Can I, my brother-ought I to forget That night of terror? No! it threatens yet. Shall days, months-nay, years, indeed, neglect,

Who then could feel what moments must effect, Were aught effected? who, in that wild storm,

Found there was nothing I could well perform;

For what to us are moments, what are hours, If lost our judgment, and confused our powers?

'Oft in the times when passion strives to reign,

When duty feebly holds the slacken'd chain, When reason slumbers, then remembrance draws

This view of death, and folly makes a pauseThe view o'ercomes the vice, the fear the frenzy awes.

Thy father left thee to the care of one
Who could not teach, could ill support a son;
Yet time and trouble feeble minds have
stay'd,

And fit for long-neglected duties made:
I see thee struggling in the world, as late
Within the waves, and with an equal fate,
By Heaven preserved-but tell me, whence
and how

Thy gleaning came ?-a dexterous gleaner thou !'

'Left by that father, who was known to

few,

And to that mother, who has not her due
Of honest fame,' said Richard, 'our retreat
Was a small cottage, for our station meet,
On Barford Downs: that mother, fond and
poor,

There taught some truths, and bade me seek for more,

I heard of this escape, and sat supine
Amid the danger that exceeded thine;
Thou couldst but die-the waves could but
infold

Thy warm gay heart, and make that bosom cold

While I--but no! Proceed, and give me truth;

Supplied; but such I cared not to pursue;
I sought the town, and to the ocean gave
My mind and thoughts, as restless as the wave:
Where crowds assembled, I was sure to run,
Hear what was said, and mused on what was
done;

Attentive listening in the moving scene,
And often wondering what the men could

mean.

When ships at sea made signals of their need, I watch'd on shore the sailors, and their speed: Mix'd in their act, nor rested till I knew Why they were call'd, and what they were to do.

'Whatever business in the port was done, I, without call, was with the busy one; Not daring question, but with open ear And greedy spirit, ever bent to hear.

To me the wives of seamen loved to tell What storms endanger'd men esteem'd so well;

What wond'rous things in foreign parts they saw,

Lands without bounds, and people without law.

'No ships were wreck'd upon that fatal beach,

But I could give the luckless tale of each;
Eager I look'd, till I beheld a face
Of one disposed to paint their dismal case;
Who gave the sad survivors' doleful tale,

Such days as ours; and how a larger sun, Red, but not flaming, roll'd, with motion slow, On the world's edge, and never dropt below. 'There were fond girls, who took me to their side

To tell the story how their lovers died; They praised my tender heart, and bade me prove

Both kind and constant when I came to love.
In fact, I lived for many an idle year
In fond pursuit of agitations dear;
For ever seeking, ever pleased to find,
The food I loved, I thought not of its kind;
It gave affliction while it brought delight,
And joy and anguish could at once excite.

'One gusty day, now stormy and now still, I stood apart upon the western hill,

And saw a race at sea: a gun was heard, And two contending boats in sail appear'd: Equal awhile; then one was left behind, And for a moment had her chance resign'd, When, in that moment, up a sail they drew Not used before-their rivals to pursue. Strong was the gale! in hurry now there

When the last boat shot suddenly before, Then fill'd, and sank—and could be seen no more!

Then were those piercing shrieks, that frantic flight,

All hurried! all in tumult and affright! A gathering crowd from different streets drew near,

All ask, all answer-none attend, none hear! 'One boat is safe; and see! she backs her

sail

To save the sinking-Will her care avail?
'O! how impatient on the sands we tread,
And the winds roaring, and the women led,
As up and down they pace with frantic air,
And scorn a comforter, and will despair ;
They know not who in either boat is gone,
But think the father, husband, lover, one.

'And who is she apart? She dares not come To join the crowd, yet cannot rest at home: With what strong interest looks she at the

waves,

Meeting and clashing o'er the seamen's graves: 'Tis a poor girl betroth'd—a few hours more, And he will lie a corpse upon the shore.

'Strange, that a boy could love these scenes, and cry

In very pity-but that boy was I. With pain my mother would my tales receive, And say, 66 my Richard, do not learn to grieve."

One wretched hour had past before we knew Whom they had saved! Alas! they were

but two,

An orphan'd lad and widow'd man-no more! And they unnoticed stood upon the shore, With scarce a friend to greet them-widows view'd

This man and boy, and then their cries renew'd:

'Twas long before the signs of wo gave place To joy again; grief sat on every face.

'Sure of my mother's kindness, and the joy She felt in meeting her rebellious boy, I at my pleasure our new seat forsook, And, undirected, these excursions took: I often rambled to the noisy quay, Strange sounds to hear, and business strange

to me;

Seamen and carmen, and I know not who, A lewd, amphibious, rude, contentious crewConfused as bees appear about their hive, Yet all alert to keep their work alive.

'Here, unobserved as weed upon the wave, My whole attention to the scene I gave;

I saw their tasks, their toil, their care, their skill,

Led by their own and by a master-will; And though contending, toiling, tugging on, The purposed business of the day was done. 'The open shops of craftsmen caught my eye,

And there my questions met the kind reply: Men, when alone, will teach; but, in a crowd, The child is silent, or the man is proud; But, by themselves, there is attention paid To a mild boy, so forward, yet afraid.

'I made me interest at the inn's fire-side, Amid the scenes to bolder boys denied ; For I had patrons there, and I was one, They judged, who noticed nothing that was done.

"A quiet lad!" would my protector say; "To him, now, this is better than his play: Boys are as men; some active, shrewd, and keen,

They look about if aught is to be seen; And some, like Richard here, have not a mind That takes a notice-but the lad is kind." 'I loved in summer on the heath to walk, And seek the shepherd-shepherds love to talk:

His superstition was of ranker kind,
And he with tales of wonder stored my mind;
'Wonders that he in many a lonely eve
Had seen, himself, and therefore must believe.
His boy, his Joe, he said, from duty ran,
Took to the sea, and grew a fearless man :
"On yonder knoll-the sheep were in the
fold-

His spirit past me, shivering-like and cold!
I felt a fluttering, but I knew not how,
And heard him utter, like a whisper, ' now!'
Soon came a letter from a friend-to tell
That he had fallen, and the time he fell."
Even to the smugglers' hut the rocks
between,

have, adventurous in my wandering, been : Poor, pious Martha served the lawless tribe, And could their merits and their faults

describe;

Adding her thoughts; "I talk,my child, to you, Who little think of what such wretches do." 'I loved to walk where none had walk'd before,

About the rocks that ran along the shore;

Or far beyond the sight of men to stray,
And take my pleasure when I lost my
way;

For then 'twas mine to trace the hilly heath,
And all the mossy moor that lies beneath:
Here had I favourite stations, where I stood
And heard the murmurs of the ocean-flood,
With not a sound beside, except when flew
Aloft the lapwing, or the gray curlew,
Who with wild notes my fancied power defied,
And mock'd the dreams of solitary pride.

'I loved to stop at every creek and bay
Made by the river in its winding way,
And call to memory-not by marks they bare,
But by the thoughts that were created there.

'Pleasant it was to view the sea-gulls strive Against the storm, or in the ocean dive, With eager scream, or when they dropping gave

Their closing wings to sail upon the wave:
Then as the winds and waters raged around,
And breaking billows mix'd their deafening
sound,

They on the rolling deep securely hung,
And calmly rode the restless waves among.
Nor pleased it less around me to behold,
Far up the beach, the yesty sea-foam roll'd ;
Or from the shore upborn, to see on high,
Its frothy flakes in wild confusion fly :
While the salt spray that clashing billows
form,

RICHARD Would wait till George the tale should ask,

Nor waited long-He then resumed the task. "South in the port, and eastward in the street,

Rose a small dwelling, my beloved retreat, Where lived a pair, then old; the sons had fled

The home they fill'd: a part of them were dead;

Married a part; while some at sea remain'd, And stillness in the seaman's mansion reign'd; Lord of some petty craft, by night and day, The man had fish'd each fathom of the bay. My friend the matron woo'd me, quickly won,

To fill the station of an absent son;

RUTH

Had their deficiencies in part; they lack'd One side or both, or were no longer back'd; But now became degraded from their place, And were but pamphlets of a bulkier race. Yet had we pamphlets, an inviting store, From sixpence downwards-nay, a part were

more;

Learning abundance, and the various kinds
For relaxation-food for different minds;
A piece of Wingate-thanks for all we have-
What we of figures needed, fully gave;
Culpepper, new in numbers, cost but thrice
The ancient volume's unassuming price,
But told what planet o'er each herb had
power.

And how to take it in the lucky hour.

'History we had-wars, treasons, treaties, crimes,

From Julius Caesar to the present times;
Questions and answers, teaching what to ask
And what reply,-a kind, laborious task;
A scholar's book it was, who, giving, swore
It held the whole he wish'd to know, and more.
And we had poets, hymns and songs

divine;

The most we read not, but allow'd them fine. Our tracts were many, on the boldest themes

We had our metaphysics, spirits, dreams, Visions and warnings, and portentous sights

I took his home and mother for my own):
I read, and doubly was I paid to hear
Events that fell upon no listless ear:
She grieved to say her parents could neglect
Her education !-'twas a sore defect;
She, who had ever such a vast delight

To learn, and now could neither read nor write :

But hear she could, and from our stores I took, Librarian meet! at her desire, our book. Full twenty volumes-I would not exceed The modest truth-were there for me to read; These a long shelf contain'd, and they were found

Books truly speaking, volumes fairly bound; The rest, for some of other kinds remain'd, And these a board beneath the shelf contain'd,―

When the good wife her wintry vigil keeps, And thinks alone of him at sea, and weeps.

'Add to all these our works in single sheets, That our Cassandras sing about the streets : These, as I read, the grave good man would say,

66

Nay, Hannah!" and she answer'd "What

is Nay?

What is there, pray, so hurtful in a song?
It is our fancy only makes it wrong;
His purer mind no evil thoughts alarm,
And innocence protects him like a charm."
Then would the matron, when the song had
past,

And her laugh over, ask an hymn at last;
To the coarse jest she would attention lend,
And to the pious psalm in reverence bend :
She gave her every power and all her mind.
As chance directed, or as taste inclined.

'More of our learning I will now omit, We had our Cyclopaedias of Wit, And all our works, rare fate, were to our genius fit.

When I had read, and we were weary

grown

Of other minds, the dame disclosed her own; And long have I in pleasing terror stay'd To hear of boys trepann'd, and girls betray'd; Ashamed so long to stay, and yet to go afraid. 'I could perceive, though Hannah bore full well

The ills of life, that few with her would dwell, But pass away, like shadows o'er the plain From flying clouds, and leave it fair again; Still every evil, be it great or small,

Would one past sorrow to the mind recall, The grand disease of life, to which she turns, And common cares and lighter suffering

spurns.

"O! these are nothing,-they will never heed Such idle contests who have fought indeed, And have the wounds unclosed."-I understood

My hint to speak, and my design pursued,
Curious the secret of that heart to find,
To mirth, to song, to laughter loud inclined,
And yet to bear and feel a weight of grief
behind :

How does she thus her little sunshine throw
Always before her ?-I should like to know.
My friend perceived, and would no longer hide
The bosom's sorrow-Could she not confide,
In one who wept, unhurt-in one who felt,
untried?

"Dear child, I show you sins and sufferings strange,

They cannot always pay the debt they owe Their plighted honour; they may cause the ill They cannot lessen, though they feel a will; For he had truth with love, but love in youth Does wrong, that cannot be repair'd by truth. "Ruth-I may tell, too oft had she been told

Was tall and fair, and comely to behold;
Gentle and simple, in her native place
Not one compared with her in form or face;
She was not merry, but she gave our hearth
A cheerful spirit that was more than mirth.

"There was a sailor boy, and people said
He was, as man, a likeness of the maid;
But not in this-for he was ever glad,
While Ruth was apprehensive, mild, and sad;
A quiet spirit hers, and peace would seek
In meditation: tender, mild, and meek?
Her loved the lad most truly: and, in truth,
She took an early liking to the youth:
To her alone were his attentions paid,
And they became the bachelor and maid.
He wish'd to marry, but so prudent we
And worldly wise, we said it could not be :
They took the counsel,-may be they
approved,-

But still they grieved and waited, hoped and loved.

"Now, my young friend, when of such
state I speak

As one of danger, you will be to seek ;
You know not, Richard, where the danger lies
In loving hearts, kind words, and speaking
eyes;

change

Then, too, the meetings and the partings,

all

The playful quarrels in which lovers fall,
Serve to one end-each lover is a child,
Quick to resent and to be reconciled;
And then their peace brings kindness that
remains,

And so the lover from the quarrel gains : When he has faults that she reproves, his fear

And grief assure her she was too severe,
And that brings kindness-when he bears
an ill,

Or disappointment, and is calm and still,
She feels his own obedient to her will,