'Will you not ask, how I beheld that face, Or read that mind, and read it in that place? I have tried, Richard, oft-times, and in vain, To trace my thoughts, and to review their train

He now is absent, and I chanced to hear
Will not before to-morrow eve appear,
And may be longer absent- -O! the night
When you preserved me in that horrid fright;
A thousand, thousand times, asleep, awake,

If train there were—that meadow, grove, and I thought of what you ventured for my sakestile, Now have you thought-yet tell me sodeceive

The fright, th' escape, her sweetness and her smile;

Years since elapsed, and hope, from year to year,

To find her free-and then to find her here! 'But is it she?-O! yes; the rose is dead, All beauty, fragrance, freshness, glory fled : But yet 'tis she-the same and not the same— Who to my bower an heavenly being came; Who waked my soul's first thought of real bliss,

Whom long I sought, and now I find her— this.

'I cannot paint her-something I had seen So pale and slim, and tawdry and unclean; With haggard looks, of vice and wo the prey, Laughing in langour, miserably gay:

Her face, where face appear'd, was amply spread,

By art's coarse pencil, with ill-chosen red, The flower's fictitious bloom, the blushing of the dead:

But still the features were the same,

strange

change,

Your Rosabella, willing to believe?
O! there is something in love's first-born pain
Sweeter than bliss-it never comes again-
But has your heart been faithful? "—Here
my pride

To anger rising, her attempt defied-
"My faith must childish in your sight appear,
Who have been faithful-to how many,
dear?"

'If words had fail'd, a look explain'd their

style,

She could not blush assent, but she could smile:

Good heaven! I thought, have I rejected fame,

Credit and wealth, for one who smiles at shame ?

'She saw me thoughtful-saw it, as I guess'd,

With some concern, though nothing she express'd.

666 and

Come, my dear friend, discard that look of care,

My view of both-the sameness and the All things were made to be, as all things are ;
All to seek pleasure as the end design'd,
The only good in matter or in mind;
So was I taught by one, who gave me all
That my experienced heart can wisdom call.

That fix'd me gazing and my eye enchain'd,
Although so little of herself remain'd;
It is the creature whom I loved, and yet
Is far unlike her-Would I could forget
The angel or her fall! the once adored
Or now despised! the worshipp'd or deplored!
"O! Rosabella!" I prepared to say,
"Whom I have loved," but prudence
whisper'd nay,

And folly grew ashamed-discretion had her
day.

"I saw thee young, love's soft obedient

slave,

And many a sigh to my young lover gave;
And I had, spite of cowardice or cow,
Return'd thy passion, and exchanged my vow;
But while I thought to bait the amorous hook,
One set for me my eager fancy took;
There was a crafty eye, that far could see,

She gave her hand; which, as I lightly And through my failings fascinated me:

press'd,

The cold but ardent grasp my soul oppress'd; The ruin'd girl disturb'd me, and my eyes Look'd, I conceive, both sorrow and surprise. 'I spoke my business-"He," she answer'd, 66 comes

Mine was a childish wish, to please my boy;
His a design, his wishes to enjoy.
O! we have both about the world been tost,
Thy gain I know not-I, they cry, am lost;
So let the wise ones talk; they talk in vain,
And are mistaken both in loss and gain;

And lodges here he has the backward 'Tis gain to get whatever life affords,

rooms

'Tis loss to spend our time in empty words.

"I was a girl, and thou a boy wert then, Nor ought of women knew, nor I of men; But I have traffick'd in the world, and thou, Doubtless, canst boast of thy experience now; Let us the knowledge we have gain'd produce, And kindly turn it to our common use." 'Thus spoke the siren in voluptuous style, While I stood gazing and perplex'd the while, Chain'd by that voice, confounded by that smile.

And then she sang, and changed from grave to gay,

Till all reproach and anger died away.

""My Damon was the first to wake The gentle flame that cannot die; My Damon is the last to take

The faithful bosom's softest sigh:
The life between is nothing worth,

O! cast it from thy thought away;
Think of the day that gave it birth,
And this its sweet returning day.
"Buried be all that has been done,
Or say that naught is done amiss ;
For who the dangerous path can shun
In such bewildering world as this?
But love can every fault forgive,

Or with a tender look reprove;
And now let naught in memory live,

But that we meet, and that we love."

Vain, tender and resentful-and my friend
Jealous of one who must on her depend,
Making life misery-You could witness then
That I was precious in the eyes of men ;
So, made by them a goddess, and denied
Respect and notice by the women's pride;
Here scorn'd, there worshipp'd-will it
strange appear,

Allured and driven, that I settled here?
Yet loved it not; and never have I pass'd
One day, and wish'd another like the last.
There was a fallen angel, I have read,
For whom their tears the sister-angels shed,
Because, although she ventured to rebel,
She was not minded like a child of hell.-
Such is my lot! and will it not be given
To grief like mine, that I may think of
heaven?

Behold how there the glorious creatures shine,
And all my soul to grief and hope resign?

'I wonder'd, doubting-and is this a fact,
I thought; or part thou art disposed to act?
"Is it not written, He, who came to save
Sinners, the sins of deepest dye forgave ?
That he his mercy to the sufferers dealt,
And pardon'd error when the ill was felt?
Yes! I would hope, there is an eye that reads
What is within, and sees the heart that
bleeds-

But who on earth will one so lost deplore,
And who will help that lost one to restore?

And then she moved my pity; for she Who will on trust the sigh of grief receive;

wept,

And told her miseries till resentment slept;
For when she saw she could not reason blind,
She pour'd her heart's whole sorrows on my
mind,

With features graven on my soul, with sighs
Seen but not heard, with soft imploring eyes,
And voice that needed not, but had the aid
Of powerful words to soften and persuade.

"O! I repent me of the past; and sure
Grief and repentance make the bosom pure;
Yet meet thee not with clean and single heart,
As on the day we met !-and but to part,
Ere I had drank the cup that to my lip
Was held, and press'd till I was forced to sip:
I drank indeed, but never ceased to hate,
It poison'd, but could not intoxicate:
T'excuse my fall I plead not love's excess,
But a weak orphan's need and loneliness.
I had no parent upon earth-no door
Was oped to me-young, innocent, and poor,

And all things warring with beliefbelieve?"

'Soften'd, I said-" Be mine the hand and heart,

If with your world you will consent to part.'
She would-she tried--Alas! she did not
know

How deeply rooted evil habits grow:
She felt the truth upon her spirits press,
But wanted ease, indulgence, show, excess,
Voluptuous banquets, pleasures-not refined,
But such as soothe to sleep th' opposing
mind-

She look'd for idle vice, the time to kill,
And subtle, strong apologies for ill;
And thus her yielding, unresisting soul
Sank, and let sin confuse her and control:
Pleasures that brought disgust yet brought

relief,

And minds she hated help'd to war with grief.'

'Thus then she perish'd?'

'Nay-but thus she proved Slave to the vices that she never loved : But while she thus her better thoughts opposed,

And woo'd the world, the world's deceptions
closed :-

I had long lost her; but I sought in vain
To banish pity:-still she gave me pain,
Still I desired to aid her-to, direct,
And wish'd the world, that won her, to reject:
Nor wish'd in vain-there came, at length,
request

That I would see a wretch with grief oppress'd,
By guilt affrighted-and I went to trace
Once more the vice-worn features of that face,
That sin-wreck'd being! and I saw her laid
Where never worldly joy a visit paid:
That world receding fast! the world to come
Conceal'd in terror, ignorance, and gloom;
Sins, sorrow, and neglect: with not a spark
Of vital hope,-all horrible and dark—
It frighten'd me !—I thought, and shall not I
Thus feel? thus fear?-this danger can I fly?
Do I so wisely live that I can calmly die?

"The wants I saw I could supply with ease, But there were wants of other kind than these ;

Th' awakening thought, the hope-inspiring view

The doctrines awful, grand, alarming, true-
Most painful to the soul, and yet most healing
too :

Still I could something offer, and could send
For other aid-a more important friend,
Whose duty call'd him, and his love no less,
To help the grieving spirit in distress;
To save in that sad hour the drooping prey,
And from its victim drive despair away.
All decent comfort round the sick was seen;
The female helpers quiet, sober, clean;
Her kind physician with a smile appear'd,
And zealous love the pious friend endear'd:
While I, with mix'd sensations, could inquire,
Hast thou one wish, one unfulfill'd desire?
Speak every thought, nor unindulged depart,
If I can make thee happier than thou art!
'Yes! there was yet a female friend, an old
And grieving nurse! to whom it should be
told-

If I would tell-that she, her child, had fail'd,
And turn'd from truth! yet truth at length
prevail'd.

"Twas in that chamber, Richard, I began
To think more deeply of the end of man :
Was it to jostle all his fellows by,
To run before them, and say, "here am I,
Fall down and worship?"-Was it, life
throughout,

With circumspection keen to hunt about
As spaniels for their game, where might be
found

Abundance more for coffers that abound?
Or was it life's enjoyments to prefer,
Like this poor girl, and then to die like her?
No! He, who gave the faculties, design'd
Another use for the immortal mind :
There is a state in which it will appear
With all the good and ill contracted here;
With gain and loss, improvement and defect;
And then, my soul! what hast thou to expect
For talents laid aside, life's waste, and time's
neglect ?

'Still as I went came other change-the
frame

And features wasted, and yet slowly came
The end; and so inaudible the breath,
And still the breathing, we exclaimed-'tis
death!

But death it was not: when, indeed, she died,
I sat and his last gentle stroke espied :
When-as it came-or did my fancy trace
That lively, lovely flushing o'er the face?
Bringing back all that my young heart im-
press'd!

It came and went !-She sigh'd, and was at
rest!

BOOK VIII. THE SISTERS

'How well it is,' said George, when we Something was said of nerves, and that disease, Whose varying powers on mind and body seize,