I've been adjudged t' have lost my wit,
Because I preached 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 ;
And add to all, without-within,
A soul defiled with every stain
That man's reflecting mind can pain;
That pride, wrong, rage, despair, can make;
In fact, they'd nearly touch'd my brain,
And reason on her throne would shake.
But pity will the vilest seek,
If punish'd guilt will not repine,-
I heard a heavenly teacher speak,
And felt the SUN OF MERCY shine:
I hailed the light! the birth divine!
And then was seal'd among the few;
Those angry fiends beheld the sign,
And from me in an instant flew.
Come hear how thus the charmers cry
To wandering sheep, the strays of sin,
While some the wicket-gate pass by,
And some will knock and enter in :
Full joyful 'tis a soul to win,
For he that winneth souls is wise;
Now hark! the holy strains begin,
And thus the sainted preacher cries:-
66 Pilgrim, burthen'd with thy sin,
Come the way to Zion's gate,
There, till Mercy let thee in,
Knock and weep and watch and wait.
Knock! He knows the sinner's cry!
Weep! He loves the mourner's tears:
Watch!-for saving grace is nigh:
Wait,-till heavenly light appears.
"Hark! it is the Bridegroom's voice:
Welcome, pilgrim, to thy rest;
Now within the gate rejoice,
Safe and seal'd and bought and blest!
Safe-from all the lures of vice,
Seal'd-by signs the chosen know,
Bought by love and life the price,
Blest the mighty debt to owe.
It has been suggested to me, that this change from restlessness to repose, In the mind of Sir Eustace, is wrought by a Methodistic call; and it is admitted to be such a sober and rational conversion could not have happened while the disorder of the brain continued: yet the verses which follow, in a differ ent measure, are not intended to make any religious persuasion appear ridiculous; they are to be supposed as the effect of memory in the disordered mind of the speaker, and, though evidently enthusiastic in respect to language, are not meant to convey any impropriety of sentiment.
"Holy Pilgrim! what for thee
In a world like this remain?
From thy guarded breast shall flee
Fear and shame, and doubt and pain.
Fear-the hope of Heaven shall fly,
Shame-from glory's view retire,
Doubt-in certain rapture die,
Pain-in endless bliss expire.'
But though my day of grace was come,
Yet still my days of grief I find;
The former clouds' collected gloom
Still sadden the reflecting mind;
The soul, to evil things consign'd,
Will of their evil some retain ;
The man will seem to earth inclined,
And will not look erect again.
Thus, though elect, I feel it hard
To lose what I possess'd before,
To be from all my wealth debarr'd,-
The brave Sir Eustace is no more:
But old I wax, and passing poor,
Stern, rugged men my conduct view; They chide my wish, they bar my door, "Tis hard-I weep-you see I do.
Must you, my friends, no longer stay?
Thus quickly all my pleasures end;
But I'll remember when I pray,
My kind physician and his friend;
And those sad hours, you deign to spend
With me, I shall requite them all;
Sir Eustace for his friends shall send,
And thank their love at Greyling Hall.
The poor Sir Eustace!-Yet his hope
Leads him to think of joys again;
And when his earthly visions droop,
His views of heavenly kind remain:
But whence that meek and humbled strain,
That spirit wounded, lost, resign'd?
Would not so proud a soul disdain
The madness of the poorest mind?
No! for the more he swell'd with pride,
The more he felt misfortune's blow;
Disgrace and grief he could not hide,
And poverty had laid him low:
Thus shame and sorrow working slow,
At length this humble spirit gave;
Madness on these began to grow,
And bound him to his fiends a slave,
Though the wild thoughts had touch'd his brain, Then was he free :-So, forth he ran;
To soothe or threat, alike were vain :
He spake of fiends; look'd wild and wan; Year after year, the hurried man
Obey'd those fiends from place to place; Till his religious change began
To form a frenzied child of grace.
For, as the fury lost its strength,
The mind reposed; by slow degrees
Came lingering hope, and brought at length,
To the tormented spirit, ease:
This slave of sin, whom fiends could seize,
Felt or believed their power had end :---
""Tis faith," he cried, " my bosom frees,
And now my SAVIOUR is my friend."
But ah! though time can yield relief,
And soften woes it cannot cure;
Would we not suffer pain and grief,
To have our reason sound and sure?
Then let us keep our bosoms pure,
Our fancy's favourite flights suppress; Prepare the body to endure,
And bend the mind to meet distress; And then HIS guardian care implore, Whom demons dread and men adoro.
Confiteor facere hoc annos; sed et altera causa est,
Anxietas animi, continuusque dolor. Ovid.
MAGISTRATE, VAGRANT, CONSTABLE, &a
TAKE, take away thy barbarous hand,
And let me to thy Master speak;
Remit awhile the harsh command,
And hear me, or my heart will break.
Fond wretch! and what canst thou relate,
But deeds of sorrow, shame, and sin?
Thy crime is proved, thou know'st thy fate;
But come, thy tale !--begin, begin!-
-This sick'ning child to feed.
I seized the food, your witness saw;
I knew your laws forbade the deed,
But yielded to a stronger law.
Know'st thou, to Nature's great command
All human laws are frail and weak?
Nay! frown not-stay his eager hand,
And hear me, or my heart will break.
In this, th' adopted babe I hold
With anxious fondness to my breast,
My heart's sole comfort I behold,
More dear than life, when life was blest;
I saw her pining, fainting, cold,
I begg'd-but vain was my request.
I saw the tempting food, and seized—
My infant-sufferer found relief;
And in the pilfer'd treasure pleased,
Smiled on my guilt, and hush'd my grief.
But I have griefs of other kind,
Troubles and sorrows more severe;
Give me to ease my tortured mind,
Lend to my woes a patient ear;
And let me--if I may not find
A friend to help-find one to hear.
Yet nameless let me plead-my name
Would only wake the cry of scorn;
A child of sin, conceived in shame,
Brought forth in woe, to misery born.
My mother dead, my father lost,
I wander'd with a vagrant crew;
A common care, a common cost;
Their sorrows and their sins I knew;
With them, by want on error forced,
Like them, I base and guilty grew.
Few are my years, not so my crimes
The age which these sad looks declare,
Is Sorrow's work, it is not Time's,
And I am old in shame and care.
Taught to believe the world a place
Where every stranger was a foe,
Train'd in the arts that mark our race,
To what new people could I go?
Could I a better life embrace,
Or live as virtue dictates? No!
So through the land I wandering went,
And little found of grief or joy;
But lost my bosom's sweet content
When first I loved-the Gipsy-Boy.
A sturdy youth he was and tall,
His looks would all his soul declare;
His piercing eyes were deep and small,
And strongly curl'd his raven-hair.
Yes, AARON had each manly charm,
All in the May of youthful pride,
He scarcely fear'd his father's arm,
And every other arm defied.-
Oft, when they grew in anger warm,
(Whom will not love and power divide ?)
I rose, their wrathful souls to calm,
Not yet in sinful combat tried.
His father was our party's chief,
And dark and dreadful was his look; His presence fill'd my heart with grief, Although to me he kindly spoke.
With Aaron I delighted went,
His favour was my bliss and pride;
In growing hope our days we spent,
Love growing charms in either spied;
It saw them all which Nature lent,
It lent them all which she denied.
Could I the father's kindness prize,
Or grateful looks on him bestow,
Whom I beheld in wrath arise,
When Aaron sunk beneath his blow?
He drove him down with wicked hand,
It was a dreadful sight to see;
Then vex'd him, till he left the land,
And told his cruel love to me;
The clan were all at his command,
Whatever his command might be.
The night was dark, the lanes were deep,
And one by one they took their way;
He bade me lay me down and sleep,
I only wept and wish'd for day.
Accursed be the love he bore,
Accursed was the force he used,
So let him of his God implore
For mercy, and be so refused!
You frown again,-to show my wrong
Can I in gentle language speak?
My woes are deep, my words are strong.-
And hear me, or my heart will break.
|