But lived, himself to humour and to please, To count his money, and enjoy his ease.

It pleased a neighbouring 'squire to recommend

A faithful youth, as servant to his friend; Nay, more than servant, whom he praised for parts

Ductile yet strong, and for the best of hearts;
One who might ease him in his small affairs,
With tenants, tradesmen, taxes, and repairs;
Answer his letters, look to all his dues,
And entertain him with discourse and news.
The 'squire believed, and found the trusted
youth

A very pattern for his care and truth;
Not for his virtues to be praised alone,
But for a modest mien and humble tone;
Assenting always, but as if he meant
Only to strength of reasons to assent:
For was he stubborn, and retain'd his doubt,
Till the more subtle 'squire had forced it out;
'Nay, still was right, but he perceived that
strong

And powerful minds could make the right the wrong.'

When the 'squire's thoughts on some fair

damsel dwelt,

The faithful friend his apprehensions felt;
It would rejoice his faithful heart to find
A lady suited to his master's mind;
But who deserved that master? who would

prove

That hers was pure, uninterested love? Although a servant, he would scorn to take A countess, till she suffer'd for his sake; Some tender spirit, humble, faithful, true, Such, my dear master! must be sought for you. Six months had pass'd, and not a lady seen, With just this love, 'twixt fifty and fifteen ; All seem'd his doctrine or his pride to shun, All would be woo'd before they would be won; When the chance naming of a race and fair, Our 'squire disposed to take his pleasure there: The friend profess'd, although he first began | To hint the thing, it seem'd a thoughtless plan: The roads, he fear'd, were foul, the days were short,

The village far, and yet there might be sport.' 'What! you of roads and starless nights afraid?

You think to govern! you to be obey'd!' Smiling he spoke, the humble friend declared His soul's obedience, and to go prepared.

The place was distant, but with great delight They saw a race, and hail'd the glorious sight: The 'squire exulted, and declared the ride Had amply paid, and he was satisfied. They gazed, they feasted, and, in happy mood, Homeward return'd, and hastening as they rode;

For short the day, and sudden was the change From light to darkness, and the way was strange;

Our hero soon grew peevish, then distress'd;
He dreaded darkness, and he sigh'd for rest:
Going, they pass'd a village; but, alas!
Returning saw no village to repass;
The 'squire remember'd too a noble hall,
Large as a church, and whiter than its wall:
This he had noticed as they rode along,
And justly reason'd that their road was wrong.
George, full of awe, was modest in reply—
The fault was his, 'twas folly to deny ;
And of his master's safety were he sure,
There was no grievance he would not endure.'
This made his peace with the relenting 'squire,
Whose thoughts yet dwelt on supper and
a fire;

When, as they reach'd a long and pleasant green,

Dwellings of men, and next a man, were seen.

'My friend,' said George, to travellers

My father's house? how strangely things appear!

Dear sir, though wanderers, we at last are right:

Let us proceed, and glad my father's sight;
We shall at least be fairly lodged and fed,
I can ensure a supper and a bed ;
Let us this night, as one of pleasure date,
And of surprise: it is an act of fate.'
'Go on,' the 'squire in happy temper cried
I like such blunder! I approve such guide.'
They ride, they halt, the farmer comes in

haste,

Then tells his wife how much their house is graced;

They bless the chance, they praise the lucky

son,

That caused the error-Nay! it was not one;

But their good fortune-Cheerful grew the 'squire,

Who found dependants, flattery, wine, and fire;

He heard the jack turn round; the busy dame Produced her damask; and with supper came The daughter, dress'd with care, and full of maiden-shame.

Surprised, our hero saw the air and dress, And strove his admiration to express ; Nay! felt it too-for Harriot was, in truth, A tall fair beauty in the bloom of youth; And from the pleasure and surprise, a grace Adorn'd the blooming damsel's form and face; Then too, such high respect and duty paid By all-such silent reverence in the maid; Vent'ring with caution, yet with haste, a glance;

Loth to retire, yet trembling to advance, Appear'd the nymph, and in her gentle guest Stirr'd soft emotions till the hour of rest: Sweet was his sleep, and in the morn again He felt a mixture of delight and pain: 'How fair, how gentle,' said the 'squire,' how meek,

And yet how sprightly, when disposed to speak!

Nature has bless'd her form, and Heaven her mind,

But in her favours Fortune is unkind;
Poor is the maid-nay, poor she cannot prove
Who is enrich'd with beauty, worth, and love.'
The 'squire arose, with no precise intent
To go or stay-uncertain what he meant :
He moved to part-they begg'd him first
dine;

And who could then escape from love and wine?

As came the night, more charming grew the fair,

And seem'd to watch him with a two-fold

care:

On the third morn, resolving not to stay,
Though urged by love, he bravely rode away.
Arrived at home, three pensive days he gave
To feelings fond and meditations grave;
Lovely she was, and, if he did not err,
As fond of him as his fond heart of her;
Still he delay'd, unable to decide

Which was the master-passion, love or pride: He sometimes wonder'd how his friend could make,

And then exulted in, the night's mistake;

While thus he hung in balance, now inclined To change his state, and then to change his mind

That careless George dropp'd idly on the ground

A letter, which his crafty master found; The stupid youth confess'd his fault, and pray'd

The generous 'squire to spare a gentle maid;
Of whom her tender mother, full of fears,
Had written much- She caught her oft in
tears,

For ever thinking on a youth above
Her humble fortune-still she own'd not love;
Nor can define, dear girl! the cherish'd pain,
But would rejoice to see the cause again:
That neighbouring youth, whom she endured
before,

She now rejects, and will behold no more:
Raised by her passion, she no longer stoops
To her own equals, but she pines and droops,
Like to a lily, on whose sweets the sun
Has withering gazed-she saw and was un-
done:

His wealth allured her not-nor was she moved
By his superior state, himself she loved;
So mild, so good, so gracious, so genteel-
But spare your sister, and her love conceal;
We must the fault forgive, since she the pain
must feel.'

'Fault!' said the 'squire,' there's coarse

ness in the mind

That thus conceives of feelings so refined; Here end my doubts, nor blame yourself, my friend,

Fate made you careless-here my doubts have end.'

The way is plain before us-there is now The lover's visit first, and then the vow Mutual and fond, the marriage-rite, the bride Brought to her home with all a husband's

pride;

The 'squire receives the prize his merits won, And the glad parents leave the patron-son. But in short time he saw with much sur

prise,

First gloom, then grief, and then resentment rise,

From proud, commanding frowns and angerdarting eyes:

His spirits wearied in the prime of life,
By fears and wishes in eternal strife;
At length he urged impatient-" Now consent;
With thee united, fortune may relent."
I paused, consenting; but a friend arose,
Pleased a fair view, though distant, to dis-
close;

From the rough ocean we beheld a gleam
Of joy, as transient as the joys we dream;
By lying hopes deceived, my friend retired,
And sail'd-was wounded-reach'd us-and
expired!

You shall behold his grave, and when I die, There-but 'tis folly-I request to lie.'

Thus,' said the lass, to joy you bade adieu !

But how a widow ?-that cannot be true: Or was it force, in some unhappy hour, That placed you, grieving, in a tyrant's power?'

'Force, my young friend, when forty years
are fled,

Is what a woman seldom has to dread;
She needs no brazen locks nor guarding walls;
And seldom comes a lover though she calls :
Yet moved by fancy, one approved my face,
Though time and tears had wrought it much
disgrace.

'The man I married was sedate and meek,
And spoke of love as men in earnest speak;
Poor as I was, he ceaseless sought, for years,
A heart in sorrow and a face in tears;
That heart I gave not; and 'twas long before
I gave attention, and then nothing more;
But in my breast some grateful feeling rose
For one whose love so sad a subject chose;
Till long delaying, fearing to repent,
But grateful still, I gave a cold assent.

'Thus we were wed; no fault had I to find, And he but one; my heart could not be kind : Alas! of every early hope bereft, There was no fondness in my bosom left; So had I told him, but had told in vain, He lived but to indulge me and complain : His was this cottage, he inclosed this ground, And planted all these blooming shrubs around; He to my room these curious trifles brought, And with assiduous love my pleasure sought; He lived to please me, and I ofttimes strove, Smiling, to thank his unrequited love: "Teach me," he cried, "that pensive mind

to ease,

For all my pleasure is the hope to please."

'Serene, though heavy, were the days we

spent,

Yet kind each word, and gen'rous each intent;
But his dejection lessen'd every day,
And to a placid kindness died away:
In tranquil ease we pass'd our latter years,
By griefs untroubled, unassail'd by fears.

Let not romantic views your bosom sway,
Yield to your duties, and their call obey :
Fly not a youth, frank, honest, and sincere ;
Observe his merits, and his passion hear!
'Tis true, no hero, but a farmer sues—
Slow in his speech, but worthy in his views;
With him you cannot that affliction prove,
That rends the bosom of the poor in love:
Health, comfort, competence, and cheerful
days,

Your friends' approval, and your father's praise,

Will crown the deed, and you escape their fate Who plan so wildly, and are wise too late.'

The damsel heard; at first th' advice was

6

'Persist, my love,' replied the friend, ‘ and gain

A parent's praise, that cannot be in vain.' The father saw the change, but not the

cause, And gave the alter'd maid his fond applause : The coarser manners she in part removed, In part endured, improving and improved ; She spoke of household works, she rose betimes,

And said neglect and indolence were crimes;
The various duties of their life she weigh'd,
And strict attention to her dairy paid;
The names of servants now familiar grew,
And fair Lucinda's from her mind withdrew :