Unless it forces, call it as you will,
It is but wish, and proneness to the ill.-
Art thou not tempted? Do I fall? said Shore.
The pure have fallen.-Then are pure no

more:

While reason guides me, I shall walk aright, Nor need a steadier hand, or stronger light; Nor this in dread of awful threats, design'd For the weak spirit and the grov'ling mind; But that, engaged by thoughts and views sublime,

I wage free war with grossness and with crime.

Thus look'd he proudly on the vulgar crew, Whom statutes govern, and whom fears subdue.

Faith, with his virtue, he indeed profess'd, But doubts deprived his ardent mind of rest;

Reason, his sovereign mistress, fail'd to show Light through the mazes of the world below; Questions arose, and they surpass'd the skill Of his sole aid, and would be dubious still; These to discuss he sought no common guide, But to the doubters in his doubts applied; When all together might in freedom speak, And their loved truth with mutual ardour seek.

Alas! though men who feel their eyes decay Take more than common pains to find their

way,

Yet, when for this they ask each other's aid, Their mutual purpose is the more delay'd: Of all their doubts, their reasoning clear'd not one,

Still the same spots were present in the sun; Still the same scruples haunted Edward's mind,

Who found no rest, nor took the means to find.

But though with shaken faith, and slave to fame,

Vain and aspiring on the world he came; Yet was he studious, serious, moral, grave, No passion's victim, and no system's slave; Vice he opposed, indulgence he disdain'd, And o'er each sense in conscious triumph reign'd.

Who often reads, will sometimes wish to write, And Shore would yield instruction and delight:

A serious drama he design'd, but found
'Twas tedious travelling in that gloomy
ground;

A deep and solemn story he would try,
But grew ashamed of ghosts, and laid it by;
Sermons he wrote, but they who knew his
creed,

Or knew it not, were ill disposed to read;
And he would lastly be the nation's guide,
But, studying, fail'd to fix upon a side;

Fame he desired, and talents he possess'd, But loved not labour, though he could not rest,

Nor firmly fix the vacillating mind, That, ever working, could no centre find. 'Tis thus a sanguine reader loves to trace The Nile forth rushing on his glorious race; Calm and secure the fancied traveller goes Through sterile deserts and by threat'ning foes;

He thinks not then of Afric's scorching sands,

Th' Arabian sea, the Abyssinian bands;
Fasils and Michaels, and the robbers all,
Whom we politely chiefs and heroes call:
He of success alone delights to think,
He views that fount, he stands upon the
brink,

And drinks a fancied draught, exulting so to drink.

In his own room, and with his books around,
His lively mind its chief employment found;
Then idly busy, quietly employ'd,
And, lost to life, his visions were enjoy'd:
Yet still he took a keen inquiring view
Of all that crowds neglect, desire, pursue;
And thus abstracted, curious, still, serene,
He, unemploy'd, beheld life's shifting scene;
Still more averse from vulgar joys and cares,
Still more unfitted for the world's affairs.

There was a house where Edward ofttimes went,

And social hours in pleasant trifling spent; He read, conversed and reason'd, sang and play'd,

And all were happy while the idler stay'd;
Too happy one, for thence arose the pain,
Till this engaging trifler came again.
But did he love? We answer, day by day,
The loving feet would take th' accustom'd
way,

The amorous eye would rove as if in quest
Of something rare, and on the mansion rest;
The same soft passion touch'd the gentle
tongne,

And Anna's charms in tender notes were sung; The ear too seem'd to feel the common flame, Soothed and delighted with the fair one's

60ar,

And seek the fountains never traced before;
Truth they profess'd, yet often left the true
And beaten prospect, for the wild and new.
His chosen friend his fiftieth year had seen,
His fortune easy, and his air serene;
Deist and atheist call'd; for few agreed
What were his notions, principles, or creed;
His mind reposed not, for he hated rest,
But all things made a query or a jest;
Perplex'd himself, he ever sought to prove
That man is doom'd in endless doubt to rove;
Himself in darkness he profess'd to be,
And would maintain that not a man could see.
The youthful friend, dissentient, reason'd
still

Of the soul's prowess, and the subject will;
Of virtue's beauty, and of honour's force,
And a warm zeal gave life to his discourse:
Since from his feelings all his fire arose,
And he had interest in the themes he chose.
The friend, indulging a sarcastic smile,
Said-Dear enthusiast! thou wilt change
thy style,

When man's delusions, errors, crimes, deceit,
No more distress thee, and no longer cheat.
Yet lo! this cautious man, so coolly wise,
On a young beauty fix'd unguarded eyes;
And her he married: Edward at the view
Bade to his cheerful visits long adieu;
But haply err'd, for this engaging bride
No mirth suppress'd, but rather cause
supplied:

And when she saw the friends, by reasoning long,

Confused if right, and positive if wrong, With playful speech and smile, that spoke delight,

She made them careless both of wrong and right.

This gentle damsel gave consent to wed, With school and school-day-dinners in her head:

She now was promised choice of daintiest food,

And costly dress, that made her sovereign
good;
With walks on hilly heath to banish spleen,
And summer-visits when the roads were

clean.

And their own flock with partial eye survey'd; But oft the husband, to indulgence prone, Resumed his book, and bade them walk alone. Do, my kind Edward! I must take mine ease, Name the dear girl the planets and the trees; Tell her what warblers pour their eveningsong,

What insects flutter, as you walk along;
Teach her to fix the roving thoughts, to bind
The wandering sense, and methodize the
mind.

This was obey'd; and oft when this was done,
They calmly gazed on the declining sun;
In silence saw the glowing landscape fade,
Or, sitting, sang beneath the arbour's shade:
Till rose the moon and on each youthful face
Shed a soft beauty and a dangerous grace.
When the young wife beheld in long debate
The friends, all careless as she seeming sate;
It soon appear'd, there was in one combined
The nobler person and the richer mind:
He wore no wig, no grisly beard was seen,
And none beheld him careless or unclean;
Or watch'd him sleeping:-we indeed have
heard

Of sleeping beauty, and it has appear'd;
'Tis seen in infants-there indeed we find
The features soften'd by the slumbering mind,
But other beauties, when disposed to sleep,
Should from the eye of keen inspector keep:
The lovely nymph who would her swain
surprise,

May close her mouth, but not conceal her eyes;

Sleep from the fairest face some beauty takes,

And all the homely features homelier makes;
So thought our wife, beholding with a sigh
Her sleeping spouse, and Edward smiling by.
A sick relation for the husband sent,
Without delay the friendly sceptic went;
Nor fear'd the youthful pair, for he had seen
The wife untroubled and the friend serene:
No selfish purpose in his roving eyes,
No vile deception in her fond replies:
So judged the husband, and with judgment

true,

For neither yet the guilt or danger knew. What now remain'd? but they again should play

Th' accustom'd game, and walk th' accustom'd way; With careless freedom should converse or

read,

heed:

Till he awaking, to his books applied,
Or heard the music of th' obedient bride:

But rather now they seem'd confused, constrain'd; Within their room still restless they remain'd, And painfully they felt, and knew each other pain❜d.—

Ah! foolish men! how could ye thus depend, One on himself, the other on his friend? The youth with troubled eye the lady saw, Yet felt too brave, too daring, to withdraw;

While she, with tuneless hand the jarring keys

Touching, was not one moment at her ease: Now would she walk, and call her friendly guide,

Now speak of rain, and cast her cloke aside; Seize on a book, unconscious what she read, And restless still to new resources fled; Then laugh'd aloud, then tried to look serene, And ever changed, and every change was seen. Painful it is to dwell on deeds of shame— The trying day was past, another came; The third was all remorse, confusion, dread, And (all too late!) the fallen hero fled. Then felt the youth, in that seducing time, How feebly honour guards the heart from crime:

Small is his native strength; man needs the stay,

For faith he had not. or a faith too weak
To gain the help that humbled sinners seek;
Else had he pray'd-to an offended God
His tears had flown a penitential flood;
Though far astray, he would have heard
the call

Of mercy-Come! return, thou prodigal; Then, though confused, distress'd, ashamed, afraid,

Still had the trembling penitent obey'd; Though faith had fainted, when assail'd by fear,

Hope to the soul had whisper'd, 'Persevere!' Till in his Father's house an humbled guest, He would have found forgiveness, comfort,

rest.

But all this joy was to our youth denied
By his fierce passions and his daring pride;
And shame and doubt impell'd him in a

course,

bold

Had, meeting, soothed him, as in days of old; But soon this fact transpired; her strong distress,

And his friend's absence, left him nought to guess.

Still cool, though grieved, thus prudence bade him write

I cannot pardon, and I will not fight;
Thou art too poor a culprit for the laws,
And I too faulty to support my cause:
All must be punish'd; I must sigh alone,
At home thy victim for her guilt atone;
And thou, unhappy! virtuous now no more,
Must loss of fame, peace, purity deplore;
Sinners with praise will pierce thee to the
heart,

And saints deriding tell thee what thou art.

Such was his fall; and Edward, from that time, Felt in full force the censure and the crimeDespised, ashamed; his noble views before, And his proud thoughts, degraded him the

more:

Should he repent-would that conceal his shame?

Could peace be his? It perish'd with his fame:

Himself he scorn'd, nor could his crime

forgive; He fear'd to die, yet felt ashamed to live: Grieved, but not contrite was his heart; oppress'd,

Not broken; not converted, but distress'd;
He wanted will to bend the stubborn knee,
He wanted light the cause of ill to see,
To learn how frail is man, how humble
then should be;

oppress, Fly to new crimes for comfort and redress; So found our fallen youth a short relief In wine, the opiate guilt applies to grief,— From fleeting mirth that o'er the bottle lives, From the false joy its inspiration gives; And from associates pleased to find a friend, With powers to lead them, gladden, and defend,

In all those scenes where transient ease is found, For minds whom sins oppress and sorrows wound.

Wine is like anger; for it makes us strong, Blind and impatient, and it leads us wrong; The strength is quickly lost, we feel the error long:

Thus led, thus strengthen'd in an evil cause, For folly pleading, sought the youth applause;

Sad for a time, then eloquently wild,
He gaily spoke as his companions smiled;
Lightly he rose, and with his former grace
Proposed some doubt, and argued on the

case;

Fate and fore-knowledge were his favourite themes

How vain man's purpose, how absurd his schemes:

Whatever is, was ere our birth decreed;
We think our actions from ourselves proceed,
And idly we lament th' inevitable deed;
It seems our own, but there's a power above
Directs the motion, nay, that makes us move;
Nor good nor evil can you beings name,
Who are but rooks and castles in the game;
Superior natures with their puppets play,
Till, bagg'd or buried, all are swept away.
Such were the notions of a mind to ill
Now prone, but ardent, and determined still:
Of joy now eager, as before of fame,
And screen'd by folly when assail'd by shame.
Deeply he sank; obey'd each passion's call,
And used his reason to defend them all.

Shall I proceed, and step by step relate The odious progress of a sinner's fate? No-let me rather hasten to the time (Sure to arrive), when misery waits on crime.

With Virtue, Prudence fled; what Shore possess'd

Was sold, was spent, and he was now distress'd:

And Want, unwelcome stranger, pale and wan,
Met with her haggard looks the hurried man;
His pride felt keenly what he must expect
From useless pity and from cold neglect.
Struck by new terrors, from his friends he fled,
And wept his woes upon a restless bed';
Retiring late, at early hour to rise,
With shrunken features, and with bloodshot

eyes:

If sleep one moment closed the dismal view,
Fancy her terrors built upon the true;
And night and day had their alternate woes,
That baffled pleasure and that mock'd repose;
Till to despair and anguish was consign'd
The wreck and ruin of a noble mind.

Now seized for debt, and lodged within a jail, He tried his friendships, and he found them fail; Then fail'd his spirits, and his thoughts

were all

Fix'd on his sins, his sufferings, and his fall:
His ruffled mind was pictured in his face,
Once the fair seat of dignity and grace:
Great was the danger of a man so prone
To think of madness, and to think alone;
Yet pride still lived, and struggled to sustain
The drooping spirit and the roving brain;
But this too fail'd: a friend his freedom gave,
And sent him help the threat'ning world to
brave;

Gave solid counsel what to seek or flee,
But still would stranger to his person be:
la vain! the truth determined to explore,
He traced the friend whom he had wrong'd

before.

Unnoticed pass'd all time, and not a ray
Of reason broke on his benighted way;
But now he spurn'd the straw in pure disdain,
And now laugh'd loudly at the clinking chain.
Then as its wrath subsided, by degrees
The mind sank slowly to infantine ease;
To playful folly, and to causeless joy,
Speech without aim, and without end,
employ;

He drew fantastic figures on the wall,
And gave some wild relation of them all;
With brutal shape he join'd the human face,
And idiot smiles approved the motley race.
Harmless at length th' unhappy man was
found,

The spirit settled, but the reason drown'd;
And all the dreadful tempest died away,
To the dull stillness of the misty day.
And now his freedom he attain'd- if free
The lost to reason, truth, and hope, can be;
His friends, or wearied with the charge, or

sure

The harmless wretch was now beyond a cure, Gave him to wander where he pleased, and find

His own resources for the eager mind;
The playful children of the place he meets,
Playful with them he rambles through the
streets;

In all they need his stronger arm he lends,
And his lost mind to these approving friends.

That gentle maid, whom once the youth had loved,

Is now with mild religious pity moved; Kindly she chides his boyish flights, while he Will for a moment fix'd and pensive be; And as she trembling speaks, his lively eyes Explore her looks, he listens to her sighs; Charm'd by her voice, th' harmonious sounds

invade

His clouded mind, and for a time persuade : Like a pleased infant, who has newly caught From the maternal glance a gleam of thought;

He stands enrapt, the half-known voice to hear, And starts, half-conscious, at the falling tear. Rarely from town, nor then unwatch'd, he goes,

In darker mood, as if to hide his woes; Returning soon, he with impatience seeks His youthful friends, and shouts, and sings, and speaks;

Speaks a wild speech with action all as wild

The children's leader, and himself a child; He spins their top, or, at their bidding, bends His back, while o'er it leap his laughing friends;

Simple and weak, he acts the boy once more, And heedless children call him silly Shore.

192

remain,

When flannel-wreaths the useless limbs infold,

The breath impeded, and the bosom cold; When half the pillow'd man the palsy chains,

And the blood falters in the bloated veins,— Then, as our friends no further aid supply Than hope's cold phrase and courtesy's soft sigh,

When we lie struggling on the bed of pain?
When our physician tells us with a sigh,
No more on hope and science to rely,
Life's staff is useless then; with labouring
breath

We pray for hope divine-the staff of death-
This is a scene which few companions grace,
And where the heart's first favourites yield
their place.

Here all the aid of man to man must end; Here mounts the soul to her eternal Friend; The tenderest love must here its tie resign, And give th' aspiring heart to love divine. Men feel their weakness, and to numbers run, Themselves to strengthen, or themselves to shun;

Early in life, when we can laugh aloud, There's something pleasant in a social crowd,

prone, Let's learn to live, for we must die, alone.

ODLE

'Tis well that man to all the varying states Of good and ill his mind accommodates; He not alone progressive grief sustains, But soon submits to unexperienced pains: Change after change,all climes his body bears; His mind repeated shocks of changing cares: Faith and fair virtue arm the nobler breast; Hope and mere want of feeling aid the rest. Or who could bear to lose the balmy air Of summer's breath, from all things fresh and fair,

With all that man admires or loves below; All earth and water, wood and vale bestow, Where rosy pleasures smile whence real blessings flow;

With sight and sound of every kind that lives

And crowning all with joy that freedom gives? Who could from these, in some unhappy day, Bear to be drawn by ruthless arms away