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.

THE MOTHER

THERE was a worthy, but a simple Pair,

Who nursed a Daughter, fairest of the fair:
Sons they had lost, and she alone remain'd,
Heir to the kindness they had all obtain’d;
Heir to the fortune they design'd for all,
Nor had th' allotted portion then been small;
But now, by fate enrich'd with beauty rare,
They watch'd their treasure with peculiar care :
The fairest features they could early trace,
And, blind with love, saw merit in her face-
Saw virtue, wisdom, dignity, and grace;

And Dorothea, from her infant years,

Gain'd all her wishes from their pride or

fears:

She wrote a billet, and a novel read,

And with her fame her vanity was fed;

Each word, each look, each action was a cause
For flattering wonder, and for fond applause;
She rode or danced, and ever glanced around,
Seeking for praise, and smiling when she found.
The yielding pair to her petitions gave
An humble friend to be a civil slave;
Who for a poor support herself resign'd
To the base toil of a dependent mind:

By nature cold, our Heiress stoop'd to art,
To gain the credit of a tender heart.

Hence at her door must suppliant paupers stand,
To bless the bounty of her beauteous hand:
And now, her education all complete,

She talk'd of virtuous love and union sweet;
She was indeed by no soft passion moved,
But wish'd, with all her soul, to be beloved.
Here, on the favour'd beauty Fortune smiled;
Her chosen Husband was a man so mild,
So humbly temper'd, so intent to please,
It quite distress'd her to remain at ease,
Without a cause to sigh, without pretence to tease :
She tried his patience in a thousand modes,
And tired it not upon the roughest roads.
Pleasure she sought, and, disappointed, sigh'd
For joys, she said, "to her alone denied ;'

And she was 66

sure her parents, if alive, "Would many comforts for their child contrive: The gentle Husband bade her name him one; "No-that," she answer'd, "should for her be done; "How could she say what pleasures were around? "But she was certain many might be found.". "Would she some seaport, Weymouth, Scarborough, grace ?”

"He knew she hated every watering-place : "— "The town? "What! now 'twas empty, joyless, dull?"

"In winter?" "No; she liked it worse when full."

She talk'd of building—“ Would she plan a room?”"No! she could live, as he desired, in gloom: "

"And they might come and fill his ugly hall; "A noisy vulgar set, he knew she scorn'd them all: “Then might their two dear girls the time employ, "And their improvement yield a solid joy ;""Solid indeed! and heavy-oh! the bliss "Of teaching letters to a lisping miss!". "My dear, my gentle Dorothea, say, "Can I oblige you?”- "You may go away."

Twelve heavy years this patient soul sustain'd This wasp's attacks, and then her praise obtain’d, Graved on a marble tomb, where he at peace remain'd.

Two daughters wept their loss; the one a child With a plain face, strong sense, and temper mild, Who keenly felt the Mother's angry taunt, "Thou art the image of thy pious Aunt:" Long time had Lucy wept her slighted face, And then began to smile at her disgrace. Her father's sister, who the world had seen Near sixty years when Lucy saw sixteen, Begg'd the plain girl: the gracious Mother smiled, And freely gave her grieved but passive child; And with her elder-born, the beauty blest, This parent rested, if such minds can rest: No miss her waxen babe could so admire, Nurse with such care, or with such pride attire; They were companions meet, with equal mind, Bless'd with one love, and to one point inclined;

Beauty to keep, adorn, increase, and guard,
Was their sole care, and had its full reward :
In rising splendour with the one it reign'd,
And in the other was by care sustain'd,

The daughter's charms increased, the parent's yet remain❜d.

Leave we these ladies to their daily care,
To see how meekness and discretion fare :—
A village maid, unvex'd by want or love,
Could not with more delight than Lucy move;
The village-lark, high mounted in the spring,
Could not with purer joy than Lucy sing;
Her cares all light, her pleasures all sincere,
Her duty joy, and her companion dear;

There was such goodness, such pure nature seen
In Lucy's looks, a manner so serene;
Such harmony in motion, speech, and air,
That without fairness she was more than fair,
Had more than beauty in each speaking grace,
That lent their cloudless glory to the face.

Among their chosen friends, a favour'd few,
The aunt and niece a youthful Rector knew;
Who, though a younger brother, might address
A younger sister, fearless of success :

His friends, a lofty race, their native pride
At first display'd, and their assent denied ;
But, pleased such virtues and such love to trace,
They own'd she would adorn the loftiest race.
The Aunt, a mother's caution to supply,

Had watch'd the youthful priest with jealous eye ;