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Ah! had I married, I might now have seen | But when to either we our souls devote,
My-No! it never, never could have been:
That long enchantment, that pernicious
state!-
True, I recover'd, but alas! too late-
And here is Richard, poor indeed-but-nay!
This is self- torment-foolish thoughts,
away!

Ease leads to habit, as success to ease,
He lives by rule who lives himself to please;
For change is trouble, and a man of wealth
Consults his quiet as he guards his health;
And habit now on George had sovereign

power,

His actions all had their accustom'd hour:
At the fix'd time he slept, he walk'd, he read,
Or sought his grounds, his gruel, and his bed; |
For every season he with caution dress'd,
And morn and eve had the appropriate vest;
He talk'd of early mists, and night's cold air,
And in one spot was fix'd his worship's chair.
But not a custom yet on Richard's mind
Had force, or him to certain modes confined;
To him no joy such frequent visits paid,
That habit by its beaten track was made:
He was not one who at his ease could say,
We'll live to-morrow as we lived to-day;
But he and his were as the ravens fed,
As the day came it brought the daily bread.

George, born to fortune, though of moderate kind,

Was not in haste his road through life to find:
His father early lost, his mother tried
To live without him, liked it not, and-sigh'd,
When, for her widow'd hand, an amorous
youth applied:

She still was young, and felt that she could

share

A lover's passion, and an husband's care; Yet past twelve years before her son was told,

To his surprise, "your father you behold." But he beheld not with his mother's eye The new relation, and would not comply; But all obedience, all connexion spurn'd, And fled their home, where he no more return'd.

His father's brother was a man whose mind Was to his business and his bank confined; His guardian care the captious nephew sought,

And was received, caress'd, advised, and taught. "That Irish beggar, whom your mother took, Does you this good, he sends you to your book;

Yet love not books beyond their proper worth,

But when they fit you for the world, go forth:

They are like beauties, and may blessings prove, When we with caution study them, or love;

We grow unfitted for that world, and dote."
George to a school of higher class was sent,
But he was ever grieving that he went:
A still, retiring, musing, dreaming boy,
He relish'd not their sudden bursts of joy;
Nor the tumultuous pleasures of a rude,
A noisy, careless, fearless multitude:
He had his own delights, as one who flies
From every pleasure that a crowd supplies:
Thrice he return'd, but then was weary
grown,

And was indulged with studies of his own.
Still could the Rector and his Friend relate
The small adventures of that distant date;
And Richard listen'd as they spake of time
Past in that world of misery and crime.
Freed from his school, a priest of gentle kind
The uncle found to guide the nephew's mind;
Pleased with his teacher, George so long
remain'd,

The mind was weaken'd by the store it gain'd.

His guardian uncle, then on foreign ground, No time to think of his improvements found; Nor had the nephew, now to manhood

grown,

Talents or taste for trade or commerce shown, But shunn'd a world of which he little knew, Nor of that little did he like the view.

His mother chose, nor I the choice upbraid,
An Irish soldier of an house decay'd,
And passing poor, but precious in her eyes
As she in his; they both obtain'd a prize.
To do the captain justice, she might share
What of her jointure his affairs could spare:
Irish he was in his profusion-true,
But he was Irish in affection too;
And though he spent her wealth and made
her grieve,

He always said "my dear," and "with your
leave."
Him she survived: she saw his boy pos-
sess'd

Of manly spirit, and then sank to rest.

Her sons thus left, some legal cause required That they should meet, but neither this desired:

George, a recluse, with mind engaged, was

one

Who did no business, with whom none was done;

Whose heart, engross'd by its peculiar care, Shared no one's counsel-no one his might share.

Richard, a boy, a lively boy, was told
Of his half-brother, haughty, stern, and cold;
And his boy-folly, or his manly pride,
Made him on measures cool and harsh decide :
So, when they met, a distant cold salute
Was of a long-expected day the fruit ;

The rest by proxies managed, each withdrew, Vex'd by the business and the brother too: But now they met when time had calm'd the mind,

Both wish'd for kindness, and it made them kind:

George had no wife or child, and was disposed To love the man on whom his hope reposed: Richard had both; and those so well beloved, Husband and father were to kindness moved; And thus th' affections check'd, subdued, restrain❜d,

Rose in their force, and in their fulness reign'd.

The bell now bids to dine: the friendly priest, Social and shrewd, the day's delight increased: Brief and abrupt their speeches while they dined,

Nor were their themes of intellectual kind;
Nor, dinner past, did they to these advance,
But left the subjects they discuss'd to chance.
Richard, whose boyhood in the place was
spent,

Profound attention to the speakers lent,
Who spake of men; and, as he heard a name,
Actors and actions to his memory came:
Then, too, the scenes he could distinctly trace,
Here he had fought, and there had gain'd

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No private tutor Richard's parents sought, Made keen by hardship, and by trouble taught:

They might have sent him-some the coun

sel gaveSeven gloomy winters of the North to brave, Where a few pounds would pay for board and bed,

While the poor frozen boy was taught and fed; When, say he lives, fair, freckled, lank and lean, The lad returns shrewd, subtle, close and keen; With all the northern virtues, and the rules Taught to the thrifty in these thriving schools:

There had he gone, and borne this trying part, Bat Richard's mother had a mother's heart.

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One of a race, if not extinguish'd, tamed,
The flogger now is of the act ashamed;
But this great mind all mercy's calls with-
stood,

This Holofernes was a man of blood.
Students, he said, like horses on the road,
Must well be lash'd before they take the load;
They may be willing for a time to run,
But you must whip them ere the work be
done:

To tell a boy, that, if he will improve,
His friends will praise him, and his parents
love,

Is doing nothing-he has not a doubt
But they will love him, nay applaud, without :
Let no fond sire a boy's ambition trust
To make him study, let him see he must.
Such his opinion; and to prove it true,
At least sincere, it was his practice too:
Pluto they call'd him, and they named him
well,

'Twas not an heaven where he was pleased

to dwell: From him a smile was like the Greenland sun,

Surprising, nay portentous, when it shone; Or like the lightning, for the sudden flash Prepared the children for the thunder's crash.

O! had Narcissa, when she fondly kiss'd The weeping boy whom she to school dismiss'd,

Had she beheld him shrinking from the arm Uplifted high to do the greater harm, Then seen her darling stript, and that pure white, And-O! her soul had fainted at the sight; And with those looks that love could not withstand,

She would have cried: Barbarian, hold thy hand!

In vain! no grief to this stern soul could speak, No iron-tear roll down this Pluto's cheek.

Thus far they went, half earnest, half in jest, Then turn'd to themes of deeper interest; While Richard's mind, that for awhile had stray'd,

Call'd home its powers, and due attention paid.

BOOK III.

BOYS AT SCHOOL.

WE name the world a school, for day by day We something learn, till we are call'd away; The school we name a world,-for vice and pain,

Fraud and contention, there begin to reign;

And much, in fact, this lesser world can show Of grief and crime that in the greater grow. You saw, said George, in that still-hated school

This was his logic, and his arm so strong, His cause prevail'd, and he was never wrong; But so obtuse you must have seen his look,

proved

How the meek suffer, how the haughty rule; Desponding, angry, puzzled o'er his book. There soft, ingenuous, gentle minds endure Can you not see him on the morn that Ills that ease, time, and friendship fail to cure: There the best hearts, and those, who shrink | His skill in figures? Pluto's self was moved— from sin, Come, six times five? th' impatient teacher cried;

Find some seducing imp to draw them in ;
Who takes infernal pleasure to impart
The strongest poison to the purest heart.
Call to your mind this scene-Yon boy behold:
How hot the vengeance of a heart so cold!
See how be beats, whom he had just reviled
And made rebellious-that imploring child:
How fierce his eye, how merciless his blows,
And how his anger on his insult grows;
You saw this Hector and his patient slave,
Th' insulting speech, the cruel blows he gave.
Mix'd with mankind, his interest in his sight,
We found this Nimrod civil and polite,
There was no triumph in his manner seen,
He was so humble you might think him

mean:

Those angry passions slept till he attain'd His purposed wealth, and waked when that was gain'd;

He then resumed the native wrath and pride,
The more indulged, as longer laid aside;
Wife, children, servants, all obedience pay,
The slaves at school no greater slaves than
they.

No more dependant, he resumes the rein,
And shows the schoolboy-turbulence again.
Were I a poet, I would say, he brings
To recollection some impetuous springs;
See! one that issues from its humble source,
To gain new powers, and run its noisy course;
Frothy and fierce among the rocks it goes,
And threatens all that bound it or oppose:
Till wider grown, and finding large increase,
Though bounded still, it moves along in

peace;

And as its waters to the ocean glide,
They bear a busy people on its tide;
But there arrived, and from its channel free,
Those swelling waters meet the mighty sea ;
With threat'ning force the new-form'd bil-
lows swell,

And now affright the crowd they bore so well.

Yet, said the Rector, all these early signs
Of vice are lost, and vice itself declines;
Religion counsels, troubles, sorrows rise,
And the vile spirit in the conflict dies.
Sir Hector Blane, the champion of the school,
Was very blockhead, but was form'd for rule:
Learn he could not; he said he could not
learn,

But he profess'd it gave him no concern:
Books were his horror, dinner his delight,
And his amusement to shake hands and fight;
Argue he could not, but in case of doubt,
Or disputation, fairly box'd it out:

In vain, the pupil shut his eyes, and sigh'd. Try, six times count your fingers; how he stands!

Your fingers, idiot!-What, of both my hands?

With parts like these his father felt assured,
In busy times, a ship might be procured;
He too was pleased to be so early freed,
He now could fight, and he in time might read.
So he has fought, and in his country's cause
Has gain'd him glory, and our hearts'
applause.

No more the blustering boy a school defies,
We see the hero from the tyrant rise,
And in the captain's worth the student's
dulness dies.

Praise to his actions; may their glory live!
Be all allow'd; replied the Squire, I give
Nay, I will hear him in his riper age
Fight his good ship, and with the foe engage;
Nor will I quit him when the cowards fly,
Although, like them, I dread his energy.
But still, my friend, that ancient spirit reigns,
His powers support the credit of his brains,
Insisting ever that he must be right,
Let him a judge of England's prowess be,
And for his reasons still prepared to fight.
And all her floating terrors on the sea;
But this contents not, this is not denied,
He claims a right on all things to decide;
A kind of patent-wisdom, and he cries,

'Tis so! and bold the hero that denies.
Thus the boy-spirit still the bosom rules,
And the world's maxims were at first the
school's.

No doubt, said Jacques, there are in minds the seeds

Of good and ill, the virtues and the weeds;
But is it not of study the intent
This growth of evil nature to prevent?
To check the progress of each idle shoot
That might retard the ripening of the fruit?

Our purpose certain! and we much effect, We something cure, and something we correct;

But do your utmost, when the man you see,
You find him what you saw the boy would be,
Disguised a little; but we still behold
What pleased and what offended us of old.
Years from the mind no native stain remove,
But lay the varnish of the world above.

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This noble lord was one disposed to try
And weigh the worth of each new luxury:
Now, at a certain time, in pleasant mood,
He tried the luxury of doing good;
For this he chose a widow's handsome boy,
Whom he would first improve, and then
employ.

The boy was gentle, modest, civil, kind, But not for bustling through the world design'd;

Reserved in manner, with a little gloom,
Apt to retire, but never to assunie ;
Possess'd of pride that he could not subdue,
Although he kept his origin in view.
Him sent my Lord to school, and this became
A theme for praise, and gave his Lordship
fame;

But when the boy was told how great his debt,

He proudly ask'd, is it contracted yet? With care he studied, and with some success; His patience great, but his acquirements less: Yet when he heard that Charles would not excel,

His Lordship answer'd, with a smile, 'tis well;

Let him proceed, and do the best he can,
I want no pedant, but a useful man.

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Now Charles, who acted no heroic part,
And felt no seaman's glory warm his heart,
Refused the offer-anger touch'd my Lord.
"He does not like it-Good, upon my word-
If I at College place him, he will need
Supplies for ever, and will not succeed;
Donbtless in me 'tis duty to provide
Not for his comfort only, but his pride-
Let him to sea!"-He heard the words again,
With promise join'd-with threat'ning; all
in vain:

Charles had his own pursuits; for aid to these

He had been thankful, and had tried to please; But urged again, as meekly as a saint, He humbly begg'd to stay at home, and paint. "Yes, pay some dauber, that this stubborn fool

May grind his colours, and may boast his school."

As both persisted: Choose, good sir, your way,

The Peer exclaim'd, I have no more to say. I seek your good, but I have no command Upon your will, nor your desire withstand.

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Resolved and firm, yet dreading to offend,
Charles pleaded genius with, his noble friend:
Genius! he cried, the name that triflers give
To their strong wishes without pains to live;
Genius! the plea of all who feel desire
Of fame, yet grudge the labours that acquire:
But say 'tis true; how poor, how late the

gain,

And certain ruin if the hope be vain!

I saw him next where he had lately come,
A silent pauper in a crowded room;
I heard his name, but he conceal'd his face,
To his sad mind his misery was disgrace:
In vain I strove to combat his disdain
Of my compassion—“Sir, I pray refrain;”
For I had left my friends and stepp'd aside,
Because I fear'd his unrelenting pride.
He then was sitting on a workhouse-bed,

Then to the world appeal'd my Lord, and And on the naked boards reclined his head,

cried,

Whatever happens, I am justified.
Nay, it was trouble to his soul to find
There was such hardness in the human mind:
He wash'd his hands before the world, and

swore

Around were children with incessant cry,
And near was one, like him, about to die;
A broken chair's deal bottom held the store
That he required-he soon would need no

more;

A yellow tea-pot, standing at his side, That he such minds would patronize no more. From its half spout the cold black tea supplied. Hither, it seem'd, the fainting man was brought, Found without food, it was no longer sought: For his employers knew not whom they paid, Nor where to seek him whom they wish'd to aid:

Now Charles his bread by daily labours

sought,

And this his solace, “so Corregio wrought."
Alas, poor youth! however great his name,
And humble thine, thy fortune was the same:
Charles drew and painted, and some praise
obtain'd

For care and pains; but little more was
gain'd:

Fame was his hope, and he contempt display'd
For approbation, when 'twas coolly paid:
His daily tasks he call'd a waste of mind,
Vex'd at his fate, and angry with mankind:
"Thus have the blind to merit ever done, ́
And Genius mourn'd for each neglected son."
Charles murmur'd thus, and angry and alone
Half breathed the curse, and half suppress'd

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now ;

But once at twilight walking up and down,
In a poor alley of the mighty town,
Where, in her narrow courts and garrets,
hide

The grieving sons of Genius, Want, and Pride,
I met him musing: sadness I could trace,
And conquer'd hope's meek anguish, in his
face.

See him I must: but I with ease address'd,
And neither pity nor surprise express'd;
I strove both grief and pleasure to restrain,
But yet I saw that I was giving pain.
He said, with quick'ning pace, as loth to hold
A longer converse, that the day was cold,
That he was well, that I had scarcely light
To aid my steps, and bade me then Good
night!

Here brought, some kind attendant he address'd,

And sought some trifles which he yet pos-
sess'd;

Then named a lightless closet, in a room
Hired at small rate, a garret's deepest gloom:
They sought the region, and they brought
him all

That he his own, his proper wealth could call :
A better coat, less pieced; some linen neat,
Not whole; and papers many a valued sheet;
Designs and drawings; these, at his desire,
Were placed before him at the chamber-fire,
And while th' admiring people stood to gaze,
He, one by one, committed to the blaze,
Smiling in spleen; but one he held awhile,
And gave it to the flames, and could not
smile.

The sickening man-for such appear'd the
fact-

Just in his need, would not a debt contract;
But left his poor apartment for the bed
That earth might yield him, or some way-
side shed;

Here he was found, and to this place convey'd,
Where he might rest, and his last debt be
paid:

Fame was his wish, but he so far from fame,
That no one knew his kindred, or his name,
Or by what means he lived, or from what
place he came.

Poor Charles! unnoticed by thy titled friend,
Thy days had calmly past, in peace thine end:
Led by thy patron's vanity astray,
Thy own misled thee in thy trackless way,
Urging thee on by hope absurd and vain,
Where never peace or comfort smiled again.

Once more I saw him, when his spirits fail'd,
And my desire to aid him then prevail'd;

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