Or where the river mingles with the sea, Or on the mud-bank by the elder-tree, Or by the bounding marsh-dyke, there was he: In the blind courts he sate desponding down— 66 Temptation came; I reason'd, and I fell : "To be man's guide and glory I design'd, "A rare example for our sinful kind ; "But now my weakness and my guilt I see, “And am a warning-man, be warn'd by me!" He said, and saw no more the human face; To a lone loft he went, his dying place, VOL. II. "No charms she now can boast,”—'tis true, But other charmers wither too : "And she is old,”—the fact I know, And old will other heroines grow; Fill'd her pure mind with awe and dread, No cruel uncle kept her land, No tyrant father forced her hand; With gibe and sneer and taunt. But heroine then no more, She own'd the fault, and wept and pray'd, And humbly took the parish aid, And dwelt among the poor. : The Widow's Cottage-Blind Ellen one-Hers not the Sorrows or Adventures of Heroines-What these are, first described-Deserted Wives; rash Lovers; courageous Damsels in desolated Mansions; in grievous Perplexity -These Evils, however severe, of short Duration-Ellen's Story-Her Employment in Childhood-First Love; first Adventure; its miserable Termination-An idiot Daughter-A Husband-Care in Business without SuccessThe Man's Despondency and its Effect-Their Children: how disposed of-One particularly unfortunate-Fate of the Daughter-Ellen keeps a School and is happy-Becomes blind: loses her School-Her Consolations. THE BOROUGH. LETTER XX. ELLEN ORFORD. OBSERVE yon tenement, apart and small, And the red paling bounds the space before; Where thrift and lavender, and lad's-love (1) bloom,- I've often marvel'd, when by night, by day, To me it seems, their females and their men Are but the creatures of the author's pen; Nay, creatures borrow'd and again convey'd From book to book-the shadows of a shade: Life, if they'd search, would show them many a change; The ruin sudden and the misery strange! With more of grievous, base, and dreadful things, Than novelists relate or poet sings: But they, who ought to look the world around, Spy out a single spot in fairy-ground; Where all, in turn, ideal forms behold, And plots are laid and histories are told. Time have I lent-I would their debt were less To flow'ry pages of sublime distress; And to the heroine's soul-distracting fears I early gave my sixpences and tears: Close by a coppice where 'twas cold and dark; |