He might have left you something with his prayers,

And lent some colour for these lofty airs.

In tears! my love! Oh, then my soften'd heart

Cannot resist we never more will part; I need your friendship-I will be your friend, And thus determined, to my will attend.' Jesse went forth, but with determined soul To fly such love, to break from such control; 'I hear enough,' the trembling damsel cried; 'Flight be my care, and Providence my guide: Ere yet a prisoner, I escape will make; Will, thus display'd, th' insidious arts forsake, And, as the rattle sounds, will fly the fatal snake.'

Spurn'd by its scoundrel father, and ill fed By surly rustics with the parish-bread !— Relent you not ?-speak-yet I can forgive; Still live with me '-' With you,' said Jesse, ' live?

No! I would first endure what you describe, Rather than breathe with your detested tribe; Who long have feign'd, till now their very hearts

Are firmly fix'd in their accursed parts; Who all profess esteem, and feel disdain, And all, with justice, of deceit complain; Whom I could pity, but that, while I stay, My terror drives all kinder thoughts away; Grateful for this, that when I think of you, I little fear what poverty can do.'

The angry matron her attendant Jane Summon'd in haste to soothe the fierce disdain:

'A vile detested wretch!' the lady cried, 'Yet shall she be, by many an effort, tried, And, clogg'd with debt and fear, against her will abide;

And once secured, she never shall depart Till I have proved the firmness of her heart; Then when she dares not, would not, cannot go,

I'll make her feel what 'tis to use me so.'

The pensive Colin in his garden stray'd, But felt not then the beauties it display'd; There many a pleasant object met his view, A rising wood of oaks behind it grew; A stream ran by it, and the village-green And public road were from the gardens seen; Save where the pine and larch the bound'ry made,

And on the rose-beds threw a softening shade. The mother sat beside the garden-door, Dress'd as in times ere she and hers were poor; The broad-laced cap was known in ancient days,

When madam's dress compell'd the village praise;

And still she look'd as in the times of old, Ere his last farm the erring husband sold ; While yet the mansion stood in decent state, And paupers waited at the well-known gate.

'Alas! my son!' the mother cried, ‘and why
That silent grief and oft-repeated sigh?
True we are poor, but thou hast never felt
Pangs to thy father for his error dealt;
Pangs from strong hopes of visionary gain,
For ever raised, and ever found in vain.
He rose unhappy! from his fruitless schemes
As guilty wretches from their blissful dreams;
But thou wert then, my son, a playful child,
Wondering at grief, gay, innocent, and wild;
Listening at times to thy poor mother's sighs,
With curious looks and innocent surprise;
Thy father dying, thou, my virtuous boy,
My comfort always, waked my soul to joy:
With the poor remnant of our fortune left,
Thou hast our station of its gloom bereft :
Thy lively temper, and thy cheerful air,
Have cast a smile on sadness and despair;
Thy active hand has dealt to this poor space
The bliss of plenty and the charm of grace;
And all around us wonder when they find
Such taste and strength, such skill and power
combined;

There is no mother, Colin, no not one,
But envies me so kind, so good a son;
By thee supported on this failing side,
Weakness itself awakes a parent's pride :
I bless the stroke that was my grief before,
And feel such joy that 'tis disease no more;

wealth

And soothed by Colin, sickness smiles at health;

The old men love thee, they repeat thy praise, And say, like thee were youth in earlier days; While every village-maiden cries," How gay, How smart, how brave, how good is Colin Grey!"

'Yet art thou sad; alas! my son, I know Thy heart is wounded, and the cure is slow; Fain would I think that Jesse still may come To share the comforts of our rustic home: She surely loved thee; I have seen the maid, When thou hast kindly brought the vicar aid

When thou hast eased his bosom of its pain,
Oh! I have seen her-she will come again.'
The matron ceased; and Colin stood the
while

Silent, but striving for a grateful smile;
He then replied-'Ah! sure, had Jesse stay'd,
And shared the comforts of our sylvan shade,
The tenderest duty and the fondest love
Would not have fail'd that generous heart to
move;

A grateful pity would have ruled her breast, And my distresses would have made me blest. 'But she is gone, and ever has in view Grandeur and taste-and what will then ensue?

Surprise and then delight in scenes so fair and

new;

For many a day, perhaps for many a week, Home will have charms, and to her bosom speak;

But thoughtless ease, and affluence, and pride, Seen day by day, will draw her heart aside: And she at length, though gentle and sincere, Will think no more of our enjoyments here.' Sighing he spake-but hark! he hears th' approach

Of rattling wheels! and lo! the eveningcoach;

Faint were his hopes, but ever had the sight
Drawn him to gaze beside his gate at night;
And when with rapid wheels it hurried by,
He grieved his parent with a hopeless sigh;
And could the blessing have been bought-
what sum

Had he not offer'd, to have Jesse come!
She came-he saw her bending from the door,
Her face, her smile, and he beheld no more;
Lost in his joy-the mother lent her aid
T' assist and to detain the willing maid;
Who thought her late, her present home to
make,

Sure of a welcome for the vicar's sake:
But the good parent was so pleased, so kind,
So pressing Colin, she so much inclined,
That night advanced; and then so long
detain'd,

No wishes to depart she felt, or feign'd; Yet long in doubt she stood, and then perforce remain'd.

Here was a lover fond, a friend sincere ; Here was content and joy, for she was here: In the mild evening, in the scene around, The maid, now free, peculiar beauties found; Blended with village-tones, the evening-gale Gave the sweet night-bird's warblings to the

Yet felt aspiring pleasure at the sight, And for increase, ncreasing appetite: Desire of profit, idle habits check'd, (For Fulham's virtue was to be correct); He and his Conscience had their compact made

'Urge me with truth, and you will soon

persuade;

But not,' he cried, for mere ideal things
Give me to feel those terror-breeding stings.'
Let not such thoughts,' she said, 'your
mind confound;

Trifles may wake me, but they never wound;
In them indeed there is a wrong and right,
But you will find me pliant and polite;
Not like a Conscience of the dotard kind,
Awake to dreams, to dire offences blind :
Let all within be pure, in all beside
Be your own master, governor, and guide;
Alive to danger, in temptation strong,
And I shall sleep our whole existence long.'
Sweet be thy sleep,' said Fulham; 'strong
must be

The tempting ill that gains access to me:
Never will I to evil deed consent,
Or, if surprised, oh! how will I repent!
Should gain be doubtful, soon would I re-
store

The dangerous good, or give it to the poor; Repose for them my growing wealth shall buy

Or build-who knows?-an hospital like Guy?—

Yet why such means to soothe the smart within,

While firmly purposed to renounce the sin ? ' Thus our young Trader and his Conscience dwelt

In mutual love, and great the joy they felt;
But yet in small concerns, in trivial things,
'She was,' he said,' too ready with the stings;'
And he too apt, in search of growing gains,
To lose the fear of penalties and pains:
Yet these were trifling bickerings, petty jars,
Domestic strifes, preliminary wars;
He ventured little, little she express'd
Of indignation, and they both had rest.

Thus was he fix'd to walk the worthy way,
When profit urged him to a bold essay :-
A time was that when all at pleasure gamed
In lottery-chances, yet of law unblamed;
This Fulham tried, who would to him advance
A pound or crown, he gave in turn a chance

please,

And travellers call who cross the land or seas,
And find the curious art, the neat device
Of precious value and of trifling price.

Here Conscience rested, she was pleased to find

No less an active than an honest mind; But when he named his price, and when he swore,

His Conscience check'd him, that he ask'd no more,

When half he sought had been a large increase
On fair demand, she could not rest in peace:
(Beside th' affront to call th' adviser in,
Who would prevent, to justify the sin ?)
She therefore told him, that he vainly tried
To soothe her anger, conscious that he lied;
If thus he grasp'd at such usurious gains,
He must deserve, and should expect her pains.'
The charge was strong; he would in part
confess

Offence there was-But, who offended less?
'What is a mere assertion call'd a lie ?
And if it be, are men compell'd to buy?
'Twas strange that Conscience on such points
should dwell,

While he was acting (he would call it) well; He bought as others buy, he sold as others sell: There was no fraud, and he demanded cause Why he was troubled, when he kept the laws?'

'My laws?' said Conscience:

'What,'

Oral or written, human or divine?
Show me the chapter, let me see the text;
By laws uncertain subjects are perplex'd :
Let me my finger on the statute lay,
And I shall feel it duty to obey.'

6

'Reflect,' said Conscience, ' 'twas your own desire

That I should warn you-does the compact tire ?

Repent you this? then bid me not advise,
And rather hear your passions as they rise;
So you may counsel and remonstrance shun,
But then remember it is war begun ;
And you may judge from some attacks, my
friend,

What serious conflicts will on war attend.'

'Nay, but,' at length the thoughtful man replied,

'I say not that; I wish you for my guide;

then

Be like a Conscience of my fellow-men; Worthy I mean, and men of good report, And not the wretches who with Conscience sport:

There's Bice, my friend, who passes off his grease

Of pigs for bears', in pots a crown apiece; His Conscience never checks him when he swears

The fat he sells is honest fat of bears;
And so it is, for he contrives to give
A drachm to each-'tis thus that tradesmen
live:

Now why should you and I be over-nice;
What man is held in more repute than Bice ?

Here ended the dispute; but yet 'twas plain The parties both expected strife again : Their friendship cool'd, he look'd about and

Report had told, and he could feel it true, That most unfairly dealt the trusted few; No partners would they in their office take, Nor clear accounts at annual meetings make; Aloud our hero in the vestry spoke

Of hidden deeds, and vow'd to draw the cloak; It was the poor man's cause, and he for one Was quite determined to see justice done: His foes affected laughter, then disdain, They too were loud and threat'ning, but in vain ;

The pauper's friend, their foe, arose and spoke again :

Fiercely he cried, 'Your garbled statements show

That you determine we shall nothing know;