There were behind small useful gardens made, Benches before, and trees to give them shade; In the first room were seen, above, below, Some marks of taste, a few attempts at show; The founder's picture and his arms were there, (Not till he left us,) and an elbow'd chair; There, 'mid these signs of his superior place, Sat the mild ruler of this humble race. Within the row are men who strove in vain, Through years of trouble, wealth and ease

to gain;

Less must they have than an appointed sum, And freemen been, or hither must not come; They should be decent and command respect, (Though needing fortune,) whom these doors protect,

And should for thirty dismal years have tried For peace unfelt and competence denied. Strange! that o'er men thus train'd in sorrow's school,

Power must be held, and they must live by rule;

Infirm, corrected by misfortunes, old,
Their habits settled and their passions cold;
Of health, wealth, power, and worldly cares,
bereft,

Still must they not at liberty be left;
There must be one to rule them, to restrain
And guide the movements of his erring train.
If then control imperious, check severe,
Be needed where such reverend men appear;
To what would youth, without such checks,
aspire,

Free the wild wish, uncurb'd the strong desire?
And where (in college or in camp) they found
The heart ungovern'd and the hand unbound?
His house endow'd, the generous man
resign'd

All power to rule, nay power of choice declined; He and the female saint survived to view Their work complete, and bade the world adieu !

Six are the guardians of this happy seat, And one presides when they on business meet; As each expires, the five a brother choose; Nor would Sir Denys Brand the charge refuse; True, 'twas beneath him, 'but to do men good Was motive never by his heart withstood:' He too is gone, and they again must strive To find a man in whom his gifts survive.

Now, in the various records of the dead, Thy worth, Sir Denys, shall be weigh'd and

read;

There we the glory of thy house shall trace,
With each alliance of thy noble race.
Yes! here we have him!- Came in
William's reign,

The Norman-Brand; the blood without a stain;

From the fierce Dane and ruder Saxon clear,
Pict, Irish, Scot, or Cambrian mountaineer;
But the pure Norman was the sacred spring,
And he, Sir Denys, was in heart a king:
Erect in person and so firm in soul,
Fortune he seem'd to govern and control;
Generous as he who gives his all away,
Prudent as one who toils for weekly pay;
In him all merits were decreed to meet,
Sincere though cautious, frank and yet dis-
creet,

Just all his dealings, faithful every word,
His passions' master, and his temper's lord.'
Yet more, kind dealers in decaying fame?
His magnanimity you next proclaim;
You give him learning, join'd with sound
good sense,

And match his wealth with his benevolence;
What hides the multitude of sins, you add,
Yet seem to doubt if sins he ever had.

Poor honest Truth! thou writ'st of living

men,

And art a railer and detractor then ; They die, again to be described, and now A foe to merit and mankind art thou!

Why banish truth? it injures not the dead, It aids not them with flattery to be fed ; And when mankind such perfect pictures view,

They copy less the more they think them true.
Let us a mortal as he was behold,
And see the dross adhering to the gold;
When we the errors of the virtuous state,
Then erring men their worth may emulate.

View then this picture of a noble mind, Let him be wise, magnanimous, and kind; What was the wisdom? Was it not the frown That keeps all question, all inquiry down? His words were powerful and decisive all, But his slow reasons came for no man's call. "Tis thus,' he cried, no doubt with kind intent,

To give results and spare all argument:

Let it be spared-all men at least agree Sir Denys Brand had magnanimity : His were no vulgar charities; none saw Him like the merchant to the hut withdraw;

He left to meaner minds the simple deed, By which the houseless rest, the hungry feed; His was a public bounty vast and grand, 'Twas not in him to work with viewless hand; He raised the room that towers above the street,

A public room where grateful parties meet; He first the life boat plann'd; to him the place

Is deep in debt-'twas he revived the race; To every public act this hearty friend Would give with freedom or with frankness lend;

His money built the jail, nor prisoner yet Sits at his ease, but he must feel the debt; To these let candour add his vast display, Around his mansion all is grand and gay, And this is bounty with the name of pay.' I grant the whole, nor from one deed retract,

But wish recorded too the private act; All these were great, but still our hearts approve

Those simpler tokens of the christian love; 'Twould give me joy some gracious deed to meet,

That has not call'd for glory through the street:

Who felt for many, could not always shun, In some soft moment, to be kind to one; And yet they tell us, when Sir Denys died, That not a widow in the Borough sigh'd; Great were his gifts, his mighty heart I own, But why describe what all the world has known?

The rest is petty pride, the useless art Of a vain mind to hide a swelling heart: Small was his private room; men found him there

By a plain table, on a paltry chair;

A wretched floor-cloth, and some prints around,

The easy purchase of a single pound :
These humble trifles and that study small
Make a strong contrast with the servants'
hall;

There barely comfort, here a proud excess,
The pompous seat of pamper'd idleness,
Where the sleek rogues with one consent
declare,

They would not live upon his honour's fare; He daily took but one half-hour to dine, On one poor dish and some three sips of wine;

Then he'd abuse them for their sumptuous feasts,

And say, 'My friends! you make yourselves like beasts;

One dish suffices any man to dine,
But you are greedy as a herd of swine;
Learn to be temperate.'-Had they dared
t' obey,

He would have praised and turn'd them all away.

Friends met Sir Denys riding in his ground, And there the meekness of his spirit found: For that grey coat, not new for many a year, Hides all that would like decent dress appear; An old brown pony 'twas his will to ride, Who shuffled onward, and from side to side; A five-pound purchase, but so fat and sleek, His very plenty made the creature weak.

'Sir Denys Brand! and on so poor a steed!' 'Poor! it may be-such things I never heed:' And who that youth behind, of pleasant mien, Equipp'd as one who wishes to be seen, Upon a horse, twice victor for a plate, A noble hunter, bought at dearest rate ?— Him the lad fearing, yet resolved to guide, He curbs his spirit, while he strokes his pride. 'A handsome youth, Sir Denys; and a

horse

Of finer figure never trod the course,-
Yours, without question?'-'Yes! I think
a groom

Bought me the beast; I cannot say the sum:
I ride him not, it is a foolish pride
Men have in cattle-but my people ride;
The boy is-hark ye, sirrah! what's your
name?

Ay, Jacob, yes! I recollect-the same;
As I bethink me now, a tenant's son-
I think a tenant-is your father one?'

There was an idle boy who ran about, And found his master's humble spirit out; He would at awful distance snatch a look, Then run away and hide him in some nook;

For oh!' quoth he, 'I dare not fix my sight On him, his grandeur puts me in a fright; Oh! Mister Jacob, when you wait on him, Do you not quake and tremble every limb?'

The steward soon had orders-' Summers,

see

That Sam be clothed, and let him wait on me.'

Sir Denys died, bequeathing all affairs In trust to Laughton's long experienced cares;

Where all, in turn, ideal forms behold,
And plots are laid and histories are told.
Time have I lent-I would their debt were
less-

To flow'ry pages of sublime distress;
And to the heroine's soul-distracting fears
I early gave my sixpences and tears:
Oft have I travell'd in these tender tales,
To Darnley-Cottages and Maple-Vales,
And watch'd the fair-one from the first-born
sigh,

When Henry pass'd and gazed in passing by;
Till I beheld them pacing in the park,

Close by a coppice where 'twas cold and dark; When such affection with such fate appear'd, Want and a father to be shunn'd and fear'd, Without employment, prospect, cot, or cash, That I have judged th' heroic souls were rash. Now shifts the scene, the fair in tower confined,

In all things suffers but in change of mind; Now woo'd by greatness to a bed of state, Now deeply threaten'd with a dungeon's grate;

Till suffering much and being tried enough, She shines, triumphant maid!-temptationproof.

Then was I led to vengeful monks, who mix With nymphs and swains, and play unpriestly tricks ;

Then view'd banditti who in forest wide, And cavern vast, indignant virgins hide; Who, hemm'd with bands of sturdiest rogues about,

Find some strange succour, and come virgins

out.

I've watch'd a wint'ry night on castle-walls, I've stalked by moonlight through deserted halls,

And when the weary world was sunk to rest, I've had such sights as-may not be express'd.

Lo! that chateau, the western tower decay'd,

The peasants shun it,-they are all afraid; For there was done a deed!-could walls reveal,

Or timbers tell it, how the heart would feel! Most horrid was it :-for, behold, the floor Has stain of blood, and will be clean no more: Hark to the winds! which through the wide saloon

And the long passage send a dismal tune,

Music that ghosts delight in ;-and now heed Yon beauteous nymph, who must unmask the deed;

See! with majestic sweep she swims alone
Through rooms, all dreary, guided by a groan:
Though windows rattle, and though tap'stries
shake,

And the feet falter every step they take,
'Mid moans and gibing sprights she silent goes,
To find a something, which will soon expose
The villanies and wiles of her determined foes:
And, having thus adventured, thus endured,
Fame, wealth, and lover, are for life secured.
Much have I fear'd, but am no more afraid,
When some chaste beauty, by some wretch
betray'd,

Is drawn away with such distracted speed,
That she anticipates a dreadful deed :
Not so do I-Let solid walls impound
The captive fair, and dig a moat around;
Let there be brazen locks and bars of steel,
And keepers cruel, such as never feel;
With not a single note the purse supply,
And when she begs, let men and maids deny:
Be windows those from which she dares not
fall,

And help so distant, 'tis in vain to call;
Still means of freedom will some power devise,
And from the baffled ruffian snatch his prize.

To Northern Wales, in some sequester'd

'Can he who loves me, whom I love, deceive? Can I such wrong of one so kind believe, Who lives but in my smile, who trembles when I grieve?

'He dared not marry, but we met to prove What sad encroachments and deceits has love: Weak that I was, when he, rebuked, withdrew, I let him see that I was wretched too; When less my caution, I had still the pain Of his or mine own weakness to complain.

'Happy the lovers class'd alike in life, Or happier yet the rich endowing wife; But most aggrieved the fond believing maid, Of her rich lover tenderly afraid : You judge th' event; for grievous was my fate,

Painful to feel, and shameful to relate:
Ah! sad it was my burthen to sustain,
When the least misery was the dread of pain;
When I have grieving told him my disgrace,
And plainly mark'd indifference in his face.
'Hard! with these fears and terrors to

He gave employ that might for bread suffice, Correct his habits and restrain his vice.

Here Blaney tried (what such man's miseries teach)

To find what pleasures were within his reach;
These he enjoy'd, though not in just the style
He once possess'd them in his native isle ;
Congenial souls he found in every place,
Vice in all soils, and charms in every race :
His lady took the same amusing way,
And laugh'd at Time till he had turn'd them
grey:

At length for England once again they steer'd,
By ancient views and new designs endear'd;
His kindred died, and Blaney now became
An heir to one who never heard his name.
What could he now?-The man had tried
before

Tales of Voltaire, and essays gay and slight, Pleased him and shone with their phosphoric light;

Which, though it rose from objects vile and base,

Where'er it came threw splendour on the place, And was that light which the deluded youth, And this grey sinner, deem'd the light of truth. He different works for different cause

admired,

Some fix'd his judgment, some his passions fired;

To cheer the mind and raise a dormant flame, He had the books, decreed to lasting shame, Which those who read are careful not to name: These won to vicious act the yielding heart, And then the cooler reasoners soothed the

smart.

He heard of Blount, and Mandeville, and

Chubb,

How they the doctors of their day would drub; How Hume had dwelt on miracles so well, That none would now believe a miracle; And though he cared not works so grave to read,

He caught their faith and sign'd the sinner's creed.

Thus was he pleased to join the laughing side, Nor ceased the laughter when his lady died; Yet was he kind and careful of her fame, And on her tomb inscribed a virtuous name; 'A tender wife, respected, and so forth,'

more;

To vicious pleasure he was still inclined,
But vice must now be season'd and refined;
Then as a swine he would on pleasure seize,
Now common pleasures had no power to
please :

Beauty alone has for the vulgar charms,
He wanted beauty trembling with alarms:
His was no more a youthful dream of joy,
The wretch desired to ruin and destroy;
He bought indulgence with a boundless price,
Most pleased when decency bow'd down to
vice,

When a fair dame her husband's honour sold, And a frail countess play'd for Blaney's gold. 'But did not conscience in her anger rise?' Yes! and he learn'd her terrors to despise; When stung by thought, to soothing books he fled,

And grew composed and harden'd as he read;

He has some children, but he knows not

where ;

Something they cost, but neither lovenor care;
A father's feelings he has never known,
His joys, his sorrows, have been all his own.
He now would build-and lofty seat he
built,

And sought, in various ways, relief from guilt
Restless, for ever anxious to obtain
Ease for the heart by ramblings of the brain,
He would have pictures, and of course a taste,
And found a thousand means his wealth to

waste.

Newmarket steeds he bought at mighty cost; They sometimes won, but Blaney always lost.

Quick came his ruin, came when he had still For life a relish, and in pleasure skill: By his own idle reckoning he supposed His wealth would last him till his life was closed;