Watch'd o'er his sickness, and his pains beguiled;
The mother bade him from the loft refrain,
But, though with caution, yet he went again;
And now his tales the Sailor feebly told,
His heart was heavy, and his limbs were cold:
The tender boy came often to entreat
His good kind friend would of his presents eat;
Purloin'd or purchased, for he saw, with shame,
The food untouch'd that to his uncle came;
Who, sick in body and in mind, received
The boy's indulgence, gratified and grieved.
"Uncle will die!" said George:-the piteous wifs
Exclaim'd, "she saw no value in his life;
But, sick or well, to my commands attend,
And go no more to your complaining friend."
The boy was vex'd, he felt his heart reprove
The stern decree.-What! punish'd for his love!
No! he would go, but softly, to the room,
Stealing in silence-for he knew his doom.
Once in a week the father came to say,
"George, are you ill?" and hurried him away;
Yet to his wife would on their duties dwell,
And often cry, "Do use my brother well"
And something kind, no question, Isaac meant,
Who took vast credit for the vague intent.
But, truly kind, the gentle boy essay'd
To cheer his uncle, firm, although afraid;
But now the father caught him at the door,
And, swearing-yes, the man in office swore,
And cried, "Away! How! Brother, I'm surprised
That one so old can be so ill advised:
Let him not dare to visit you again,
Your cursed stories will disturb his brain;
Is it not vile to court a foolish boy,
Your own absurd narrations to enjoy?
What! sullen!-ha, George Fletcher! you shall see, Proud as you are, your bread depends on me!" He spoke, and, frowning, to his dinner went, Then cool'd and felt some qualms of discontent: And thought on times when he compell'd his son To hear these stories, nay, to beg for one; But the wife's wrath o'ercame the brother's pain, And shame was felt, and conscience rose, in vain. George yet stole up; he saw his Uncle lie Sick on the bed, and heard his heavy sigh; So he resolved, before he went to rest, To comfort one so dear and so distress'd; Then watch'd his time, but, with a child-like art, Betray'd a something treasured at his heart: Th' observant wife remark'd, "The boy is grown So like your brother, that he seems his own: So close and sullen! and I still suspect They often meet:-do watch them and detect." George now remark'd that all was still as night.
And hasten'd up with terror and delight;
"Uncle!" he cried, and softly tapp'd the door,
Do let me in"-but he could add no more;
The careful father caught him in the fact,
And cried,-" You serpent! is it thus you act?
"Back to your mother!"-and, with hasty blow,
He sent th' indignant boy to grieve below;
Then at the door an angry speech began-
"Is this your conduct? Is it thus you plan?
Seduce my child, and make my house a scene
Of vile dispute- -What is it that you mean?
George, are you dumb? do learn to know your friends,
And think a while on whom your bread depends.
What! not a word? be thankful I am cool-
But, sir, beware, nor longer play the fool.
Come! brother, come! what is it that you seek
By this rebellion ?-Speak, you villain, speak!
Weeping! I warrant sorrow makes you dumb:
I'll ope your mouth, impostor! if I come :
Let me approach-I'll shake you from the bed,
You stubborn dog- -Oh God! my Brother's deed!"
Timid was Isaac, and in all the past
He felt a purpose to be kind at last:
Nor did he mean his brother to depart,
Till he had shown this kindness of his heart;
But day by day he put the cause aside,
Induced by av'rice, peevishness, or pride.
But now awaken'd, from this fatal time
His conscience Isaac felt, and found his crime:
He raised to George a monumental stone,
And there retired to sigh and think alone;
ague seized him, he grew pale, and shook"So," said his son, would my poor Uncle look.". "And so, my child, shall I like him expire." "No! you have physic and a cheerful fire." "Unhappy sinner! yes, I'm well supplied With every comfort my cold heart denied."
He view'd his Brother now, but not as one Who vex'd his wife by fondness for her son; Not as with wooden limb, and seaman's tale, The odious pipe, vile grog, or humbler ale: He now the worth and grief alone can view Of one so mild, so generous, and so true; "The frank, kind Brother, with such open heart, And I to break it- -'twas a demon's part!' So Isaac now, as led by conscience, feels, Nor his unkindness palliates or conceals; "This is your folly," said his heartless wife : Alas! my folly cost my Brother's life; It suffer d him to languish and decayMy gentle Brother, whom I could not pay, And therefore left to pine, and fret his life away!" He takes his Son, and bids the boy unfold
All the good Uncle of his feelings told,
All he lamented-and the ready tear
Falls as he listens, soothed, and grieved to hear.
"Did he not curse me, child?"-" He never cursed, But could not breathe, and said his heart would burst.' "And so will mine :"-" Then, father, you must pray: My uncle said it took his pains away."
Repeating thus his sorrows, Isaac shows
That he, repenting, feels the debt he owes,
And from this source alone his every comfort flows.
He takes no joy in office, honours, gain;
They make him humble, nay, they give Lim pain:
"These from my heart," he cries, "all feeling drove;
They made me cold to nature, dead to love."
He takes no joy in home, but sighing, sees
A son in sorrow, and a wife at ease;
He takes no joy in office-see him now,
And Burgess Steel has but a passing bow;
Of one sad train of gloomy thoughts possess'd,
He takes no joy in friends, in food, in rest-
Dark are the evil days, and void of peace the best.
And thus he lives, if living be to sigh,
And from all comforts of the world to fly,
Without a hope in life-without a wish to die.
Like one well studied in a sad ostent,
To please his grandam.
And then the whining schoolboy with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping, like snail,
Unwillingly to school.
He is a better scholar than I thought he was; he has a good spaw memory.-Merry Wives of Windsor.
On objects, arts, and imitations,
Which out of use, and staled by other men,
Begin his fashion.
Oh torture me no more-I will confess.-Henry VI.,
AN honest man was Farmer Jones, and true;
He did by all as all by him should do;
Grave, cautious, careful, fond of gain was he,
Yet famed for rustic hospitality:
Left with hi: children in a widow'd state,
The quiet man submitted to his fate;
Though prudent matrons waited for his call,
With cool forbearance he avoided all;
Though each profess'd a pure maternal joy,
By kind attention to his feeble boy;
And though a friendly Widow knew no rest,
Whilst neighbour Jones was lonely and distress'd;
Nay, though the maidens spoke in tender tone
Their hearts' concern to see him left alone,
Jones still persisted in that cheerless life,
As if 'twere sin to take a second wife.
Oh! 'tis a precious thing, when wives are dead,
To find such numbers who will serve instead ;
And in whatever state a man be thrown,
"Tis that precisely they would wish their own;
Left the departed infants-then their joy
Is to sustain each lovely girl and boy:
Whatever calling his, whatever trade,
To that their chief attention has been paid;
His happy taste in all things ey approve,
His friends they honour, and his food they love;
His wish for order, prudence in affairs,
An equal temper (thank their stars!), are theirs ;
In fact, it seem'd to be a thing decreed,
And fix'd as fate, that marriage must succeed:
Yet some,
like Jones, with stubborn hearts and hari,
Can hear such claims and show them no regard.
Soon as our Farmer, like a general, found
By what strong foes he was encompass'd round,
Engage he dared not, and he could not fly,
But saw his hope in gentle parley lie;
With looks of kindness then, and trembling heart,
He met the foe, and art opposed to art.
Now spoke that foe insidious-gentle tones,
And gentle looks, assumed for Farmer Jones:
"Three girls," the Widow cried, "a lively three
To govern well-indeed it cannot be."
"Yes," he replied, "it calls for pains and care:
But I must bear it."-" Sir, you cannot bear ;
Your son is weak, and asks a mother's eye:"
"That, my kind friend, a father's may supply."
"Such growing griefs your very soul will tease;"
"To grieve another would not give me ease--
I have a mother,"-
,"-" She, poor ancient soul!
Can she the spirits of the young control?
Can she thy peace promote, partake thy care,
Procure thy comforts, and thy sorrows share?
Age is itself impatient, uncontroll'd:"
"But wives like mothers must at length be old."
"Thou hast shrewd servants-they are evils sore;"
"Yet a shrewd mistress might afflict me more."
"Wilt thou not be a weary, wailing man?"
"Alas! and I must bear it as I can."
Resisted thus, the Widow soon withdrew,
That in his pride the Hero might pursue;
And off his wonted guard, in some retreat,
Find from a foe prepared entire defeat:
But he was prudent; for he knew in flight
These Parthian warriors turn again and fight:
He but at freedom, not at glory aim'd,
And only safety by his caution claim'd.
Thus, when a great and powerful state decrees
Upon a small one, in its love, to seize-
It vows in kindness, to protect, defend,
And be the fond ally, the faithful friend;
It therefore wills that humbler state to place
Its hopes of safety in a fond embrace;
Then must that humbler state its wisdom prov6,
By kind rejection of such pressing love;
Must dread such dangerous friendship to commence
And stand collected in its own defence:
Our Farmer thus the proffer'd kindness fled,
And shunn'd the love that into bondage led.
The Widow failing, fresh besiegers came,
To share the fate of this retiring dame:
And each foresaw a thousand ills attend
The man that fled from so discreet a friend;
And pray'd, kind soul! that no event might make
The harden'd heart of Farmer Jones to ache.
But he still govern'd with resistless hand,
And where he could not guide he would command:
With steady view, in course direct he steer'd,
And his fair daughters loved him, though they fear'd;
Each had her school, and as his wealth was known,
Each had in time a household of her own.
The Boy indeed was at the Grandam's side
Humour'd and train'd, her trouble and her pride:
Companions dear, with speech and spirits mild,
The childish widow and the vapourish child;
This nature prompts; minds uninform'd and weak
In such alliance ease and comfort seek:
Push'd by the levity of youth aside,
The cares of man, his humour, or his pride,
They feel, in their defenceless state, allied;
The child is pleased to meet regard from age,
The old are pleased e'en children to engage;
And all their wisdom, scorn'd by proud mankind,
They love to pour into the ductile mind,
By its own weakness into error led,
And by fond age with prejudices fed.
The Father, thankful for the good he had,
Yet saw with pain a whining, timid Lad;
Whom he instructing led through cultured fields,
To show what Man performs, what Nature yields:
But Stephen, listless, wander'd from the view,
From beasts he fled, for butterflies he flew,
And idly gazed about in search of something new.
The lambs indeed he loved, and wish'd to play
With things so mild, so harmless, and so gay;
|