Seek some warm slope with shagged moss o'er- When, conscious of their charms, e'en age looks sly,
Dried leaves their copious covering and their bed. In vain may Giles, through gathering glooms that fall,
And solemn silence, urge his piercing call.
Whole days and nights they tarry midst their store,
Nor quit the woods till oaks can yield no more.
Beyond bleak Winter's rage, beyond the Spring,
That rolling earth's unvarying course will bring,
Who tills the ground looks on with mental eye,
And sees next Summer's sheaves and cloudless sky,
And even now, whilst nature's beauty dies,
Deposits seed, and bids new harvest rise;
Seed well prepared, and warm'd with glowing lime,
'Gainst earth-bred grubs, and cold, and lapse of time:
For searching frosts and various ills invade,
Whilst wintry months depress the springing blade.
The plough moves heavily, and strong the soil,
And clogging harrows with augmented toil
Dive deep and clinging, mixes with the mould
A fattening treasure from the nightly fold,
And all the cowyard's highly valued store,
That late bestrew'd the blacken'd surface o'er.
No idling hours are here, when fancy trims
Her dancing taper over outstretch'd limbs,
And in her thousand thousand colours dress'd,
Plays round the grassy couch of noontide rest:
Here Giles for hours of indolence atones
With strong exertion, and with weary bones,
And knows no leisure, till the distant chime
Of Sabbath bell he hears at sermon time,
That down the brook sound sweetly in the gale,
Or strike the rising hill, or skim the dale.
Nor his alone the sweets of ease to taste:
Kind rest extends to all;-save one poor beast,
That true to time and pace, is doom'd to plod,
To bring the pastor to the House of God:
Mean structure; where no bones of heroes lie!
The rude inelegance of poverty
Reigns here alone; else why that roof of straw ?
Those narrow windows with the frequent flaw?
O'er whose low cells the dock and mallow spread,
And rampant nettles lift the spiry head,
Whilst from the hollows of the tower on high
The gray-capp'd daws in saucy legions fly.
Round these lone walls assembling neighbours
And tread departed friends beneath their feet;
And new-briar'd graves, that prompt the secret sigh,
Show each the spot where he himself must lie.
Midst timely greetings village news goes round,
Of crops late shorn, or crops that deck the ground;
Experienced ploughmen in the circle join;
While sturdy boys, in feats of strength to shine,
With pride elate, their young associates brave
To jump from hollow-sounding grave to grave;
Then close consulting, each his talent lends
To plan fresh sports when tedious service ends.
Hither at times, with cheerfulness of soul,
Sweet village maids from neighbouring hamlets
stroll,
And rapture beams from youth's observant eye.
The pride of such a party, nature's pride,
Was lovely Ann, who innocently tried,
With hat of airy shape and ribands gay,
Love to inspire, and stand in Hymen's way:
But, ere her twentieth summer could expand,
Or youth was render'd happy with her hand,
Her mind's serenity, her peace was gone,
Her eye grew languid, and she wept alone:
Yet causeless seem'd her grief; for quick restrain'd,
Mirth follow'd loud; or indignation reign'd;
Whims wild and simple led her from her home,
The heath, the common, or the fields to roam:
Terror and joy alternate ruled her hours;
Now blithe she sung, and gather'd useless flowers;
Now pluck'd a tender twig from every bough,
To whip the hovering demons from her brow.
I'll fated maid! thy guiding spark is fled,
And lasting wretchedness awaits thy bed-
Thy bed of straw! for mark, where even now
O'er their lost child afflicted parents bow;
Their wo she knows not, but perversely coy,
Inverted customs yield her sullen joy;
Her midnight meals in secrecy she takes,
Low muttering to the moon, that rising breaks
Through night's dark gloom: O how much more
forlorn
Her night, that knows of no returning morn!—
Slow from the threshold, once her infant seat,
O'er the cold earth she crawls to her retreat;
Quitting the cot's warm walls, unhoused to lie,
Or share the swine's impure and narrow sty;
The damp night air her shivering limbs assails:
In dreams she moans, and fancied wrongs bewails.
When morning wakes, none earlier roused than
she,
When pendant drops fall glittering from the tree;
But naught her rayless melancholy cheers,
Or soothes her breast, or stops her streaming tears.
Her matted locks unornamented flow;
Clasping her knees, and waving to and fro;-
Her head bow'd down, her faded cheek to hide ;-
A piteous mourner by the pathway side.
Some tufted molehill through the livelong day
She calls her throne; there weeps her life away!
And oft the gayly-passing stranger stays
His well-timed step, and takes a silent gaze,
Till sympathetic drops unbidden start,
And pangs quick springing muster round his heart
And soft he treads with other gazers round,
And fain would catch her sorrow's plaintive sound:
One word alone is all that strikes the ear,
One short, pathetic, simple word,—" Oh dear!”
A thousand times repeated to the wind,
That wafts the sigh, but leaves the pang behind!
For ever of the proffer'd parley shy,
She hears th' unwelcome foot advancing nigh;
Nor quite unconscious of her wretched plight,
Gives one sad look, and hurries out of sight.-
Fair promised sunbeams of terrestrial bliss, Health's gallant hopes, and are ye sunk to this?
That like the light-heel'd does o'er lawns that rove, For in life's road, though thorns abundant grow,
Look shyly curious; ripening into love;
For love's their errand: hence the tints that glow
On either cheek, a heighten'd lustre know:
There still are joys poor Ann can never know; Joys which the gay companions of her prime Sip, as they drift along the stream of time;
At eve to hear beside their tranquil home
The lifted latch, that speaks the lover come :
That love matured, next playful on the knee
To press the velvet lip of infancy;
To stay the tottering step, the features trace ;-
Inestimable sweets of social peace!
O thou, who bidst the vernal juices rise!
Thou, on whose blasts autumnal foliage flies!
Let peace ne'er leave me, nor my heart grow cold,
Whilst life and sanity are mine to hold.
Shorn of their flowers that shed th' untreasured
seed,
The withering pasture, and the fading mead,
Less tempting grown, diminish more and more,
The dairy's pride; sweet Summer's flowing store
New cares succeed, and gentle duties press,
Where the fireside, a school of tenderness,
Revives the languid chirp, and warms the blood
Of cold-nipt weaklings of the latter brood,
That from the shell just bursting into day,
Through yard or pond pursue their venturous
Far weightier cares and wider scenes expand;
What devastation marks the new-sown land!
"From hungry woodland foes go, Giles, and guard
The rising wheat; ensure its great reward:
A future sustenance, a Summer's pride,
Demand thy vigilance; then be it tried:
Exert thy voice, and wield thy shotless gun;
Go, tarry there from morn till setting sun."
Keen blows the blast, or ceaseless rain descends;
The half-stripp'd hedge a sorry shelter lends.
O for a hovel, e'er so small or low,
Whose roof, repelling winds or early snow,
Might bring home's comfort fresh before his eyes!
No sooner thought, than see the structure rise,
In some sequester'd nook, embank'd around,
Sods for its walls, and straw in burdens bound:
Dried fuel hoarded is his richest store,
And circling smoke obscures his little door;
Whence creeping forth, to duty's call he yields,
And strolls the Crusoe of the lonely fields.
On whitethorns towering, and the leafless rose,
A frost-nipt feast in bright vermilion glows:
Where clustering sloes in glossy order rise,
He crops the loaded branch; a cumbrous prize;
And o'er the flame the sputtering fruit he rests,
Placing green sods to seat his coming guests;
His guests by promise; playmates young and gay:-
But, ah! fresh pastimes lure their steps away!
He sweeps his hearth, and homeward looks in vain,
Till feeling disappointment's cruel pain,
His fairy revels are exchanged for rage,
His banquet marr'd, grown dull his hermitage.
The field becomes his prison, till on high
Benighted birds to shades and coverts fly.
Midst air, health, daylight, can he prisoner be?
If fields are prisons, where is liberty?
Though ineffectual pity thine may be,
No wea.ta, no power to set the captive free;
Though only to thy ravish'd sight is given
The radiant path that Howard trod to heaven;
Thy slights can make the wretched more forlorn,
And deeper drive affliction's barbed thorn.
Say not," I'll come and cheer thy gloomy cell
With news of dearest friends; how good, how
well;
I'll be a joyful herald to thine heart:"
Then fail, and play the worthless trifler's part,
To sip flat pleasures from thy glass's brim,
And waste the precious hour that's due to him.
In mercy spare the base, unmanly blow:
Where can he turn, to whom complain of you?
Back to past joys in vain his thoughts may stray,
Trace and retrace the beaten, worn-out way,
The rankling injury will pierce his breast,
And curses on thee break his midnight rest.
Bereft of song, and ever-cheering green,
The soft endearments of the Summer scene,
New harmony pervades the solemn wood,
Dear to the soul, and healthful to the blood:
For bold exertion follows on the sound
of distant sportsmen, and the chiding hound;
First heard from kennel bursting, mad with joy,
Where smiling Euston boasts her good Fitzroy,
Lord of pure alms, and gifts that wide extend;
The farmer's patron and the poor man's friend.
Whose mansion glitters with the eastern ray,
Whose elevated temple points the way,
O'er slopes and lawns, the park's extensive pride,
To where the victims of the chase reside,
Ingulf'd in earth, in conscious safety warm,
Till lo! a plot portends their coming harm.
In earliest hours of dark and hooded morn,
Ere yet one rosy cloud bespeaks the dawn,
Whilst far abroad the fox pursues his prey,
He's doom'd to risk the perils of the day,
From his strong hold block'd out; perhaps to bleed,
Or owe his life to fortune or to speed.
For now the pack, impatient running on,
Range through the darkest coverts one by one;
Trace every spot; whilst down each noble glade
That guides the eye beneath a changeful shade,
The loitering sportsman feels th' instinctive flame,
And checks his steed to mark the springing game.
Midst intersecting cuts and winding ways
The huntsman cheers his dogs, and anxious strays,
Where every narrow riding, even shorn,
Gives back the echo of his mellow horn;
Till fresh and lightsome, every power untried,
The starting fugitive leaps by his side,
His lifted finger to his ear he plies,
And the view halloo bids a chorus rise
Of dogs quick-mouth'd, and shouts that mingie loud,
As bursting thunder rolls from cloud to cloud
Here still she dwells, and here her votaries stroll; With ears erect, and chest of vigorous mould,
But disappointed hope untunes the soul:
Restraints unfelt whilst hours of rapture flow,
When troubles press to chains and barriers grow.
Look then from trivial up to greater woes;
From the poor bird-boy with his roasted sloes,
To where the dungeon'd mourner heaves the sigh;
Where not one cheering sunbeam meets his eye.
O'er ditch, o'er fence, unconquerably bold,
The shining courser lengthens every bound,
And his strong footlocks suck the moisten'd ground,
As from the confines of the wood they pour,
And joyous villages partake the roar.
O'er heath far stretch'd, or down, or valley low,
The stiff-limb'd peasant glorying in the show
Pursues in vain, where youth itself soon tires,
Spite of the transports that the chase inspires :
For who unmounted long can charm the eye.
Or hear the music of the leading cry?
Poor, faithful Trouncer! thou canst lead no
All thy fatigues and all thy triumphs o'er!
Triumphs of worth, whose long-excelling fame
Was still to follow true the hunted game;
Beneath enormous oaks, Britannia's boast,
In thick, impenetrable covers lost,
When the warm pack in faltering silence stood,
Thine was the note that roused the listening wood,
Rekindling every joy with tenfold force,
Through all the mazes of the tainted course,
Still foremost thou the dashing stream to cross,
And tempt along the animated horse;
Foremost o'er fen or level mead to pass,
And sweep the showering dewdrops from the grass;
Then bright emerging from the mist below
To climb the woodland hill's exulting brow.
Pride of thy race! with worth far less than thine,
Full many human leaders daily shine!
Less faith, less constancy, less generous zeal !—
Then no disgrace my humble verse shall feel,
Where not one lying line to riches bows,
Or poison'd sentiment from rancour flows;
Nor flowers are strewn around ambition's car:
An honest dog's a nobler theme by far.
Each sportsman heard the tidings with a sigh,
When death's cold touch had stopt his tuneful
cry;
And though high deeds, and fair exalted praise,
In memory lived, and flow'd in rustic lays,
Short was the strain of monumental wo:
"Foxes rejoice! here buried lies your foe!"
In safety housed, throughout night's lengthening
reign
The cock sends forth a loud and piercing strain;
More frequent, as the glooms of midnight flee,
And hours roll round that brought him liberty,
When Summer's early dawn, mild, clear, and bright,
Chased quick away the transitory night :-
Hours now in darkness veil'd; yet loud the scream
Of geese impatient for the playful stream;
And all the feather'd tribe imprison'd raise
Their morning notes of inharmonious praise:
And many a clamorous hen and cockrel gay,
When daylight slowly through the fog breaks way,
Fly wantonly abroad: but, ah, how soon
The shades of twilight follow hazy noon,
Shortening the busy day!-day that slides by
Amidst th' unfinish'd toils of husbandry;
Toils still each morn resumed with double care,
To meet the icy terrors of the year;
To meet the threats of Boreas undismay'd,
And Winter's gathering frowns and hoary head.
Then welcome cold; welcome ye snowy nights!
Heaven midst your rage shall mingle pure delights,
And confidence of hope the soul sustain,
While devastation sweeps along the plain :
Nor shall the child of poverty despair,
But bless the power that rules the changing year,
Assured,- though horrors round his cottage
That Spring will come and nature smile again.
Tenderness to cattle. Frozen turnips. Night. The farm-house. Fireside. Farmer's advice and instruction. Nightly cares of the stable. Dobbin. The post-horse. Sheep-stealing dogs. Walks occasioned thereby. The ghost. Lamb time. Returning Spring. Conclusion.
WITH kindred pleasures moved, and cares oppress'd, Sharing alike our weariness and rest;
Who lives the daily partner of our hours,
Through every change of heat, and frost, and showers;
Partakes our cheerful meals, partaking first
In mutual labour, and fatigue, and thirst;
The kindly intercourse will ever prove
A bond of amity and social love.
To more than man this generous warmth extends,
And oft the team and shivering herd befriends;
Tender solicitude the bosom fills,
And pity executes what reason wills:
Youth learns compassion's tale from every tongue,
And flies to aid the helpless and the young.
When now, unsparing as the scourge of war,
Blasts follow blasts, and groves dismantled roar,
Around their home the storm-pinch'd cattle lows,
No nourishment in frozen pastures grows;
Yet frozen pastures every morn resound
With fair abundance thundering to the ground.
For though on hoary twigs no buds peep out,
And e'en the hardy brambles cease to sprout,
Beneath dread Winter's level sheets of snow
The sweet nutritious turnip deigns to grow.
Till now imperious want and wide-spread dearth
Bid labour claim her treasures from the earth.
On Giles, and such as Giles, the labour falls,
To strew the frequent load where hunger calls.
On driving gales sharp hail indignant flies,
And sleet, more irksome still, assails his eyes;
Snow clogs his feet; or if no snow is seen,
The field with all its juicy store to screen,
Deep goes the frost, till every root is found
A mass of rolling ice upon the ground.
No tender ewe can break her nightly fast,
Nor heifer strong begin the cold repast,
Till Giles with ponderous beetle foremost go,
And scattering splinters fly at every blow;
When pressing round him, eager for the prize,
From their mix'd breath warm exhalations rise.
In beaded rows if drops now deck the spray, While the sun grants a momentary ray, Let but a cloud's broad shadow intervene, And stiffen'd into gems the drops are seen; And down the furrow'd oak's broad southern side Streams of dissolving rime no longer glide.
Though night approaching bids for rest prepare, Still the flail echoes through the frosty air, Nor stops till deepest shades of darkness come, Sending at length the weary labourer home. From him, with bed and nightly food supplied, Throughout the yard, housed round on every side, Deep plunging cows their rustling feast enjoy, And snatch sweet mouthfuls from the passing boy Who moves unseen beneath his trailing load, Fills the tall racks, and leaves a scatter'd road,
Where oft the swine from ambush warm and dry
Bolt out, and scamper headlong to their sty,
When Giles with well-known voice, already there,
Deigns them a portion of his evening care.
Him, though the cold may pierce, and storms
molest,
Succeeding hours shall cheer with warmth and rest;
Gladness to spread, and raise the grateful smile,
He hurls the fagot bursting from the pile,
and many a log and rifted trunk conveys,
To heap the fire, and wide extend the blaze,
That quivering strong through every opening flies,
Whilst smoky columns unobstructed rise.
For the rude architect, unknown to fame,
(Nor symmetry nor elegance his aim,)
Who spread his floors of solid oak on high,
On beams rough-hewn, from age to age that lie,
Bade his wide fabric unimpair'd sustain
The orchard's store, and cheese, and golden grain;
Bade, from its central base, capacious laid,
The well-wrought chimney rear its lofty head;
Where since hath many a savory ham been stored,
And tempests howl'd, and Christmas gambols roar'd.
Flat on the hearth the glowing embers lie,
And flames reflected dance in every eye:
There the long billet, forced at last to bend,
While gushing sap froths out at either end,
Throws round its welcome heat:-the ploughman
smiles,
And oft the joke runs hard on sheepish Giles,
Who sits joint tenant of the corner stool,
The converse sharing, though in duty's school;
For now attentively 'tis his to hear,
Interrogations from the master's chair.
"Left ye your bleating charge, when daylight fled,
Near where the haystack lifts its snowy head?
Whose fence of bushy furze, so close and warm,
May stop the slanting bullets of the storm.
For, hark! it blows; a dark and dismal night:
Heaven guide the traveller's fearful steps aright!
Now from the woods mistrustful and sharp-eyed,
The fox in silent darkness seems to glide,
Stealing around us, listening as he goes,
If chance the cock or stammering capon crows,
Or goose, or nodding duck, should darkling cry
As if apprized of lurking danger nigh:
Destruction waits them, Giles, if e'er you fail
To bolt their doors against the driving gale.
Strew'd you (still mindful of th' unshelter'd head)
Burdens of straw, the cattle's welcome bed? [see,
Thine heart should feel, what thou mayst hourly
That duty's basis is humanity.
Of pain's unsavorý cup though thou mayst taste,
(The wrath of Winter from the bleak north-east,)
Thine utmost sufferings in the coldest day
A period terminates, and joys repay.
Perhaps e'en now, while here those joys we boast,
Full many a bark rides down the neighbouring coast,
Where the high northern waves tremendous roar,
Drove down by blasts from Norway's icy shore.
The seaboy there, less fortunate than thou,
Feels all thy pains in all the gusts that blow;
His freezing hands now drench'd, now dry, by turns;
Now lost, now seen, the distant light that burns,
On some tall cliff upraised a flaming guide,
That throws its friendly radiance o'er the tide.
His labours cease not with declining day,
But toils and perils mark his watery way;
And whilst in peaceful dreams secure we lie,
The ruthless whirlwinds rage along the sky,
Round his head whistling ;-and shalt thou repine,
While this protecting roof still shelters thine !"
Mild as the vernal shower, his words prevail,
And aid the moral precept of his tale:
His wondering hearers learn, and ever keep
These first ideas of the restless deep;
And, as the opening mind a circuit tries,
Present felicities in value rise.
Increasing pleasures every hour they find,
The warmth more precious, and the shelter kind:
Warmth that long reigning bids the eyelids close,
As through the blood its balmy influence goes,
When the cheer'd heart forgets fatigues and cares,
And drowsiness alone dominion bears.
Sweet then the ploughman's slumbers, hale and
When the last topic dies upon his tongue;
Sweet then the bliss his transient dreams inspire,
Till chilblains wake him, or the snapping fire.
He starts, and ever thoughtful of his team,
Along the glittering snow a feeble gleam
Shoots from his lantern, as he yawning goes
To add fresh comforts to their night's repose;
| Diffusing fragrance as their food he moves,
And pats the jolly sides of those he loves.
Thus full replenish'd, perfect ease possess❜d,
From night till morn alternate food and rest.
No rightful cheer withheld, no sleep debarr'd,
Their each day's labour brings its sure reward.
Yet when from plough or lumbering cart set free,
They taste a while the sweets of liberty:
E'en sober Dobbin lifts his clumsy heel
And kicks, disdainful of the dirty wheel:
But soon, his frolic ended, yields again,
To trudge the road, and wear the chinkling chain.
Shortsighted Dobbin-thou canst only see
The trivial hardships that encompass thee:
Thy chains were freedom, and thy toils repose:
Could the poor post-horse tell thee all his woes:
Show thee his bleeding shoulders, and unfold
The dreadful anguish he endures for gold:
Hired at each call of business, lust, or rage,
That prompts the traveller on from stage to stage.
Still on his strength depends their boasted speed;
For them his limbs grow weak, his bare ribs
bleed;
And though he groaning quickens at command,
Their extra shilling in the rider's hand
Becomes his bitter scourge:-'tis he must feel
The double efforts of the lash and steel;
Till when, up hill, the destined inn he gains,
And trembling under complicated pains,
Prone from his nostrils, darting on the ground,
His breath emitted floats in clouds around:
Drops chase each other down his chest and sides,
And spatter'd mud his native colour hides:
Through his swoln veins the boiling torrent flows
And every nerve a separate torture knows.
His harness loosed, he welcomes, eager-eyed,
The pail's full draught that quivers by his side;
And joys to see the well-known stable door,
As the starved mariner the friendly shore.
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His half-heal'd wounds inflamed; again the wheels
With tiresome sameness in his ears resound,
O'er blinding dust, or miles of flinty ground.
Thus nightly robb'd, and injured day by day,
His piecemeal murderers wear his life away.
What say'st thou, Dobbin what though hounds
await
With open jaws the moment of thy fate,
No better fate attends his public race;
His life is misery, and his end disgrace.
Then freely bear thy burden to the mill:
Obey but one short law,-thy driver's will.
Affection to thy memory ever true,
Shall boast of mighty loads that Dobbin drew;
And back to childhood shall the mind with pride
Recount thy gentleness in many a ride
To pond, or field, or village fair, when thou
Heldst high thy braided mane and comely brow!
And oft the tale shall rise to homely fame
Upon thy generous spirit and thy name.
Though faithful to a proverb we regard
The midnight chieftain of the farmer's yard.
Beneath whose guardianship all hearts rejoice,
Woke by the echo of his hollow voice;
Yet as the hound may faltering quit the pack,
Suuff the fowl scent, and hasten yelping back;
And e'en the docile pointer know disgrace,
Thwarting the general instinct of his race;
E'en so the mastiff, or the meaner cur
At times will from the path of duty err,
(A pattern of fidelity by day:
By night a murderer, lurking for his prey ;)
And round the pastures or the fold will creep,
And coward-like, attack the peaceful sheep.
Alone the wanton mischief he pursues,
Alone in reeking blood his jaws imbrues;
Chasing amain his frighten'd victims round,
Till death in wild confusion strews the ground;
Then wearied out, to kennel sneaks away,
A licks his guilty paws till break of day.
The deed discover'd, and the news once spread,
Vengeance hangs o'er the unknown culprit's head:
And careful shepherds extra hours bestow
In patient watchings for the common fue;
A fe most dreaded now, when rest and peace
Should wait the season of the flock's increase.
In part these nightly terrors to dispel,
Gries, ere he sleeps, his little flock must tell.
From the fireside with many a shrug he hies,
Glad if the full-orb'd moon salute his eyes,
And through th' unbroken stillness of the night
Shed on his path her beams of cheering light.
With sauntering step he climbs the distant stile,
Whilst all around him wears a placid smile;
There views the white-robed clouds in clusters
driven,
And all the glorious pageantry of heaven.
Low, on the utmost boundary of the sight,
The rising vapours catch the silver light;
Thence fancy measures, as they parting fly,
Which first will throw its shadow on the eye,
Passing the source of light; and thence away,
Succeeded quick by brighter still than they.
Far yet above these wafted clouds are seen
(In a remoter sky, still more serene,)
Others, detach'd in ranges through the air,
Spotless as snow, and countless as they're fair,
Scatter'd immensely wide from east to west,
The beauteous semblance of a flock at rest.
These, to the raptured mind, aloud proclaim
Their MIGHTY SHEPHERD's everlasting Name.
Whilst thus the loiterer's utmost stretch of soul Climbs the still clouds, or passes those that roll, And loosed imagination soaring goes
High o'er his home, and all his little woes,
Time glides away; neglected duty calls;
At once from plains of light to earth he falls,
And down a narrow lane, well known by day,
With all his speed pursues his sounding way,
In thought still half-absorb'd, and chill'd with cold,
When lo! an object frightful to behold;
A grisly spectre, clothed in silver-gray,
Around whose feet the waving shadow's play,
Stands in his path!-He stops, and not a breath
Heaves from his heart, that sinks almost to death
Loud the owl halloos o'er his head unseen;
All else is silent, dismally serene:
Some prompt ejaculation, whisper'd low,
Yet bears him up against the threatening foe;
And thus poor Giles, though half inclined to fly,
Mutters his doubts, and strains his steadfast eye.
""Tis not my crimes thou comest here to reprove;
No murders stain my soul, no perjured love;
If thou'rt indeed what here thou seem'st to be,
Thy dreadful mission cannot reach to me.
By parents taught still to mistrust mine eyes,
Still to approach each object of surprise,
Lest fancy's formful visions should deceive
In moonlight paths, or glooms of falling eve,
This then's the moment when my mind should try
To scan thy motionless deformity;
But O, the fearful task! yet well I know
An aged ash, with many a spreading bough,
Beneath whose leaves I've found a summer's bower,
Beneath whose trunk I've weather'd many a
shower,)
Stands singly down this solitary way,
But far beyond where now my footsteps stay.
'Tis true, thus far I've come with heedless haste;
No reckoning kept, no passing objects traced:
And can I then have reach'd that very tree?
Or is its reve end form assumed by thee?"
The happy thought alleviates his pain:
He creeps another step; then stops again:
Till slowly, as his noiseless feet draw near,
Its perfect lineaments at once appear;
Its crown of shivering ivy whispering peace,
And its white bark that fronts the moon's pale face.
Now, whilst his blood mounts upward, now he
knows
The solid gain that from conviction flows;
And strengthen'd confidence shall hence fulfil
(With conscious innocence more valued still
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