Ah! had I married, I might now have seen
My-No! it never, never could have been:
That long enchantment, that pernicious
state!-

True, I recover'd, but alas! too late-
And here is Richard, poor indeed-but-nay!
This is self - torment - foolish thoughts,
away!

Ease leads to habit, as success to ease,
He lives by rule who lives himself to please;
For change is trouble, and a man of wealth
Consults his quiet as he guards his health;
And habit now on George had sovereign

power,

His actions all had their accustom❜d hour:
At the fix'd time he slept, he walk'd, he read,
Or sought his grounds, his gruel, and his bed;
For every season he with caution dress'd,
And morn and eve had the appropriate vest;
He talk'd of early mists, and night's cold air,
And in one spot was fix'd his worship's chair.
But not a custom yet on Richard's mind
Had force, or him to certain modes confined;
To him no joy such frequent visits paid,
That habit by its beaten track was made:
He was not one who at his ease could say,
We'll live to-morrow as we lived to-day;
But he and his were as the ravens fed,
As the day came it brought the daily bread.

George, born to fortune, though of moderate kind,

Was not in haste his road through life to find:
His father early lost, his mother tried
To live without him, liked it not, and-sigh'd,
When, for her widow'd hand, an amorous
youth applied:

She still was young, and felt that she could share

A lover's passion, and an husband's care; Yet past twelve years before her son was told,

To his surprise, "your father you behold." But he beheld not with his mother's eye The new relation, and would not comply; But all obedience, all connexion spurn'd, And fled their home, where he no more return'd.

His father's brother was a man whose mind Was to his business and his bank confined; His guardian care the captious nephew sought,

And was received, caress'd, advised, and tanght. "That Irish beggar, whom your mother took, Does you this good, he sends you to your book ; Yet love not books beyond their proper worth,

But when they fit you for the world, go forth:

They are like beauties, and may blessings

prove,

When we with caution study them, or love;

But when to either we our souls devote,
We grow unfitted for that world, and dote."
George to a school of higher class was sent,
But he was ever grieving that he went:
A still, retiring, musing, dreaming boy,
He relish'd not their sudden bursts of joy;
Nor the tumultuous pleasures of a rude,
A noisy, careless, fearless multitude:
He had his own delights, as one who flies
From every pleasure that a crowd supplies:
Thrice he return'd, but then was weary

grown,

And was indulged with studies of his own. Still could the Rector and his Friend relate The small adventures of that distant date; And Richard listen'd as they spake of time Past in that world of misery and crime. Freed from his school, a priest of gentle kind The uncle found to guide the nephew's mind; Pleased with his teacher, George so long remain'd,

The mind was weaken'd by the store it gain'd.

His guardian uncle, then on foreign ground, No time to think of his improvements found; Nor had the nephew, now to manhood grown,

Talents or taste for trade or commerce shown, But shunn'd a world of which he little knew, Nor of that little did he like the view.

His mother chose, nor I the choice upbraid,
An Irish soldier of an house decay'd,
And passing poor, but precious in her eyes
As she in his; they both obtain’d a prize.
To do the captain justice, she might share
What of her jointure his affairs could spare:
Irish he was in his profusion-true,
But he was Irish in affection too;
And though he spent her wealth and made
her grieve,
He always said "my dear," and "with your
leave."

Him she survived: she saw his boy possess'd

Of manly spirit, and then sank to rest.

Both wish'd for kindness, and it made them kind:

George had no wife or child, and was disposed To love the man on whom his hope reposed: Richard had both; and those so well beloved, Husband and father were to kindness moved; And thus th' affections check'd, subdued, restrain❜d,

Rose in their force, and in their fulness reign'd.

The bell now bids to dine: the friendly priest, Social and shrewd, the day's delight increased: Brief and abrupt their speeches while they dined,

Nor were their themes of intellectual kind; Nor, dinner past, did they to these advance, But left the subjects they discuss'd to chance. Richard, whose boyhood in the place was spent,

Profound attention to the speakers lent, Who spake of men; and, as he heard a name, Actors and actions to his memory came: Then, too, the scenes he could distinctly trace, Here he had fought, and there had gain'd

No private tutor Richard's parents sought, Made keen by hardship, and by trouble taught:

They might have sent him-some the counsel gaveSeven gloomy winters of the North to brave, Where a few pounds would pay for board and bed,

While the poor frozen boy was taught and

fed; When, say he lives, fair, freckled, lank and lean, The lad returns shrewd, subtle, close and keen; With all the northern virtues, and the rules Taught to the thrifty in these thriving schools:

There had he gone, and borne this trying part, But Richard's mother had a mother's heart.

Now squire and rector were return'd to school,

And spoke of him who there had sovereign rule:

He was, it seem'd, a tyrant of the sort Who make the cries of tortured boys his sport;

This Holofernes was a man of blood. Students, he said, like horses on the road, Must well be lash'd before they take the load; They may be willing for a time to run, But you must whip them ere the work be done:

To tell a boy, that, if he will improve,
His friends will praise him, and his parents
love,

Is doing nothing-he has not a doubt
But they will love him, nay applaud, without:
Let no fond sire a boy's ambition trust
To make him study, let him see he must.
Such his opinion; and to prove it true,
At least sincere, it was his practice too:
Pluto they call'd him, and they named him
well,

'Twas not an heaven where he was pleased to dwell:

From him a smile was like the Greenland sun,

Surprising, nay portentous, when it shone; Or like the lightning, for the sudden flash Prepared the children for the thunder's crash.

Thus far they went, half earnest, half in jest, Then turn'd to themes of deeper interest; While Richard's mind, that for awhile had stray'd,

Call'd home its powers, and due attention paid.

BOOK III.

BOYS AT SCHOOL.

WE name the world a school, for day by day We something learn, till we are call'd away; The school we name a world, for vice and pain,

Fraud and contention, there begin to reign;

cast

But none the progress would with wonder view :

It was a debt contracted; he who pays
A debt is just, but must not look for praise:

The deed that once had fame must still proceed,

Though fame no more proclaims, how great the deed!

The boy is taken from his mother's side, And he who took him must be now his guide.

But this, alas! instead of bringing fame,

rise

Such smiles, and misery will create such
sighs.
And Richard now from his abstraction broke,
Listening attentive as the Rector spoke.

This noble lord was one disposed to try
And weigh the worth of each new luxury:
Now, at a certain time, in pleasant mood,
He tried the luxury of doing good;
For this he chose a widow's handsome boy,
Whom he would first improve, and then
employ.

The boy was gentle, modest, civil, kind, But not for bustling through the world design'd;

Reserved in manner, with a little gloom,
Apt to retire, but never to assume;
Possess'd of pride that he could not subdue,
Although he kept his origin in view.
Him sent my Lord to school, and this became
A theme for praise, and gave his Lordship
fame;

But when the boy was told how great his debt,

He proudly ask'd, is it contracted yet? With care he studied, and with some success; His patience great, but his acquirements less: Yet when he heard that Charles would not excel,

His Lordship answer'd, with a smile, 'tis well;

Let him proceed, and do the best he can,
I want no pedant, but a useful man.

Now Charles, who acted no heroic part,
And felt no seaman's glory warm his heart,
Refused the offer-anger touch'd my Lord.
"He does not like it-Good, upon my word—
If I at College place him, he will need
Supplies for ever, and will not succeed;
Doubtless in me 'tis duty to provide
Not for his comfort only, but his pride-
Let him to sea!"-He heard the words again,
With promise join'd—with threat'ning; all
in vain:

Charles had his own pursuits; for aid to these

He had been thankful, and had tried to please; But urged again, as meekly as a saint, He humbly begg'd to stay at home, and paint. "Yes, pay some dauber, that this stubborn fool

May grind his colours, and may boast his school."

As both persisted: Choose, good sir, your way,

The Peer exclaim'd, I have no more to say. I seek your good, but I have no command Upon your will, nor your desire withstand,