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Till, while awake, he dream'd, that on the seas Were his loved home, the hill, the stream, the trees : He gazed, he pointed to the scenes:-"There stand "My wife, my children, 'tis my lovely land; "See! there my dwelling-oh! delicious scene "Of my best life - unhand me— are ye men?" And thus the frenzy ruled him, till the wind Brush'd the fond pictures from the stagnant mind.

He told of bloody fights, and how at length The rage of battle gave his spirits strength: 'Twas in the Indian seas his limb he lost, And he was left half-dead upon the coast; But living gain'd, 'mid rich aspiring men, A fair subsistence by his ready pen. "Thus," he continued, "pass'd unvaried years, "Without events producing hopes or fears." Augmented pay procured him decent wealth, But years advancing undermined his health; Then oft-times in delightful dream he flew To England's shore, and scenes his childhood knew : He saw his parents, saw his fav'rite maid, No feature wrinkled, not a charm decay'd; And thus excited, in his bosom rose A wish so strong, it baffled his repose; Anxious he felt on English earth to lie; To view his native soil, and there to die. He then described the gloom, the dread he found, When first he landed on the chosen ground, Where undefined was all he hoped and fear'd, And how confused and troubled all appear'd; His thoughts in past and present scenes employ'd, All views in future blighted and destroy'd;

His were a medley of bewild'ring themes,
Sad as realities, and wild as dreams.

Here his relation closes, but his mind Flies back again some resting-place to find; Thus silent, musing through the day, he sees His children sporting by those lofty trees, Their mother singing in the shady scene, Where the fresh springs burst o'er the lively green;— So strong his eager fancy, he affrights The faithful widow by its powerful flights;

For what disturbs him he aloud will tell,
And cry-
"'Tis she, my wife! my Isabel !
"Where are my children?"-Judith grieves to hear
How the soul works in sorrows so severe ;
Assiduous all his wishes to attend,

Deprived of much, he yet may boast a friend;
Watch'd by her care, in sleep, his spirit takes
Its flight, and watchful finds her when he wakes.

'Tis now her office; her attention see! While her friend sleeps beneath that shading tree, Careful, she guards him from the glowing heat, And pensive muses at her Allen's feet.

And where is he? Ah! doubtless in those scenes Of his best days, amid the vivid greens, Fresh with unnumber'd rills, where ev'ry gale Breathes the rich fragrance of the neighb'ring vale; Smiles not his wife, and listens as there comes The night-bird's music from the thick'ning glooms?

And as he sits with all these treasures nigh,
Blaze not with fairy-light the phosphor-fly,
When like a sparkling gem it wheels illumined by?
This is the joy that now so plainly speaks

In the warm transient flushing of his cheeks;
For he is list'ning to the fancied noise
Of his own children, eager in their joys:
All this he feels, a dream's delusive bliss
Gives the expression, and the glow like this.
And now his Judith lays her knitting by,
These strong emotions in her friend to spy;
For she can fully of their nature deem-
But see! he breaks the long-protracted theme,
And wakes, and cries "My God! 'twas but a

dream."(')

(1) [This tale contains passages of great beauty and pathos. The story is simply that of a youth and a maiden in humble life, who had loved each other from their childhood, but were too poor to marry. The youth goes to the West Indies to push his fortune; but is captured by the Spaniards and carried to Mexico, where, in the course of time, though still sighing for his first love, he marries a Spanish girl, and lives twenty years with her and his children. He is then impressed, and carried round the world for twenty years longer, and is at last moved by an irresistible impulse, when old, and shattered, and lonely, to seek his native town, and the scene of his youthful vows. He comes and finds his Judith, like himself, in a state of widowhood; but still brooding, like himself, over the memory of their early love. She had waited ten anxious years without tidings of him, and then married: and now, when all passion and fuel for passion is extinguished within them, the memory of their young attachment endears them to each other, and they still cling together, in sad and subdued affection, to the exclusion of all the rest of the world. The history of the growth and maturity of their earliest love is beautifully given. The sad and long-delayed return of the adventurer is described in a tone of genuine pathos, and in some places with such truth and force of colouring, as to outdo the efforts of the first dramatic representation. There is something sweet and touching, and in a high vein of poetry, in the story which Allen tells to Judith of all his adventures, and of those other ties, of which it still wrings her bosom to hear him speak. The close is extremely beautiful, and leaves upon the mind that impression of sadness which is both salutary and delightful, because it is akin to pity, and mingled with admiration and esteem.. -JEFFREY.]

Be

1 h Te

TALE III.

THE GENTLEMAN FARMER.

Pause then,

And weigh thy value with an even hand;

If thou beest rated by thy estimation,

Thou dost deserve enough. — Merchant of Venice.

Because I will not do them wrong to mistrust any, I will do myself the right to trust none; and the fine is (for which I may go the finer), I will live a bachelor.- Much Ado about Nothing.

Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of it. - Macbeth.

VOL. IV.

His promises are, as he then was, mighty;

And his performance, as he now is, nothing. - Henry VIII.

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