Some thoughts of pity raised by his distress,
Some feeling touch of ancient tenderness;
Religion, duty urged the maid to speak,
In terms of kindness to a man so weak:
But pride forbad, and to return would prove
She felt the shame of his neglected love;
Nor wrapp'd in silence could she pass, afraid
Each eye should see her, and each heart upbraid;
One way remain'd-the way the Levite took,
Who without mercy could on misery look;
(A way perceived by craft, approved by pride),
She cross'd and pass'd him on the other side. (1)

(1) [This tale has something of the character of the Parting Hour;' but more painful and less refined. It is founded like it on the story of a betrothed youth and maiden, whose marriage is prevented by their poverty; and the youth goes to pursue his fortune at sea, while the damsel awaits his return with an old female relation at home. He is crossed with many disasters, and is not heard of for many years. In the mean time, the virgin gradually imbibes her aunt's paltry love for wealth and finery; and when she comes, after long sordid expectation, to inherit her hoard, feels that those new tastes have supplanted every warmer emotion in her bosom; and, secretly hoping never more to see her youthful lover, gives herself up to comfortable gossiping and formal ostentatious devotion. At last, when she is set in her fine parlour, with her china, and toys, and prayer-books around her, the impatient man bursts into her presence, and reclaims her vows. She answers coldly, that she has now done with the world, and only studies how to prepare to die; and exhorts him to betake himself to the same needful meditations. Nothing can be more forcible or true to nature, than the description of the effect of this cold-blooded cant on the warm and unsuspecting nature of her disappointed suitor.-JEFFREY.]



It were all one,

That I should love a bright peculiar star,
And think to wed it; she is so much above me :
In her bright radiance and collateral heat
Must I be comforted, not in her sphere.

All's Well that Ends Well.

Poor wretches, that depend On greatness' favours, dream as I have done, Wake and find nothing.


And since

Th' affliction of my mind amends, with which

I fear a madness held me.




A BOROUGH-BAILIFF, who to law was train'd,
A wife and sons in decent state maintain'd;
He had his way in life's rough ocean steer'd,
And many a rock and coast of danger clear'd;
He saw where others fail'd, and care had he,
Others in him should not such failings see:
His sons in various busy states were placed,
And all began the sweets of gain to taste,

(1) [The numberless allusions to the nature of a literary dependant's existence in a great lord's house, which occur in Mr. Crabbe's writings, and especially in the tale of The Patron,' are quite enough to lead any one who knew his character and feelings to the conclusion that, notwithstanding the kindness and condescension of the Duke and Duchess of Rutland,-which were uniform, and of which he always spoke with gratitude, the situation he filled at Belvoir was attended with many painful circumstances, and productive in his mind of some of the acutest sensations of wounded pride that have ever been traced by any pen. Life, antè, Vol. I. p. 113.

"Did any of my sons show poetical talent, of which, to my great satisfaction, there are no appearances, the first thing I should do, would be to inculcate upon him the duty of cultivating some honourable profession, and qualifying himself to play a more respectable part in society than the mere poet. And as the best corollary of my doctrine, I would make him get your tale of The Patron' by heart from beginning to end."-Sir Walter Scott to Mr. Crabbe. See antè, Vol. I. p. 203.]

Save John, the younger, who, of sprightly parts,
Felt not a love for money-making arts:
In childhood feeble, he, for country air,
Had long resided with a rustic pair;

All round whose room were doleful ballads, songs,
Of lovers' sufferings and of ladies' wrongs;
Of peevish ghosts who came at dark midnight,
For breach of promise, guilty men to fright;
Love, marriage, murder, were the themes, with these,
All that on idle, ardent spirits seize ;
Robbers at land and pirates on the main,
Enchanters foil'd, spells broken, giants slain;
Legends of love, with tales of halls and bowers,
Choice of rare songs, and garlands of choice flowers,
And all the hungry mind without a choice devours.

From village-children kept apart by pride, With such enjoyments, and without a guide, Inspired by feelings all such works infused, John snatch'd a pen, and wrote as he perused: With the like fancy he could make his knight Slay half a host, and put the rest to flight; With the like knowledge he could make him ride From isle to isle at Parthenissa's (1) side;

And with a heart yet free, no busy brain
Form'd wilder notions of delight and pain,
The raptures smiles create, the anguish of disdain.

(1) [The title of a romance written by Roger Boyle, Earl of Orrery, and published in 1665. "Budgell, in his History of the Boyles, says that 'few who can relish any romance will dislike this:' and Langbane tells us, that *it yields not, either in beauty, language, or design, to the works of the famous Scuderi or Calprenade, however famous they may be amongst the French, for pieces of this nature.""- Biog. Brit.]

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