Defers his duty till the day of prayer:
And, waiting long, the crowd retire distrest,
To think a poor-man's bones should lie unblest.

PHOEBE DAWSON.

Two summers since, I saw, at Lammas fair,
The sweetest flower that ever blossom'd there,
When Phoebe Dawson gaily cross'd the green,
In haste to see and happy to be seen:
Her air, her manners, all who saw, admir'd;
Courteous though coy, and gentle though retir'd;
The joy of youth and health her eyes display'd,
And ease of heart her every look convey'd;
A native skill her simple robes express'd,
As with untutor❜d elegance she dress'd:
The lads around admir'd so fair a sight,
And Phoebe felt, and felt she gave, delight.
Admirers soon of every age she gain'd,
Her beauty won them and her worth retain'd;
Envy itself could no contempt display,

They wish'd her well, whom yet they wish'd away.
Correct in thought, she judg'd a servant's place
Preserv'd a rustic beauty from disgrace;
But yet on Sunday-eve in freedom's hour,
With secret joy she felt that beauty's power,
When some proud bliss upon the heart would steal,
That, poor or rich, a beauty still must feel.—

At length, the youth, ordain'd to move her breast,
Before the swains with bolder spirit press'd;
With looks less timid made his passion known,
And pleas'd by manners, most unlike her own;
Loud though in love, and confident though young;
Fierce in his air, and voluble of tongue;
By trade a tailor, though, in scorn of trade,
He serv'd the squire, and brush'd the coat he made:
Yet now, would Phoebe her consent afford,
Her slave alone, again he'd mount the board;
With her should years of growing love be spent,
And growing wealth:-she sigh'd, and look'd
[green,

consent.

Now, through the lane, up hill, and cross the (Seen by but few, and blushing to be seenDejected, thoughtful, anxious, and afraid,) Led by the lover, walk'd the silent maid: Slow through the meadows rov'd they many a mile, Toy'd by each bank and trifled at each stile; Where, as he painted every blissful view, And highly colour'd what he strongly drew, The pensive damsel, prone to tender fears, Dimm'd the false prospect with prophetic tears.Thus pass'd th'allotted hours, till lingering late, The lover loiter'd at the master's gate; There he pronounc'd adieu! and yet would stay, Till chidden-sooth'd-intreated-forc'd away; He would of coldness, though indulg'd, complain, And oft retire and oft return again; When, if his teazing vex'd her gentle mind, The grief assum'd, compell'd her to be kind! For he would proof of plighted kindness crave, That she resented first and then forgave, And to his grief and penance yielded more,

Than his presumption had requir'd before.-
Ah! fly temptation, youth; refrain! refrain,
Each yielding maid, and each presuming swain!

Lo! now with red rent cloak and bonnet black, And torn green gown loose hanging at her back, One who an infant in her arms sustains,

And seems in patience striving with her pains;
Pinch'd are her looks, as one who pines for bread,
Whose cares are growing and whose hopes are fled;
Pale her parch'd lips, her heavy eyes sunk low,
And tears unnotic'd from their channels flow;
Serene her manner, till some sudden pain
Frets the meek soul, and then she's calm again;-
Her broken pitcher to the pool she takes,
And every step with cautious terror makes;
For not alone that infant in her arms,

But nearer cause, her anxious soul alarms.
With water burthen'd, then she picks her way,
Slowly and cautious, in the clinging clay;
Till, in mid-green, she trusts a place unsound,
And deeply plunges in th' adhesive ground;
Thence, but with pain, her slender foot she takes,
While hope the mind as strength the frame forsakes:
For when so full the cup of sorrow grows,
Add but a drop, it instantly o'erflows.
And now her path but not her peace she gains,
Safe from her task, but shivering with her pains;
Her home she reaches, open leaves the door,
And placing first her infant on the floor,
She bares her bosom to the wind, and sits
And sobbing struggles with the rising fits:
In vain-they come-she feels th' inflating grief,
That shuts the swelling bosom from relief;
That speaks in feeble cries a soul distress'd.
Or the sad laugh that cannot be repress'd.
The neighbour-matron leaves her wheel and flies
With all the aid her poverty supplies;
Unfee'd, the calls of nature she obeys,
Not led by profit, nor allur'd by praise;
And waiting long, till these contentions cease,
She speaks of comfort, and departs in peace.
Friend of distress! the mourner feels thy aid,
She cannot pay thee, but thou wilt be paid.

But who this child of weakness, want and care?
"Tis Phoebe Dawson, pride of Lammas fair;
Who took her lover for his sparkling eyes,
Expressions warm, and love-inspiring lies:
Compassion first assail'd her gentle heart,
For all his suffering, all his bosom's smart:
"And then his prayers! they would a savage move,
And win the coldest of the sex to love:"-
But ah! too soon his looks success declar'd,
Too late her loss the marriage-rite repair'd;
The faithless flatterer then his vows forgot,
A captious tyrant or a noisy sot;

If present, railing, till he saw her pain'd;
If absent, spending what their labours gain'd;
Till that fair form in want and sickness pin'd,
And hope and comfort fled that gentle mind.
Then fly temptation, youth; resist, refrain!
Nor let me preach for ever and in vain!

-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: He can, with free and easy air,

Appear attentive and polite; Can veil his woes in manners fair, And pity with respect excite.

Patient.

Who comes?-Approach!-'tis kindly done:-
My learn'd physician, and a friend,
Their pleasures quit, to visit one,

Who cannot to their ease attend,
Nor joys bestow, nor comforts lend,
As when I liv'd so blest, so well,
And dreamt not I must soon contend
With those malignant powers of hell.

Physician.

Less warmth, Sir Eustace, or we go.

Patient.

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

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 admir'd and prais'd 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, improv'd, projected, plann'd, And reign'd a prince at Greyling Hall.

My Lady!-she was all we love;

All praise (to speak her worth) is faint; Her manners show'd the yielding dove, Her morals, the seraphic saint: She never breath'd nor look'd complaint; No equal upon earth had she:Now, what is this fair thing I paint?

Alas! as all that live, shall be.

There was, beside, a gallant youth,
And him my bosom's friend, I had :-
Oh! I was rich-in very truth,

It made me proud-it made me mad!—
Yes, I was lost-but there was cause!-
Where stood my tale?-I cannot find-
But I had all mankind's applause,
And all the smiles of womankind.

There were two cherub-things beside,
A gracious girl, a glorious boy;
Yet more to swell my full-blown pride,
To varnish higher my fading joy,
Pleasures were ours without alloy,
Nay Paradise, till my frail Eve
Our bliss was tempted to destroy;
Deceiv'd and fated to deceive.

But I deserv'd; for all that time,

When I was lov'd, admir'd, caress'd,
There was within, each secret crime,
Unfelt, uncancell'd, unconfess'd:

I never then my God address'd,
In grateful praise or humble prayer;
And if his word was not my jest,
(Dread thought!) it never was my care.

I doubted:-fool I was to doubt!
If that all-piercing eye could see,—
If He who looks all worlds throughout,
Would so minute and careful be,
As to perceive and punish me :-
With man I would be great and high,
But with my God so lost, that He,

In his large view, should pass me by.

Thus blest with children, friend, and wife,
Blest far beyond the vulgar lot;
Of all that gladdens human life,
Where was the good, that I had not?
But my vile heart had sinful spot,

And Heaven beheld its deep'ning stain, Eternal justice I forgot,

And mercy sought not to obtain.

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 curs'd tidings came; Their guilt, their flight was told aloud, And envy smil'd 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 pin'd, 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 curs'd-as I am now-
Nay, 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;
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 hop'd 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 wak'd 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 us'd 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 Ones, 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 breath'd, nor grew,
But silence rul'd 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 cloth'd 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 Endur'd no change of night or day; The same mild evening's sleeping ray Shone softly-solemn and serene,

And all that time, I gaz'd 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 plac'd 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 pierc'd my frame with icy wound, And all that half-year's polar night,

Those dancing streamers_wrapt 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 forc'd me on, wherever dwell
Far-distant men in cities fair,
Cities of whom no trav'llers tell,

Nor feet but mine were wanderers there.

Their watchmen stare, and stand aghast,
As on we hurry through the dark;
The watch-light blinks, as we go past,

The watch-dog shrinks and fears to bark;
The watch-tower's bell sounds shrill; and, hark!
The free wind blows-we've left the town-

A wide sepulchral ground I mark,

And on a tombstone place me down.

What monuments of mighty dead!

What tombs of various kinds are found! And stones erect their shadows shed

On humble graves, with wickers bound; Some risen fresh, above the ground,

Some level with the native clay, What sleeping millions wait the sound, "Arise, ye dead, and come away!"

Alas! they stay not for that call;

Spare me this woe! ye Demons spare!-
They come! the shrowded shadows all,-
'Tis more than mortal brain can bear;
Rustling they rise, they sternly glare
At man upheld by vital breath;
Who, led by wicked fiends, should dare
To join the shadowy troops of death!

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, Woe, 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 danc'd 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.

They hung me on a bough, so small,

The rook could build her nest no higher;
They fix'd me on the trembling ball,
That crowns the steeple's quiv'ring spire;
They set me where the seas retire,

But drown with their returning tide;
And made me flee the mountain's fire,
When rolling from its burning side.
I've hung upon the ridgy steep

Of cliffs, and held the rambling brier;
I've plung'd below the billowy deep,
Where air was sent me to respire;
I've been where hungry wolves retire;

And (to complete my woes) I've ran
Where Bedlam's crazy crew conspire
Against the life of reasoning man.
I've furl'd in storms the flapping sail,
By hanging from the top-mast-head;
I've serv'd 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 plac'd and bade me die;
Propt 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 convuls'd, 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 pursu'd through many a town,
For crimes that petty knaves commit;
I've been adjudg'd 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;

XXI.

Then came of every race the mingled swarm;
Far rang the groves, and gleam'd the midnight grass,
With flambeau, javelin, and naked arm;
As warriors wheel'd their culverins of brass,
Sprung from the woods, a bold athletic mass,
Whom virtue fires, and liberty combines:
And first the wild Moravian yargers pass,
His plumed host the dark Iberian joins [shines.
And Scotia's sword beneath the Highland thistle
XXII.

And in, the buskin'd hunters of the deer,
To Albert's home, with shout and cymbal throng:-
Rous'd by their warlike pomp, and mirth, and cheer,
Old Outalissi woke his battle song,

And, beating with his war-club cadence strong,
Tells how his steep-stung indignation smarts,
Of them that wrapt his house in flames, ere long,
To whet a dagger on their stony hearts,
And smile aveng'd ere yet his eagle spirit parts.

XXIII.

Calm, opposite the Christian father rose.
Pale on his venerable brow its rays
Of martyr light the conflagration throws;
One hand upon his lovely child he lays,
And one th' uncover'd. crowd to silence sways;
While, though the battle flash is faster driv'n,-
Unaw'd, with eye unstartled by the blaze,
He for his bleeding country prays to Heav'n,-
Prays that the men of blood themselves may be for-
given.

XXIV.

Short time is now for gratulating speech;
And yet, beloved Gertrude, ere began
Thy country's flight, yon distant tow'rs to reach,
Look'd not on thee the rudest partisan
With brow relax'd to love! And murmurs ran
As round and round their willing ranks they drew,
From beauty's sight to shield the hostile van.
Grateful, on them a placid look she threw,
Nor wept, but as she bade her mother's grave adieu!

XXV.

Past was the flight, and welcome seem'd the tow'r,
That like a giant standard-bearer, frown'd
Defiance on the roving Indian pow'r.
Beneath, each bold and promontory mound,
With embrasure emboss'd, and armour crown'd,
And arrowy frieze, and wedged ravelin,
Wove like a diadem its tracery round

The lofty summit of that mountain green; [scene.
Here stood secure the group, and ey'd a distant

XXVI.

A scene of death! where fires beneath the sun,
And blended arms, and white pavilions glow;
And for the business of destruction done,
Its requiem the war-horn seem'd to blow.
There, sad spectatress of her country's woe!

The lovely Gertrude, safe from present harm, Had laid her cheek, and clasp'd her hands of mov On Waldegrave's shoulder, half within his arm Enclos'd, that felt her heart, and hush'd its wid alarm!

XXVII.

But short that contemplation-sad and short The pause to bid each much-lov'd scene adieu! Beneath the very shadow of the fort, [dew; Where friendly swords were drawn, and banners Ah! who could deem that foot of Indian crew Was near?-yet there, with lust of murd'rous deeds, Gleam'd like a basilisk, from woods in view, The ambush'd foeman's eye-his volley speeds, And Albert-Albert-falls! the dear old father

bleeds!

XXVIII.

And tranc'd in giddy horror Gertrude swoon'd; Yet, while she clasps him lifeless to her zone, Say, burst they, borrow'd from her father's wound, These drops?-Oh God! the life-blood is her own; And falt'ring, on her Waldegrave's bosom thrownWeep not, O Love!'-she cries, to see me bleed'Thee, Gertrude's sad survivor, thee alone 'Heaven's peace commiserate; for scarce I heed 'These wounds;—yet thee to leave is death, is denti indeed.

6

XXXI.

"Half could I bear, methinks, to leave this earth' And thee, more lov'd, than aught beneath the sun, If I had liv'd to smile but on the birth Of one dear pledge;-but shall there then be none, 'In future times--no gentle little one, To elasp thy neck, and look, resembling me? Yet seems it, ev'n while life's last pulses run, 'A sweetness in the cup of death to be, Lord of my bosom's love! to die beholding th