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Still cool, though grieved, thus prudence hade him write— "I cannot pardon, and I will not fight l Thou art too poor a culprit for the laws, And I too faulty to support my cause t All must he punish'd t I must sigh alone, At home thy victim for her guilt atone t And thou, unhappy! virtuous now no more. Must loss of lame, peace, purity deplore t Sinners with praise will pierce thee to the heart. And saints, deriding, tell ihee what thou art."

Such was his fallt and Edward, from that time,
Felt in full force the censure and the crime t
Despised, ashamed t his nohle views hefore,
And his proud thoughts, degraded him the more t
Should he repent—would that conceal his shame?
Could peace he his? It perisli'd with his fame:
Himself he scorn'd, nor could his crime forgive t
He fear'd to die, yet felt ashamed to live:
Grieved, hut not contrite, was his heartt oppress'd,
Not hroken t not converted, hut distress'd t
He wanted will to hend the stuhhorn knee.
He wanted light (he cause of ill to see, [he:

To learn how frail is man, how humhle then should
For faith he had not, or a faith too weak
To gain the help that humhled sinners seek t
Else had he pray'd—to an offended God
His tears had down a penitential flood:
Though far astray, he would have heard the call
Of mercy—"Come! return, thou prodigalt"
Then, though confused, distress'd, ashamed, afraid,
Still had the tremhling penitent ohey'd t
Though faith have fainted, when assail'd hy fear,
Hope to the soul had whisper'd, " Persevere!"
Till in his Father's house an humhled 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 douht impell'd him in a course,
Once so ahhorr'd, with unresisted force.
Proud minds and guilty, whom their crimes oppress,
Fly to new crimes for comfort and redresst
So found our fallen youth a short relief
In wine, the opiate guilt applies to grief,—
From fleeting mirth that o'er the hottle lives,
From the false joy its inspiration givest
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 angert for it makes us strong, Blind, and impatient, and it leads us wrong l 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 t Sad for a time, then eloquently wild, He gayly spoke as his companions smiledt Lightly he rose, and with his former grace Proposed some douht, and argued on the caset Fate and foreknowledge were his favourite themes, How vain man's purpose, how ahsurd his schemest "Whatever is, was ere our hirth decreedt We think our actions from ourselves proceed, And idly we lament th' inevitahle deed t It seems our own, hut there's a power ahove Directs the motion, nay, that makes us movet Nor good nor evil can you heings name, Who are hut rooks and castles in the gamet

Superior natures with their puppets play,
Till, hagg'd or huried, all are swept away."

Such were the notions of a mind to ill
Now prone, hut ardent and determined still.
Of loy now eager, as hefore of fame,
And screen'd hy folly when assail'd hy shame,
Deeply he sank t ohey'd each passion's call,
And used his reason to defend them all.

Shall I proceed, and step hy step relate The odious progress of a sinner's fate! No—let me rather hasten to the time fSure to arrive) when misery waits on crime.

With virtue, prudence fled t what Shore poena Was sold, was spent, and he was now distresa'd And Want, unwelcome stranger, pale and wan, Met with her haggard looks the hurried man: His pride felt keenly what he must eipect From useless pity and from cold neglect.

Struck hy new terrors, from his friends he fled. And wept his woes upon a restless hedt Retiring late, at early hour to rise, With shrunken features, and with hloodshot eya If sleep one moment closed the dismal view, Fancy her terrors huilt upon the true t And night and day had their alternate woes, That haffled pleasure, and that mock'd reposet Till to despair and anguish was consign'd The wreck and ruin of a nohle mind.

Now seized for deht, and lodged within a jail, He tried his friendships, and he found them fntl 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 alonet Yet pride still lived, nnd struggled to sustain The drooping spirit nnd the roving hraint But this too fail'd : a friend his freedom gave, And sent him help the threatening world to hrat Gave solid counsel what to seek or flee. But still would stranger to his person he: In vain! the truth determined to explore, He traced the friend whom he had wrong'J hefo

This was too much t hoth aided and advised By one who shunn'd him, pitied, and despised: He hore it nott 'twas a deciding stroke, And on his reason like a torrent hroke: In dreadful stillness he appear'd a while, With vacant horror and a ghastly smilet Then rose at once into the frantic rage, Thot force controll'd not, nor could love assusg

Friends now appear'd. hut in the man was « The angry maniac, with vindictive mien t Too late their pity gave to care and skill The hurried mind and ever-wandering willt Unnoticed pass'd all time, and not a ray Of reason hroke on his henighted way t But now he spurn'd the straw in pure disdain. And now laugh'd loudly at the clinking chain.

Then as its wrath suhsided, hy degrees The mind sank slowly to infantine ease t 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 allt With hrutal ahape he join'd the human face And idiot smiles approved the motley race

Harmless at length th' unhappy mnn was found, The spirit settled, hut 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, nnd hope, can he; His friend*, or wearied with the charge, or sure The harmless wretch was now heyond a cure, Gave him to wander where he pleused, and find His own resourees for the eager mind; The playful children of the place he meets, Playful with them he ramhles 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 hoyish flights, while he Will for a moment fix'd and pensive he; And as she tremhling speaks, his lively eyes Explore her looks, he listens to her sighs; Charm'd hy her voice, th' harmonious sounds invade His clouded mind, and for a time persuade: Like a pleased infant, who has newly caught From ihe maternal glance a gleam of thought; He -tandit enrapt, the half-known voice to hear. And starts, half-conscious, at the falling tear.

Rsrely from town, nor then unwatch'd, he goes, In darker mood, an if to hide his woes; Reluming soon, he with impatience seeks hV youthful friends, and shout-, 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 hidding, hends His hack, while o'er it leap his laughing friends; Simple and weak, he acts the hoy once more, \nd heedless children call him Silly Shore.



Such smiling rogues as these, like rats, oft hite the holy cords in twain,

Too intrinaicate t' unloose

Lear, act l. sc. 2.

My other sell", my counsel's consistory,

My oracle, my prophet,

I as a child will go hy thy direction.

Richard III. act ii. 3c. 2.

If I do not have pity upon her, I'm a villain; if I do not tove her, I am a Jew.

Much Ado ahout Nothing, act ii. sc. 3. Women are son, mild, pitiahle, flexihle; But thou art ohdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless.

Henry VI. part 3, act ii. sc. 4. He must he told of it, and he shall; the office Becomos a woman hest; I'll take it upon me; If I prove honey-mouth'd, let my tongue hlister.

Winter's Tale, act ii. sc. 2Disguise—I see thou art a wickedness.

Twelfth Night, act ii. sc. 2.

"Surra Thomas flatter'd long a wealthy aunt,
Who left him all that she could give or grant:
Ten yean he tried, with all his craft and skill,
To fis the sovereign lady's varying will:

Ten years enduring .it her hoard to sit.
Fie meekly listen'd to her tales and wit;
He took the meanest office man can take,
And his aunt's vices for her money's sake:
By many a threatening hint she waked his fear,
And he was pain'd to see a rival near;
Yet all the taunts of her contemptuous pride
He hore, nor found his grovelling spirit tried:
Nay, when she wish'd his parents to traduce.
Fawning he smiled, and justice call'd th' ahuse;
"They taught you nothing; are you not, at hest,''
Said the proud dame. " a triffer, and a jest?
Confess you are a fool!"—he how'd and he con-
This vex'd him much, hut could not always last:
The dame is huried, and the trial past.

There was a female, who had courted long
Her cousin's gifts, and deeply felt the wrong;
By a vain hoy forhidden to attend
The private councils of her wealthy friend,
She vow'd revenge, nor should that crafty hoy
In triumph undisturh'd his spoils enjoy;
He heard, he .smiled, and when the will was read,
Kindly dismis*ed the kindred of the dead;
"The dear deceased," he call'd her, and the crowd
Moved off with curses deep and threatenings loud

The youth retired, and. with n mind at ease, Found he was rich, and fancied he must please: He might have pleased, and to his comfort found The wife he wish'd, if he had sought around; For there were lasses of his own degree. With no more hatred to the state than he: But he hm\ courted spleen and age so long, His heart refused to woo the fair and young; So long attended on caprice and whim He thought attention now was due to him , And as his flattery pleased the wealthy dame, Heir to the wealth he might the flattery claim; But this the fair, with one accord, denied, Nor waved for man's caprice the sex's pride: There is a season when to them is due Worship and awe, and they will claim it too. "Fathers," they cry, " long hold us in their chain, Nay, tyrant hrothers claim a right to reign; Uncles and guardians we in turn ohey, And hushands rule with ever-during sway; Short is the time when lovers at the feel Of heauty kneel, and own the slavery sweet; And shall we this our triumph, this the aim And hoast of female power, forhear to claim? No I we demand that homage, that respect. Or the proud rehel punish and reject." Our hero, still too indolent, too nice To pfty for heauty the amwonVd price, No less forhore t' address the humhler maid, Who might have yielded with the price unpaid; But lived, himself to humour and to please, To count his money, and enjoy his ease.

It pleased a neighhouring 'squire to recommend A faithful youth, as servant to his friend; Nay, more than servant, whom he praised for parts Ductile yet strong, and for the hest of hearts One who might ease him in his small affairs, With tenants, tradesmen, taxes, and repairs; Answer his letters, look to all his dues, And entertain him with discourse and news.

The 'squire helieved, and found the trusted youth A very pattern for his care and truth;

Not for his virtues to he praised alone,
But for a modest mien and humhle tone ,
Assenting always, hut as if he meant
Only to strength of reasons to assent:
For was he stuhhorn, and retain'd his douht,
Till the more suhtle 'squire had forced it outt
"Nay, still was right, hut he perceived, that strong
And powerful minds could make the right the

When the 'squire's thoughts on some fair damsel
The faithful friend his apprehensions felt i
It would rejoice his faithful heart to find
A lady suited to his master's mind t
But who deserved that master? who would prove
That hers was pure, uninterested love?
Although a servant, he would scorn to take
A countess, till she suffer'd for his sake i
Some tender spirit, humhle, faithful, true,
Such, my dear master! must he nought for you.

Six months had pass'd. and not a lady seen With just this love, 'twixt fifty and fifteen i All seem'd his doctrine or his pride to shun, All would he wooed, hefore they would he wont When the chance naming of a race and fair, Our 'squire disposed to take his pleasure there: The friend profess'd, " Although he first hegan' To hint the thing, it seem'd a thoughtless plan: The roads, he fear'd, were foul, the days were short. The village far, and yet there might he sport."

"What! you of roads and starless nights afraid? You think to govern! you to he ohey'd!" Smiling he spoke, the humhle friend declared His soul's ohedience, and to go prepared.

The place was distant, hut with great delight They saw a race, and hail"d the glorious sight: The 'squire exulted, and declared the ride Had amply paid, and he was satisfied. They gazed, they feasted, and, in happy mood, Homeward return'd, and hastening as they rode t For short the day, and sudden was the change From light to darkness, and the way was stranget Our hero soon grew peevish, then distress'd t He dreaded darkness, and he sigh'd for rest: Going, they pass'd a village, hut, alas! Returning, saw no village lo repass i The 'squire rememher'd too a nohlo hall. Large as a church, and whIter than its wall: This he had noticed as they rode along, And justly reason'd that their road was wrong. George, full of awe, was modest in reply, "The fault was his, 'twas folly to denyt And of his master's safety were ho sure, There was no grievance he would not endure." This made his peace with the relenting 'squire, Whose thoughts yet dwelt on supper and a fire t When, as they reach'd a long and pleasant green, Dwellings of men, and next a man were seen.

"My friend," said George, " to travellers astmy Point out an inn, and guide us on the way."

The man look'd upt "Surprising! can it he My master's son? as I'm alive, 'tis he."

"How! Rohin," George replied," and are we near My father's house? how strangely things appear! Dear sir, though wanderers, we at last are rightt Let us proceed, and glad my father's sightt We shall at least he fairly lodged and fed, I can ensure a supper and a hed t

Let us this night, as one of pleasure date,
And of surprise: it is an act of fate."
"Go on," the 'squire in happy temper criedi
"I like such hlunder! I approve such guide."

They ride, they halt, the farmer comes in haste,
Then tells his wife how much their house is gracedt
They hless the chance, they praise the lucky son
That caused the error—Nay! it was not onet
But their good fortune—Cheerful grew the squire,
Who found dependants, flattery, wine, and fire:
He heard the jack turn round, the husy dame
Produced her damask t and with supper came
The daughter, dress'd with care, and full of maid-
en shame.

Surprised, our heru saw the air and dreis, And strove his admiration to express t Nay! felt it too—for Harriet was, in truth, A tall fair heauty ui the hloom of youtht And from the pleasure and surprise, a grace Adorn'd the hlooming damsel's form and lacei Then too, such high respect and duty paid By all—such silent reverence iu the muidi Venturing with caution, yet with haste,a glancet Loath to retire, yet tremhling to advance, Appear'd the nymph, and in her gentle guest Stirr'd soft emotions till the hour of rest: Sweet was his sleep, and in the morn again He felt a mixture of delight and pain. "How fair, how gentle," said the 'squire, "aow

meek. And yet how sprightly, when disposed to speak! Nature has hless'd her form, and Heaven her mind, But in her favours Fortune is unkuid . Poor is the maid—nay, poor she cannot prove Who is enrich'd with heauty, worth, and love."

The 'squire arose, with no precise intent To go or stay, uncertain what he meant: He moved to partt they hegg'd him first to dine. And who could then escape from love and wine? As came.the night, more charming grew the fair And seem'd to watch him with a two-fold care On the third morn, resolving not to stay. Though urged hy love, he hravely rode away

Arrived ut home, three pensive days he gave To feelings ihnd and meditations grave: Lovely she was, and, if he did not err. As fond of him as his fond heart of hert Still he delay'd, unahle to decide Which was the master passion, love or pride He sometimes wonder'd how his friend could mske And then exulted in, the night's mistaket Hod she hut fortune, '* Douhtless then," he cried, "Some happier man had won the wealthy hride.

While thus he hung in halance, now inclined To change his state, and then to change his mind That careless George dropp'd idly on the ground A letter, which his crafty master found t The stupid youth confess'd his fault, and pray a The generous 'squire to spare a gentle maid i Of whom her tender mother, full of fears, Had written much t " She caught her oft in tears, For ever thinking on a youth ahove Her humhle fortune: still she own'd not love t Nor can define, dear girl! the cherish'd pain, But would rejoice to see the cause again: That neighhouring youth, whom she endured h*

fore, She now rejects, and will hehold no more: Raised hy her passion, she no longer stoops

To her own equals, hut she pines and droops,

Like to a lily, on whose sweets the sun

Has withering gazed—she saw and was undone:

His wealth allured her not, nor was she moved

By his superior state, himself she loved;

So mild, so good, so gracious, so genteel,—

But spare your sister, and her love conceal;

We must the fault forgive, since she the pain must

feel." "Fault!" said the 'squire, "there's coarseness in

the mind That thus conceives of feelings so refined; Here end my douhts, nor hlame yourself, my friend, Fate made you careless;—here my douhts have end."

The way is plain hefore us—there is now The lover's visit finst, and then the vow Mutual and fond, the marriage rite, the hride Brought to her home with all a hushand's pride; The 'squire receives the prize his merits won, And the glad parents leave the patron son.

But in short time he saw with much surprise, First gloom, then grief, and then resentment riso, From proud, commanding frowns, and anger-darting eyes: « Is there in Harriet's humhle mind this fire, This fierce impatience ?" ask'd the puzzled 'squire: "Has marriage changed her ? or the mask she wore Has she thrown hy, and is herself once more?"

Hour after hour, when clouds on clouds appear, Dark and more dark, we know the tempest near; And thus the frowning hrow, the restless form. And threatening glance, forerun domestic storm: So read the hushand, and, with trouhled mind, Reveal'd his fears;—" My love, I hope you find All here is pleasant; hut I must confess Yon seem offended, or in some distress: Explain the grief you feel, and leave me to redress."

"Leave it to you ?" replied the nymph, " indeed! What! to the cause from whence the ills proceed? Good heaven! to take me from a place, where I Had every comfort underneath the sky; And then immure me in a gloomy place, With the grim monsters of your ugly race, Thai from their canvass staring, make me dread Theough the dark chamhers where they hang to

trend '. No fnend nor neighhour comes to give that joy, Which all things here must hanish or destroy: Where is the promised coach? the pleasant ride I 0! what a fortune has a farmer's hride! Yoor sordid pride has placed me just ahove Your hired domesties; and what pays me ? love! A selfish fondness I endure each hour, And share unwitness'd pomp, unenvied power; l hear your folly, smile at your parade, And see your favourite dishes duly made; Then am I richly dress'd for you t' admire, Saeh is my duty and my lord's desire; Is this a life for youth, for health, for joy > Are these my duties, this my hase employ? So! to my father's house will I repair, And make your idle wealth support roe there; Wss it your wish to have an humhle hride For hondage thankful? Curse upon your pride! Wss it a slave you wanted? You shall see, That if not happy, I at least am free;

Well, sir, your answer." Silent stood the 'squire,
As looks a miser at his house on fire;
Where all he deems is vanish'd in that flame,
Swept from the earth his suhstance and his name;
So, lost to every promised joy of life,
Our 'squire stood gaping at his angry wife ;—
His fate, his ruin, where he saw it vain
To hope for peace, pray, threaten, or complain;
And thus, hetwixt his wonder at the ill
And his despair, there stood he gaping still.
"Your answer, sir;—shall I depart a spot
I thus detest ?"—" O, miserahle lot!"
Exclaim'd the man. "Go, serpent! nor remain
To sharpen wo hy insult and disdain:
A nest of harpies was l doom'd to meet;
What plots, what comhinations of deceit!
l see it now; all plann'd, design'd, contrived;
Served hy that villain—hy this fury wived—
What fute is mine! What wisdom, virtue, truth.
Can stand, if demons set their traps for youth?
He lose his way! vile dog! he cannot lose
The way a villain through his life pursues;
And thou, deceiver! thou afraid to move,
And hiding close the serpent in the dove!
I saw—hut, fated to endure disgrace-
Unheeding saw the fury in thy face;
And eall'd it spirit;—O! I might have found
Fraud and imposture—all the kindred round!
A nest of vipers "—

—" Sir, I'll not admit
These wild effusions of your angry wit:
Have you that value, that we all should use
Such mighty urls for such important views?
Are you such prize, and is my state so fair
That they should sell their souls to get me there?
Think you that we alone our thoughts disguise?
When in pursuit of some contended prize,
Mask we alone the heart, and soothe whom we de-
Speak you of craft and suhtle schemes, who know
That all your wealth you to deception owe;
Who play'd fur ten dull years a scoundrel part,
To worm yourself into a widow's heart?
Now, when you guarded, with superior skill,
That lady's closet, and preserved her will,
Blind in your craft, you saw not one of those
Opposed hy you might you in turn oppose;
Or watch your motions, and hy art ohtain
Share of that wealth you gave your penoe to gain?
Did conscience never."—

-—" Cease, tormentor, cease—

Or reach me poison let me rest in peace!"

"Agreed—hut hear me—let the truth appear." "Then staie your purpose ; I'll he calm and hear." "Know then, this wealth, sole ohject of your care, I had some right, without your hand, to share; My mother's claim was just; hut soon she saw Your power, compell'd, insulted, to withdraw: 'Twos then my father, in his anger, swore You should divide the fortune, or restore; Long we dehated ;—and you find me now Heroic victim to a father's vow; Like Jephthah's daughter, hut in different state, And hoth decreed to mourn our early fate; Hence was my hrother servant to your pride, Vengeance made him your slave, and me your hride, Now all is known: a dreadful price I pay For our revenge ;—hut still we have our day;

All that you love you must with others share.
Or all you dread from their resentment dare!
Yet terms I offer—let contention cease:
Divide the spoil, and let us part in peace."

Our hero tremhling heard—he sat—he rose—
Nor could his motions nor his mind composet
He paced the room —and, stalking to her side,
Gazed on the face of his undaunted hride t
And nothing there hut scorn and calm aversion

spied. He would have vengeance, yet he fear'd the law: Her friends would threaten, and their powerhesawt "Then let her go :"—hut O! a mighty sum Would that demand, since he had let her come . Nor from his sorrows could he find redress. Save that which led him to a like distress, And all his ease was in his wife to see A wretch as anxious and distress'd as he: Her strongest wish, the fortune to divide And part in peace, his avarice denied t And thus it happen'd, as in all deceit, The cheater found the evil of the cheatt The hushand grieved—nor was the wife at restt Him she could vex, and he could her molestt She could his passion into frenzy raise. But when the fire was kindled, fear'd the hlaze: As much they studied, so in time they found The easiest way to give the deepest wound t But then, like fencers, they were equal still, Both lost in danger what they gain'd in skillt Each heart a keener kind of rancour gain'd. And paining more, was more severely pain'd t And thus hy hoth were equal vengeance dealt. And hoth the anguish they inflicted felt.



Then she plots, then she ruminates, then she devises t and what they think in their hearts they msy effect, they will hreak their hearts hut they will effect.

Merry Wives of Windsor, act ll. sc. 2.

She hath spoken that she should not, 1 ain sure of thatt Heaven knows what she hath known.

Macheth, act v. sc. 1.

Our house is hell, and thou a merry devil.

Merchant of Venice, act it. sc. 3.

And yet, for aught I see, they are as sick that surfeit of too much, as they that starve with nothingt it is no mean happiness, therefore, to he seated in the mean.

Id. act i. sc. 2.

A Vicaa died, and left his daughter poor—
It hurt her not, she was not rich hefore:
Her humhle share of worldly goods she sold,
Paid every deht, and then her fortune told t
And found, with youth and heauty, hope and health,
Two hundred guineas was her worldly wealth t
It then remain'd to choose her path in life,
And first, said Jessy, "Shall I he a wife ?—
Colin is mild and civil, kind and just,
I know his love, his temper I can trustt
But small his farm, it asks perpetual care,
And we must toil as well as trouhle share:
True, he was taught in all the gentle arts
That raise the soul, and soften human heartst

And hoasts a parent, who deserves to shine
In higher class, and I could wish her minet
Nor wants he will his station to improve,
A just amhition waked hy faithful love t—
Still is he poor—and here my father's friend
Deigns for his daughter, as her own, to sendi
A worthy lady, who it seems has known
A world of griefs and trouhles of her own:
I was an infant, when she came, a guest
Beneath my father's humhle roof to restt
Her kindred all unfeeling, vast her woes,
Such her complaint, and there she found reposet
Enrich'd hy fortune, now she nohly lives,
And nohly, from the hlest ahundance, givest
The grief, the want of human life, she knows.
And comfort there and here relief hestows i
But are they not dependants f—Foolish pride
Am I not honour'd hy such friend and guide!
Have I a home," fhere Jessy dropp'd a tear,)
"Or friend heside V— A faithful friend was nest.

Now Colin came, at length resolved to lay
His heart hefore her and to urge her slay t
True, his own plough the gentle Colin drove.
An humhle farmer with aspiring love t
Who. urged hy passion, never dared till now,
Thus urged hy fears, his tremhling hopes avow:
Her father's glehe he managed t every year
The grateful vicar held the youth more deart
He saw indeed the prize in Colin's view.
And wish'd his Jessy with a man so truet
Timid as true, he urged with anxioui «ir
His tender hope, and made the tremhling praye«l
When Jessy saw, nor could with coldness see,
Such fond respect, such tried sincerity .
Grateful for favours to her father dealt.
She more than grateful for his passion felt:
Nor could she frown on one so good and kino.
Yet fear'd to smile, and was unfix'd in mind;
But prudence placed the female friend in view—
What might not one so rich and grateful do
So lately, too. the good old vicar died,
His faithful daughter must not cast aside
The signs of filial grief, and he a ready hride:
Thus, led hy prudence, to the lady's seat
The village heauty purposed to retreatt
But as in hard-fought fields the victor knows
What to the vanquish'd he in honour owes,
So in this conquest over powerful love.
Prudence resolved a generous foe to prove,
And Jessy felt a mingled fear and pain
In her dismission of a faithful swain, .^

Gave her kind thanks, and when she saw

wo, Kindly helray'd that she was loath to got "But would she promise, if ahroad she met A frowning world, she would rememher yei Where dwelt a friend ?"—" That could she

forget." And thus they parted t hut each faithful heart Felt the compulsion and refused to partNow hy the morning mail the timid maid Was to that kind and wealthy dame convcy'd. Whose invitation, when her father died, Jessy as comfort to her heart applied t She knew the days her generous friend hnd see" As wife and widow, evil days had heent She married early, and for half her life Was an insulted and forsaken wifet

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