You know my station, what on me depends, For ever needed-but we part as friends; And here comes one who will the whole explain,

My better self-and we shall meet again." "Sir, I entreat".

"Then be entreaty made To her, a woman, one you may persuade; A little teasing, but she will comply, And loves her niece too fondly to deny."

"O! he is mad, and miserable I!" Exclaim'd the youth; "But let me now

collect

My scatter'd thoughts, I something must effect."

'Hurrying she came-" Now, what has he confess'd,

Ere I could come to set your heart at rest? What! he has grieved you! Yet he, too, approves

The thing but man will tease you, if he loves.

"But now for business: tell me, did you think

That we should always at your meetings wink? Think you, you walk'd unseen? There are who bring

To me all secrets-O, you wicked thing!

"Poor Fanny! now I think I see her blush, All red and rosy, when I beat the bush; And hide your secret, said I, if you dare! So out it came, like an affrighten'd hare. ""Miss! said I gravely; and the trembling maid

Pleased me at heart to see her so afraid;
And then she wept ;-now, do remember this,
Never to chide her when she does amiss;
For she is tender as the callow bird,
And cannot bear to have her temper stirr'd;-
Fanny, I said, then whisper'd her the name,
And caused such looks-Yes, yours are just

I know, at least I fear, the best may err, But keep the by-walks of your life from her : That youth should stray is nothing to be told, When they have sanction in thegrave and old, Who have no call to wander and transgress, But very love of change and wantonness.

"I prattle idly, while your letters wait, And then my lord has much that he would state,

All good to you-do clear that clouded face, And with good looks your lucky lot embrace. Now, mind that none with her divide your

6.66

heart, For she would die ere lose the smallest part; And I rejoice that all has gone so well, For who th' effect of Johnson's rage can tell? He had his fears when you began to meet, But I assured him there was no deceit :

His prudence half resisted, half obey'd, And scorn kept still the guardians of the maid:

Cecilia never on the subject spoke,

She seem'd as one who from a dream awoke;
So all was peace, and soon the married pair
Fix'd with fair fortune in a mansion fair.
'Five years had past, and what was Henry
then?

The most repining of repenting men;
With a fond, teasing, anxious wife, afraid
Of all attention to another paid;
Yet powerless she her husband to amuse,
Lives but t' entreat, implore, resent, accuse;
Jealous and tender, conscious of defects,
She merits little, and yet much expects;
She looks for love that now she cannot see,
And sighs for joy that never more can be;
On his retirements her complaints intrude,
And fond reproof endears his solitude:
While he her weakness (once her kindness)
sees,

And his affections in her languor freeze;
Regret, uncheck'd by hope, devours his mind,
He feels unhappy, and he grows unkind.

"Fool! to be taken by a rosy cheek, And eyes that cease to sparkle or to speak; Fool! for this child my freedom to resign, When one the glory of her sex was mine; While from this burthen to my soul I hide, To think what Fate has dealt, and what denied. "What fiend possess'd me when I tamely gave

My forced assent to be an idiot's slave?
Her beauty vanish'd, what for me remains?
Th' eternal clicking of the galling chains:
Her person truly I may think my own,
Seen without pleasure, without triumph
shown:

Doleful she sits, her children at her knees, And gives up all her feeble powers to please; Whom I, unmoved, or moved with scorn, behold,

Melting as ice, as vapid and as cold."

'Such was his fate, and he must yet endure The self-contempt that no self-love can cure: Some business call'd him to a wealthy town When unprepared for more than Fortune's frown;

There at a house he gave his luckless name,
The master absent, and Cecilia came;
Unhappy man! he could not, dared not
speak,

But look'd around, as if retreat to seek:
This she allow'd not; but, with brow severe,
Ask'd him his business, sternly bent to hear;
He had no courage, but he view'd that face
As if he sought for sympathy and grace;
As if some kind returning thought to trace:
In vain; not long he waited, but with air,
That of all grace compell'd him to despair,
She rang the bell, and, when a servant came,
Left the repentant traitor to his shame;
But, going, spoke, "Attend this person out,
And if he speaks, hear what he comes about!"
Then, with cool curtesy, from the room with-
drew,

That seem'd to say, "Unhappy man, adieu !"

'Thus will it be when man permits a vice First to invade his heart, and then entice; When wishes vain and undefined arise, And that weak heart deceive, seduce, surprise ;

When evil Fortune works on Folly's side, And rash Resentment adds a spur to Pride; Then life's long troubles from those actions

come,

In which a moment may decide our doom.'

RICHARD one month had with his brother been,

con

seen;

cried;

He smiled, but nothing of the fact denied,

Nor, save by his fair life, to charge so strong replied.

Still, though he bade them not on aught rely That was their own, but all their worth deny, They call'd his pure advice his cold morality; And though he felt that earnestness and zeal, That made some portion of his hearers feel, Nay, though he loved the minds of men to lead To the great points that form the Christian's creed,

Still he offended, for he would discuss

Points that to him seem'd requisite for us;
And urge his flock to virtue, though he knew
The very heathen taught the virtues too:
Nor was this moral minister afraid
To ask of inspiration's self the aid

Of truths by him so sturdily maintain'd, That some confusion in the parish reign'd; Heathens,' they said, ' can tell us right from wrong,

But to a Christian higher points belong.' Yet Jacques proceeded, void of fear and shame,

In his old method, and obtain'd the name
Of Moral Preacher-yet they all agreed,
Whatever error had defiled his creed,
His life was pure, and him they could com-
mend,

Not as their guide, indeed, but as their friend:
Truth, justice, pity, and a love of peace,
Were his-but there must approbation cease;
He either did not, or he would not see,
That if he meant a favourite priest to be
He must not show, but learn of them, the way
To truth-he must not dictate, but obey:
They wish'd him not to bring them further
light,

But to convince them that they now were right,

And to assert that justice will condemn
All who presumed to disagree with them:
In this he fail'd; and his the greater blame,
For he persisted, void of fear or shame.

Him Richard heard, and by his friendly aid
Were pleasant views observed and visits paid;
He to peculiar people found his way,
And had his question answer'd,' Who are they?'
Twice in the week came letters, and delight
Beam'd in the eye of Richard at the sight;
Letters of love, all full and running o'er,
The paper fill'd till it could hold no more;
Cross'd with discolour'd ink, the doublings full,
No fear that love should find abundance dull;

Love reads unsated all that love inspires, When most indulged, indulgence still requires; Look what the corners, what the crossings tell, And lifts each folding for a fond farewell. George saw and smiled-'To lovers we

allow

All this o'erflowing, but a husband thou! A father too; can time create no change? Married, and still so foolish ?—very strange! What of this wife or mistress is the art? '— 'The simple truth, my brother, to impart, Her heart, whene'er she writes, feels writing to a heart.'

'Fortune, dear Richard, is thy friend-a wife

Like thine must soften every care of life, And all its woes-I know a pair, whose lives Run in the common track of men and wives; And half their worth, at least, this pair would give

Could they like thee and thy Matilda live.

'They were, as lovers, of the fondest kind, With no defects in manner or in mind; In habit, temper, prudence, they were those Whom, as examples, I could once propose; Now this, when married, you no longer trace, But discontent and sorrow in the place: Their pictures, taken as the pair I saw In a late contest, I have tried to draw; 'Tis but a sketch, and at my idle time I put my couple in the garb of rhyme : Thou art a critic of the milder sort, And thou wilt judge with favour my report. Let me premise, twelve months have flown away,

Swiftly or sadly, since the happy day.

'Let us suppose the couple left to spend Some hours without engagement or a friend; And be it likewise on our mind impress'd, They pass for persons happy and at rest; Their love by Hymen crown'd, and all their prospects bless'd.

'Love has slow death and sudden: wretches

prove

That fate severe-the sudden death of love;
It is as if, on day serenely bright,
Came with its horrors instantaneous night;
Others there are with whom love dies away
In gradual waste and unperceived decay;
Such is that death of love that nature finds
Most fitted for the use of common minds,

The natural death; but doubtless there are

some

Who struggle hard, when they perceive it come;
Loth to be loved no longer, loth to prove
To the once dear that they no longer love;
And some with not successless arts will strive
To keep the weak'ning, fluttering flame alive.
But see my verse; in this I try to paint
The passion failing, fading to complaint,
The gathering grief for joys remember'd yet,
The vain remonstrance, and the weak regret:
First speaks the wife in sorrow, she is grieved
T'admit the truth, and would be still de-
ceived.'

HENRY AND EMMA.

E. Well, my good sir, I shall contend no

more;

But, O the vows you made, the oaths you

swore

H. To love you always :-I confess it true; And do I not? If not, what can I do? Moreover think what you yourself profess'd, And then the subject may for ever rest.

E. Yes, sir, obedience I profess'd; I know My debt, and wish to pay you all I owe, Pay without murmur; but that vow was made To you, who said it never should be paid ;Now truly tell me why you took such care To make me err? I ask'd you not to swear, But rather hoped you would my mind direct, And say, when married, what you would expect.

You may remember-it is not so long Since you affirm'd that I could not be wrong; I told you then-you recollect, I told The very truth--that humour would not hold ; Not that I thought, or ever could suppose, The mighty raptures were so soon to closePoetic flights of love all sunk in sullen prose. Do you remember how you used to hang Upon my looks? your transports when I sang?

I play'd-you melted into tears; I movedVoice, words, and motion, how you all approved;

E. O that is now so cool, and with a smile

That sharpens insult-I detest the style; And, now I talk of styles, with what delight You read my lines-I then, it seems, could write:

In short, when I was present you could see But one dear object, and you lived for me; And now, sir, what your pleasure? Let me dress,

Sing, speak, or write, and you your sense

express

Of my poor taste-my words are not correct; In all I do is failing or defect

Some error you will seek, some blunder will detect;

And what can such dissatisfaction prove?
I tell you, Henry, you have ceased to love.
H. I own it not; but if a truth it be,
It is the fault of nature, not of me.
Remember you, my love, the fairy tale,
Where the young pairs were spell-bound in
the vale?

When all around them gay or glorious seem'd, And of bright views and ceaseless joys they dream'd;

Young love and infant life no more could give-

They said but half, when they exclaim'd, 'We live!'

All was so light, so lovely, so serene,
And not a trouble to be heard or seen;
Till, melting into truth, the vision fled,
And there came miry roads and thorny ways
instead.

Such was our fate, my charmer! we were found

A wandering pair, by roguish Cupid bound;
All that I saw was gifted to inspire
Grand views of bliss, and wake intense desire
Of joys that never pall, of flights that never
tire;

There was that purple light of love, that bloom,

That ardent passions in their growth assume, That pure enjoyment of the soul-O! weak

You recollect?

H. Yes, surely; and then why The needless truths? do I the facts deny? For this remonstrance I can see no need, Or this impatience-if you do, proceed.

speak!

I sought to praise thee, and I felt disdain
Of my own effort; all attempts were vain.
Nor they alone were charming; by that

light

All loved of thee grew lovely in my sight;