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A lonely, wretched man, in pain I go,

Who first insults the victim whom he kills; None need my help and none relieve my woe;

Whose murd'rous hand a drowsy bench protect, Then let my bones beneath the turf be laid,

And whose most tender mercy is neglect. And men forget the wretch they would not aid.” Paid by the parish for attendance here,

Thus groan the old, till by disease opprest, He wears contempt upon his sapient sneer; They taste a final woe, and then they rest.

In haste he seeks the bed where misery lies, Theirs is yon house that holds the parish poor,

Impatience mark'd in his averted eyes ; Whose walls of mud scarce bear the broken door; And, some habitual queries hurried o'er, There, where the putrid vapours, flagging, play,

Without reply, he rushes on the door: And the dull wheel hums doleful through the

His drooping patient, long iour'd to pain, day ;

And long unheeded, knows remonstrance vain; There children dwell who know no parents' care;

He ceases now the feeble help to crave Parents, who know no children's love, dwell there!

Of man; and silent sinks into the grave. Heart-broken matrons on their joyless bed,

But ere his death some pious doubts arise, Forsaken wives, and mothers never wed;

Some simple fears which “ bold bad" men despise ; Dejected widows with unheeded tears,

Fain would he ask the parish-priest to prove And crippled age with more than childhood fears;

His title certain to the joys above: The lame, the blind, and, far the happiest they!

For this he sends the murmuring nurse, who calls The moping idiot, and the madman gay.

The holy stranger to these dismal walls: Here too the sick their final doom receive,

And doth not he, the pious man, appear, Here brought, amid the scenes of grief, to grieve,

He,“ passing rich with forty pounds a year?" Where the loud groans from some sad chamber flow,

Ah! no; a shepherd of a different stock, Mixt with the clamours of the crowd below;

And far unlike him, feeds this little flock: Here sorrowing, they each kindred sorrow scan,

A jovial youth, who thinks his Sunday's task, And the cold charities of man to man:

As much as God or man can fairly ask ; Whose laws indeed for ruin'd age provide,

The rest he gives to loves and labours light, And strong compulsion plucks the scrap from pride;

To fields the morning and to feasts the night; But still that scrap is bought with many a sigh,

None better skill'd the noisy pack to guide, And pride embitters what it can't deny.


urge their chase, to cheer them or to chide; Say ye, opprest by some fantastic woes,

A sportsman keen, he shoots through half the Some jarring nerve that baffled your repose;

day, Who press the downy couch, while slaves advance And, skill'd at whist, devotes the night to play: With timid eye to read the distant glance;

Then, while such honours bloom around his head, Who with sad prayers the weary doctor tease,

Shall he sit sadly by the sick-man's bed, To name the nameless ever-new disease;

To raise the hope he feels not, or with zeal Who with mock patience dire complaints endure,

To combat fears that e'en the pious feel? Which real pain and that alone can cure;

Now once again the gloomy scene explore, How would ye bear in real pain to lie,

Less gloomy now; the bitter hour is o'er, Despis'd, neglected, left alone to die?

The man of many sorrows sighs no more.How would ye bear to draw your latest breath,

Up yonder hill, behold how sadly slow Where all that's wretched paves the way for death?

The bier moves winding from the vale below; Such is that room which one rude beam divides,

There lie the happy dead, from trouble free, And naked rafters form the sloping sides;

And the glad parish pays the frugal fee: Where the vile bands that bind the thatch are seen,

No more, 0 death! thy victim starts to hear And lath and mud are all that lie between ; [way

Church warden stern, or kingly overseer; Save one dull pane, that, coarsely patch'd, gives

No more the farmer claims his humble bow, To the rude tempest, yet excludes the day:

Thou art his lord, the best of tyrants thou! Here, on a matted flock, with dust o'erspread,

Now to the church behold the mourners come, The drooping wretch reclines his languid head;

Sedately torpid and devoutly dumb; For him no hand the cordial cup applies,

The village-children now their games suspend, Or wipes the tear that stagnates in his eyes;

To see the bier that bears their ancient friend: No friends with soft discourse his pain beguile,

For he was one in all their idle sport, Or promise hope till sickness wears a smile.

And like a monarch rul'd their little court; But soon a loud and hasty summons calls,

The pliant bow he form'd, the flying ball, Shakes the thin roof, and echoes round the walls;

The bat, the wicket, were his labours all; Anon, a figure enters, quaintly neat,

Him now they follow to his grave, and stand All pride and business, bustle and conceit; Silent and sad, and gazing, hand in hand; With looks unalter'd by these scenes of woe,

While bending low, their eager eyes explore With speed that, entering, speaks his haste to go,

The mingled relics of the parish-poor; He bids the gazing throng around him fly, The bell tolls late, the moping owl flies round, And carries fate and physic in his eye:

Fear marks the flight and magnifies the sound; A potent quack, long vers’d in human ills,

The busy priest, detain’d by weightier care,

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I doubted:-fool I was to doubt!

If that all-piercing eye could see, If He who looks all worlds throughout,

Would so minute and careful be, As to perceive and punish me :

With man I would be great and high, But with my God so lost, that He,

In his large view, should pass me by.

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Thus blest with children, friend, and wife,

Blest far beyond the vulgar lot; Of all that gladdens human life,

Where was the good, that I had not? But my vile heart had sinful spot,

And Heaven beheld its deep'ning stain, Eternal justice I forgot,

And mercy sought not to obtain.

Come near,—I'll softly speak the rest!

Alas! 'tis known to all the crowd, Her guilty love was all confess'd;

And his, who so much truth avow'd, My faithless friend's.—In pleasure proud

I sat, when these curs’d tidings came; Their guilt, their flight was told aloud,

And envy smil'd to hear my shame!

Patient. And shall I then the fact deny?

I was,-thou know'st,,I was begone, Like him who fill'd the eastern throne,

To whom the watcher cried aloud; That royal wretch of Babylon,

Who was so guilty and so proud. Like him, with haughty, stubborn mind,

I, in my state, my comforts sought; Delight and praise I hop'd to find,

In what I builded, planted, bought! Oh! arrogance! by misery taught

Soon came a voice; I felt it come; “ Full be his cup, with evil fraught,

Demons his guides, and death his doom!" Then was I cast from out my state ;

Two fiends of darkness led my way; They wak’d me early, watch'd me late,

My dread by night, my plague by day! Oh! I was made their sport, their play,

Through many a stormy troubled year; And how they us'd their passive prey,

Is sad to tell:—but you shall hear. And first, before they sent me forth,

Through this unpitying world to run, They robb’d Sir Eustace of his worth,

Lands, manors, lordships, every one; So was that gracious man undone,

Was spurn’d as vile, was scorn'd as poor, Whom every former friend would shun, And menials drove from every

door. Then those ill-favour'd Ones, whom none

But my unhappy eyes could view, Led me, with wild emotion, on,

And with resistless terror, drew. Through lands we fled, o'er seas we flew,

And halted on a boundless plain; Where nothing fed, nor breath'd, nor grek,

But silence rul'd the still domain.

I callid on Vengeance; at the word

She came:-Can I the deed forget? I held the sword, th' accursed sword,

The blood of his false heart made wet: And that fair victim paid her debt,

She pin’d, she died, she loath'd to live ;I saw her dying-see her yet:

Fair fallen thing! my rage forgive!

Those cherubs still, my life to bless,
Were left could I


remove, Sad fears that check'd each food caress,

And poison'd all parental love? Yet that with jealous feelings strove,

And would at last have won my will, Had I not, wretch! been doom'd to prove

Th' extremes of mortal good and ill.

In youth! health! joy! in beauty's pride!

They droop'd: as flowers when blighted bow, The dire infection came:—They died,

And I was curs'd-as I am nowNay, frown not, angry friend,-allow

That I was deeply, sorely tried; Hear then, and you must wonder how

I could such storms and strifes abide.

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Storms!—not that clouds embattled make,

When they afflict this earthly globe ; But such as with their terrors shake

Man's breast, and to the bottom probe; They make the hypocrite disrobe,

They try us all, if false or true;
For this, one devil had pow'r on Job;

And I was long the slave of two.

Upon that boundless plain, below,

The setting sun's last rays were shed, And gave a mild and sober glow,

Where all were still, asleep or dead; Vast ruins in the midst were spread,

Pillars and pediments sublime, Where the grey moss had form'd a bed,

And clothi'd the crumbling spoils of time. There was I fix'd, I know not how,

Condemn'd for untold years to stay Yet years were not;—one dreadful Now

Endur'd no change of night or day; The same mild evening's sleeping ray

Shone softly-solemn and serene,

And all that time, I gaz'd away,

Those fiends upon a shaking fen The setting sun's sad rays were seen.

Fix'd me in dark tempestuous night;

There never trod the foot of men, At length a moment's sleep stole on,

There flock'd the fowl in wint’ry flight; Again came my commission'd foes;

There danc'd the moor's deceitful light, Again through sea and land we're gone,

Above the pool where sedges grow; No peace, no respite, no repose :

And when the morning sun shone bright, Above the dark broad sea we rose,

It shone upon a field of snow.
We ran through bleak and frozen land;
I had no strength, their strength t'oppose,

They hung me on a bough, so small,
An infant in a giant's hand.

The rook could build her nest no higher;

They fix'd me on the trembling ball, They plac'd me where those streamers play,

That crowns the steeple's quiv'ring spire; Those nimble beams of brilliant light; It would the stoutest heart dismay,

They set me where the seas retire,

But drown with their returning tide; To see, to feel, that dreadful sight:

And made me flee the mountain's fire,
So swift, so pure, so cold, so bright,

When rolling from its burning side.
They pierc'd my frame with icy wound,
And all that half-year's polar night,

I've hung upon the ridgy steep
Those dancing streamers_wrapt me round.

Of cliffs, and held the rambling brier;

I've plung'd below the billowy deep, Slowly that darkness pass'd away,

Where air was sent me to respire; When down upon the earth I fell,

I've been where hungry wolves retire; Some hurried sleep was mine by day;

And (to complete my woes) I've ran But, soon as toll'd the evening bell,

Where Bedlam's crazy crew conspire
They forc'd me on, wherever dwell

Against the life of reasoning man.
Far-distant men in cities fair,
Cities of whom no trav'llers tell,

I've furl'd in storms the flapping sail,
Nor feet but mine were wanderers there.

By hanging from the top-mast-head;

I've serv'd the vilest slaves in jail, Their watchmen stare, and stand aghast,

And pick'd the dunghill's spoil for bread; As on we hurry through the dark;

I've made the badger's hole my bed, The watch-light blinks, as we go past,

I've wander'd with a gipsy crew; The watch-dog shrinks and fears to bark;

I've dreaded all the guilty dread, The watch-tower's bell sounds shrill; and, hark!

And done what they would fear to do. The free wind blows--we've left the townA wide sepulchral ground I mark,

On sand where ebbs and flows the flood, And on a tombstone place me down.

Midway they plac'd and bade me die;

Propt on my staff, I stoutly stood What monuments of mighty dead!

When the swift waves came rolling by; What tombs of various kinds are found!

And high they rose, and still more high, And stones erect their shadows shed

Till my lips drank the bitter brine; On humble graves, with wickers bound;

I sobb’d convuls'd, then cast mine eye Some risen fresh, above the ground,

And saw the tide's re-flowing sign.
Some level with the native clay,
What sleeping millions wait the sound,

And then, my dreams were such as nought Arise, ye dead, and come away!"

Could yield but my unhappy case ;

I've been of thousand devils caught, Alas! they stay not for that call;

And thrust into that horrid place, Spare me this woe! ye Demons spare!

Where reign dismay, despair, disgrace; They come! the shrowded shadows all,

Furies with iron fangs were there, 'Tis more than mortal brain can bear;

To torture that accursed race, Rustling they rise, they sternly glare

Doom'd to dismay, disgrace, despair. At man upheld by vital breath; Who, led by wicked fiends, should dare

Harmless I was; yet hunted down To join the shadowy troops of death!

For treasons, to my soul unfit;

I've been pursu'd through many a town, Yes! I have felt all man can feel,

For crimes that petty knaves commit; Till he shall pay his nature's debt ;

I've been adjudg’d t have lost my wit, Ills that no hope has strength to heal,

Because I preach'd so loud and well, No mind the comfort to forget:

And thrown into the dungeon's pit,
Whatever cares the heart can fret,

For trampling on the pit of hell.
The spirits wear, the temper gall,
Woe, want, dread, anguish, all


Such were the evils, man of sin, My sinful soul!-together all !

That I was fated to sustain;

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And add to all, without-within,

But old I wax and passing poor, A soul defild with every stain,

Stern, rugged men my conduct view,
That man's reflecting mind can pain;

They chide my wish, they bar my door,
That pride, wrong, rage, despair can make; 'Tis hard—I weep-you see I do.-
In fact, they'd nearly touch'd my brain,
And reason on her throne would shake.

Must you, my friends, no longer stay?

Thus quickly all my pleasures end! But pity will the vilest seek,

But I'll remember, when I pray, If punish'd guilt will not repine,

My kind physician and his friend; I heard a heavenly teacher speak,

And those sad hours, you deign to spend And felt the sun of mercy shine:

With me, I shall requite them all; I hail'd the light! the birth divine !

Sir Eustace for his friends shall send,
And then was seal'd among the few;

And thank their love at Greyling Hall.
Those angry fiends beheld the sign,
And from me in an instant flew.

Come hear how thus the charmers cry

The poor Sir Eustace !-Yet his hope To wandering sheep, the strays of sin ;

Leads him to think of joys again; While some the wicket-gate pass by,

And when his earthly visions droop, And some will knock and enter in:

His views of heavenly kind remain:Full joyful 'tis a soul to win,

But whence that meek and humbled strain, For he that winneth souls is wise;

That spirit wounded, lost, resign'd; Now hark! the holy strains begin,

Would not so proud a soul disdain And thus the sainted preacher cries:

The madness of the poorest mind? “ Pilgrim, burthen’d with thy sin,

Physician. « Come the way to Zion's gate, “ There, till mercy let thee in,

No! for the more he swellid with pride, “ Knock and weep and watch and wait.

The more he felt misfortune's blow; “ Knock!-He knows the sinner's cry:

Disgrace and grief he could not hide, 6 Weep !-He loves the mourner's tears:

And poverty had laid him low: “ Watch!—for saving grace is nigh:

Thus shame and sorrow working slow, “ Wait,—till heavenly light appears.

At length this humble spirit gave;

Madness on these began to grow, “ Hark! it is the bridegroom's voice ;

And bound him to his fiends a slave. “ Welcome, pilgrim, to thy rest; « Now within the gate rejoice,

Though the wild thoughts had touch'd his brai, “ Safe and seal'd and bought and blest!

Then was he free:-So, forth he ran; “ Safe--from all the lures of vice,

To soothe or threat, alike were vain: “ Seal'd-by signs the chosen know,

He spake of fiends ; look'd wild and wan; Bought-by love, and life the price,

Year after year, the hurried man “ Blest—the mighty debt to owe.

Obey'd those fiends from place to place ;

Till his religious change began “ Holy Pilgrim! what for thee,

To form a frenzied child of grace. “ In a world like this remain ? “ From thy guarded breast shall flee,

For, as the fury lost its strength, “ Fear and shame and doubt and pain.

The mind repos'd; by slow degrees, “ Fear—the hope of Heaven shall fly,

Came lingering hope, and brought at length

, “ Shame-from glory's view retire,

To the tormented spirit, ease: “ Doubt-in certain rapture die,

This slave of sin, whom fiends could seize

, “ Pain-in endless bliss expire.”.

Felt or believ'd their power had end;But though my day of grace was come,

6 'Tis faith,” he cried, “ my bosom frees, Yet still my days of grief I find;

* And now my Saviour is my friend." The former clouds' collected gloom Still sadden the reflecting mind;

But ah! though time can yield relief,

And soften woes it cannot cure;
The soul, to evil things consign'd,
Will of their evil some retain;

Would we not suffer pain and grief

, The man will seem to earth inclin'd,

To have our reason sound and sure? And will not look erect again.

Then let us keep our bosoms pure,

Our fancy's favourite flights suppress ; Thus, though elect, I feel it hard,

Prepare the body to endure, To lose what I possess'd before,

And bend the mind to meet distress ; To be from all my wealth debarr'd,–

And then His guardian care implore, The brave Sir Eustace is no more:

Whom demons dread and men adore.

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Renewing oft his poor attempts to beat

His tingling fingers into gathering heat.

He shall again be seen when evening comes,

And social parties crowd their favourite rooms : E« Describe the Borough”—though our idle tribe

Where, on the table pipes and papers lie, May love description, can we so describe,

The steaming bowl og foaming tankard by; That you shall fairly streets and buildings trace,

'Tis then, with all these comforts spread around, And all that gives distinction to a place?

They hear the painful dredger's welcome sound; This cannot be; yet, mov'd by your request,

And few themselves the savoury boon deny, A part I paint-let fancy form the rest.

The food that feeds, the living luxury. Cities and towns, the various haunts of men,

Yon is our quay! those smaller hoys from town, Require the pencil; they defy the pen:

Its various wares, for country use, bring down; Could he, who sang so well the Grecian fleet,

Those laden waggons, in return, impart So well have sug of alley, lane, or street?

The country produce to the city mart; Can measur'd lines these various buildings show,

Hark! to the clamour in that miry road, The town-hall turning, or the prospect-row?

Bounded and narrow'd by yon vessels' load; Can I the seats of wealth and want explore,

The lumbering wealth she empties round the place, And lengthen out my lays from door to door?

Package, and parcel, hogshead, chest, and case: Then let thy fancy aid me,I repair

While the loud seaman and the angry hind, From this tall mansion of our last-year's mayor,

Mingling in business, bellow to the wind. Till we the out-skirts of the Borough reach,

Near these a crew amphibious, in the docks, And these half-buried buildings next the beach;

Rear, for the sea, those castles on the stocks: Where hang at open doors, the net and cork,

See! the long keel, which soon the waves must hide; While squalid sea-dames mend the meshy work;

See! the strong ribs which form the roomy side; Till comes the hour, when fishing through the tide,

Bolts yielding slowly to the sturdiest stroke, The weary husband throws his freight aside; And planks which curve and crackle in the smoke. A living mass, which now demands the wife, Around the whole rise cloudy wreaths, and far Th' alternate labours of their humble life. [wood,

Bear the warm pungence of o'er-boiling tar. Can scenes like these withdraw thee from thy

Dabbling on shore half-naked sea boys crowd, Thy upland forest, or thy valley's flood?

Swim round a ship, or swing upon the shroud; Seek then thy garden's shrubby bound, and look, Or in a boat purloin'd, with paddles play, As it steals by, upon the bordering brook;

And grow

familiar with the watery way: That winding streamlet, limpid, lingering, slow, Young though they be, they feel whose sons they are, Where the reeds whisper when the zephyrs blow; They know what British seamen do and dare; Where in the midst, upon her throne of green, Proud of that fame, they raise and they enjoy Sits the large lily as the water's queen;

The rustic wonder of the village-boy. And makes the current, forc'd awhile to stay,

Before you bid these busy scenes adieu, Murmur and bubble, as it shoots away;

Behold the wealth that lies in public view, Draw then the strongest contrast to that stream,

Those far-extended heaps of coal and coke, And our broad river will before thee seem.

Where fresh-fill'd lime-kilns breathe their stilling With ceaseless motion comes and goes the tide;

smoke. Flowing, it fills the channel vast and wide; This shall pass off, and you behold, instead, Then back to sea, with strong majestic sweep

The night-fire gleaming on its chalky bed; It rolls, in ebb yet terrible and deep;

When from the light-house brighter beams will rise, Here samphire-banks and salt-wort bound the flood, To show the shipman where the shallow lies. There stakes and sea-weeds withering on the mud;

Thy walks are ever pleasant; every scene And higher up, a ridge of all things base,

Is rich in beauty, lively, or sereneWhich some strong tide has roll'd upon the place.

Rich-is that varied view with woods around, Thy gentle river boasts its pigmy boat,

Seen from the seat, within the shrubb’ry bound; Urg'd on by pains, half grounded, half afloat;

Where shines the distant lake, and where appear While at her stern an angler takes his stand, From ruins bolting, unmolested deer; And marks the fish he purposes to land,

Lively—the village-green, the inn, the place From that clear space, where, in the cheerful ray Where the good widow schools her infant race ; Of the warm sun, the scaly people play.

Shops, whence are heard the hammer and the saw, Far other craft our prouder river shows, [snows: And village pleasures unreproved by law. Hoys, pinks and sloops; brigs, brigantines and Then how serene! when in your favourite room, Nor angler we on our wide stream descry,

Gales from your jasmines soothe the evening gloom; But one poor dredger where his oysters lie:

When from your upland paddock you look down, He, cold and wet, and driving with the tide, And just perceive the smoke which hides the town; Beats his weak arms against his tarry side,

When weary peasants at the close of day Then drains the remnant of diluted gin,

Walk to their cots, and part upon the way; To aid the warmth that languishes within;

When cattle slowly cross the shallow brook,

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