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o for us,

For they may pleasures all their lives pursue,
The winter pleasures, and the summer's too-
Pleasures for every hour in every day-
Oh! how their time must pass in joy away!”

'So Peter said.--Replied the courteous Dame:
" What


call pleasure scarcely owns the name.
The very changes of amusement prove
There's nothing that deserves a lasting love.
They hunt, they course, they shoot, they fish, they game;
The objects vary, though the end the same--
A search for that which flies them; no, my Boy!
'Tis not enjoyment, 'tis pursuit of joy."

Peter was thoughtful--thinking, What! not these,
Who can command, or purchase, what they please-
Whom many serve, who only speak the word,
And they have all that earth or seas afford
All that can charm the mind or please the

And they not happy!-- but I'll ask her why.

• So Peter ask'd.-“'Tis not,” she said,
“ Their Honours' inward feelings to discuss;
But if they're happy, they would still confess

'T is not these things that make their happiness.” In the poem as left for publication, the story ends with the happy boy's return home after his day's pleasure ; but in the first draft, the following lines supply a conclusion which we are sure the reader will think ought not to have been suppressed. We thank the Editors for having preserved them:

• Dream on, dear Boy! let pass a few brief years,
Replete with troubles, comforts, hopes, and fears,
Bold expectations, efforts wild and strong,
And thou shalt find thy fond conjectures wrong.
Imagination rules thee: thine are dreams,
And every thing to thee is what it seems :
Thou seest the surfaces of things, that pass
Before thee, colour'd by thy fancy's glass.
The fact below is hidden ! What is true
In that fair mansion comes not in thy view;
And thou would'st feel a new and strange surprise,
Should all within upon thy mind arise.
Thou think'st the lords of all these glorious things
Are blest supremely! so they are, like kings !
Envy them not their lofty state, my boy;
They but possess the things that you enjoy.

Nay, but they're lords of all you see around-
Ring but a bell, and men obey the sound;
Make but a motion, with the hand or eye,
And their attendants at the signal fly."

" True, my fair lad! but this is contract all,
For James is paid to heed his Honour's call :
Let wages cease, and lay the livery by,
And James will heed no more than you or I.
Service has lawful bound, and that beyond
Is no obedience -'t is not in the bond,
Footman, or groom, or butler, still he knows,
So does his lord, the duty that he owes.

• Labourers, you say, are grieved with daily toil -
True — but the sweater goes not with the soil ;
He can change places, change his way of life,
Take new employments,

nay, can take a wife ;
If he offend, he knows the law's decree,
Nor can his judge in his accuser see ;
And, more than all the rest

or young or old,
Useful or useless, he can not be sold :
Sorrow and want may in his cot be found,
But not a Slave can live on British ground.

« Nor have the Lords of all this wealth you see,
Their perfect freedom : few are truly free:
Who rank the highest find the check of fate,
And kings themselves are subject to their state.

• Riches, and all that we desire to gain,
Bind their possessors in a golden chain
'T is kept in peril, and 't is lost with pain.

* And thou too, Boy! wilt pass unheeding by
The scenes that now delight thine eager eye.
Dream on awhile! and there shall come a strange,
And, couldst thou see it, an amazing change.
Thou who wert late so happy, and so proud,
To be a seat with liveried men allow'd,
And would not, dared not, in thy very shame,
The titles of their noble masters name
Titles that, scarcely known, upon thy tongue
With tremulous and erring accent hung

*Oh! had they told thee, when thou sat'st with pride,
And grateful joy, at Madam Johnson's side,
And heard the lisping Flora, blue-eyed maid,
Bid thee be neither bashful nor afraid,
When Mrs. Jane thy burning blush had raised,
Because thy modesty and sense she praised -
Couldst thou have seen that in that place a room
Should be thine own, thy house, thy hall, thy home,
With leave to wander as thou wouldst, to read
Just as thy fancy was disposed to feed,
To live with those who were so far above
Thy reach, it seem'd to thee a crime to love,

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Or even admire them! - Little didst thou know
How near approach the lofty and the low!
In all we dare, and all we dare not name,
How much the great and little are the same !

Well, thou hast tried it — thou hast closely seen
What greatness has without it, and within ;
Where now the joyful expectation? - fled!

The strong anticipating spirit? — dead !' The sixth and following tales were originally designed for a separate volume, to be entitled, "The Farewell and the Return." The Poet supposes a young man to take leave of his native place, and to exchange farewells with his friends and acquaintance there, whose several situations and prospects are briefly sketched in the first section of each tale. After an interval of twenty years, he is supposed to return; and the interest consists in the completion of the history of each person to whom he had bidden farewell. We select the following, not as the most interesting story, but as partaking more of the picturesque than is usual in the Author's poetry, and because it closes with a lyrical specimen which is both spirited and elegant.


To part is painful; nay, to bid adieu
Even to a favourite spot is painful too.
That fine old Seat, with all those oaks around,
Oft have I view'd with reverence so profound,
As something sacred dwelt in that delicious ground.

• There, with its tenantry, about, reside
A genuine English race, the country's pride ;
And now a Lady, last of all that race,
Is the departing spirit of the place.
Hers is the last of all that noble blood,
That flow'd through generations brave and good;
And if there dwells a native pride in her.
It is the pride of name and character.

True, she will speak, in her abundant zeal,
Of stainless honour; that she needs must feel;
She must lament, that she is now the last
Of all who gave such splendour to the past.

• Still are her habits of the ancient kind;
She knows the poor, the sick, the lame, the blind.
She holds, so she believes, her wealth in trust;
And being kind, with her, is being just.
Though soul and body she delights to aid,

Yet of her skill she's prudently afraid :


So to her chaplain's care she this commends,
And when that craves, the village doctor sends.

• At church attendance she requires of all,
Who would be held in credit at the Hall ;
A due respect to each degree she shows,

pays the debt that every mortal owes ;
"Tis by opinion that respect is led,
The rich'esteem because the poor are fed.

• Her servants all, if so we may describe
That ancient, grave, observant, decent tribe,
Who with her share the blessings of the Hall,
Are kind, but grave, are proud, but courteous all-
Proud of their lucky lot! behold, how stands
That grey-haired butler, waiting her commands;
The Lady dines, and every day he feels
That his good mistress falters in her meals.
With what respectful manners he entreats
That she would eat-yet Jacob little eats ;
When she forbears, his supplicating eye
Intreats the noble dame once more to try.
years the same;

and he has never known
Another place; and this he deems his own,-
All appertains to him. Whate'er he sees
Is ours !" our house, our land, our walks, our trees!"

• But still he fears the time is just at hand, When he no more shall in that presence stand ; And he resolves, with mingled grief and pride, To serve no being in the world beside. “ He has enough,” he says, with many a sigh, “ For him to serve his God, and learn to die : He and his lady shall have heard their call, And the new fólk, the strangers, may have all.”

. But, leaving these to their accustom'd way,
The Seat itself demands a short delay.
We all have interest there the trees that

Near to that seat, to that their grandeur owe;
They take, but largely pay, and equal grace bestow :
They hide a part, but still the part they shade
Is more inviting to our fancy made;
And, if the


be robb’d of half its sight
Th' imagination feels the more delight.
These giant oaks by no man's order stand,
Heaven did the work : by no man was it plann'd.

• Here I behold no puny works of art,
None give me reasons why these views impart
Such charm to fill the mind, such joy to swell the heart,
These very pinnacles, and turrets small,
And windows dim, have beauty in them all.

How stately stand yon pines upon the hill,
How soft the murmurs of that living rill,
And o'er the park's tall paling, scarcely higher
Peeps the low Church and shows the modest spire,
Unnumber'd violets on those banks

appear, And all the first-born beauties of the

year. The

grey-green blossoms of the willows bring
The large wild bees upon the labouring wing:
Then comes the Summer with augmented pride,
Whose pure small streams along the valleys glide :
Her richer Flora their brief charms display ;
And, as the fruit advances, fall away.
Then shall th' autumnal yellow clothe the leaf :
What time the reaper binds the burden'd sheaf;
Then silent groves denote the dying year,
The morning frost, and noon-tide gossamer ;
And all be silent in the scene around,
All save the distant sea's uncertain sound,
Or here and there the gun

whose loud report
Proclaims to man that Death is but his sport :
And then the wintry winds begin to blow,
Then fall the flaky stars of gathering snow,
When on the thorn the ripening sloe, yet blue,
Takes the bright varnish of the morning dew;
The aged moss grows brittle on the pale,
The dry boughs splinter in the windy gale,
And every changing season of the year
Stamps on the scene its English character.

• Farewell ! a prouder Mansion I may see, But much must meet in that which equals thee !

I leave the town, and take a well-known way
To that old Mansion in the closing day,
When beams of golden light are shed around,
And sweet is every sight and every sound.
Pass this hill, and I shall then behold
The Seat so honour'd, so admired of old,
And yet admired.

· Alas ! I see a change,
Of odious kind, and lamentably strange.
Who had done this? The good old Lady lies
Within her tomb: but who could this advise?
What barbarous hand could all this mischief do,
And spoil a noble house to make it new ?
Who had done this? Some genuine Son of Trade
Has all this dreadful devastation made ;
Some man with line and rule, and evil

eye, Who could no beauty in a tree descry,

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