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Forget her spleen, and in my place appear; Seamen returning to their ship, were come,
Her love to me will make my Judith dear : With idle numbers straying from their home;
Oft I shall think, (such comfort lovers seek,) Allen among them mix'd, and in the old
Who speaks of me, and fancy what they speak; Strove some familiar features to behold;
Then write on all occasions, always dwell While fancy aided memory :—“Man! what cheer?"
On hope's fair prospects, and be kind and well, A sailor cried ; "art thou at anchor here !"
And ever choose the fondest, tenderest style." Faintly he answer'd, and then tried to trace
She answer'd “ No," but answer'd with a smile. Some youthful features in some aged face :
“And now, my Judith, at so sad a time,

A swarthy matron he beheld, and thought Forgive my fear, and call it not my crime, She might unfold the very truths he sought When with our youthful neighbours 'tis thy chance Confused and trembling, he the dame addressid : To meet in walks, the visit, or the dance,

“The Booths! yet live they ?" pausing and opWhen every lad would on my lass altend,

press d ; Choose not a smooth designer for a friend : Then spake again ;~" Is there no ancient man, That fawning Philip!-nay, be not severe,

David his name ?-assist me if you can.A rival's hope must cause a lover's fear."

Flemmings there were--and Judith, doth she Displeased she felt, and might in her reply

live ?" Have mix'd some anger, but the boat was nigh, The woman gazed, nor could an answer give; Now truly heard !-it soon was full in sight; Yet wondering stood, and all were silent by, Now the sad farewell, and the long good-night ;- Feeling a strange and solemn sympathy. For, see-his friends come hastening to the beach, The woman musing said, -"She knew full well And now the gunwale is within the reach : Where the old people came at last to dwell; "Adieu-farewell !-remember!”—and what more They had a married daughter and a son, Affection taught was utter'd from the shore ! But they were dead, and now remain'd not one." But Judith left them with a heavy heart,

“Yes,” said an elder, who had paused intent Took a last view, and went to weep apart ! On days long pass'd, “ there was a sad event;And now his friends went slowly from the place, One of these Booths—it was my mother's taleWhere she stood still the dashing oar to trace, Here left his lass, I know not where to sail : Till all were silent!—for the youth she pray'd, She saw their parting, and observed the pain And softly then return d the weeping maid. But never came th' unhappy man again."

They parted, thus by hope and fortune led, "The ship was captured," Allen meekly said, And Judith's hours in pensive pleasure fled ; “And what became of the forsaken maid ?” But when return'd the youth ?—the youth no The woman answer'd: “I remember now,

She used to tell the lasses of her vow, Return'd exulting to his native shore;

And of her lover's loss, and I have seen But forty years were past, and then there came The gayest hearts grow sad where she has been ; A worn-out man, with wither'd limbs and lame, Yet in her grief she married, and was made His mind oppress'd with woes, and bent with age Slave to a wretch, whom meekly she obey'd, his frame :

And early buried : but I know no more. Yes! old and grieved, and trembling with decay, And hark! our friends are hastening to the shore." Was Allen landing in his native bay,

Allen soon found a lodging in the town, Willing his breathless form should blend with kin. And walk'd, a man unnoticed, up and down. dred clay.

This house, and this, he knew, and thought a face In an autumnal eve he left the beach,

He sometimes could among a number trace: In such an eve he chanced the port to reach ; Of names remember'd there remaind a few, He was alone; he pressid the very place

But of no favourites, and the rest were new; Of the sad parting, of the last embrace :

A merchant's wealth, when Allen went to sea, There stood his parents, there retired the maid, Was reckon'd boundless.—Could he living be? So fond, so tender, and so much afraid ;

Or lived his son? for one he had, the heir And on that spot, through many a year, his mind To a vast business and a fortune fair. Turn'd mournful back, half-sinking, half-resign'd. No! but that heir's poor widow, from her shed,

No one was present; of its crew bereft. With crutches went to take her dole of bread. A single boat was in the billows left;

There was a friend whom he had left a boy
Sent from some anchor'd vessel in the bay, With hope to sail the master of a hoy ;
At the returning tide to sail away:

Him, after many a stormy day, he found
O'er the black stern the moonlight softly play'd, With his great wish, his life's whole purpose,
The loosen'd foresail flapping in the shade;

crown'd. All silent else on shore ; but from the town This hoy's proud captain look'd in Allen's face,A drowsy peal of distant bells came down : Yours is, my friend,” said he, “ a woful case ; From the tall houses here and there, a light We cannot all succeed; I now command Served some confused remembrance to excite: The Betsy sloop, and am not much at land ; “There,” he observed, and new emotions felt, But when we meet you shall your story tell “Was my first home; and yonder Judith dwelt: Of foreign parts-I bid you now farewell!" Dead ! dead are all! I long-I fear to know," Allen so long had left his native shore, He said, and walk'd impatient, and yet slow. He saw but few whom he had seen before ;

Sudden there broke upon his grief a noise The older people, as they met him, cast of merry tumult and of vulgar joys :

A pitying look, ost speaking as they pass 'd


• The man is Allen Booth, and it appears

My good adviser taught me to be still, He dwelt among us in his early years ;

Nor to make converts had I power or will. We see the name engraved upon the stones, I preach'd no foreign doctrine to my wife, Where this poor wanderer means to lay his bones.” And never mention'd Luther in my life ; Thus where he lived and loved—unhappy change! I, all they said, say what they would, allow'd, He seems a stranger, and finds all are strange. And when the fathers bade me bow, I bow'd : But now a widow, in a village near,

Their forms I follow'd, whether well or sick, Chanced of the melancholy man to hear ;

And was a most obedient Catholic.
Old as she was, to Judith's bosom came

But I had money, and these pastors found
Some strong emotions at the well-known name ; My notions vague, heretical, unsound :
He was her much-loved Allen, she had stay'd A wicked book they seized ; the very Turk
Ten troubled years, a sad afflicted maid ;

Could not have read a more pernicious work;
Then was she wedded, of his death assured, To me pernicious, who if it were good
And much of misery in her lot endured ;

Or evil question'd not, nor understood : Her husband died; her children sought their bread O! had I little but the book possess'd, In various places, and to her were dead.

I might have read it, and enjoy'd my rest." The once fond lovers met ; not grief nor age, Alas ! 'poor Allen, through his wealth was seen Sickness or pain, their hearts could disengage : Crimes that by poverty conceal'd had been : Each had immediate confidence; a friend Faults that in dusty pictures rest unknown Both now beheld, on whom they might depend : Are in an instant through the varnish shown. Now is there one to whom I can express

He told their cruel mercy; how at last, My nature's weakness and my soul's distress." In Christian kindness for the merits past, Allen look'd up, and with impatient heart They spared his forfeit life, but bade him fly "Let me not lose thee-never let 128 part: Or for his crime and contumacy die; So Heaven this comfort to my sufferings give, Fly from all scenes, all objects of delight: It is not all distress to think and live.”

His wife, his children, weeping in his sight, Thus Allen spoke-for time had not removed All urging him to flee, he fled, and cursed his The charms attach'd to one so fondly loved ;

flight. Who with more health, the mistress of their cot, He next related how he found a way, Labours to soothe the evils of his lot.

Guideless and grieving, to Campeachy Bay: To her, to her alone, his various fate,

There in the woods he wrought, and there, among At various times, 'tis comfort to relate ;

Some labouring seamen, heard his native tongue: And yet his sorrow—she too loves to hear The sound, one moment, broke upon his pain What wrings her bosom, and compels the tear. With joyful force ; he long'd to hear again : First he related how he left the shore,

Again he heard ; he seized an offer'd hand, Alarm'd with fears that they should meet no more: And when beheld you last our native land ?" Then, ere the ship had reach'd her purposed course, He cried, “and in what country ? quickly say”— They met and yielded to the Spanish force ; The seamen answer'd-strangers all were they ; Then 'cross th’ Atlantic seas they hore their prey, One only at his native port had been ; Who grieving landed from their sultry bay ; He, landing once, the quay and church had seen, And marching many a burning league, he found For that esteem'd; but nothing more he knew. Himself a slave upon a miner's ground:

Still more to know, would Allen join the crew, There a good priest his native language spoke, Sail where they sail'd, and many a peril past, And gave some ease to his tormenting yoke ; They at his kinsman's isle their anchor cast; Kindly advanced him in his master's grace, But him they found not, nor could one relate And he was station'd in an easier place :

Aught of his will, his wish, or his estate. There, hopeless ever to escape the land,

This grieved not Allen; then again he sail'd He to a Spanish maiden gave his hand ;

For England's coast, again his fate prevailid: In cottage shelter'd from the blaze of day War raged, and he, an active man and strong, He saw his happy infants round him play ; Was soon impress’d, and served his country long. Where summer shadows, made by lofty trees, By various shores he pass'd, on various seas, Wared o'er his seat, and soothed his reveries ; Never so happy as when void of ease.E'en then he thought of England, nor could sigh, And then he told how in a calm distress'd, But his fond Isabel demanded, “ Why ?”

Day after day, his soul was sick of rest; Grieved by the story, she the sigh repaid,

When, as a log upon the deep they stood, And wept in pity for the English maid :

Then roved his spirit to the inland wood; Thus twenty years were pass'd, and pass'd his views Till, while awake, he dream'd, that on the seas Of further bliss, for he had wealth to lose : Were his loved home, the hill, the stream, the His friend now dead, some foe had dared to paint

trees : * His faith as tainted : he his spouse would laint; He gazed, he pointed to the scenes :-" There stand Make all his children infidels, and found

My wife, my children, 'tis my lovely land ; An English heresy on Christian ground.”

See! there my dwelling-0! delicious scene " Whilst I was poor,” said Allen, “none would of my best life—unhand me—are ye men ?"

And thus the frenzy ruled him, till the wind What my poor notions of religion were ,

Brush'd the fond pictures from the stagnant mind. None ask'd me whom I worshipp’d, how I pray'd, He told of bloody fights, and how at length If due obedience to the laws were paid :

The rage of battle gave his spirit strength ;


"Twas in the Indian seas his limb he lost, And he was left half dead upon the coast ;

TALE III. But living gain'd, 'mid rich aspiring men,

THE GENTLEMAN FARMER. A fair subsistence by his ready pen. “ Thus," he continued, “ pass'd unvaried years,

Pause then, Without events producing hopes or fears.

And weigh thy value with an even hand; Augmented pay procured him decent wealth,

If thou beest rated by thy estimation, But years advancing undermined his health :

Thou dost deserve enough. Then oft-times in delightful dreams he flew

Merchant of Venice, act ii. sc. 7. To England's shore, and scenes his childhood knew:

Because I will not do them wrong to mistrust any, I He saw his parents, saw his favourite maid,

will do myself the right to trust none; and the fine is, No feature wrinkled, not a charm decay'd; (for which I may go the finer,) I will live a bachelor. And thus excited in his bosom rose

Much Ado about Nothing, act i. sc. 3. A wish so strong, it baffled his repose ;

Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of it. Anxious he felt on English earth to lie;

Macbeth, act v. sc. 3. To view his native soil, and there to die.

His promises are, as he then was, mighty, He then described the gloom, the dread he

And his performance, as he now is nothing. found,

Henry VIII. act iv. sc. 2. When first he landed on the chosen ground, Where undefined was all he hoped and fear'd, Gwyn was a farmer, whom the farmers all, And how confused and troubled all appear’d; Who dwelt around, the Gentleman would call; His thoughts in past and present scenes employ'd, Whether in pure humility or pride, All views in future blighted and destroy'd ; They only knew, and they would not decide. His were a medley of bewildering themes,

Far different he from that dull plodding tribe, Sad as realities, and wild as dreams.

Whom it was his amusement to describe ; Here his relation closes, but his mind

Creatures no more enliven'd than a clod, Flies back again some resting place to find ; But treading still as their dull fathers trod; Thus silent, musing through the day, he sees Who lived in times when not a man had seen His children sporting by those lofty trees,

Corn sown by drill, or thresh'd by a machine : Their mother singing in the shady scene,

He was of those whose skill assigns the prize Where the fresh springs burst o'er the lively For creatures fed in pens, and stalls, and sties; green ;

And who, in places where improvers meet, So strong his eager fancy, he affrights

To fill the land with fatness, had a seat ; The faithful widow by its powerful flights ; Who in large mansions live like petty kings, For what disturbs him he aloud will tell,

And speak of farms but as amusing things ; And cry—“ 'Tis she, my wise! my Isabel! Who plans encourage, and who journals keep, Where are my children ?"_Judith grieves to hear And talk with lords about a breed of sheep. How the soul works in sorrows 80 severe ;

Two are the species in this genus known; Assiduous all his wishes to attend,

One, who is rich in his profession grown, Deprived of much, he yet may boast a friend; Who yearly finds his ample stores increase, Watch'd by her care, in sleep, his spirit takes From fortune's favours and a favouring lease ; Its flight, and watchful finds her when he wakes. Who rides his hunter, who his house adorns ; 'Tis now her office ; her attention see!

Who drinks his wine, and his disbursements scorns; While her friend sleeps beneath that shading tree, Who freely lives, and loves to show he canCareful she guards him from the glowing heat, This is the farmer made the gentleman. And pensive muses at her Allen's feet.

The second species from the world is sent, And where is he? Ah! doubtless in those Tired with its strife, or with his wealth content;

In books and men beyond the former read, of his best days, amid the vivid greens,

To farming solely by a passion led,
Fresh with unnumber'd rills, where every gale Or by a fashion : curious in his land ;
Breathes the rich fragrance of the neighb'ring vale; Now planning much, now changing what he
Smiles not his wife, and listen's as there comes

The night-bird's music from the thickening glooms? Pleased by each trial, not by failures ver’d,
And as he sits with all these treasures nigh, And ever certain to succeed the next;
Blaze not with fairy light the phosphor-fly, Quick to resolve, and easy to persuade-
When like a sparkling gem wheels illumined by ? | This is the gentleman, a farmer made.
This is the joy that now so plainly speaks

Gwyn was of these ; he from the world withdrew
In the warm transient flushing of his cheeks ; Early in life, his reasons known to few;
For he is listening to the fancied noise

Some disappointment said, some pure good sense, Of his own children, eager in their joys :

The love of land, the press of indolence; All this he feels, a dream's delusive bliss

His fortune known, and coming to retire, Gives the expression, and the glow like this. If not a farmer, men had call’d him 'squire And now his Judith lays her knitting by,

Forty and five his years, no child or wise These strong emotions in her friend w spy ; Cross'd the still tenor of his chosen life; For she can fully of their nature deem

Much land he purchased, planted far around, But see! he breaks the long-protracted theme, And let some portions of superfluous ground And wakes and cries—“My God ! 'twas but a To farmers near him, not displeased to say, dream."

· My tenants," nor “our worthy landlord,” they.


Fird in his farm, he soon display'd his skill If he pursues it, here and there it slides;
In small-boned lambs, the horse-shoe, and the drill; He would collect it, but it more divides ;
From these he rose to themes of nobler kind, This part and this he stops, but still in vain,
And show'd the riches of a fertile mind;

It slips aside, and breaks in parts again;
To all around their visits he repaid,

Till, after time and pains, and care and cost, And thus his mansion and himself display'd. He finds his labour and his object lost. His rooms were stately, rather fine than neat, “But most it grieves me,(friends alone are round,) And guests politely call'd his house a seat; To see a man in priestly fetters bound: At much expense was each apartment graced, Guides to the soul, these friends of Heaven contrive, His taste was gorgeous, but it still was taste : Long as man lives, to keep his fears alive; In full sestoons the crimson curtains fell,

Soon as an infant breathes, their rites begin ; The sofas rose in bold elastic swell ;

Who knows not sinning, must be freed from sin; Mirrors in gilded frames display'd the tints Who needs no bond, must yet engage in vows ; Of glowing carpets and of colour'd prints ; Who has no judgment, must a creed espouse: The weary eye saw every object shine,

Advanced in life, our boys are bound by rules, And all was costly, fanciful, and fine.

Are catechised in churches, cloisters, schools, As with his friends he pass'd the social hours, And train'd in tixraldom to be fit for tools : His generous spirit scorn'd to hide its powers; The youth grown up, he now a partner needs, Powers unexpected, for his eye and air

And lo! a priest, as soon as he succeeds. Gave no sure signs that eloquence was there ; What man of sense can marriage rites approve ? Oft he began with sudden fire and force,

What man of spirit can be bound to love ? As loath to lose occasion for discourse ;

Forced to be kind ! compellid to be sincere ! Some, 'tis observed, who feel a wish to speak, Do chains and fetters make companions dear? Will a due place for introduction seek ;

Prisoners indeed we bind ; but though the bond On to their purpose step by step they steal, May keep them safe, it does not make them fond: And all their way, by certain signals, feel ; The ring, the vow, the witness, license, prayers, Others plunge in at once, and never heed

All parties know! made public all affairs ! Whose turn they take, whose purpose they im- Such forms men suffer, and from these they date pede;

A deed of love begun with all they hate : Resolved to shine, they hasten to begin,

Absurd ! that none the beaten road should shun, Of ending thoughtless—and of these was Gwyn. But love to do wbat other dupes have done. And thus he spake

“Well, now your priest has made you one of “It grieves me to the soul

To see how man submits to man's control; Look you for rest? Alas! you look in vain.
How overpower'd and shackled minds are led If sick, he comes; you cannot die in peace,
In vulgar tracks, and to submission bred;

Till he attends to witness your release ;
The coward never on himself relies,

To vex your soul, and urge you to confess But to an equal for assistance flies;

The sins you feel, remember, or can guess : Man yields to custom as he bows to fate,

Nay, when departed, to your grave he goes In all things ruled-mind, body, and estate ;

But there indeed he hurts not your repose. In pain, in sickness, we for cure apply

Such are our burdens ; part we must sustain, To them we know not, and we know not why;

But need not link new grievance to the chain Bat that the creature has some jargon read,

Yet men like idiots will their frames surround And got some Scotchman's system in his head ; With these vile shackles, nor confess they're bound: Some grave impostor, who will health ensure, In all that most confines them they confide, Long as your patience or your wealth endure ; Their slavery boast, and make their bonds their But mark them well, the pale and sickly crew,

pride; They have not health, and can they give it you? E'en as the pressure galls them, they declare, These solemn cheats their various methods choose ; (Good souls !) how happy and how free they are ! A system fires them, as a bard his muse:

As madmen, pointing round their wretched cells, Hence wordy wars arise ; the learn'd divide, Cry, 'lo! the palace where our honour dwells.' And groaning patients curse each erring guide. “Such is our state : but I resolve to live

" Next, our affairs are govern'd, buy or sell, By rules my reason and my feelings give; Upon the deed the law must fix its spell ; No legal guards shall keep enthrall'd my mind, Whether we hire or let, we must have still No slaves command me, and no teachers blind. The dubious aid of an attorney's skill ;

“Tempted by sins, let me their strength defy, They take a part in every man's affairs,

But have no second in a surplice by ; And in all business some concern is theirs ; No bottle-holder, with officious aid, Because mankind in ways prescribed are found To comfort conscience, weaken’d and afraid ; Like flocks that follow on a beaten ground, Then if I yield, my frailty is not known; Each abject nature in the way proceeds,

And, if I stand, the glory is my own. That now to sheering, now to slaughter leads. “ When Truth and Reason are our friends, we

“ Should you offend, though meaning no offence, You have no safety in your innocence;

Alive! awake !-the superstitious dream. The statute broken then is placed in view,

“O! then, fair Truth, for thee alone I seek, And men must pay for crimes they never knew : Friend to the wise, supporter of the weak : Who would by law regain his plunder'd store, From thee we learn whate'er is right and just; Would pick up fallen mercury from the floor ; Forms to despise, professions to distrust;



Creeds to reject, pretensions to deride,

If to his bosom fear a visit paid,
And, following thee, to follow none beside." It was, lest he should be supposed afraid ;

Such was the speech ; it struck upon the ear Hence sprang his orders ; not that he desired
Like sudden thunder, none expect to hear. The things when done ; obedience he required;
He saw men's wonder with a manly pride, And thus, to prove his absolute command,
And gravely smiled at guest electrified :

Ruled every heart, and moved each subject hand, “A farmer this !" they said ; “O! let him seek Assent he ask'd for every word and whim, That place where he may for his country speak; To prove that he alone was king of him. On some great question to harangue for hours, The still Rebecca, who her station knew, While speakers hearing, envy nobler powers !". With ease resign’d the honours not her due ;

Wisdom like this, as all things rich and rare, Well pleased, she saw that men her board would Must be acquired with pains, and kept with care ; grace, In books he sought it, which his friends might view, And wish'd not there to see a female face; When their kind host the guarding curtain drew.

When by her lover she his spouse was styled, There were historic works for graver hours,

Polite she thought it, and demurely smiled; And lighter verse, to spur the languid powers; But when he wanted wives and maidens round There metaphysics, logic there had place; So to regard her, she grew grave and frown'd : But of devotion not a single trace

And sometimes whisper'd,“Why should you respect Save what is taught in Gibbon's florid page, These people's notions, yet their forms reject ?" And other guides of this inquiring age;

Gwyn, though from marriage bond and fetter free, There Hume appear'd, and near, a splendid book Still felt abridgement in his liberty ; Composed by Gay's good lord of Bolingbroke: Something of hesitation he betray'd, With these were mix'd the light, the free, the vain, And in her presence thought of what he said. And from a corner peep'd the sage Tom Paine : Thus fair Rebecca, though she walk'd astray, Here four neat volumes Chesterfield were named, His creed rejecting, judged it right to pray ; For manners much and easy morals famed ; To be at church, to sit with serious looks, With chaste Memoirs of Females, to be read To read her Bible and her Sunday books : When deeper studies had confused the head. She hated all those new and daring themes,

Such his resources, treasures where he sought And call'd his free conjectures, "devil's dreams :" For daily knowledge till his mind was fraught: She honour'd still the priesthood in her fall, Then when his friends were present, for their use And claim'd respect and reverence for them all ; He would the riches he had stored produce ; Calld them “of sin's destructive power the foes, He found his lamp burn clearer, when each day

And not such blockheads as he might suppose.” He drew for all he purposed to display:

Gwyn to his friends would smile, and sometimes say For these occasions, forth his knowledge sprung,

'Tis a kind fool, why vex her in her way ?" As mustard quickens on a bed of dung ;

Her way she took, and still had more in view, All was prepared, and guests allow'd the praise, For she contrived that he should take it too. For what they saw he could so quickly raise. The daring freedom of his soul, 'twas plain, Such this new friend ; and when the year camc In part was lost in a divided reign ; round,

A king and queen, who yet in prudence swayed The same impressive, reasoning sage was found; Their peaceful state, and were in turn obey'd. Then, too, was seen the pleasant mansion graced Yet such our fate, that when we plan the best, With a fair damsel-his no vulgar taste;

Something arises to disturb our rest : The neat Rebecca-sly, observant, still,

For though in spirits high, in body strong, Watching his eye, and waiting on his will; Gwyn something felt-he knew not whatSimple yet smart her dress, her manners meek,

wrong ; Her smiles spoke for her, she would seldom speak; He wish’d to know, for he believed the thing, But watch'd each look, each meaning to detect, If unremoved, would other evil bring : And (pleased with notice) felt for all neglect. “She must perceive, of late he could not eat,

With her lived Gwyn a sweet harmonious life, And when he walked, he trembled on his feet; Who, forms excepted, was a charming wife : He had forebodings, and he seem'd as one The wives indeed, so made by vulgar law, Stopp'd on the road, or threaten'd by a dun; Affected scorn, and censured what they saw; He could not live, and yet, should he apply And what they saw not, fancied ; said 'twas sin, To those physicians—he must sooner die.” And took no notice of the wife of Gwyn:

The mild Rebecca heard with some disdain, But he despised their rudeness, and would prove And some distress, her friend and lord complain : Theirs was compulsion and distrust, not love; His death she fear'd not, but had painful doubt Fools as they were! could they conceive that What his distemper'd nerves might bring about; rings

With power like hers she dreaded an ally, And parsons' blessings were substantial things ?" And yet there was a person in her eye ;They answered “Yes;" while he contemptuous She thought, debated, fix'd ; “ Alas !” she said, spoke

“A case like yours must be no more delay'd : Of the low notions held by simple folk;

You hate these doctors, well! but were a friend Yet, strange that anger in a man so wise

And doctor one, your fears would have an end : Should from the notions of these fools arise ; My cousin Mollet-Scotland holds him nowCan they so vex us, whom we so despise ?

Is above all men skilful, all allow ; Brave as he was, our hero felt a dread

Of late a doctor, and within a while Lost those who saw him kind should think him led ; | He means to settle in this favour'd isle ;

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