The mother's slow consent was then obtain'd;
The time arrived, to part alone remain'd:
All things prepared, on the expected day
Was seen the vessel anchor'd in the bay.

1 their joys and sorrows, hopes and From her would seamen in the evening come,

The ship was captured," Allen meekly said,
And what became of the forsaken maid?”

no The woman answer'd: "I remember now,
She used to tell the lasses of her vow,
And of her lover's loss, and I have seen
The gayest hearts grow sad where she has been,
Yet in her grief she married, and was made
Slave to a wretch, whom meekly she obey'd,
And early buried: but I know no more.
And hark! our friends are hastening to the shore.'
Allen soon found a lodging in the town,

But forty years were past, and then there came
A worn-out man, with wither'd limbs and lame,
His mind oppress'd with woes, and bent with age
his frame :

Yes! old and grieved, and trembling with decay,
Was Allen landing in his native bay,

Willing his breathless form should blend with kin- | And walk'd, a man unnoticed, up and down.

I preach'd no foreign doctrine to my wife,
And never mention'd Luther in my life;
I, all they said, say what they would, allow'd,
And when the fathers bade me bow, I bow'd:
Their forms I follow'd, whether well or sick,
And was a most obedient Catholic.

But I had money, and these pastors found
My notions vague, heretical, unsound:
A wicked book they seized; the very Turk
Could not have read a more pernicious work;
To me pernicious, who if it were good
Or evil question'd not, nor understood:

died; her children sought their bread O! had I little but the book possess'd,

He gazed, he pointed to the scenes :-"There stand
My wife, my children, 'tis my lovely land;
See! there my dwelling-O! delicious scene

I was poor," said Allen, "none would Of my best life-unhand me-are ye men ?"

And thus the frenzy ruled him. till the wind

"Twas in the Indian seas his limb he lost,
And he was left half dead upon the coast;
But living gain'd, 'mid rich aspiring men,
A fair subsistence by his ready pen.

Thus," he continued, "pass'd unvaried years,
Without events producing hopes or fears.
Augmented pay procured him decent wealth,
But years advancing undermined his health:
Then oft-times in delightful dreams he flew
To England's shore, and scenes his childhood knew:
He saw his parents, saw his favourite maid,
No feature wrinkled, not a charm decay'd;
And thus excited in his bosom rose

A wish so strong, it baffled his repose;
Anxious he felt on English earth to lie;
To view his native soil, and there to die.

He then described the gloom, the dread he
found,

When first he landed on the chosen ground,
Where undefined was all he hoped and fear'd,
And how confused and troubled all appear'd;
His thoughts in past and present scenes employ'd,
All views in future blighted and destroy'd;
His were a medley of bewildering themes,
Sod as realities, and wild as dreams.

Here his relation closes, but his mind
Flies back again some resting place to find;
Thus silent, musing through the day, he sees
His children sporting by those lofty trees,
Their mother singing in the shady scene,
Where the fresh springs burst o'er the
green;-

So strong his eager fancy, he affrights
The faithful widow by its powerful flights;
For what disturbs him he aloud will tell,
And cry-Tis she, my wife! my Isabel!

TALE III.

THE GENTLEMAN FARMER.

Pause then,

And weigh thy value with an even hand;
If thou beest rated by thy estimation,
Thou dost deserve enough.

Merchant of Venice, act ii. se. 7.

Because I will not do them wrong to mistrust any, I will do myself the right to trust none; and the fine is, (for which I may go the finer,) I will live a bachelor. Much Ado about Nothing, act i. sc. 3. Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of it.

Macbeth, act v. sc. 3.

His promises are, as he then was, mighty,
And his performance, as he now is, nothing.
Henry VIII. act iv. sc. 2

GWYN was a farmer, whom the farmers all,
Who dwelt around, the Gentleman would call;
Whether in pure humility or pride,

They only knew, and they would not decide.

Far different he from that dull plodding tribe,
Whom it was his amusement to describe;
Creatures no more enliven'd than a clod,
But treading still as their dull fathers trod;
Who lived in times when not a man had seen
Corn sown by drill, or thresh'd by a machine :
He was of those whose skill assigns the prize
lively For creatures fed in pens, and stalls, and sties;
And who, in places where improvers meet,
To fill the land with fatness, had a seat;
Who in large mansions live like petty kings,
And speak of farms but as amusing things;
Who plans encourage, and who journals keep,

Where are my children ?"-Judith grieves to hear And talk with lords about a breed of sheep.

How the soul works in sorrows so severe;
Assiduous all his wishes to attend,

Deprived of much, he yet may boast a friend;
Watch'd by her care, in sleep, his spirit takes
Its flight, and watchful finds her when he wakes.
'Tis now her office; her attention see!
While her friend sleeps beneath that shading tree,
Careful she guards him from the glowing heat,
And pensive muses at her Allen's feet.

Two are the species in this genus known;
One, who is rich in his profession grown,
Who yearly finds his ample stores increase,
From fortune's favours and a favouring lease;
Who rides his hunter, who his house adorns ;
Who drinks his wine, and his disbursements scorns;
Who freely lives, and loves to show he can—
This is the farmer made the gentleman.

The second species from the world is sent,

And where is he? Ah! doubtless in those Tired with its strife, or with his wealth content;

scenes

Of his best days, amid the vivid greens,
Fresh with unnumber'd rills, where every gale
Breathes the rich fragrance of the neighb'ring vale;
Smiles not his wife, and listen's as there comes
The night-bird's music from the thickening glooms?
And as he sits with all these treasures nigh,
Blaze not with fairy light the phosphor-fly,

In books and men beyond the former read,
To farming solely by a passion led,
Or by a fashion: curious in his land;
Now planning much, now changing what he

plann'd ;

Pleased by each trial, not by failures vex'd.
And ever certain to succeed the next;
Quick to resolve, and easy to persuade-

When like a sparkling gem it wheels illumined by? This is the gentleman, a farmer made.

This is the joy that now so plainly speaks
In the warm transient flushing of his cheeks;
For he is listening to the fancied noise
Of his own children, eager in their joys:
All this he feels, a dream's delusive bliss
Gives the expression, and the glow like this.
And now his Judith lays her knitting by,
These strong emotions in her friend to spy;
For she can fully of their nature deem-
But see! he breaks the long-protracted theme,
And wakes and cries-" My God! 'twas but
dream."

Gwyn was of these; he from the world withdrew
Early in life, his reasons known to few;
Some disappointment said, some pure good sense
The love of land, the press of indolence;
His fortune known, and coming to retire,
If not a farmer, men had call'd him 'squire
Forty and five his years, no child or wife
Cross'd the still tenor of his chosen life;
Much land he purchased, planted far around,
And let some portions of superfluous ground

a To farmers near him, not displeased to say,

66

My tenants," nor" our worthy landlord," they

Fix'd in his farm, he soon display'd his skill
In small-boned lambs, the horse-shoe, and the drill;
From these he rose to themes of nobler kind,
And show'd the riches of a fertile mind;
To all around their visits he repaid,
And thus his mansion and himself display'd.
His rooms were stately, rather fine than neat,
And guests politely call'd his house a seat;
At much expense was each apartment graced,
His taste was gorgeous, but it still was taste:
In full festoons the crimson curtains fell,
The sofas rose in bold elastic swell;
Mirrors in gilded frames display'd the tints
Of glowing carpets and of colour'd prints;
The weary eye saw every object shine,
And all was costly, fanciful, and fine.

As with his friends he pass'd the social hours,
His generous spirit scorn'd to hide its powers;
Powers unexpected, for his eye and air
Gave no sure signs that eloquence was there;
Oft he began with sudden fire and force,
As loath to lose occasion for discourse;
Some, 'tis observed, who feel a wish to speak,
Will a due place for introduction seek;
On to their purpose step by step they steal,
And all their way, by certain signals, feel;
Others plunge in at once, and never heed

If he pursues it, here and there it slides;
He would collect it, but it more divides;
This part and this he stops, but still in vain,
It slips aside, and breaks in parts again;
Till, after time and pains, and care and cost,
He finds his labour and his object lost.

"But most it grieves me,(friends alone are round,)
To see a man in priestly fetters bound:
Guides to the soul, these friends of Heaven contrive
Long as man lives, to keep his fears alive;
Soon as an infant breathes, their rites begin;
Who knows not sinning, must be freed from sin
Who needs no bond, must yet engage in vows;
Who has no judgment, must a creed espouse:
Advanced in life, our boys are bound by rules
Are catechised in churches, cloisters, schools,
And train'd in thraldom to be fit for tools:
The youth grown up, he now a partner needs,
And lo! a priest, as soon as he succeeds.
What man of sense can marriage rites approve
What man of spirit can be bound to love?
Forced to be kind! compell'd to be sincere!
Do chains and fetters make companions dear?
Prisoners indeed we bind; but though the bond
May keep them safe, it does not make them fond:
The ring, the vow, the witness, license, prayers,
All parties know! made public all affairs!

Whose turn they take, whose purpose they im- Such forms men suffer, and from these they date

pede;

Resolved to shine, they hasten to begin,

Of ending thoughtless-and of these was Gwyn.
And thus he spake—

"It grieves me to the soul
To see how man submits to man's control;
How overpower'd and shackled minds are led
In vulgar tracks, and to submission bred;
The coward never on himself relies,
But to an equal for assistance flies;
Man yields to custom as he bows to fate,
In all things ruled-mind, body, and estate;
In pain, in sickness, we for cure apply

To them we know not, and we know not why;
But that the creature has some jargon read,
And got some Scotchman's system in his head;
Some grave impostor, who will health ensure,
Long as your patience or your wealth endure;
But mark them well, the pale and sickly crew,
They have not health, and can they give it you?
These solemn cheats their various methods choose;
A system fires them, as a bard his muse:
Hence wordy wars arise; the learn'd divide,
And groaning patients curse each erring guide.
"Next, our affairs are govern'd, buy or sell,
Upon the deed the law must fix its spell;
Whether we hire or let, we must have still
The dubious aid of an attorney's skill;
They take a part in every man's affairs,
And in all business some concern is theirs ;
Because mankind in ways prescribed are found
Lake flocks that follow on a beaten ground,
Each abject nature in the way proceeds,
That now to sheering, now to slaughter leads.
"Should you offend, though meaning no offence,
You have no safety in your innocence;
The statute broken then is placed in view,
And men must pay for crimes they never knew:
Who would by law regain his plunder'd store,
Would pick up fallen mercury from the floor;

A deed of love begun with all they hate :
Absurd! that none the beaten road should shun,
But love to do what other dupes have done.

Well, now your priest has made you one of
twain,

Look you for rest? Alas! you look in vain.
If sick, he comes; you cannot die in peace,
Till he attends to witness your release;
To vex your soul, and urge you to confess
The sins you feel, remember, or can guess:
Nay, when departed, to your grave he goes
But there indeed he hurts not your repose.

Such are our burdens; part we must sustain,
But need not link new grievance to the chain
Yet men like idiots will their frames surround
With these vile shackles, nor confess they're bound:
In all that most confines them they confide,
Their slavery boast, and make their bonds their

pride;

E'en as the pressure galls them, they declare,
(Good souls!) how happy and how free they are!
As madmen, pointing round their wretched cells,
Cry, lo! the palace where our honour dwells.'
"Such is our state: but I resolve to live
By rules my reason and my feelings give;
No legal guards shall keep enthrall'd my mind,
No slaves command me, and no teachers blind.
"Tempted by sins, let me their strength defy,
But have no second in a surplice by ;
No bottle-holder, with officious aid,
To comfort conscience, weaken'd and afraid;
Then if I yield, my frailty is not known;

And, if I stand, the glory is my own.