Here Dinah sigh'd as if afraid to speak

And then repeated-"They were frail and weak;
His soul she loved, and hoped he had the grace
To fix his thoughts upon a better place."

She ceased;-with steady glance, as if to see
The very root of this hypocrisy,-

He her small fingers moulded in his hard

And bronzed broad hand; then told her his regard,
His best respect were gone, but love had still
Hold in his heart, and govern'd yet the will-
Or he would curse her-saying this, he threw
The hand in scorn away, and bade adieu

To every lingering hope, with every care in view.
Proud and indignant, suffering, sick, and poor,
He grieved unseen; and spoke of love no more-
Till all he felt in indignation died,

As hers had sunk in avarice and pride.

In health declining, as in mind distress'd,
To some in power his troubles he confess'd,
And shares a parish-gift;-at prayers he sees
The pions Dinah dropp'd upon her knees;
Thence as she walks the street with stately air,
As chance directs, oft meet the parted pair:
When he, with thickset coat of badge-man's blue,
Moves near her shaded silk of changeful hue;
When his thin locks of gray approach her braid,
A costly purchase made in beauty's aid;
When his frank air, and his unstudied pace,
Are seen with her soft manner, air, and grace,
And his plain artless look with her sharp meaning
face:

It might some wonder in a stranger move,
How these together could have talk'd of love.
Behold them now!-see there a tradesman stands,
And humbly hearkens to some fresh commands;
He moves to speak, she interrupts him-" Stay,"
Her air expresses-" Hark! to what I say :"
soff, poor Rupert on a seat

Ten

paces

Has taken refuge from the noonday heat,
His eyes on her intent, as if to find

What were the movements of that subtle mind:
How still! how earnest is he!-it appears

His thoughts are wandering through his earlier

years;

Through years of fruitless labour, to the day When all his earthly prospects died away : "Had 1." he thinks, "been wealthier of the two, Would she have found me so unkind, untrue? Or knows not man when poor, what man when rich will do?

Tex. yes! I feel that I had faithful proved,

And should have soothed and raised her, bless'd and loved."

But Dinah moves-she had observed before
The pensive Rupert at an humble door :
Some thoughts of pity raised by his distress,
Some feeling touch of ancient tenderness;
Religion, duty urged the maid to speak
in terms of kindness to a man so weak:
But pride forbad, and to return would prove
She felt the shame of his neglected love:
Nor rapt in silence could she pass, afraid
Each eye should see her, and each heart up
braid;

One way remain'd-the way the Levite took,
Who without mercy could on misery look:
(A way perceived by craft, approved by pride,)
She cross'd, and pass'd him on the other side.

A BOROUGH BAILIFF, who to law was train'd,
A wife and sons in decent state maintain'd;
He had his way in life's rough ocean steer'd,
And many a rock and coast of danger clear'd;
He saw where others fail'd, and care had he
Others in him should not such failings see;
His sons in various busy states were placed,
And all began the sweets of gain to taste,
Save John, the younger; who, of sprightly parts,
Felt not a love for money-making arts:
In childhood feeble, he, for country air,
Had long resided with a rustic pair;

All round whose room were doleful ballads, songs
Of lovers' sufferings and of ladies' wrongs,
Of peevish ghosts who came at dark midnight,
For breach of promise, guilty men to fright;
Love, marriage, murder, were the themes, with
these,

All that on idle, ardent spirits seize ;
Robbers at land and pirates on the main,
Enchanters foil'd, spells broken, giants slain;
Legends of love, with tales of halls and bowers,
Choice of rare songs, and garlands of choice flowers
And all the hungry mind without a choice devours
From village children kept apart by pride,
With such enjoyments, and without a guide,
Inspired by feelings all such works infused,
John snatch'd a pen, and wrote as he perused:
With the like fancy he could make his knight
Slay half a host and put the rest to flight;
With the like knowledge, he could make him ride
From isle to isle at Parthenissa's side;
And with a heart yet free, no busy brain
Form'd wilder notions of delight and pain,
The raptures smiles create, the anguish of disdain.
Such were the fruits of John's poetic toil,
Weeds, but still proofs of vigour in the soil:
He nothing purposed but with vast delight,
Let Fancy loose, and wonder'd at her flight:
His notions of poetic worth were high,
And of his own still hoarded poetry ;-
These to his father's house he bore with pride,
A miser's treasure, in his room to hide;
Till spurr'd by glory, to a reading friend
He kindly show'd the sonnets he had penn'd:
With erring judgment, though with heart sincere,
That friend exclaim'd, "These beauties must ap

pear."

In magazines they claim'd their share of fame, Though undistinguish'd by their author's name;

And with delight the young enthusiast found
The muse of Marcus with applauses crown'd.
This heard the father, and with some alarm:
"The boy," said he, " will neither trade nor farm;
He for both law and physic is unfit ;
Wit he may have, but cannot live on wit
Let him his talents then to learning give,
Where verse is honour'd, and where poets live.
John kept his terms at college unreproved,
Took his degree, and left the life he loved;
Nor yet ordain'd, his leisure he employ'd
In the light labours he so much enjoy'd;
His favourite notions and his daring views
Were cherish'd still, and he adored the muse.
"A little time, and he should burst to light,
And admiration of the world excite;

And every friend, now cool and apt to blame
His fond pursuit, would wonder at his fame."
When led by fancy, and from view retired,
He call'd before him all his heart desired;
"Fame shall be mine, then wealth shall I possess,
And beauty next an ardent lover bless;
For me the maid shall leave her nobler state,
Happy to raise and share her poet's fate."
He saw each day his father's frugal board
With simple fare by cautious prudence stored;
Where each indulgence was foreweigh'd with

care,

And the grand maxims were to save and spare
Yet in his walks, his closet, and his bed,
All frugal cares and prudent counsels fled;
And bounteous Fancy, for his glowing mind,
Wrought various scenes, and all of glorious kind;
Slaves of the ring and lamp! what need of you,
When Fancy's self such magic deeds can do?

Though rapt in visions of no vulgar kind,
To common subjects stoop'd our poet's mind;
And oft, when wearied with more ardent flight,
He felt a spur satiric song to write;
A rival burgess his bold muse attack'd,
And whipp'd severely for a well-known fact;
For while he seem'd to all demure and shy,
Our poet gazed at what was passing by;
And e'en his father smiled when playful wit
From his young bard, some haughty object hit.
From ancient times the borough where they
dwelt

Had mighty contest at elections felt :

Sir Godfrey Ball, 'tis true, had held in pay
Electors many for the trying day;
But in such golden chains to bind them all
Required too much for e'en Sir Godfrey Ball.
A member died, and to supply his place,
Two heroes enter'd for th' important race;
Sir Godfrey's friend and Earl Fitzdonnel's son,
Lord Frederick Damer, both prepared to run;
And partial numbers saw with vast delight
Their good young lord oppose the proud old knight.
Our poet's father, at a first request,

Gave the young lord his vote and interest;
And what he could our poet, for he stung
The foe by verse satiric, said and sung.

Lord Frederick heard of all this youthful zeal,
And felt as lords upon a canvass feel;

He read the satire, and he saw the use
That such cool insult, and such keen abuse

Then too his praises were in contrast seen, "A lord as noble as the knight was mean."

"I much rejoice," he cried," such worth to find, To this the world must be no longer blind His glory will descend from sire to son, The Burns of English race, the happier Chatterton." Our poet's mind, now hurried and elate, Alarm'd the anxious parent for his fate;

Who saw with sorrow, should their friend succeed,

That much discretion would the poet need.

Their friend succeeded, and repaid the zeal The poet felt, and made opposers feel,

By praise (from lords how soothing and how sweet)
And invitation to his noble seat.

The father ponder'd, doubtful if the brain
Of his proud boy such honour could sustain ;
Pleased with the favours offer'd to a son,
But seeing dangers few so ardent shun.

Thus, when they parted, to the youthful breast
The father's fears were by his love impress'd:
"There will you find, my son, the courteous ease
That must subdue the soul it means to please;
That soft attention which e'en beauty pays
To wake our passions, or provoke our praise;
There all the eye beholds will give delight,
Where every sense is flatter'd like the sight
This is your peril; can you from such scene
Of splendour part, and feel your mind serene,
And in the father's humble state resume
The frugal diet and the narrow room?”
To this the youth with cheerful heart replied,
Pleased with the trial, but as yet untried;
And while professing patience, should he fail,
He suffer'd hope o'er reason to prevail.

Impatient, by the morning mail convey'd, The happy guest his promised visit paid; And now arriving at the hall, he tried For air composed, screne, and satisfied; As he had practised in his room alone, And there acquired a free and easy tone: There he had said, "Whatever the degree A man obtains, what more than man is he?" And when arrived-" This room is but a room; Can aught we see the steady soul o'ercome? Let me in all a manly firmness show, Upheld by talents, and their value know."

This reason urged; but it surpass'd his skill To be in act as manly as in will: When he his lordship and the lady saw, Brave as he was, he felt oppress'd with awe; And spite of verse, that so much praise had won, The poet found he was the bailiff's son.

But dinner came, and the succeeding hours Fix'd his weak nerves, and raised his failing

powers;

Praised and assured, he ventured once or twice
On some remark, and bravely broke the ice,
So that at night, reflecting on his words,

He found, in time, he might converse with lords.
Now was the sister of his patron seen-

A lovely creature, with majestic mien;
Who, softly smiling while she look'd so fair,
Praised the young poet with such friendly air;
Such winning frankness in her looks express'd.
And such attention to her brother's guest,

duce;

Raised strong emotions in the poet's mind;

that I can rise no more." ning meal was past, and all around on rang with each discordant sound; in every foot, and every look er's joy for London journey spoke : youth; whose feelings, at the noise ion, had no touch of joys;

e stood, and saw each carriage drawn,
ys mounted, ready on the lawn:
came; and John in terror threw
al glance, and then his eyes withdrew;
uch speed, but he in other eyes
ish read-"I pity, but despise-
oy! presumptuous scribbler!-you
such dreams!-be sober, and adieu!"
me the noble friend-"And will my lord
no comfort drop no soothing word?
ust speak." He speaks, "My good young
nd,

- my views; upon my care depend;
- thanks to your good father pay,
student.-Harry, drive away."
reign'd all around; of late so full
scene, deserted now and dull:
is nature who forbears to feel
er his spirits on such trials steal;
ly felt our poet as he went

m to room without a fix'd intent.

re," he thought, "I was caress'd; admired e my songs; she smiled, and I aspired: nge how grievous!" As he mused, a

me

peevish to her duties came;

tables and the chairs she drew,

and mutter'd in the poet's view:

as her fortune; here they leave the poor; emselves, and think of us no more: promise—" here his pride and shame im to fly from this familiar dame; one farewell look, and by a coach his own mansion at the night's approach. ther met him with an anxious air,

is sad tale, and check'd what seem'd de pair.

as in him corrected, but alive; would something for a friend contrive; d was pledged; our hero's feverish mind ed this, and half his grief resign'd;

en three months had fled, and every day rom the sickening hopes their strength away, uth became abstracted, pensive, dull; er'd nothing, though his heart was full: 1 by inquiring words and anxious looks, I forgetful of his muse and books; he mourn'd, but in his sleep perceived ely vision that his pain relieved: ul transported, hail'd the happy seat, once his pleasure was so sure and sweet; e joys departed came in blissful view, eason waked, and not a joy he knew. estions now vex'd his spirit, most from those are call'd friends because they are not foes: n!" they would say; he starting, turn'd around; [sound:

When ask'd how ladies talk'd, or walk'd, or look'd? "What said my lord of politics? how spent

He there his time? and was he glad he went?"
At length a letter came, both cool and brief,
But still it gave the burden'd heart relief:
Though not inspired by lofty hopes, the youth
Placed much reliance on Lord Frederick's truth;
Summon'd to town, he thought the visit one
Where something fair and friendly would be done
Although he judged not, as before his fall,
When all was love and promise at the hall.

Arrived in town, he early sought to know
The fate which dubious friendship would bestow.
At a tall building trembling he appear'd,
And his low rap was indistinctly heard;

A well known servant came-" A while," said he,
Be pleased to wait, my lord has company."
Alone our hero sat; the news in hand,
Which though he read, he could not understand:
Cold was the day in days so cold as these
There needs a fire, where minds and bodies freeze.
The vast and echoing room, the polish'd grate,
The crimson chairs, the sideboard with its plate;
The splendid sofa, which, though made for rest,
He then had thought it freedom to have press'd;
The shining tables, curiously inlaid,
Were all in comfortless proud style display'd,
And to the troubled feelings terror gave,

That made the once dear friend, the sickening slave.

"Was he forgotten?" Thrice upon his ear Struck the loud clock, yet no relief was near. Each rattling carriage, and each thundering stroke On the loud door, the dream of fancy broke: Oft as a servant chanced the way to come, "Brings he a message?" no! he pass'd the room: At length 'tis certain: "Sir, you will attend At twelve on Thursday!" Thus the day had end. Vex'd by these tedious hours of needless pain, John left the noble mansion with disdain; For there was something in that still, cold place, That seem'd to threaten and portend disgrace. Punctual again the modest rap declared The youth attended; then was all prepared; For the same servant, by his lord's command, A paper offer'd to his trembling hand:

No more!" he cried; "disdains he to afford One kind expression, one consoling word?" With troubled spirit he began to read That " In the church my lord could not succeed;" Who had "to peers of either kind applied, And was with dignity and grace denied: While his own livings were by men possess'd, Not likely in their chancels yet to rest. And therefore, all things weigh'd, (as he, my lord, Had done maturely, and he pledged his word,) Wisdom it seem'd for John to turn his view To busier scenes, and bid the church adieu!" Here grieved the youth; he felt his father's

pride

Must with his own be shock'd and mortified: But when he found his future comforts placed Where he, alas! conceived himself disgracedIn some appointment on the London quayɛ.