Her mind within the maze of history dwelt,
And of the moral muse the beauty felt!
The merits of the Roman page she knew,
And could converse with Moore and Montagu :
Thus she became the wonder of the town,
From that she reap'd, to that she gave renown,
And strangers coming, all were taught t' admire
The learned lady, and the lofty spire.

Thus fame in public fix'd the maid, where all
Might throw their darts, and see the idol fall;
A hundred arrows came with vengeance keen,
From tongues envenom'd, and from arms unseen;
A thousand eyes were fix'd upon the place,
That, if she fell, she might not fly disgrace:
But malice vainly throws the poison'd dart,
Unless our frailty shows the peccant part;
And Arabella still preserved her name
Untouch'd, and shone with undisputed fame;
Her very notice some respect would cause,
And her esteem was honour and applause.
Men she avoided; not in childish fear,
As if she thought some savage foe was near;
Not as a prude, who hides that man should seek,
Or who by silence hints that they should speak;
But with discretion all the sex she view'd,
Ere yet engaged, pursuing, or pursued ;
Ere love had made her to his vices blind
Or hid the favourite's failings from her mind.
Thus was the picture of the man portray'd,
By merit destined for so rare a maid:

At whose request she might exchange her state,
Or still be happy in a virgin's fate.

He must be one with manners like her own,
His life unquestion'd, his opinions known;
His stainless virtue must all tests endure,
His honour spotless, and his bosom pure ;
She no allowance made for sex or times,
Of lax opinion-crimes were ever crimes;
No wretch forsaken must his frailty curse,
No spurious offspring drain his private purse :
He at all times his passions must command,
And yet possess, or be refused her hand.

All this without reserve the maiden told,
And some began to weigh the rector's gold;
To ask what sum a prudent man might gain,
Who had such store of virtues to maintain.

A Doctor Campbell, north of Tweed, came forth, Declared his passion, and proclaim'd his worth; Not unapproved, for he had much to say On every cause, and in a pleasant way; Not all his trust was in a pliant tongue, His form was good, and ruddy he, and young: But though the doctor was a man of parts, He read not deeply male or female hearts; But judged that all whom he esteem'd as wise, Must think alike, though some assumed disguise; That every reasoning Brahmin, Christian, Jew, Of all religions took their liberal view; And of her own, no doubt, this learned maid Denied the substance, and the forms obey'd; And thus persuaded, he his thoughts express'd Of her opinions, and his own profess'd

All states demand this aid, the vulgar need Their priests and prayers, their sermons and their creed ;

And those of stronger minds should never speak (In his opinion) what might hurt the weak:

A man may smile, but still he should attend
His hour at church, and be the church's friend,
What there he thinks conceal, and what he hears
commend."

Frank was the speech, but heard with high disdain,

Nor had the doctor leave to speak again;

A man who own'd, nay, gloried in deceit,
"He might despise her, but he should not cheat."
Then Vicar Holmes appear'd; he heard it said,
That ancient men best pleased the prudent maid;
And true it was her ancient friends she loved,
Servants when old she favour'd and approved;
Age in her pious parents she revered,

And neighbours were by length of days endear'd;
But, if her husband too must ancient be,
The good old vicar found it was not he.

On Captain Bligh her mind in balance hungThough valiant, modest; and reserved, though

young;

Against these merits must defects be set-
Though poor, imprudent; and though proud, in
debt.

In vain the captain close attention paid;
She found him wanting, whom she fairly weigh'd
Then came a youth, and all their friends agreed,
That Edward Huntly was the man indeed;
Respectful duty he had paid a while,

Then ask'd her hand, and had a gracious smile:
A lover now declared, he led the fair
To woods and fields, to visits and to prayer;
Then whisper'd softly," Will you name the day?"
She softly whisper'd, "If you love me, stay.”
"O! try me not beyond my strength," he cried.
"O! be not weak," the prudent maid replied:
But by some trial your affection prove-
Respect and not impatience argues love :
And love no more is by impatience known,
Than ocean's depth is by its tempests shown:
He whom a weak and fond impatience sways,
But for himself with all his fervour prays,

And not the maid he wooes, but his own will obeys;

And will she love the being who prefers,
With so much ardour, his desire to hers?"

Young Edward grieved, but let not grief be seen;

He knew obedience pleased his fancy's queen.
A while he waited, and then cried, "Behold!
The year advancing, be no longer cold!"
For she had promised-" Let the flowers appear,
And I will pass with thee the smiling year."
Then pressing grew the youth; the more he

press'd,

The less inclined the maid to his request:
"Let June arrive."-Alas! when April came,
It brought a stranger, and the stranger, shame;
Nor could the lover from his house persuade
A stubborn lass whom he had mournful made:
Angry and weak, by thoughtless vengeance moved,
She told her story to the fair beloved,
In strongest words th' unwelcome truth was shown
To blight his prospects, careless of her own.

Our heroine grieved, but had too firm a heart
For him to soften, when she swore to part;
In vain his seeming penitence and prayer,
His vows, his tears; she left him in despair:

His mother fondly laid her grief aside,
And to the reason of the nymph applied-
"It well becomes thee, lady, to appear,
But not to be, in very truth, severe;
Although the crime be odious in thy sight,
That daring sex is taught such things to slight,
His heart is thine, although it once was frail;
Think of his grief, and let his love prevail!"
"Plead thou no more," the lofty lass return'd;
* Forgiving woman is deceived and spurn'd :
Say that the crime is common; shall I take
A common man my wedded lord to make?
Bee! a weak woman by his arts betray'd,
An infant born his father to upbraid;
Shall I forgive his vileness, take his name,
Sanction his error, and partake his shame?
No! this assent would kindred frailty prove,
A love for him would be a vicious love :
Can a chaste maiden secret counsel hold
With one whose crime by every mouth is told?
Forbid it spirit, prudence, virtuous pride;
He must despise me, were he not denied :
The way from vice the erring mind to win,
Is with presuming sinners to begin,

As young Zelinda, in her quaker dress,
Disdain'd each varying fashion's vile excess;
And now her friends on old Zelinda gaze,
Pleased in rich silks and orient gems to blaze:
Changes like these 'tis folly to condemn,
So virtue yields not, nor is changed by them.
Let us proceed: twelve brilliant years were

past,

Yet each with less of glory than the last;
Whether these years to this fair virgin gave
A softer mind-effect they often have;
Whether the virgin state was not so bless'd
As that good maiden in her zeal profess'd;
Or whether lovers falling from her train,
Gave greater price to those she could retain,
Is all unknown;-but Arabella now
Was kindly listening to a merchant's vow;
Who offer'd terms so fair, against his love
To strive was folly, so she never strove;
Man in his earlier days we often find
With a too easy and unguarded mind;

But by increasing years and prudence taught,
He grows reserved, and locks up every thought:
Not thus the maiden, for in blooming youth

The youth, repulsed, to one more mild convey'd His heart, and smiled on the remorseless maid; The maid, remorseless in her pride, the while Despised the insult, and return'd the smile.

First to admire, to praise her, and defend,
Was (now in years advanced) a virgin friend :
Much she preferr'd, she cried, a single state,
"It was her choice,”-it surely was her fate;
And much it pleased her in the train to view
A maiden vot'ress, wise, and lovely too.

Time to the yielding mind his change imparts,
He varies notions, and he alters hearts;
Tis right, 'tis just to feel contempt for vice,
But he that shows it may be over-nice :

There are who feel, when young, the false sublime,

And proudly love to show disdain for crime,
To whom the future will new thoughts supply,
The pride will soften, and the scorn will die;
Nay, where they still the vice itself condemn,
They bear the vicious, and consort with them :
Young Captain Grove, when one had changed his
side,

Despised the venal turn-coat, and defied;

Old Colonel Grove now shakes him by the hand,
Though he who bribes may still his vote command:
Why would not Ellen to Belinda speak,
When she had flown to London for a week;
And then return'd, to every friend's surprise
With twice the spirit, and with half the size?
She spoke not then; but after years had flown,
A better friend had Ellen never known:
Was it the lady her mistake had seen?
Or had she also such a journey been?
No: 'twas the gradual change in human hearts,
That time, in commerce with the world, imparts;
That on the roughest temper throws disguise,
And steals from virtue her asperities.
The young and ardent, who with glowing zeal
Felt wrath for trifles, and were proud to feel
Now find those trifles all the mind engage,
To soothe dull hours, and cheat the cares of age;

truth:

This, when no longer young, no more she hides,
But frankly in the favour'd swain confides:
Man, stubborn man, is like the growing tree,
That longer standing, still will harder be;
And like its fruit the virgin, first austere,
Then kindly softening with the ripening year.
Now was the lover urgent, and the kind
And yielding lady to his suit inclined:
"A little time, my friend, is just, is right;
We must be decent in our neighbours' sight:"
Still she allow'd him of his hopes to speak,
And in compassion took off week by week;
Till few remain'd, when, wearied with delay,
She kindly meant to take off day by day.

That female friend who gave our virgin praise
For flying man and all his treacherous ways,
Now heard with mingled anger, shame, and fear,
Of one accepted, and a wedding near;
But she resolved again, with friendly zeal,
To make the maid her scorn of wedlock feel;
For she was grieved to find her work undone,
And like a sister mourn'd the failing nun.

Why are these gentle maidens prone to make Their sister doves the tempting world forsake? Why all their triumph when a maid disdains The tyrant sex, and scorns to wear its chains? Is it pure joy to see a sister flown

From the false pleasures they themselves have

known?

Or do they, as the call-birds in the cage,
Try, in pure envy, others to engage ;
And therefore paint their native woods and groves,
As scenes of dangerous joys and naughty loves?
Strong was the maiden's hope: her friend was

proud,

And had her notions to the world avow'd;
And, could she find the merchant weak and frail,
With power to prove it, then she must prevail;
For she aloud would publish his disgrace,
And save his victim from a man so base.
When all inquiries had been duly made,
Came the kind friend her burden to unlade.

K

Where the dark poppy flourish'd on the dry And sterile soil, and mock'd the thin-set rye. "How lovely this!" the rapt Orlando said; - With what delight is labouring man repaid! The very lane has sweets that all admire, The rambling suckling and the vigorous brier; See! wholesome wormwood grows beside the way,

spray;

Fresh herbs the fields, fair shrubs the banks adorn,
And snow-white bloom falls flaky from the thorn;
No fostering hand they need, no sheltering wall,
They spring uncultured, and they bloom for all."
The lover rode as hasty lovers ride,
And reach'd a common pasture wild and wide;
Small black-legg'd sheep devour with hunger keen
The meagre herbage, fleshless, lank, and lean;
Such o'er thy level turf, Newmarket! stray,
And there, with other black-legs find their prey:
He saw some scatter'd hovels, turf was piled
In square brown stacks; a prospect bleak and wild!
A mill, indeed, was in the centre found,
With short sear herbage withering all around;
A smith's black shed opposed a wright's long shop,
And join'd an inn where humble travellers stop.
“Ay, this is nature," said the gentle squire ;
This ease, peace, pleasure, who would not admire?
With what delight these sturdy children play,
And joyful rustics at the close of day;
Sport follows labour, on this even space
Will soon commence the wrestling and the race;
Then will the village maidens leave their home,
And to the dance with buoyant spirits come;
No affectation in their looks is seen,

Nor know they what disguise or flattery mean;
Nor aught to move an envious pang they see,
Easy their service, and their love is free;
Hence early springs that love, it long endures,
And life's first comfort, while they live, ensures;
They the low roof and rustic comforts prize,
Nor cast on prouder mansions envying eyes:
Sometimes the news at yonder town they hear,
And learn what busier mortals feel and fear;
Secure themselves, although by tales amazed,
Of towns bombarded, and of cities razed;
As if they doubted, in their still retreat,
The very news that makes their quiet sweet,
And their days happy; happier only knows
lie on whom Laura her regard bestows."

On rode Orlando, counting all the while
The miles he pass'd, and every coming mile;
Like all attracted things, he quicker flies,
The place approaching where th' attraction lies;
When next appear'd a dam-so call the place-
Where lies a road confined in narrow space;
A work of labour, for on either side
Is level fen, a prospect wild and wide,
With dikes on either hand by ocean's self supplied:
Far on the right the distant sea is seen,

And salt the springs that feed the marsh between;
Beneath an ancient bridge, the straiten'd flood
Rolls through its sloping banks of slimy mud;
Near it a sunken boat resists the tide,
That frets and hurries to th' opposing side;
The rushes sharp, that on the borders grow,
Bend their brown flow'rets to the stream below,
Impure in all its course, in all its progress slow:

44

And just in view appears their stony bound;
No hedge nor tree conceals the glowing sun,
Birds, save a watery tribe, the district shun,
Nor chirp among the reeds where bitter waters run.
Various as beauteous, Nature, is thy face,"
Exclaim'd Orlando: "all that grows has grace
All are appropriate; bog, and marsh, and fen.
Are only poor to undiscerning men;
Here may the nice and curious eye explore
How Nature's hand adorns the rushy moor;
Here the rare moss in secret shade is found,
Here the sweet myrtle of the shaking ground;
Beauties are these that from the view retire,
But well repay th' attention they require;
For these my Laura will her home forsake,
And all the pleasures they afford partake.”

Again the country was enclosed, a wide
And sandy road has banks on either side;
Where, lo! a hollow on the left appear'd,
And there a gipsy tribe their tent had rear'd ;
"Twas open spread, to catch the morning sun,
And they had now their early meal begun,
When two brown boys just left their grassy seat,
The early traveller with their prayers to greet:
While yet Orlando held his pence in hand,
He saw their sister on her duty stand;
Some twelve years old, demure, affected, sly,
Prepared the force of early powers to try;
Sudden a look of languor he descries,
And well-feign'd apprehension in her eyes ;
Train'd, but yet savage, in her speaking face
He mark'd the features of her vagrant race;
When a light laugh and roguish leer express'd
The vice implanted in her youthful breast:
Forth from the tent her elder brother came,
Who seem'd offended, yet forbore to blame

The ditches of a fen so near the ocean are lined with irregular patches of a coarse and stained lava; a muddy sediment rests on the horse-tail and other perennial herbs, which in part conceal the shallowness of the stream; a fat-leaved, pale-flowering scurvy grass, appears early in the year, and the razor-edged bulrush, in the summer and autumn. The fen itself has a dark and saline herbage; there are rushes and arrow-head, and in a few patches the flakes of the cotton grass are seen, but more commonly the sea-aster, the dullest of that nuinerous and hardy genus; a thrift, blue in flower, but withering and remaining withered, till the winter scatters it; the saltwort, both simple and shrubby; a few kinds of grass changed by their soil and atinosphere, and low plants of two or three denominations undistinguished in a general view of the scenery: such is the vegetation of the fen when it is at a small distance from the ocean; and in this case there arise from it effluvia strong ano peculiar, half-saline, half-putrid, which would be consi dered by most people as offensive, and by some as dangerous; but there are others to whom singularity of taste, or association of ideas, has rendered it agreeable and pleasant.

"Gone to a friend, she tells me; I commend Her purpose; means she to a female friend? By Heaven, I wish she suffer'd half the pain Of hope protracted through the day in vain :

On ragged rug, just borrow'd from the bed,
And by the hand of coarse indulgence fed,
In dirty patchwork negligently dress'd,
Reclined the wife, an infant at her breast;
In her wild face some touch of grace remain'd,
Of vigour palsied and of beauty stain'd;
Her blood-shot eyes on her unheeding mate

state,

Pursing his tardy aid-her mother there
With gipsy state engross'd the only chair;
Solemn and dull her look; with such she stands,
And reads the milk-maid's fortune in her hands,
Tracing the lines of life; assumed through years,
Each feature now the steady falsehood wears;
With hard and savage eye she views the food,
And grudging pinches their intruding brood;
Last in the group, the worn-out grandsire sits
Neglected, lost, and living but by fits;
Useless, despised, his worthless labours done,
And half protected by the vicious son,
Who half supports him; he with heavy glance
Views the young ruffians who around him dance;
And, by the sadness in his face, appears
To trace the progress of their future years:
Through what strange course of misery, vice,
deceit,

Must wildly wander each unpractised cheat.
What shame and grief, what punishment and pain,
Sport of fierce passions, must each child sustain-
Ere they like him approach their latter end,
Without a hope, a comfort, or a friend!

"

But this Orlando felt not; "Rogues," said he, Doubtless they are, but merry rogues they be; They wander round the land, and be it true, They break the laws-then let the laws pursue The wanton idlers; for the life they live Acquit I cannot, but I can forgive." This said, a portion from his purse was thrown, And every heart seem'd happy like his own.

He hurried forth, for now the town was nigh"The happiest man of mortal men am I." Thou art! but change in every state is near, (So while the wretched hope, the blest may fear ;) "Say, where is Laura ?"—"That her words must show,"

A lass replied; " read this, and thou shalt know!" "What, gone!"—her friend insisted-forced to go:

"Is vex'd, was teased, could not refuse her!-No?" "But you can follow." Yes?" "The miles are few,

The way is pleasant; will you come? Adieu!
Thy Laura!"--" No! I feel I must resign
The pleasing hope, thou hadst been here, if mine:
A lady was it? Was no brother there?

But why should I afflict me if there were ?"

The road, now near, now distant, winding led
By lovely meadows which the waters fed;
He pass'd the way-side inn, the village spire,
Nor stopp'd to gaze, to question, or admire ;
On either side the rural mansions stood,
With hedge-row trees, and hills high-crown'd with
wood,

And many a devious stream that reach'd the nobler flood.

"I hate these scenes," Orlando angry cried,

And these proud farmers! yes, I hate their pride: See! that sleek fellow, how he strides along, Strong as an ox, and ignorant as strong; Can yon close crops a single eye detain But his who counts the profits of the grain? And these vile beans with deleterious smell, Where is their beauty? can a mortal tell? These deep fat meadows I detest; it shocks One's feelings there to see the grazing ox ;— For slaughter fatted, as a lady's smile Rejoices man, and means his death the while. Lo! now the sons of labour! every day Employ'd in toil, and vex'd in every way; Theirs is but mirth assumed, and they conceal, In their affected joys, the ills they feel:

I hate these long green lanes; there's nothing

seen

In this vile country but eternal green; Woods! waters! meadows! Will they never end? "Tis a vile prospect. Gone to see a friend!"

Still on he rode! a mansion fair and tall Rose on his view-the pride of Loddon Hall: Spread o'er the park he saw the grazing steer, The full-fed steed, the herds of bounding deer: On a clear stream the vivid sunbeams play'd, Through noble elms, and on the surface made That moving picture, checker'd light and shade; Th' attended children, there indulged to stray, Enjoy'd and gave new beauty to the day; Whose happy parents from their room were seen Pleased with the sportive idlers on the green.