends)— Then the broad bosom of the ocean keeps An equal motion; swelling as it sleeps, All where the eye delights, yet dreads to roam, Is restless change; the waves so swell'd and steep, Far off the petril in the troubled way And sports at ease on the tempestuous main. High o'er the restless deep, above the reach Of gunner's hope, vast flights of wild ducks stretch; Far as the eye can glance on either side, In a broad space and level line they glide; All in their wedge-like figures from the north, Day after day, flight after flight, go forth. In shore their passage tribes of sea-gulls urge, Or clap the sleek white pinion to the breast, Darkness begins to reign; the louder wind |