If passions slumber in the breast, If follies from the heart be fled; Of laurels let us go in quest,

And place them on the poet's head.

Yes, we'll redeem the wasted time,

And to neglected studies flee;
We'll build again the lofty rhyme,

Or live, Philosophy, with thee;
For reasoning clear, for flight sublime,
Eternal fame reward shall be ;

And to what glorious heights we'll climb,
Th' admiring crowd shall envying see.

Begin the song! begin the theme!Alas! and is Invention dead? Dream we no more the golden dream? Is Mem'ry with her treasures fled ? Yes, 'tis too late,- -now Reason guides The mind, sole judge in all debate;

And thus th' important point decides,
For laurels, 'tis, alas! too late.

What is possess'd we may retain,
But for new conquests strive in vain.

Beware then, Age, that what was won,

In life's past labours, studies, views, Be lost not, now the labour's done, When all thy part is,-not to lose : When thou canst toil or gain no more, Destroy not what was gain'd before.

For, all that 's gain'd of all that 's good, When time shall his weak frame destroy, (Their use then rightly understood,)

Shall man, in happier state, enjoy. Oh! argument for truth divine,

For study's cares, for virtue's strife; To know th' enjoyment will be thine, In that renew'd, that endless life!

VISITOR

I'LL know no more ;-the heart is torn
By views of wo, we cannot heal;
Long shall I see these things forlorn,
And oft again their griefs shall feel,
As each upon the mind shall steal;
That wan projector's mystic style,

That lumpish idiot leering by,
That peevish idler's ceaseless wile,
And that poor maiden's half-form'd smile,
While struggling for the full-drawn sigh!
I'll know no more.

PHYSICIAN

-Yes, turn again;

Then speed to happier scenes thy way, When thou hast view'd, what yet remain,

The ruins of Sir Eustace Grey,

The sport of madness, misery's prey:

But he will no historian need,

His cares, his crimes, will he display, And show (as one from frenzy freed) The proud-lost mind, the rash-done deed. That cell to him is Greyling Hall :

Approach; he'll bid thee welcome there; Will sometimes for his servant call,

And sometimes point the vacant chair:

See! I am calm as infant-love, A very child, but one of wo,

Whom you should pity, not reprove :— But men at ease, who never strove

With passions wild, will calmly show How soon we may their ills remove,

And masters of their madness grow.

Some twenty years I think are gone,(Time flies, I know not how, away,) The sun upon no happier shone,

Nor prouder man, than Eustace Grey.
Ask where you would, and all would say,
The man admired and praised of all,
By rich and poor, by grave and gay,
Was the young lord of Greyling Hall.

Yes! I had youth and rosy health;
Was nobly form'd, as man might be;
For sickness then, of all my wealth,
I never gave a single fee:
The ladies fair, the maidens free,
Were all accustom'd then to say,
Who would a handsome figure see
Should look upon Sir Eustace Grey.

He had a frank and pleasant look,
A cheerful eye and accent bland;
His very speech and manner spoke
The generous heart, the open hand;
About him all was gay or grand,

He had the praise of great and small; He bought, improved, projected, plann❜d, And reign'd a prince at Greyling Hall.

Come near, I'll softly speak the rest!-
Alas! 'tis known to all the crowd,
Her guilty love was all confess'd;

And his, who so much truth avow'd,
My faithless friend's.—In pleasure proud
I sat, when these cursed tidings came;
Their guilt, their flight was told aloud,
And Envy smiled to hear my shame!
I call'd on Vengeance; at the word

She came :-Can I the deed forget?
I held the sword, th' accursed sword,

The blood of his false heart made wet; And that fair victim paid her debt,

She pined, she died, she loath'd to live ;I saw her dying-see her yet:

Fair fallen thing! my rage forgive! Those cherubs still, my life to bless,

Were left; could I my fears remove, Sad fears that check'd each fond caress, And poison'd all parental love? Yet that with jealous feelings strove, And would at last have won my will, Had I not, wretch! been doom'd to prove Th' extremes of mortal good and ill. In youth health! joy! in beauty's pride! They droop'd: as flowers when blighted bow, The dire infection came :-They died,

And I was cursed-as I am nowNay, frown not, angry friend,--allow That I was deeply, sorely tried; Hear then, and you must wonder how

I could such storms and strifes abide.
Storms!-not that clouds embattled make,
When they afflict this earthly globe;
But such as with their terrors shake

Man's breast, and to the bottom probe;
They make the hypocrite disrobe,
They try us all, if false or true;
For this, one devil had pow'r on Job;
And I was long the slave of two.

PHYSICIAN

Peace, peace, my friend; these subjects fly; Collect thy thoughts-go calmly on.—

PATIENT

And shall I then the fact deny ?

I was,-thou know'st,-I was begone, Like him who fill'd the eastern throne, To whom the Watcher cried aloud 1; That royal wretch of Babylon, Who was so guilty and so proud.

Like him, with haughty, stubborn mind,
I, in my state, my comforts sought;
Delight and praise I hoped to find,

In what I builded, planted, bought!
Oh! arrogance! by misery taught-
Soon came a voice! I felt it come;
'Full be his cup, with evil fraught,
Demons his guides, and death his doom!'

Then was I cast from out my state;
Two fiends of darkness led my way;
They waked me early, watch'd me late,
My dread by night, my plague by day!
Oh! I was made their sport, their play,

Through many a stormy troubled year; And how they used their passive prey

Is sad to tell :-but you shall hear.

And first, before they sent me forth,

Through this unpitying world to run, They robb'd Sir Eustace of his worth, Lands, manors, lordships, every one; So was that gracious man undone,

Was spurn'd as vile, was scorn'd as poor,
Whom every former friend would shun,
And menials drove from every door.

Then those ill-favour'd Ones2, whom none
But my unhappy eyes could view,
Led me, with wild emotion, on,

And, with resistless terror, drew.
Through lands we fled, o'er seas we flew,
And halted on a boundless plain;
Where nothing fed, nor breathed, nor grew,
But silence ruled the still domain.

Upon that boundless plain, below,

The setting sun's last rays were shed, And gave a mild and sober glow,

Where all were still, asleep, or dead; Vast ruins in the midst were spread, Pillars and pediments sublime, Where the grey moss had form'd a bed, And clothed the crumbling spoils of. time.

There was I fix'd, I know not how,

Condemn'd for untold years to stay: Yet years were not ;-one dreadful now Endured no change of night or day; The same mild evening's sleeping ray Shone softly-solemn and serene, And all that time I gazed away,

The setting sun's sad rays were seen.

At length a moment's sleep stole on,--
Again came my commission'd foes;
Again through sea and land we're gone,
No peace, no respite, no repose:
Above the dark broad sea we rose,

We ran through bleak and frozen land; I had no strength their strength t' oppose, An infant in a giant's hand.

They placed me where those streamers play,
Those nimble beams of brilliant light;
It would the stoutest heart dismay,

To see, to feel, that dreadful sight:
So swift, so pure, so cold, so bright,
They pierced my frame with icy wound,
And all that half-year's polar night,
Those dancing streamers wrapp'd me round.

Slowly that darkness pass'd away,

When down upon the earth I fell,Some hurried sleep was mine by day; But, soon as toll'd the evening bell, They forced me on, where ever dwell

Far-distant men in cities fair, Cities of whom no trav'lers tell,

Nor feet but mine were wanderers there.

Yes, I have felt all man can feel,

;

Till he shall pay his nature's debt
Ills that no hope has strength to heal,
No mind the comfort to forget:
Whatever cares the heart can fret,
The spirits wear, the temper gall,
Wo, want, dread, anguish, all beset
My sinful soul !-together all !

Those fiends upon a shaking fen

Fix'd me, in dark tempestuous night; There never trod the foot of men,

There flock'd the fowl in wint'ry flight; There danced the moor's deceitful light Above the pool where sedges grow; And when the morning-sun shone bright, It shone upon a field of snow.

I've furl'd in storms the flapping sail,

By hanging from the topmast-head; I've served the vilest slaves in jail,

And pick'd the dunghill's spoil for bread; I've made the badger's hole my bed,

I've wander'd with a gipsy crew;

I've dreaded all the guilty dread,
And done what they would fear to do.

On sand, where ebbs and flows the flood,
Midway they placed and bade me die;
Propp'd on my staff, I stoutly stood

When the swift waves came rolling by;
And high they rose, and still more high,
Till my lips drank the bitter brine;
I sobb'd convulsed, then cast mine eye,
And saw the tide's re-flowing sign.

And then, my dreams were such as nought
Could yield but my unhappy case;
I've been of thousand devils caught,
And thrust into that horrid place,
Where reign dismay, despair, disgrace;
Furies with iron fangs were there,
To torture that accursed race,
Doom'd to dismay, disgrace, despair.

Harmless I was; yet hunted down

For treasons, to my soul unfit; I've been pursued through many a town, For crimes that petty knaves commit; I've been adjudged t' have lost my wit, Because I preach'd so loud and well; And thrown into the dungeon's pit, For trampling on the pit of hell.

Such were the evils, man of sin,
That I was fated to sustain ;
And add to all, without-within,

A soul defiled with every stain
That man's reflecting mind can pain;

That pride, wrong, rage, despair, can make ; In fact, they'd nearly touch'd my brain, And reason on her throne would shake.

But pity will the vilest seek,

If punish'd guilt will not repine,— I heard a heavenly teacher speak,

And felt the SUN OF MERCY shine: I hail'd the light! the birth divine! And then was seal'd among the few; Those angry fiends beheld the sign,

And from me in an instant flew.

Come hear how thus the charmers cry

To wandering sheep, the strays of sin, While some the wicket-gate pass by,

And some will knock and enter in : Full joyful 'tis a soul to win,

For he that winneth souls is wise; Now hark! the holy strains begin,

And thus the sainted preacher cries :-3

'Pilgrim, burthen'd with thy sin,
Come the way to Zion's gate,
There, till Mercy let thee in,
Knock and weep and watch and wait.
Knock!-He knows the sinner's cry:
Weep!-He loves the mourner's tears:
Watch!--for saving grace is nigh:
Wait,-till heavenly light appears.

'Hark! it is the Bridegroom's voice;
Welcome, pilgrim, to thy rest;
Now within the gate rejoice,

Safe and seal'd and bought and bless'd!
Safe-from all the lures of vice,
Seal'd-by signs the chosen know,
Bought by love and life the price,
Bless'd-the mighty debt to owe.

'Holy Pilgrim! what for thee
In a world like this remain ?
From thy guarded breast shall flee
Fear and shame, and doubt and pain.
Fear-the hope of Heaven shall fly,
Shame from glory's view retire,
Doubt-in certain rapture die,
Pain-in endless bliss expire.'

But though my day of grace was come,
Yet still my days of grief I find;
The former clouds' collected gloom
Still sadden the reflecting mind;
The soul, to evil things consign'd,
Will of their evil some retain ;
The man will seem to earth inclined,
And will not look erect again.

Thus, though elect, I feel it hard

-

To lose what I possess'd before,
To be from all my wealth debarr'd,-
The brave Sir Eustace is no more:
But old I wax and passing poor,

Stern, rugged men my conduct view; They chide my wish, they bar my door, 'Tis hard-I weep-you see I do.-

Must you, my friends, no longer stay?
Thus quickly all my pleasures end;
But I'll remember, when I pray,

My kind physician and his friend;
And those sad hours, you deign to spend
With me, I shall requite them all;
Sir Eustace for his friends shall send,

And thank their love at Greyling Hall.

VISITOR

The poor Sir Eustace!-Yet his hope
Leads him to think of joys again;
And when his earthly visions droop,

His views of heavenly kind remain :-
But whence that meek and humbled strain,
That spirit wounded, lost, resign'd?
Would not so proud a soul disdain
The madness of the poorest mind?