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Thus life's small comforts they together share, "O! could I labour for thee,” Allen cried,
On my own arm I could depend, but they
delay. Mix with each thought, in every action share, At length a prospect came that seem'd to smile, Darken each dream, and blend with every prayer. And faintly woo them, from a western isle ;
To David Booth, his fourth and last born boy, A kinsman there a widow's hand had gain'd,
And wait a while, he might expect a friend."
But the young Allen, an enamour'd boy, For ever easy, cheerful, or serene ;
Eager an independence to enjoy, His early love he fix'd upon a fair
Would through all perils seek it --by the sea,And gentle maid-they were a handsome pair. Through labour, danger, pain, or slavery.
They at an infant-school together play’d, The faithful Judith his design approved,
loved. In every sport, in every fray defend.
The mother's slow consent was then obtain'd; As prospects open'd and as life advanced,
The time arrived, to part alone remain'd : They walk'd together, they together danced ; All things prepared, on the expected day On all occasions, from their early years,
Was seen the vessel anchor'd in the bay, They mur'd their joys and sorrows, hopes and From her would seamen in the evening come, fears;
To take th' adventurous Allen from his home; Each heart was anxious, till it could impart With his own friends the final day he pass'd, Its daily feelings to its kindred heart ;
And every painful hour, except the last. As years increased, unnumber'd petty wars The grieving father urged the cheerful glass, Broke out between them, jealousies and jars; To make the moments with less sorrow pass ; Causeless indeed, and follow'd by a peace, Intent the mother look'd upon her son, That gave to love-growth, vigour, and increase. And wish'd th' assent withdrawn, the deed unWhilst yet a boy, when other minds are void,
done ; Domestic thoughts young Allen's hours em. The younger sister, as he took his way, ploy'd ;
Hung on his coat, and begg'd for more delay : Judith in gaining hearts had no concern,
But his own Judith call'd him to the shore, Rather intent the matron's part to learn ;
Whom he must meet, for they might meet to Thus early prudent and sedate they grew, While lovers thoughtful-and though children, And there he found her—faithful, mournful, true, true.
Weeping and waiting for a last adieu ! To either parents not a day appeard,
The ebbing tide had left the sand, and there When with this love they might have interfered : Moved with slow steps the melancholy pair; Childish at first, they cared not to restrain ; Sweet were the painful moments—but how sweet And strong at last, they saw restriction vain; And without pain, when they again should meet! Nor knew they when that passion to reprove- Now either spoke, as hope and fear impress'd Now idle fondness, now resistless love.
Each their alternate triumph in the breast. So while the waters rise, the children tread Distance alarm'd the maid--she cried, - 'Tis far!' On the broad estuary's sandy bed ;
And danger 100—“it is a time of war:
The lovers waited till the time should come But hark! an oar!" she cried, yet none appear'd-
Dress and amusements were her sole employ," And do not, Allen, or for shame, or pride,
Can I believe his love will lasting prove,
Dull was their prospect-when the lovers met, Now, what to me hath Allen to commend ?"'. They said, we must not—dare not venture yet : Upon my mother," said the youth, "atlend ,
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 thon 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 address'd : To meet in walks, the visit, or the dance, The Booths! yet live they ?" pausing and op When every lad would on my lass attend,
press'd; Choose not a smooth designer for a friend : Then spake again ;-" Is there no ancient man, That fawning Philipnay, 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 moekly 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, more
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 ; names remember'd there remain'd a few, He was alone; he press'd 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. Tum'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
Him, after many a stormay day, he found
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-1 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, oft 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! 1, 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.
But I had money, and these pastors found
Could not have read a more pernicious work ;
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 noi lose thee-never let ne part:
Or for his crime and contumacy die;
His wife, his children, weeping in his sight,
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' Ailantic seas they bore 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, wonld 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 prevail'd: 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, Bat his fond Isabel demanded, “ Why ?"
Day after day, his soul was sick of rest ; Griesed 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 taint; 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-O! delicious scene * Whilst I was poor," said Allen, "none would of my best life-unhand me-are ye men ?" care
And thus the frenzy ruled him, till the wind What ray 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;
THE GENTLEMAN FARMER.
'Twas in the Indian seas his limb he lost,
And weigh thy value with an even hand; Augmented pay procured him decent wealth,
Is 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 ristrust 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 gloum, 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, Sod 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 iis 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 $0 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,
Gwyn was of these ; he from the world withdrer
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 wife These strong emotions in her friend to 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
Fix'd in his farm, he soon display'd his skill If he pursues it, here and there it slides ;
It slips aside, and breaks in parts again ;
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 callid 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 thraldom 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. Gare 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 setters 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 what other dupes have done. And thus he spake
"Well, now your priest has made you one of “ It grieves me to the soul
Till he attends to witness your release ;
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 io 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 But 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, if I stand, the glory is my own.
“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;