RICHARD'S WOOING

THIS then, dear Richard, was the way you took "To gain instruction—thine a curious book, "Containing much of both the false and true; "But thou hast read it, and with profit too.

"Come, then, my Brother, now thy tale complete"I know thy first embarking in the fleet, "Thy entrance in the army, and thy gain "Of plenteous laurels in the wars of Spain, "And what then follow'd; but I wish to know "When thou that heart hadst courage to bestow, "When to declare it gain'd, and when to stand "Before the priest, and give the plighted hand; "So shall I boldness from thy frankness gain "To paint the frenzy that possess'd my brain; "For rather there than in my heart I found "Was my disease; a poison, not a wound, "A madness, Richard-but, I pray thee, tell "Whom hast thou loved so dearly and so well?”

The younger man his gentle host obey'd,
For some respect, though not required, was paid,
Perhaps with all that independent pride

Their different states would to the memory glide;

Yet was his manner unrestrain’d and free,

And nothing in it like servility.

Then he began :—When first I reach'd the land,

I was so ill that death appear'd at hand;

And though the fever left me, yet I grew

So weak 'twas judged that life would leave me too.
I sought a village-priest, my mother's friend,
And I believed with him my days would end:
The man was kind, intelligent, and mild,
Careless and shrewd, yet simple as the child;
For of the wisdom of the world his share
And mine were equal-neither had to spare;
Else with his daughters, beautiful and poor-
He would have kept a sailor from his door:
Two then were present, who adorn'd his home,
But ever speaking of a third to come;
Cheerful they were, not too reserved or free,
I loved them both, and never wish'd them three.

The Vicar's self, still further to describe,
Was of a simple, but a studious tribe;
He from the world was distant, not retired,
Nor of it much possess'd, nor much desired:
Grave in his purpose, cheerful in his eye,
And with a look of frank benignity.

He much of nature, not of man had seen,
Yet his remarks were often shrewd and keen;
Taught not by books t' approve or to condemn,
He gain'd but little that he knew from them;
He read with reverence and respect the few
Whence he his rules and consolations drew

But men and beasts, and all that lived or moved,
Were books to him; he studied them and loved.
He knew the plants in mountain, wood, or mead;
He knew the worms that on the foliage feed;
Knew the small tribes that 'scape the careless eye,
The plant's disease that breeds the embryo-fly;
And the small creatures who on bark or bough
Enjoy their changes, changed we know not how ;
But now th' imperfect being scarcely moves,
And now takes wing and seeks the sky it loves.

He had no system, and forbore to read The learned labours of th' immortal Swede; But smiled to hear the creatures he had known So long, were now in class and order shown, Genus and species—“ Is it meet,” said he, "This creature's name should one so sounding be? ""Tis but a fly, though first-born of the spring—

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Bombylius majus, dost thou call the thing?

Majus, indeed! and yet, in fact, 'tis true,

"We all are majors, all are minors too,

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Except the first and last,—th' immensely distant

two.

"And here again,—what call the learned this? "Both Hippobosca * and Hirundinis ?

"Methinks the creature should be proud to find "That he employs the talents of mankind; "And that his sovereign master shrewdly looks, "Counts all his parts, and puts them in his books. "Well! go thy way, for I do feel it shame "To stay a being with so proud a name.”

* The horse-fly.

Such were his daughters, such my quiet friend,
And pleasant was it thus my days to spend ;
But when Matilda at her home I saw,
Whom I beheld with anxiousness and awe,
The ease and quiet that I found before
At once departed, and return'd no more.
No more their music soothed me as they play'd,
But soon her words a strong impression made;
The sweet Enthusiast, so I deem'd her, took
My mind, and fix'd it to her speech and look;
My soul, dear girl! she made her constant care,
But never whisper'd to my heart "Beware!"
In love no dangers rise till we are in the snare.

Her father sometimes question'd of my creed,
And seem'd to think it might amendment need ;
But great the difference when the pious maid
To the same errors her attention paid;
Her sole design that I should think aright,
And my conversion her supreme delight:
Pure was her mind, and simple her intent,
Good all she sought, and kindness all she meant.
Next to religion, friendship was our theme,
Related souls and their refined esteem:
We talk'd of scenes where this is real found,
And love subsists without a dart or wound;
But there intruded thoughts not all serene,
And wishes not so calm would intervene.

"Saw not her father?"

Yes; but saw no more Than he had seen without a fear before :

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He had subsisted by the church and plough,
And saw no cause for apprehension now.

We, too, could live: he thought not passion wrong, But only wonder'd we delay'd so long.

Laugh, if you please, I must my tale pursue—
This sacred friendship thus in secret grew

An intellectual love, most tender, chaste, and true :
Unstain'd, we said, nor knew we how it chanced
To gain some earthly soil as it advanced;
But yet my friend, and she alone, could prove
How much it differ'd from romantic love-
But this and more I pass-No doubt, at length,
We could perceive the weakness of our strength.

O! days remember'd well! remember'd all ! The bitter-sweet, the honey and the gall; Those garden rambles in the silent night, Those trees so shady, and that moon so bright; That thickset alley by the arbour closed, That woodbine seat where we at last reposed; And then the hopes that came and then were gone, Quick as the clouds beneath the moon pass'd on: Now, in this instant, shall my love be shown, I said-O no, the happy time is flown!

You smile remember, I was weak and low,
And fear'd the passion as I felt it grow:
Will she, I said, to one so poor attend,
Without a prospect, and without a friend?
I dared not ask her-till a rival came-
But hid the secret, slow-consuming flame.