Clouds in white volumes roll'd beneath the

moon,

Softening her light that on the waters shone:
This was such bliss! even then it seem'd relief
To veil the gladness in a show of grief:
We sigh'd as we conversed,and said,how deep
This lake on which those broad dark sha-
dows sleep;

There is between us and a watery grave
But a thin plank, and yet our fate we brave.
What if it burst?' Matilda, then my care
Would be for thee: all danger I would dare,
And, should my efforts fail, thy fortune

would I share.
The love of life', she said, 'would powerful
přove!
O! not so powerful as the strength of love:
A look of kindness gave the grateful maid,
That had the real effort more than paid.

But here we land, and haply now may choose
Companions home-our way,too, we may lose:
In these drear, dark, inosculating lanes,
The very native of his doubt complains;
No wonder then that in such lonely ways
A stranger, heedless of the country, strays;
A stranger, too, whose many thoughts all meet
In one design, and none regard his feet.
Is this the path? the cautious fair one cries;
I answer, Yes!--We shall our friends sur-
prise,

She added, sighing-I return the sighs.
Will they not wonder?' O! they would indeed,
Could they the secrets of this bosom read,
These chilling doubts, these trembling hopes
I feel!

The faint, fond hopes I can no more conceal
I love thee, dear Matilda!—to confess
The fact is dangerous, fatal to suppress.
And now in terror I approach the home
Where I may wretched but not doubtful come,
Where I must be all ecstasy, or all—
O! what will you a wretch rejected call;
Not man, for I shall lose myself, and be
A creature lost to reason, losing thee.
Speak, my Matilda! on the rack of fear
Suspend me not-I would my sentence hear,
Would learn my fate-Good Heaven! and
what portend
These tears? —and fall they for thy wretch-
ed friend?

Or-but I cease; I cannot paint the bliss,
From a confession soft and kind as this;
Nor where we walk'd, nor how our friends
we met,

Or what their wonder — I am wondering yet;
For he who nothing heeds has nothing to
forget.

All thought, yet thinking nothing - all delight

Ready to aid all beings, I would go
The world around to succour human woe;
Yet am so largely happy, that it seems
There are no woes, and sorrows are but
dreams.

There is a college-joy, to scholars known,
When the first honours are proclaim'd their
There is ambition's joy, when in their race
own;
A man surpassing rivals gains his place;
There is a beauty's joy, amid a crowd
To have that beauty her first fame allow'd;
And there's the conqueror's joy, when,
dubious held

And long the fight, he sees the foe repell'd:
That charm kings, conquerors,
But what are these, or what are other joys,
beauteous

nymphs and boys,
Or greater yet, if greater yet be found,
To that delight when love's dear hope is
crown'd?

To the first beating of a lover's heart,
When the loved maid endeavours to impart,
Frankly yet faintly, fondly yet in fear,
The kind confession that he holds so dear.
Now in the morn of our return how strange
Was this new feeling, this delicious change;
That all would yet be lost and disappear.
That sweet delirium, when I gazed in fear,
Such was the blessing that I sought for pain,
In some degree to be myself again;
Cold and diseased, it seem'd my blood to tame;
And when we met a shepherd old and lame,
That soberized the vast and wild delight.
And I was thankful for the moral sight,

BOOK VII.

THE ELDER BROTHER.

"THANKS, my dear Richard ; and, I pray thee, deign

To speak the truth-does all this love remain, And all this joy? for views and flights sublime,

Ardent and tender, are subdued by time.
Speakst thou of her to whom thou madest
thy vows,

Of my fair sister, of thy lawful spouse?
Or art thou talking some frail love about,
The rambling fit, before th' abiding gout?”
"Nay, spare me, Brother, an adorer spare:
Love and the gout! thou wouldst not these
compare?"

"Yea, and correctly; teazing ere they come,
They then confine their victim to his home:
In both are previous feints and false attacks,
Both place the grieving patient on their racks;
They both are ours, with all they bring,
for life,

In every thing, but nothing in my sight!
Nothing I mark or learn, but am possess'd
Of joys I cannot paint, and I am bless'd
In all that I conceive-whatever is, is best."Tis not in us t' expel or gout or wife;

On man a kind of dignity they shed,
A sort of gloomy pomp about his bed:
Then if he leaves them, go where'er he will,
They have a claim upon his body still;
Nay, when they quit him, as they some-I mused on charmers chaste, who pledged

Follies and frailties thou hast never known;
Thine was a frailty,-folly, if you please,-
But mine a flight, a madness, a disease.
Turn with me to my twentieth year, for then
The lover's frenzy ruled the poet's pen;
When virgin reams were soil'd with lays of
love
The flinty hearts of fancied nymphs to move: In some sweet solitude, in some green bower,

Was each a cow like that which challenged
Guy,

I now had time my business to behold,
And did not like it-let the truth be told:
The cows, though cowards, yet in numbers
strong,

Like other mobs, by might defended wrong;
In man's own pathway fix'd, they seem'd
disposed

For hostile measure, and in order closed,
Then halted near me, as I judged, to treat,
Before we came to triumph or defeat.
I was in doubt: 'twas sore disgrace, I knew,
To turn my back, and let the cows pursue;
And should I rashly mortal strife begin,
'Twas all unknown who might the battle win;
And yet to wait, and neither fight nor fly,
Would mirth create,-I could not that deny ;
It look'd as if for safety I would treat,
Nay, sue for peace-No! rather come defeat!
Look to me, loveliest of thy sex! and give
One cheering glance, and not a cow shall live;
For lo! this iron bar, this strenuous arm,
And those dear eyes to aid me as a charm.

Say, goddess! Victory! say, on man or cow
Meanest thou now to perch ?-On neither

now

For, as I ponder'd, on their way appear'd
The Amazonian milker of the herd;
These, at the wonted signals, made a stand,
And woo'd the nymph of the relieving hand;
Nor heeded now the man, who felt relief
Of other kind, and not unmix'd with grief;
For now he neither should his courage prove,
Nor in his dying moments boast his love.

My sovereign beauty with amazement saw—
So she declared-the horrid things in awe;
Well pleased, she witness'd what respect
was paid

By such brute natures-Every cow afraid,
And kept at distance by the powers of one,
Who had to her a dangerous service done,
That prudence had declined, that valour's
self might shun.

So thought the maid, who now, beyond the stile,

Received her champion with a gracious smile;

Who now had leisure on those charms to
dwell,

That he could never from his thought expel;
There are, I know, to whom a lover seems,
Praising his mistress, to relate his dreams;
But, Richard,looks like those, that angel-face
Could I no more in sister-angel trace;
O! it was more than fancy! it was more
Than in my darling views I saw before,
When I my idol made, and my allegiance

I had resolved t' attack it, and defy
In mortal combat! to repel or die.
That was no time to parley-or to say,
I will protect you-fly in peace away!
Lo! yonder stile-but with an air of grace,
As I supposed, I pointed to the place.
The fair ones took me at my sign, and flew,
Each like a dove, and to the stile withdrew;
Where safe, at distance, and from terrors Henceforth 'twas bliss upon that face to

free,

swore.

dwell,

They turn'd to view my beastly foes and ine. Till every trace became indelible;

I blest the cause of that alarm, her fright,
And all that gave me favour in her sight,
Who then was kind and grateful, till my
mind,

Pleased and exulting, awe awhile resign'd.
For in the moment when she feels afraid,
How kindly speaks the condescending maid;
She sees her danger near, she wants her
lover's aid;

Such, my dear Richard, was my early flame,
My youthful frenzy-give it either name;
It was the withering bane of many a year,
That past away in causeless hope and fear;
The hopes, the fears, that every dream
could kill,

Or make alive, and lead my passive will.
At length I learnt one name my angel bore,
And Rosabella I must now adore;
Yet knew but this-and not the favour'd
place

As fire electric, when discharged, will strike
All who receive it, and they feel alike,
So in the shock of danger and surprise
Our minds are struck, and mix, and sym-Nor where, admired, the sweet enchantress

pathise.

But danger dies, and distance comes between
My state and that of my all glorious queen;
Yet much was done-upon my mind a chain
Was strongly fix'd, and likely to remain;
Listening, I grew enamour'd of the sound,
And felt to her my very being bound;
I blest the scene, nor felt a power to move,
Lost in the ecstasies of infant-love.

She saw and smiled; the smile delight
convey'd,

My love encouraged, and my act repaid:
In that same smile I read the charmer

meant

To give her hero chaste encouragement;
It spoke, as plainly as a smile can speak,
Seek whom you love, love freely whom
you seek.

Thus, when the lovely witch had wrought
her charm,

She took th' attendant maiden by the arm,
And left me fondly gazing, till no more
I could the shade of that dear form explore;
Then to my secret haunt I turn'd again,
Fire in my heart, and fever in my brain;
That face of her for ever in my view,
Whom I was henceforth fated to pursue,
To hope I knew not what, small hope in
what I knew.

O! my dear Richard, what a waste of time
Gave I not thus to lunacy sublime;
What days, months, years, (to useful pur-
pose lost)

That held the angel or th' angelic race;

dwelt,

But I had lost her-that, indeed, I felt.
Yet, would I say, she will at length be mine!
Did ever hero hope or love resign?
Though men oppose, and fortune bids despair,
She will in time her mischief well repair,
And I, at last, shall wed this fairest of the
fair!

My thrifty uncle, now return'd, began
To stir within me what remain'd of man;
My powerful frenzy painted to the life,
And ask'd me if I took a dream to wife?
Debate ensued, and though not well content,
Upon a visit to his house I went:
He, the most saving of mankind, had still
Some kindred feeling; he would guide my
will,

And teach me wisdom-so affection wrought,
That he to save me from destruction sought:
To him destruction, the most awful curse
Of Misery's children, was-an empty purse!
He his own books approved, and thought
the pen

An useful instrument for trading men;
But judged a quill was never to be slit
Except to make it for a merchant fit:
He, when inform'd how men of taste could
write,

Look'd on his ledger with supreme delight;
Then would he laugh, and, with insulting joy,
Tell me aloud, that's poetry, my boy;
These are your golden numbers-them

repeat,

The more you have, the more you'll find them sweetTheir numbers move all hearts-no matter for their feet.

Has not this dire infatuation cost?
To this fair vision I, a bounded slave, Sir, when a man composes in this style,
Time, duty, credit, honour, comfort, gave; What is to him a critic's frown or smile?
Gave all and waited for the glorious things What is the puppy's censure or applause
That hope expects, but fortune never brings. To the good man who on his banker draws,
Yet let me own, while I my fault reprove, Buys an estate, and writes upon the grounds,
There is one blessing still affix'd to love-Pay to A. B. an hundred thousand pounds?
To love like mine-for, as my soul it drew Thus, my dear nephew, thus your talents
From Reason's path, it shunn'd Dishonour's
prove;
Leave verse to poets, and the poor to love.'
Some months I suffer'd thus, compell'd to sit
And hear a wealthy kinsman aim at wit;
Yet there was something in his nature good,
And he had feeling for the tie of blood :
So while I languish'd for my absent maid
I some observance to my uncle paid.

too;

It made my taste refined, my feelings nice,
And placed an angel in the way of vice.
This angel now, whom I no longer view'd,
Far from this scene her destined way pursued;
No more that mansion held a form so fair,
She was away, and beauty was not there.