Alas! what hopes, what bigh romantic views

Did that one visit to the soul infuse,

Which cherish'd with such love, 'twas worse than death to

lose!

Still he would strive, tho' painful was the strife,

To walk in this appointed road of life;

On these low duties, duteous he would wait,
And patient bear the anguish of his fate.
Thanks to the Patron, but of coldest kind,
Express'd the sadness of the Poet's mind;
Whose heavy hours were pass'd with busy men,
In the dull practice of th official pen;
Who to Superiors must in time impart
(The custom this) his progress in their art:
But, so had grief on his perception wrought,
That all unheeded were the duties taught;
No answers gave he when his trial came,
Silent he stood, but suffering without shame;
And they observ'd that words severe or kind
Made no impression on his wounded mind;
For all perceiv'd from whence his failure rose,
Some grief whose cause he deign'd not to disclose.
A soul averse from scenes and works so new,
Fear ever shrinking from the vulgar crew;
Distaste for each mechanic law and rule,
Thoughts of past honour and a patron cool;
A grieving parent, and a feeling mind,
Timid and ardent, tender and refin'd;
These all with mighty force the Youth assail'd,
Till his soul fainted, and his reason fail'd :
When this was known, and some debate arose
How they who saw it should the fact disclose;
He found their purpose, and in terror fled
From unseen kindness, with mistaken dread.

Meantime the Parent was distress'd to find
His Son no longer for a Priest design'd:
But still he gain'd some comfort by the news
Of John's promotion, though with humbler views;
For he conceiv'd that in no distant time

The Boy would learn to scramble and to climb :
He little thought a Son, his hope and pride,
His favour'd Boy, was now a home denied;
Yes! while the parent was intent to trace
How men in office climb trom place to place;
From place to place, o'er moor, and heath, and hill
Rov'd the sad Youth, with ever-changing will,
Of every aid bereft, expos'd to every ill.

Thus

Thus as he sate, absorb'd in all the care
And all the hope that anxious fathers share,
A Friend abruptly to his presence brought,
With trembling hand, the subject of his thought;
Whom he had found afflicted and subdued
By hunger, sorrow, cold, and solitude.

Silent he enter'd the forgotten room,
As ghostly forms may be conceiv'd to come;
With sorrow-shrunken face and hair upright,
He look'd dismay, neglect, despair, affright;
But, dead to comfort, and on misery thrown,
His Parents' loss he felt not, nor his own.

The good Man, struck with horror, cried aleud,
And drew around him an astonish'd crowd;
The sons and servants to the Father ran,
To share the feelings of the griev'd old man :

Our Brother, speak!' they all exclaim'd; explain
Thy grief, thy suffering :-but they ask'd in vain:
The Friend told all he knew; and all was known,
Save the sad causes whence the ills had grown:
But, if obscure the cause, they all agreed
From rest and kindness must the cure proceed:
And he was cur'd; for quiet, love, and care,
Strove with the gloom, and broke on the despair;
Yet slow their progress, and, as vapours move
Dense and reluctant from the wint'ry grave;
All is confusion till the morning light
Gives the dim scene obscurely to the sight;
More and yet more defin'd the trunks appear,
Till the wild prospect stands distinct and clear;-
So the dark mind of our young Poet grew
Clear and sedate; the dreadful mist withdrew;
And he resembled that bleak wintry scene,
Sad, though unclouded; dismal, though serene.

At times he utter'd, " What a dream was mine!
"And what a prospect! glorious and divine!
"Oh! in that room, and on that night to see
"Those looks, that sweetness beaming all on me;
"That syren-flattery- and to send me then

Hope-rais'd and soften'd to those heartless men; "That dark-brow'd stern Director, pleas'd to show "Knowledge of subjects, I disdain'd to know; "Cold and controuling-but 'tis gane, 'tis past, "I had my trial, and have peace at last."

Now

Now grew the Youth resign'd; he bade adieu
To all that Hope, to all that Fancy drew;
His frame was languid, and the hectic heat
Flush'd on his pallid face, and countless beat
The quick'ning pulse, and faint the limbs that bore
The slender form that soon would breathe no more.

Then hope of boly kind the soul sustain'd,
And not a lingering thought of earth remain'd;
Now Heaven had all, and he could smile at Love,
And the wild sallies of his youth reprove;
Then could he dwell upon the tempting days,
The proud aspiring thought, the partial praise;
Victorious now, his worldly views were clos'd,
And on the bed of death the Youth repos'd.

The Father griev'd-but as the Poet's heart
Was all unfitted for his earthly part;
As, he conceiv'd, some other haughty Fair
Would, had he liv'd, have led him to despair;
As, with this fear, the silent grave shut out
All feverish hope, and all tormenting doubt ;
While the strong faith the pious Youth possess'd,
His hope enlivening, gave his sorrows rest;
Sooth'd by these thoughts, he felt a mournful joy,
For his aspiring and devoted boy.

Meantime the news through various channels spread,
The Youth, once favour'd with such praise, was dead;
Emma,' the Lady cried, my words attend,

Your syren-smiles have killed your humble friend;
The hope you rais'd can now delude no more,
Nor charms, that once inspir'd, can now restore.

Faint was the flush of anger and of shame,
That o'er the cheek of conscious beauty came;
، You censure not, said she, the Sun's bright rays,
When fools imprudent dare the dangerous gaze;
And should a stripling look till he were blind,
You would not justly call the light unkind;
But is be dead? and am I to suppose
The power of poison in such looks as those?'
She spoke, and pointing to the mirror, cast
A pleas'd gay glance, and curt'sy'd as she pass'd.

My Lord, to whom the Poet's fate was told,
Was much affected, for a man so cold;
'Dead!' said his lordship, run distracted, mad!
Upon my
soul I'm sorry for the lad;

And

And now, no doubt, th' obliging world will say,
That my harsh usage help'd him on his way:
What! I suppose, I should have nurs'd his muse,
And with champagne have brighten'd up his views;
Then had he made me fam'd my whole life long,
And stunn'd my ears with gratitude and song.
Still should the Father hear that I regret
'Our joint misfortune-Yes! I'll not forget.-

Thus they :-The Father to his grave convey'd
The son he lov'd, and his last duties paid.

There lies my Boy,' he cried, of care bereft,
And, Heav'n be prais'd, I've not a genius left:
'No one among ye, Sons! is doom'd to live
On high-rais'd hopes of what the great may give;
None with exalted views and fortunes mean,
To die in anguish, or to live in spleen:
"Your pious Brother soon escap'd the strife
Of such contention, but it cost his life ;
You then, my Sons, upon yourselves depend,
And in your own exertions find the friend.'