Yet past twelve years before her son was told, To his surprise, 'your father you behold.' But he beheld not with his mother's eye The new relation, and would not comply; But all obedience, all connexion spurn'd, And fled their home, where he no more return'd.

His father's brother was a man whose mind Was to his business and his bank confined; His guardian care the captious nephew sought, And was received, caress'd, advised, and taught.

'That Irish beggar, whom your mother took,

Does you this good, he sends you to your book;
Yet love not books, beyond their proper worth,
But when they fit you for the world, go forth:
They are like beauties, and may blessings
prove,

When we with caution study them, or love;
But when to either we our souls devote,
We grow unfitted for that world, and dote'
George to a school of higher class was sent,
But he was ever grieving that he went :
A still, retiring, musing, dreaming boy,
He relish'd not their sudden bursts of joy ;
Nor the tumultuous pleasures of a rude,
A noisy, careless, fearless multitude:

He had his own delights, as one who flies
From every pleasure that a crowd supplies:
Thrice he return'd, but then was weary grown,
And was indulged with studies of his own.

Still could the rector and his friend relate The small adventures of that distant date; And Richard listen'd as they spake of time Past in that world of misery and crime.

Freed from his school, a priest of gentle kind The uncle found to guide the nephew's mind; Pleased with his teacher, George so long remain'd,

The mind was weaken'd by the store it gain'd. His guardian uncle, then on foreign ground, No time to think of his improvements found; Nor had the nephew, now to manhood grown, Talents or taste for trade or commerce shown, But shunn'd a world of which he little knew, Nor of that little did he like the view.

His mother chose, nor I the choice upbraid, An Irish soldier of an house decay'd, And passing poor, but precious in her eyes As she in his; they both obtain'd a prize. To do the captain justice, she might share What of her jointure his affairs could spare:

Irish he was in his profusion-true,
But he was Irish in affection too;
And though he spent her wealth and made
her grieve,

He always said my dear,' and' with your leave.'

Him she survived: she saw his boy possess'd Of manly spirit, and then sank to rest.

Her sons thus left, some legal cause required That they should meet, but neither this desired :

George, a recluse, with mind engaged, was one Who did no business, with whom none was done;

Whose heart, engross'd by its peculiar care, Shared no one's counsel-no one his might share.

Richard, a boy, a lively boy, was told Of his half-brother, haughty, stern, and cold; And his boy folly, or his manly pride, Made him on measures cool and harsh decide: So, when they met, a distant cold salute Was of a long-expected day the fruit; The rest by proxies managed, each withdrew,

Vex'd by the business and the brother too; But now they met when time had calm'd the

mind,

Both wish'd for kindness, and it made them kind :

George had no wife or child, and was disposed To love the man on whom his hope reposed: Richard had both; and those so wellbeloved, Husband and father were to kindness moved; And thus th' affections check'd, subdued, restrain❜d,

Rose in their force, and in their fulness reign'd. The bell now bids to dine: the friendly

priest,

Social and shrewd, the day's delight increased: Brief and abrupt their speeches while they dined,

Nor were their themes of intellectual kind; Nor, dinner past, did they to these advance, But left the subjects they discuss'd to chance.

Richard, whose boyhood in the place was

spent,

Profound attention to the speakers lent, Who spake of men; and, as he heard a name, Actors and actions to his memory came: Then, too, the scenes he could distinctly trace, Here he had fought, and there had gain'd

a race;

In that church-walk he had affrighted been, In that old tower he had a something seen; What time, dismiss'd from school, he upward

cast

A fearful look, and trembled as he past.

No private tutor Richard's parents sought, Made keen by hardship, and by trouble taught; They might have sent him—some the counsel gave

Seven gloomy winters of the North to brave, Where a few pounds would pay for board and bed,

While the poor frozen boy was taught and fed; When, say he lives, fair, freckled, lank and lean, The lad returns shrewd, subtle, close and keen; With all the northern virtues, and the rules Taught to the thrifty in these thriving schools: There had he gone, and borne this trying part, But Richard's mother had a mother's heart. Now squire and rector were return'd to school,

And spoke of him who there had sovereign rule:

He was, it seem'd, a tyrant of the sort
Who make the cries of tortured boys his sport;
One of a race, if not extinguish'd, tamed,
The flogger now is of the act ashamed;

Is doing nothing-he has not a doubt
But they will love him, nay, applaud, with-
out:

Let no fond sire a boy's ambition trust,
To make him study, let him see he must.'
Such his opinion; and to prove it true,
At least sincere, it was his practice too :
Pluto they call'd him, and they named him
well,

'Twas not an heaven where he was pleased to dwell:

From him a smile was like the Greenland sun, Surprising, nay portentous, when it shone; Or like the lightning, for the sudden flash Prepared the children for the thunder's crash.

O! had Narcissa, when she fondly kiss'd The weeping boy whom she to school dismiss'd,

Had she beheld him shrinking from the arm
Uplifted high to do the greater harm,
Then seen her darling stript, and that pure
white,

And-O! her soul had fainted at the sight; And with those looks that love could not withstand,

She would have cried, Barbarian, hold thy hand!'

show

WE name the world a school, for day by day

We something learn, till we are call'd away; The school we name a world,-for vice and pain,

Fraud and contention, there begin to reign;

How the meek suffer, how the haughty rule; There soft, ingenuous, gentle minds endure Ills that ease, time, and friendship fail to

cure:

There the best hearts, and those, who shrink from sin,

Find some seducing imp to draw them in ;

To check the progress of each idle shoot
That might retard the ripening of the fruit?
Our purpose certain! and we much effect,
Wesomething cure, and something we correct;
But do your utmost, when the man you see,
You find him what you saw the boy would be,
Disguised a little; but we still behold
What pleased and what offended us of old.
Years from the mind no native stain remove,
But lay the varnish of the world above.
Still, when he can, he loves to step aside
And be the boy, without a check or guide;
In the old wanderings he with pleasure strays,
And reassumes the bliss of earlier days.

'I left at school the boy with pensive look,
Whom some great patron order'd to his book,
Who from his mother's cot reluctant came,
And gave my lord, for this compassion, fame;
Who, told of all his patron's merit, sigh'd,
I know not why, in sorrow or in pride;
And would, with vex'd and troubled spirit,

'This noble lord was one disposed to try And weigh the worth of each new luxury; Now, at a certain time, in pleasant mood, He tried the luxury of doing good; For this he chose a widow's handsome boy, Whom he would first improve, and then employ.

The boy was gentle, modest, civil, kind, But not for bustling through the world design'd;

Reserved in manner, with a little gloom, Apt to retire, but never to assume; Possess'd of pride that he could not subdue, Although he kept his origin in view.

It was a debt contracted; he who pays
A debt is just, but must not look for praise:
The deed that once had fame must still
proceed,

Though fame no more proclaims "how great the deed!"

The boy is taken from his mother's side,
And he who took him must be now his guide.
But this, alas! instead of bringing fame,
A tax, a trouble, to my lord became.

"The boy is dull, you say,-why then by
trade,

By law, by physic, nothing can be made; If a small living-mine are both too large, And then the college is a cursed charge: The sea is open; should he there display Signs of dislike, he cannot run away."

'Now Charles, who acted no heroic part, And felt no seaman's glory warm his heart, Refused the offer-anger touch'd my lord."He does not like it-Good, upon my word

If I at college place him, he will need
Supplies for ever, and will not succeed
Doubtless in me 'tis duty to provide
Not for his comfort only, but his pride-
Let him to sea!"-He heard the words again,
With promise join'd-with threat'ning; all
in vain :

Charles had his own pursuits; for aid to these
He had been thankful, and had tried to please;
But urged again, as meekly as a saint,

He humbly begg'd to stay at home, and paint.

"Yes, pay some dauber, that this stubborn fool

May grind his colours, and may boast his school."

'As both persisted, "Choose, good sir, your way,'

The peer exclaim'd, "I have no more to say. I seek your good, but I have no command Upon your will, nor your desire withstand." Resolved and firm, yet dreading to offend, Charles pleaded genius with his noble friend: "Genius!" he cried, "the name that triflers give

To their strong wishes without pains to live;
Genius! the plea of all who feel desire
Of fame, yet grudge the labours that acquire:
But say 'tis true; how poor, how late the
gain,

And certain ruin if the hope be vain!"
Then to the world appeal'd my lord, and cried,
"Whatever happens, I am justified."
Nay, it was trouble to his soul to find
There was such hardness in the human mind:
He wash'd his hands before the world, and

swore

But once at twilight walking up and down,
In a poor alley of the mighty town,
Where, in her narrow courts and garrets, hide
The grieving sons of genius, want, and pride,
I met him musing: sadness I could trace,
And conquer'd hope's meek anguish, in his face.
See him I must: but I with ease address'd,
And neither pity nor surprise express'd;
I strove both grief and pleasure to restrain,
But yet I saw that I was giving pain.
He said, with quick'ning pace, as loth to hold
A longer converse, that "the day was cold,
That he was well, that I had scarcely light
To aid my steps," and bade me then good
night!

'I saw him next where he had lately come, A silent pauper in a crowded room;

I heard his name, but he conceal'd his face,
To his sad mind his misery was disgrace :
In vain I strove to combat his disdain
Of my compassion- -"Sir, I pray refrain;'

more."

Now Charles his bread by daily labours sought,

And this his solace, “so Corregio wrought." Alas, poor youth! however great his name, And humble thine, thy fortune was the same: Charles drew and painted, and some praise obtain'd

For care and pains; but little more was gain'd: Fame was his hope, and he contempt display'd For approbation, when 'twas coolly paid: His daily tasks he call'd a waste of mind, Vex'd at his fate, and angry with mankind: "Thus have the blind to merit ever done, And Genius mourn'd for each neglected son."