Chapter X: Part III: Burials (3)

‘Oh! vaunt of worthless Arts,’ the Swain replied,
Scowling Contempt, ‘how pitiful this Pride!
‘What are these specious Gifts, these paltry Gains,
‘But base Rewards for ignominious Pains?
‘With all thy Tricking, still for Bread we strive,
‘Thine is, proud Wretch! the Care that cannot thrive,
‘By all thy boasted Skill and baffled Hooks,
‘Thou gain’st no more than Students by their Books;
‘No more than I for my poor Deeds am paid,
‘Whom none can blame, will help, or dare upbraid.
‘Call this our Need, a Bog that all devours;
‘Then what thy petty Arts, but Summer-Flowers,
‘Gaudy and mean and serving to betray
‘The Place, they make unprofitably gay?
‘Who know it not, some useless Beauties see;
‘But ah! to prove it was reserv’d for me.’
Unhappy State! that, in Decay of Love,
Permits harsh Truth his Errors to disprove:
While he remains, to wrangle and to jar,
Is friendly Tournament not fatal War;
Love in his Play will borrow Arms of Hate,
Anger and Rage, Upbraiding and Debate;
And by his Power the desperate Weapons thrown,
Become as safe and pleasant as his own;
But left by him, their Natures they assume,
And fatal, in their poisoning Force, become.

Time fled, and now the Swain compell’d to see
New Cause for Fear--‘Is this thy Thrift?’ quoth he.
To whom the Wife with cheerful voice replied:--
“Thou moody Man, lay all thy Fears aside,
“I’ve seen a Vision;--they from whom I came,
“A Daughter promise, promise Wealth and Fame;
“Born with my Features, with my Arts, yet she}
“Shall patient, pliant, persevering be, }
“And in thy better Ways resemble thee. }
“The Fairies round shall at her Birth attend,
“The Friend of all in all shall find a Friend,
“And save that one sad Star that Hour must gleam
“On our fair Child, how glorious were my Dream!”

This heard the Husband and in surly smile,
Aim’d at Contempt, but yet he hop’d the while;
For as when sinking, wretched Men are found,
To catch at Rushes rather than be drown’d;
So on a Dream our Peasant plac’d his Hope,
And found that Rush as valid as a Rope.

Swift fled the Days, for now in Hope they fled;
When a fair Daughter bless’d the Nuptial Bed;
Her Infant-face the Mother’s Pains beguil’d,
She look’d so pleasing and so softly smil’d;
Those Smiles, those Looks, with sweet Sensations mov’d
The Gazer’s Soul, and as he look’d, he lov’d.

And now the Fairies came with Gifts to grace,
So mild a Nature and so fair a Face.
They gave, with Beauty, that bewitching Art,
That holds in easy Chains the human Heart;
They gave her Skill to win the stubborn Mind,
To make the Suffering to their Sorrows blind,
To bring on pensive Looks the pleasing Smile,
And Care’s stern Brow of every Frown beguile.
These magic Favours grac’d the Infant-maid,
Whose more enlivening Smile, the charming Gifts repaid.

Now Fortune chang’d, who, were she constant long,
Would leave us few Adventures for our Song.
A wicked Elfin rov’d this Land around,
Whose Joys proceeded from the Griefs he found;
_Envy_ his Name:--his fascinating Eye,
From the light Bosom drew the sudden Sigh;
Unsocial he, but with malignant Mind,
He dwelt with Man, that he might curse Mankind;
Like the first Foe he sought th’ Abode of Joy,
Griev’d to behold but eager to destroy;
Round blooming Beauty, like the Wasp, he flew,
Soil’d the fresh Sweet and chang’d the rosy Hue;
The Wise, the Good, with anxious Heart, he saw,
And here a Failing found and there a Flaw;
Discord in Families ’twas his to move,
Distrust in Friendship, Jealousy in Love;
He told the Poor, what Joys the Great possess’d,
The Great--what calm Content the Cottage bless’d;
To part the Learned and the Rich he tried,
Till their slow Friendship perish’d in their Pride.
Such was the Fiend, and so secure of Prey,
That only Misery pass’d unstung away.

Soon as he heard the Fairy-babe was born,
Scornful he smil’d, but felt no more than Scorn;
For why, when Fortune plac’d her State so low,
In useless Spite his lofty Malice show?
Why in a Mischief of the meaner Kind,
Exhaust the Vigour of a rancorous Mind?
But soon as Fame the Fairy-gifts proclaim’d,
Quick-rising Wrath his ready Soul inflam’d;
To swear by Vows, that ev’n the Wicked tie,
The Nymph should weep her varied Destiny;
That every Gift, that now appear’d to shine
In her fair Face and make her Smiles divine,
Should all, the Poison of his Magic prove,
And they should scorn her, whom she sought for Love.

His Spell prepar’d, in Form an antient Dame,
A Fiend in Spirit, to the Cot he came;
There gain’d Admittance and the Infant press’d,
(Muttering his wicked Magic) to his Breast;
And thus he said:--“Of all the Powers, who wait
“On _Jove_’s Decrees and do the Work of Fate,
“Was I alone, despis’d or worthless, found,
“Weak to protect or impotent to wound?
“See then thy Foe, regret the Friendship lost,
“And learn my Skill but learn it at your Cost.
“Know then, O Child! devote to Fates severe,
“The Good shall hate thy Name, the Wise shall fear;
“Wit shall deride and no protecting Friend
“Thy Shame shall cover or thy Name defend.
“Thy gentle Sex, who, more than ours, should spare
“An humble Foe, will greater Scorn declare;
“The Base alone thy Advocates shall be,
“Or boast Alliance with a Wretch like thee.”
He spake and vanish’d, other Prey to find,
And waste in slow Disease the conquer’d Mind.

Aw’d by the Elfin’s Threats, and fill’d with dread,
The Parents wept and sought their Infant’s Bed;
Despair alone the Father’s Soul possess’d;
But Hope rose gently in the Mother’s Breast;
For well she knew that neither Grief nor Joy,
Pain’d without Hope or pleas’d without Alloy;
And while these Hopes and Fears her Heart divide,
A cheerful Vision bade the Fears subside.

She saw descending to the World below,
An antient Form with solemn Pace and slow.

“Daughter, no more be sad,” (the Phantom cried,)
“Success is seldom to the Wise denied;
“In idle Wishes Fools supinely stay,
“Be there a Will and Wisdom finds a Way;
“Why art thou griev’d? Be rather glad, that he,
“Who hates the happy aims his Darts at thee;
“But aims in vain; thy favour’d Daughter lies,
“Serenely blest and shall to Joy arise.
“For, grant that Curses on her Name shall wait,
“(So Envy wills and such the voice of Fate,)
“Yet if that Name be prudently suppress’d,
“She shall be courted, favour’d, and caress’d.
“For what are Names? and where agree Mankind,
“In those to Persons or to Acts assign’d?
“Brave, learn’d or wise, if some their Favourites call,
“Have they the Titles or the Praise from all?
“Not so, but others will the Brave disdain
“As rash, and deem the Sons of Wisdom, vain;
“The self-same Mind shall Scorn or Kindness move,
“And the same Deed attract Contempt and Love.
“So all the Powers, who move the human Soul,
“With all the Passions, who the Will controul,
“Have various Names.--One giv’n by Truth divine,
“(As _Simulation_ thus was fix’d for mine,)
“The rest by Man, who now as Wisdom’s prize
“My secret Counsels, now as Art despise;
“One hour as just, those Counsels they embrace,
“And spurn, the next, as pitiful and base.
“Thee too, my Child, those Fools as _Cunning_ fly,
“Who on thy Counsel and thy Craft rely,
“That worthy Craft in others they condemn:
“But ’tis their Prudence, while conducting them.
“Be FLATTERY, then, thy happy Infant’s Name,
“Let _Honour_ scorn her and let _Wit_ defame;
“Let all be true that Envy dooms, yet all,
“Not on herself, but on her Name, shall fall;
“While she thy Fortune and her own shall raise,
“And decent _Truth_ be call’d and lov’d, as modest _Praise_.
“O happy Child! the glorious Day shall shine,}
“When every Ear shall to thy Speech incline, }
“Thy Words alluring and the Voice divine: }
“The sullen Pedant and the sprightly Wit,
“To hear thy soothing Eloquence, shall sit;
“And both, abjuring Flattery, will agree,
“That Truth inspires and they must honour thee.
“_Envy_ himself shall to thy Accents bend,
“Force a faint smile and sullenly attend,
“When thou shalt call him _Virtue’s jealous Friend_,
“Whose Bosom glows with generous rage to find,
“How Fools and Knaves are flatter’d by Mankind.
“The Sage retir’d, who spends alone his Days,
“And flies th’ obstreperous Voice of public Praise;
“The vain, the vulgar Cry,--shall gladly meet,
“And bid thee welcome to his still Retreat;
“Much will he wonder, how thou cam’st to find
“A Man to Glory dead, to Peace consign’d.
“O Fame! he’ll cry, (for he will call thee Fame,)
“From thee I fly, from thee conceal my Name;
“But thou shalt say, Though Genius takes his Flight,
“He leaves behind a glorious Train of Light,
“And hides in vain:--yet prudent he that flies
“The Flatterer’s Art, and for himself is wise.
“Yes, happy Child! I mark th’ approaching Day,
“When warring Natures will confess thy Sway;
“When thou shalt Saturn’s golden Reign restore,
“And Vice and Folly shall be known no more.
“_Pride_ shall not then in Human-kind have place,
“Chang’d by thy Skill, to _Dignity_ and _Grace_;
“While _Shame_, who now betrays the inward Sense
“Of secret Ill, shall be thy _Diffidence_;
“_Avarice_ shall thenceforth prudent _Forecast_ be,
“And bloody _Vengeance_, _Magnanimity_;
“The lavish Tongue shall honest Truths impart, }
“The lavish Hand shall show the generous Heart,}
“And _Indiscretion_ be, Contempt of Art: }
“Folly and Vice shall then, no longer known,
“Be, this as Virtue, that as Wisdom, shown.
“Then shall the _Robber_, as the Hero rise
“To seize the Good, that churlish Law denies;
“Throughout the World shall rove the generous Band,
“And deal the Gifts of Heaven from hand to hand.
“In thy blest Days no Tyrants shall be seen,
“Thy gracious Kings shall rule contented Men;
“In thy blest Days shall not a Rebel be,
“But Patriots all and well approv’d of thee.
“Such Powers are thine, that Man, by thee, shall wrest
“The gainful Secret from the cautious Breast;
“Nor then, with all his care, the Good retain,
“But yield to thee the Secret and the Gain.
“In vain, shall much Experience guard the Heart,
“Against the Charm of thy prevailing Art;
“Admitted once, so soothing is thy Strain,
“It comes the sweeter, when it comes again;
“And when confest as thine, what Mind so strong,
“Forbears the Pleasure it indulg’d so long?
“Soft’ner of every Ill! of all our Woes
“The balmy Solace! Friend of fiercest Foes!
“Begin thy Reign and like the Morning rise;
“Bring Joy, bring Beauty, to our eager Eyes;
“Break on the drowsy World like opening Day, }
“While Grace and Gladness join thy flow’ry Way; }
“While every Voice is Praise, while every Heart is gay.}
“From thee, all Prospects shall new Beauties take,
“‘Tis thine to seek them and ’tis thine to make;
“On the cold Fen, I see thee turn thine Eyes,
“Its Mists recede, its chilling Vapour flies;
“Th’ enraptur’d Lord th’ improving Ground surveys,
“And for his Eden, asks the Traveller’s Praise,
“Which yet, unview’d of thee, a Bog had been,
“Where spungy Rushes hide the plashy Green.
“I see thee breathing on the barren Moor,
“That seems to bloom although so bleak before;
“There if beneath the _Gorze_ the Primrose spring,
“Or the pied _Daisy_ smile below the _Ling_,
“They shall new Charms, at thy Command, disclose,
“And none shall miss the _Myrtle_ or the _Rose_.
“The wiry _Moss_, that whitens all the Hill,
“Shall live a Beauty by thy matchless Skill;
“_Gale_[15] from the Bog shall yield Arabian Balm,
“And the _Grey Willow_ wave a golden _Palm_.
“I see thee smiling in the pictur’d Room,
“Now breathing Beauty, now reviving Bloom;
“There, each immortal Name, ’tis thine to give,
“To graceless Forms, and bid the Lumber live.
“Should’st thou coarse Boors or gloomy Martyrs see,
“These shall thy _Guidos_, those thy _Tenniers_ be;
“There shalt thou, _Raphaël_’s Saints and Angels trace,}
“There make for _Reubens_ and for _Reynolds_ place, }
“And all the Pride of Art shall find in her, Disgrace. }
“Delight of either Sex! thy Reign commence; }
“With balmy Sweetness, soothe the weary Sense, }
“And to the sickening Soul thy cheering Aid dispense.}
“Queen of the Mind! thy golden Age begin; }
“In mortal Bosoms varnish Shame and Sin, }
“Let all be fair without, let all be calm within.”}

The Vision fled, the happy Mother rose,
Kiss’d the fair Infant, smil’d at all her Foes,
And FLATTERY made her Name:--Her Reign began,
Her own dear Sex she rul’d, then vanquish’d Man;
A smiling Friend, to every Class, she spoke,
Assum’d their Manners and their Habits took;
Her, for her humble Mien, the Modest lov’d;
Her cheerful Looks, the Light and Gay approv’d;
The Just beheld her, firm; the Valiant, brave;
Her Mirth the Free, her Silence pleas’d the Grave;
Zeal heard her Voice, and as he preach’d aloud,
Well-pleas’d he caught her Whispers from the Crowd,
(Those Whispers soothing-sweet to every Ear,
Which some refuse to pay, but none to hear):
Shame fled her Presence; at her gentle Strain,
Care softly smil’d and Guilt forgot its Pain;
The Wretched thought, the Happy found her true,
The Learn’d confess’d, that she their Merits knew;
The Rich--could they a constant Friend condemn?
The Poor believ’d--for who should flatter them?

Thus on her Name, while all Disgrace attend,
In every Creature she beholds a Friend.

REFLECTIONS

UPON THE SUBJECT--

_Quid juvat errores, mersâ jam puppe, fateri?
Quid lacrymæ delicta juvant commissa secutæ?_
CLAUDIAN. in Eutropium, lib. ii. lin. 7.

What avails it when shipwreck’d, that error appears?
Are the crimes we commit, wash’d away by our tears?

Reflections.

“Quid juvat errores, mersâ jam puppe, fateri?
“Quid lacrymæ delicta juvant commissa secutæ?”
CLAUDIAN. in Eutrop. lib. ii. lin. 7.

When all the fiercer Passions cease,
(The Glory and Disgrace of Youth,)
When the deluded Soul in peace,
Can listen to the Voice of Truth;
When we are taught in whom to trust,
And how to spare, to spend, to give;
(Our Prudence kind, our Pity just,)
’Tis then we rightly learn to live.

Its Weakness when the Body feels,
Nor Danger in Contempt defies;
To Reason, when Desire appeals,
When on Experience, Hope relies;
When every passing Hour we prize,
Nor rashly on our Follies spend;
But use it as it quickly flies,
With sober Aim, to serious End:
When Prudence bounds our utmost Views,
And bids us Wrath and Wrong forgive;
When we can calmly gain or lose,
’Tis then we rightly learn to live.

Yet thus when we our Way discern,
And can upon our Care depend,
To travel safely, when we learn,
Behold! we’re near our Journey’s End.
We’ve trod the Maze of Error round,
Long wand’ring in the winding Glade;
And now the Torch of Truth is found,
It only shews us where we stray’d:
Light for ourselves, what is it worth
When we no more our Way can choose?
For others when we hold it forth,
They in their pride, the Boon refuse.

By long Experience taught, we now
Can rightly judge of Friends and Foes,
Can all the Worth of these allow,
And all their Faults discern in those;
Relentless Hatred, erring Love,
We can for sacred Truth forego;
We can the warmest Friend reprove,
And bear to praise the fiercest Foe:
To what effect? our Friends are gone,
Beyond Reproof, Regard, or Care;
And of our Foes remains there one,
The mild relenting Thoughts to share?

Now ’tis our boast that we can quell
The wildest Passions in their Rage;
Can their destructive Force repel,
And their impetuous Wrath assuage:
Ah! Virtue, dost thou arm when now,
This bold rebellious Race are fled;
When all these Tyrants rest, and thou
Art warring with the mighty Dead?
Revenge, Ambition, Scorn, and Pride,
And strong Desire and fierce Disdain,
The Giant-brood by thee defied,
Lo! Time’s resistless Strokes have slain.

Yet Time, who could that Race subdue,
(O’erpow’ring Strength, appeasing Rage,)
Leaves yet a persevering Crew,
To try the failing Powers of Age;
Vex’d by the constant Call of these,
Virtue awhile for Conquest tries,
But weary grown and fond of Ease,
She makes with them a Compromise;
Av’rice himself she gives to Rest,
But rules him with her strict Commands;
Bids Pity touch his torpid Breast,
And Justice hold his eager Hands.

Yet is there nothing Men can do,
When chilling Age comes creeping on?
Cannot we yet some Good pursue?
Are Talents buried? Genius gone?
If Passions slumber in the Breast,
If Follies from the Heart be fled;
Of Laurels let us go in quest,
And place them on the Poet’s Head.

Yes, we’ll redeem the wasted Time,
And to neglected Studies flee;
We’ll build again the lofty Rhyme
Or live, Philosophy, with Thee;
For Reasoning clear, for Flight sublime,
Eternal Fame Reward shall be;
And to what glorious Heights we’ll climb,
Th’ admiring Crowd shall envying see.

Begin the Song! begin the Theme!--
Alas! and is Invention dead?
Dream we no more the golden Dream?
Is Mem’ry with her Treasures fled?
Yes! ’tis too late,--now Reason guides
The Mind, sole Judge in all Debate;
And thus th’ important Point decides,
For Laurels, ’tis, alas! too late.
What is possest, we may retain,
But for new Conquests strive in vain.

Beware then Age, that what was won,
In Life’s past Labours, Studies, Views,
Be lost not, now the Labour’s done,
When all thy Part is,--not to lose:
When thou canst toil or gain no more,
Destroy not what was gain’d before.

For, all that’s gain’d of all that’s Good,
When Time shall his weak Frame destroy,
(Their Use then rightly understood,)
Shall Man, in happier State, enjoy.
Oh! Argument for Truth divine,
For Study’s Cares, for Virtue’s Strife;
To know th’ Enjoyment will be thine,
In that renew’d, that endless Life!

SIR EUSTACE GREY:

A Poem.

SIR EUSTACE GREY.

_Scene._--A MADHOUSE.

Persons.

VISITOR, PHYSICIAN, AND PATIENT.

Veris miscens falsa.--
SENECA in Herc. furente.

VISITOR.

I’ll know no more;--the Heart is torn
By Views of Woe, we cannot heal;
Long shall I see these Things forlorn,
And oft again their Griefs shall feel,
As each upon the Mind shall steal;
That wan Projector’s mystic Style,
That lumpish Idiot leering by,
That peevish Idler’s ceaseless Wile,
And that poor Maiden’s half-form’d Smile,
While struggling for the full-drawn Sigh!---
I’ll know no more.

PHYSICIAN.

--- 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 shew (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 dream’d 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 an 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 shew’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 confest;
And his, who so much Truth avow’d,
My faithless Friends.--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[16];
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,
“Dæmons 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[17], 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, where-ever dwell
Far-distant Men in Cities fair,
Cities of whom no Travellers 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 Tomb-stone 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 Dæmons, 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 banging 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 Gipsey 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 pursued 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;
And add to all, without--within,
A Soul defil’d 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 an heavenly Teacher speak,
And felt the SUN of MERCY shine:
I hail’d 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[18]:--

“Pilgrim burthen’d with thy Sin,
“Come the way to Zion’s Gate,
“There, till Mercy lets 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.

“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 inclin’d,
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_.

VISITOR.

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?

PHYSICIAN.

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 repos’d; 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 believ’d 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 Dæmons dread and Men adore.

THE

HALL OF JUSTICE.

Part the First.

Confiteor facere hoc annos; sed et altera causa est,
Anxietas animi, continuusque dolor.
OVID.

MAGISTRATE, VAGRANT, CONSTABLE, &C.

VAGRANT.

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.

MAGISTRATE.

Fond Wretch! and what canst thou relate,
But Deeds of Sorrow, Shame, and Sin?
Thy Crime is prov’d, thou know’st thy Fate;
But come, thy Tale! begin, begin!--

VAGRANT.

My Crime!---- This sick’ning Child to feed,
I seiz’d the Food, your Witness saw;
I knew your Laws forbad 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 seiz’d--
My Infant-Sufferer found Relief;
And, in the pilfer’d Treasure pleas’d,
Smil’d 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 tortur’d 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, conceiv’d 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, on Want and Error forc’d,
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 lov’d, the Gipsey-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 sank 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 us’d,--
So let him of his GOD implore
For Mercy, and be so refus’d!

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.

MAGISTRATE.

I hear thy Words, I feel thy Pain;
Forbear awhile to speak thy Woes;
Receive our Aid, and then again,
The Story of thy Life disclose.

For, though seduc’d and led astray,
Thou’st traveil’d far and wander’d long;
Thy GOD hath seen thee all the way,
And all the Turns that led thee wrong.

THE

HALL OF JUSTICE.

Part the Second.

Quondam ridentes oculi, nunc fonte perenni
Deplorant pœnas nocte dieque suas.
CORN. Galli Eleg.

MAGISTRATE

Come, now again thy Woes impart,
Tell all thy Sorrows, all thy Sin;
We cannot heal the throbbing Heart,
Till we discern the Wounds within.

Compunction weeps our Guilt away,
The Sinner’s Safety is his Pain;
Such Pangs for our Offences pay,
And these severer Griefs are Gain.

VAGRANT.

The Son came back--he found us wed,
Then dreadful was the Oath he swore;--
His Way through _Blackburn_ Forest led,--
His Father we beheld no more.

Of all our daring Clan, not one,
Would on the doubtful Subject dwell;
For all esteem’d the injur’d Son,
And fear’d the Tale, which he could tell.

But I had mightier Cause for Fear,
For slow and mournful round my Bed,
I saw a dreadful Form appear,--
It came when I and Aaron wed.

(Yes! we were wed, I know my Crime,--
We slept beneath the Elmin Tree;
But I was grieving all the time,
And Aaron frown’d my Tears to see.

For he not yet had felt the Pain,
That rankles in a wounded Breast;
He wak’d to Sin, then slept again,
Forsook his GOD, yet took his Rest.--

But I was forc’d to feign Delight,
And Joy in Mirth and Music sought,--
And Mem’ry now recalls the Night,
With such Surprise and Horror fraught,
That Reason felt a moment’s Flight,
And left a Mind, to Madness wrought.)

When waking, on my heaving Breast,
I felt a Hand as cold as Death;
A sudden Fear my Voice suppress’d,
A chilling Terror stopp’d my Breath.--

I seem’d--no Words can utter how!
For there my Father-Husband stood,--
And thus he said:--“Will GOD allow,
“The great Avenger, just and good,
“A Wife, to break her Marriage Vow?
“A Son, to shed his Father’s Blood?”

I trembled at the dismal Sounds,
But vainly strove a Word to say;
So, pointing to his bleeding Wounds,
[19]The threat’ning Spectre stalk’d away.

I brought a lovely Daughter forth,
His Father’s Child, in Aaron’s Bed;
He took her from me in his wrath,
“Where is my Child?”--‘Thy Child is dead.’

’Twas false--we wander’d far and wide,
Through Town and Country, Field and Fen,
Till Aaron fighting, fell and died,
And I became a Wife again.

I then was young:--my Husband sold
My fancied Charms, for wicked Price;
He gave me oft, for sinful Gold,
The Slave, but not the Friend of Vice:--
Behold me Heav’n! my Pains behold,
And let them for my Sins suffice!

The Wretch who lent me thus for Gain,
Despis’d me when my Youth was fled;
Then came Disease and brought me Pain:--
Come, Death, and bear me to the Dead!
For though I grieve, my Grief is vain,
And fruitless all the Tears I shed.

True, I was not to Virtue train’d,
Yet well I knew my Deeds were ill;
By each Offence my Heart was pain’d,
I wept, but I offended still;
My better Thoughts my Life disdain’d,
But yet the viler led my Will.

My Husband died, and now no more,
My Smile was sought or ask’d my Hand,
A widow’d Vagrant, vile and poor,
Beneath a Vagrant’s vile command.

Ceaseless I rov’d the Country round,
To win my Bread by fraudful Arts,
And long a poor Subsistence found,
By spreading Nets for simple Hearts.

Though poor, and abject, and despis’d,
Their Fortunes to the Crowd I told;
I gave the Young the Love they priz’d,
And promis’d Wealth to bless the Old;
Schemes for the Doubtful I devis’d,
And Charms for the Forsaken sold.

At length for Arts like these confin’d,
In Prison with a lawless Crew;
I soon perceiv’d a kindred Mind,
And there my long-lost Daughter knew.

His Father’s Child, whom Aaron gave
To wander with a distant Clan,
The Miseries of the World to brave,
And be the Slave of Vice and Man.

She knew my Name--we met in Pain,
Our parting Pangs, can I express?
She sail’d a Convict o’er the Main,
And left an Heir to her Distress.

This is that Heir to Shame and Pain,
For whom I only could descry
A World of Trouble and Disdain:
Yet, could I bear to see her die,
Or stretch her feeble Hands in vain,
And weeping, beg of me Supply?

No! though the Fate thy Mother knew,
Was shameful! shameful though thy Race
Have wander’d all, a lawless Crew,
Outcasts, despis’d in every Place;

Yet as the dark and muddy Tide,
When far from its polluted Source,
Becomes more pure, and purified,
Flows in a clear and happy Course;--
In thee, dear Infant! so may end
Our Shame, in thee our Sorrows cease!
And thy pure Course will then extend,
In Floods of Joy, o’er Vales of Peace.

Oh! by the God who loves to spare,
Deny me not the Boon I crave;
Let this lov’d Child your Mercy share,
And let me find a peaceful Grave;
Make her yet spotless Soul your Care,
And let my Sins their Portion have,
Her for a better Fate prepare,
And punish whom ’twere Sin to save!

MAGISTRATE.

Recall the Word, renounce the Thought,
Command thy Heart and bend thy Knee,
There is to all a Pardon brought,
A Ransom rich, assur’d and free;
’Tis full when found, ’tis found if sought,
Oh! seek it, till ’tis seal’d to Thee.

VAGRANT.

But how my Pardon shall I know?

MAGISTRATE.

By feeling Dread that ’tis not sent,
By Tears for Sin that freely flow,
By Grief, that all thy Tears are spent,
By Thoughts on that great Debt we owe,
With all the Mercy GOD has lent,
By suffering what thou canst not show,
Yet showing how thine Heart is rent,
Till thou canst feel thy Bosom glow,
And say, “MY SAVIOUR, I REPENT!”

WOMAN!

MR. LEDYARD, as quoted by M. PARKE, in his
_Travels into Africk_.

“To a Woman I never addressed myself in the language of decency and
friendship, without receiving a decent and friendly answer. If I
was hungry or thirsty, wet or sick, they did not hesitate, like
Men, to perform a generous action: In so free and kind a manner did
they contribute to my relief, that if I was dry, I drank the
sweetest draught; and if hungry, I ate the coarsest morsel with a
double relish.”

Place the White-Man on Africk’s Coast,
Whose swarthy Sons in Blood delight,
Who of their Scorn to Europe boast,
And paint their very Dæmons white:
There while the sterner Sex disdains
To soothe the Woes, they cannot feel;
Woman will strive to heal his Pains,
And weep for those, she cannot heal:
Hers is warm Pity’s sacred Glow;
From all her Stores, she bears a Part,
And bids the Spring of Hope re-flow,
That languish’d in the fainting Heart.

“What though so pale his haggard Face,
“So sunk and sad his Looks,”--she cries;
“And far unlike our nobler Race,
“With crisped Locks and rolling Eyes;
“Yet Misery marks him of our Kind,
“We see him lost, alone, afraid;
“And Pangs of Body, Griefs in Mind,
“Pronounce him Man and ask our Aid.

“Perhaps in some far distant Shore,
“There are who in these Forms delight;
“Whose milky Features please them more,
“Than ours of Jet thus burnish’d bright;
“Of such may be his weeping Wife,
“Such Children for their Sire may call,
“And if we spare his ebbing Life,
“Our Kindness may preserve them all.”

Thus her Compassion Woman shows,
Beneath the Line her Acts are these;
Nor the wide Waste of Lapland-Snows,
Can her warm Flow of Pity freeze:--
“From some sad Land the Stranger comes,
“Where Joys, like ours, are never found;
“Let’s soothe him in our happy Homes,
“Where Freedom sits, with Plenty crown’d.

“‘Tis good the fainting Soul to cheer,
“To see the famish’d Stranger fed;
“To milk for him the Mother-Deer,
“To smooth for him the furry Bed.
“The Powers above, our Lapland bless,
“With Good no other People know;
“T’ enlarge the Joys that we possess,
“By feeling those that we bestow!”

Thus in Extremes of Cold and Heat,
Where wandering Man may trace his Kind;
Where-ever Grief and Want retreat,
In Woman they Compassion find;
She makes the Female Breast her Seat,
And dictates Mercy to the Mind.

Man may the sterner Virtues know,
Determin’d Justice, Truth severe:
But Female Hearts with Pity glow,
And Woman holds Affliction dear;
For guiltless Woes her Sorrows flow,
And suffering Vice compels her Tear;
’Tis her’s to soothe the Ills below,
And bid Life’s fairer Views appear;
To Woman’s gentle Kind we owe,
What comforts and delights us here;
They its gay Hopes on Youth bestow,
And Care they soothe and Age they cheer.

_Printed by Brettell and Co.
Marshall-Street, Golden-Square._

FOOTNOTES:

[1] See the Life of S. Johnson, by Boswell, vol. iv. p. 185 8vo. edit.

[2] Neither of these were adopted; the Author had written, about that time, some Verses to the memory of Lord ROBERT MANNERS, Brother to the late Duke of RUTLAND; and these, by a junction, it is presumed, not forced or unnatural, form the concluding part of the _Village_.

[3] See Page 77.

[4] A pauper who, being nearly past his labour, is employed by different masters, for a length of time proportioned to their occupations.

[5] Some apology is due for the insertion of a circumstance by no means common: That it has been a subject for complaint in any place, is a sufficient reason for its being reckoned among the evils which may happen to the Poor, and which must happen to them exclusively; nevertheless, it is just to remark, that such neglect is very rare in any part of the kingdom, and in many parts is totally unknown.

[6] Lord ROBERT MANNERS, the youngest son of the Marquis of Granby and the Lady Frances Seymour, daughter of Charles Duke of Somerset, was born the 5th of February, 1758; and was placed with his brother, the late Duke of Rutland, at Eton-School, where he acquired, and ever after retained, a considerable knowledge of the classical authors.

Lord ROBERT, after going through the duties of his profession on-board different ships, was made Captain of the RESOLUTION, and commanded her in nine different actions, besides that last memorable one on the 2d of April, 1782, when, in breaking the French Line of Battle, he received the wounds which terminated his life, in the 24th year of his age.

_See the Annual Register, printed for Mr. Dodsley._

[7] Allusions of this kind are to be found in the Fairy-Queen. See the end of the first book, and other places.

[8] Clarissa, vol. vii. Lovelace’s Letter.

[9] Spencer.

[10] See page 52.

[11] In the more antient Libraries, Works of value and importance were fastened to their places by a length of chain; and might so be perused, but not taken away.

[12] The Manna of the Day. Green’s Spleen.

[13]

---- in foliis descripsit carmina Virgo;--
---- et teneres turbavit janua frondes.
VIRG. Æneid. lib. iii.

[14]

How many hours bring about the day.
How many days will furnish up the year,
How many years a mortal Man may live; &c.
SHAKSPEARE’s Henry VI.

[15] “Myrica Gale,” a shrub growing in boggy and fenny grounds.

[16] Prophecy of Daniel, chap. iv. 22.

[17] Vide Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress

[18] 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 different 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.

[19] The state of mind here described, will account for a vision of this nature, without having recourse to any supernatural appearance.