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Equal awhile; then one was left behind, And for a moment had her chance resign'd, When, in that moment, up a sail they drewNot used before-their rivals to pursue. Strong was the gale! in hurry now there came Men from the town, their thoughts, their fears the same ;

And women too! affrighted maids and wives, All deeply feeling for their sailors' lives. The strife continued; in a glass we saw The desperate efforts, and we stood in awe, When the last boat shot suddenly before, Then fill'd, and sank—and could be seen no more!

Then were those piercing shrieks, that frantic flight,

All hurried! all in tumult and affright! A gathering crowd from different streets drew near,

All ask, all answer-none attend, none hear! One boat is safe; and see! she backs her sail To save the sinking—Will her care avail? O! how impatient on the sands we tread, And the winds roaring, and the women led, As up and down they pace with frantic air, And scorn a comforter, and will despair; They know not who in either boat is gone, But think the father, husband, lover, one. And who is she apart? She dares not come To join the crowd, yet cannot rest at home: With what strong interest looks she at the

waves,

Meeting and clashing o'er the seamen's graves: 'Tis a poor girl betroth'd—a few hours more, And he will lie a corpse upon the shore.

Strange, that a boy could love these scenes, ⚫ and cry

In very pity-but that boy was I.
With pain my mother would my tales receive.
And say, 'my Richard, do not learn to grieve.'

One wretched hour had past before we knew Whom they had saved! Alas! they were but two,

An orphan'd lad and widow'd man—no more! And they unnoticed stood upon the shore, With scarce a friend to greet them-widows view'd

This man and boy, and then their cries renew'd :

'Twas long before the signs of woe gave place To joy again; grief sat on every face.

Sure of my mother's kindness, and the joy
She felt in meeting her rebellious boy,
I at my pleasure our new seat forsook,
And, undirected, these excursions took :
I often rambled to the noisy quay,
Strange sounds to hear, and business strange
to me;

Seamen and carmen, and I know not who,
A lewd, amphibious, rude,contentious crew-

Confused as bees appear about their hive,
Yet all alert to keep their work alive.
Here, unobserved as weed upon the wave,
My whole attention to the scene I gave;
I saw their tasks, their toil, their care,
their skill,

Led by their own and by a master-will;
And though contending, toiling, tugging on,
The purposed business of the day was done.
The open shops of craftsmen caught my eye,
And there my questions met the kind reply:
Men, when alone, will teach ; but, in a crowd,
The child is silent, or the man is proud;
But, by themselves, there is attention paid
To a mild boy, so forward, yet afraid.
I made me interest at the inn's fire-side,
Amid the scenes to bolder boys denied;
For I had patrons there, and I was one,
They judged, who noticed nothing that was
done.

A quiet lad!' would my protector say;
'To him, now, this is better than his play:
Boys are as men; some active, shrewd, and
keen,

They look about if aught is to be seen; And some, like Richard here, have not a mind That takes a notice—but the lad is kind.'

I loved in summer on the heath to walk, And seek the shepherd — shepherds love to talk:

His superstition was of ranker kind, And he with tales of wonder stored my mind; Wonders that he in many a lonely eve Had seen,himself, and therefore must believe. His boy, his Joe, he said, from duty ran, Took to the sea, and grew a fearless man: "On yonder knoll-the sheep were in the foldHis spirit past me, shivering-like and cold! I felt a fluttering, but I knew not how, | And heard him utter, like a whisper, ‘now !? Soon came a letter from a friend-to tell That he had fallen, and the time he fell.'

Even to the smugglers' hut the rocks between,

I have, adventurous in my wandering, been: Poor, pious Martha served the lawless tribe, And could their merits and their faults describe;

Adding her thoughts; ‘I talk,my child to you, ¦ Who little think of what such wretches do.'

I loved to walk where none had walk'd before, About the rocks that ran along the shore; Or far beyond the sight of men to stray, And take my pleasure when I lost my way; For then 'twas mine to trace the hilly heath, And all the mossy moor that lies beneath : Here had I favourite stations, where I stood And heard the murmurs of the occan-flood, With not a sound beside, except when flew Aloft the lapwing, or the gray curlew,

Who with wild notes my fancied power defied,
And mock'd the dreams of solitary pride.
I loved to stop at every creek and bay
Made by the river in its winding way,
And call to memory—not by marks they bare,
But by the thoughts that were created there.
Pleasant it was to view the sea-gulls strive
Against the storm, or in the ocean dive,
With eager scream, or when they dropping
gave

| Lord of some petty craft, by night and day,
The man had fish'd each fathom of the bay.
My friend the matron woo'd me, quickly won,
To fill the station of an absent son;
(Him whom at school I knew, and Peter
known,

I took his home and mother for my own:)
I read, and doubly was I paid to hear
Events that fell upon no listless car:
She grieved to say her parents could neglect
Their closing wings to sail upon the wave: Her education!-'twas a sore defect;
Then as the winds and waters raged around, She, who had ever such a vast delight
And breaking billows mix'd their deafening | To learn, and now could neither read nor

sound,

They on the rolling deep securely hung,
And calmly rode the restless waves among.
Nor pleased it less around me to behold,
Far up the beach, the yesty sea-foam roll'd;
Or from the shore upborn, to see on high,
Its frothy flakes in wild confusion fly:
While the salt spray that clashing billows
form,

Gave to the taste a feeling of the storm.
Thus, with my favourite views, for many
an hour

Have I indulged the dreams of princely
power;

When the mind, wearied by excursions bold,
The fancy jaded, and the bosom cold,
Or when those wants, that will on kings
intrude,

Or evening-fears, broke in on solitude;
When I no more my fancy could employ,
I left in haste what I could not enjoy,
And was my gentle mother's welcome boy.

But now thy walk,-this soft autumnal gloom
Eids no delay—at night I will resume
My subject, showing, not how I improved
In my strange school, but what the things
I loved,
My first-born friendships, ties by forms
uncheck'd,

And all that boys acquire whom men neglect.

воок V.

RUTH.

RICHARD Would wait till George the tale should ask,

Nor waited long-He then resumed the task.

South in the port, and eastward in the street
Rose a small dwelling, my beloved retreat,
Where lived a pair, then old; the sons had fled
The home they fill'd: a part of them were
dead;
Married a part; while some at sea remain'd,
And stillness in the seaman's mansion reign'd;

write:

But hear she could,and from our stores I took,
Librarian meet! at her desire, our book.
Full twenty volumes-I would not exceed
The modest truth-were there for me to read;
These a long shelf contain'd, and they were
found

Books truly speaking, volumes fairly bound;
The rest, for some of other kinds remain'd,
And these a board beneath the shelf con-
tain'd,-

Had their deficiencies in part; they lack'd
One side or both, or were no longer back'd ;
But now became degraded from their place,
And were but pamphlets of a bulkier race.
Yet had we pamphlets, an inviting store,
From sixpence downwards-nay, a part were

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And we had poets, hymns and songs divine;
The most we read not, but allow'd them fine:
Our tracts were many, on the boldest themes-
We had our metaphysics, spirits, dreams,
Visions and warnings, and portentous sights
Seen,though but dimly, in the doleful nights,
When the good wife her wintry vigil keeps,
And thinks alone of him at sea, and weeps.
Add to all these our works in single sheets,
That our Cassandras sing about the streets:
These, as I read, the grave good man would
say,

Nay, Hannah!' and she answer'd, What
is Nay?
What is there, pray, so hurtful in a song?
It is our fancy only makes it wrong;
His purer mind no evil thoughts alarm,
And innocence protects him like a charm.*

Then would the matron, when the song | For he had truth with love, but love in

had past,

youth And her laugh over, ask an hymn at last; Does wrong, that cannot be repair'd by truth. To the coarse jest she would attention lend, And to the pious psalm in reverence bend: She gave her every power and all her mind As chance directed, or as taste inclined. More of our learning I will now omit, We had our Cyclopaedias of Wit, And all our works, rare fate, were to our She was not merry, but she gave our hearth

genius fit.

When I had read, and we were weary grown
Of other minds, the dame disclosed her own;
And long have I in pleasing terror stay'd
To hear of boys trepann'd,and girls betray'd;
Ashamed so long to stay, and yet to go afraid.
I could perceive, though Hannah bore full

well

The ills of life, that few with her would dwell,
But pass away, like shadows o'er the plain
From flying clouds, and leave it fair again;
Still every evil, be it great or small,
Would one past sorrow to the mind recal,
The grand disease of life, to which she turns,
And common
cares and lighter suffering

spurns.
'O! these are nothing,-they will never heed
Such idle contests who have fought indeed,
And have the wounds unclosed,' — I under-
stood

My hint to speak, and my design pursued,

Curious the secret of that heart to find,
To mirth, to song, to laughter loud inclined.
And yet to bear and feel a weight of grief
behind:

How does she thus her little sunshine throw
Always before her?--I should like to know.
My friend perceived,and would no longer hide
The bosom's sorrow-Could she not confide
In one who wept, unhurt-in one who felt,

untried?

“Dear child, I show you sins and sufferings strange,

But you, like Adam, must for knowledge
change

That blissful ignorance: remember, then,
What now you feel should be a check on men;
For then your passions no debate allow,
And therefore lay up resolution now.
"Tis not enough,that when you can persuade
A maid to love, you know there's promise
made;

'Tis not enough, that you design to keep
That promise made, nor leave your lass to
weep:

"Ruth-I may tell, too oft had she been told-
Was tall and fair, and comely to behold,
Gentle and simple, in her native place
Not one compared with her in form or face

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A cheerful spirit that was more than mirth.
There was a sailor-boy, and people said
But not in this-for he was ever glad,
He was, as man, a likeness of the maid;
While Ruth was apprehensive, mild, and sad;
A quiet spirit hers, and peace would seek
In meditation: tender, mild, and meek!
Her loved the lad most truly; and, in truth,
She took an early liking to the youth:
To her alone were his attentions paid,
And they became the bachelor and maid.
And worldly wise, we said it could not be :
He wish'd to marry, but so prudent we
They took the counsel,-may be they ap-
proved-

But still they grieved and waited, hoped

and loved.

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eyes;

As plainly, love, as you can read your books.
For lovers speak their wishes with their looks
Then, too, the meetings and the partings, all
The playful quarrels in which lovers fall,
Serve to one end-each lover is a child,
Quick to resent and to be reconciled ;
And then their peace brings kindness that
remains,

And so the lover from the quarrel gains:
When he has fault that she reproves, his fear
And grief assure her she was too severe,
And that brings kindness — when he bears
an ill,

Or disappointment, and is calm and still,
She feels his own obedient to her will,
And that brings kindness-and what kind-
ness brings

I cannot tell you :-these were trying things.
They were as children, and they fell at length;
The trial, doubtless, is beyond their strength
Whom grace supports not; and will grace
support

The too confiding, who their danger court?
Then they would marry, but were now
too late,-

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But you must guard yourself against the sin,
And think it such to draw the party in;
Nay, the more weak and easy to be won,
The viler you who have the mischief done.
I am not angry, love; but men should know
They cannot always pay the debt they owe
Their plighted honour; they may cause the ill I could perceive my daughter's peace was
They cannot lessen, though they feel a will;

All could their fault in sport or malice state; And though the day was fix'd, and now drew on,

gone;

She could not bear the bold and laughing eye | Sure, if they must upon our children seize, That gazed on her — reproach she could They might prevent such injuries as these ; not fly; Might hours-nay, days—in many a case Her grief she would not show, her shame allow, could not deny : For some with many virtues come to shame, And some that lose them all preserve their

name.

"Fix'd was the day ; but ere that day appear'd, A frightful rumour through the place was heard ;

War, who had slept awhile,awaked once more, And gangs came pressing till they swept the shore :

Our youth was seized and quickly sent away, Nor would the wretches for his marriage stay, But bore him off, in barbarous triumph bore, And left us all our miseries to deplore: There were wives, maids, and mothers on the beach,

And some sad story appertain❜d to each; Most sad to Ruth-to neither could she go! But sat apart, and suffer'd matchless woe! On the vile ship they turn'd their earnest view, Not one last look allow'd,—not one adieu! They saw the men on deck, but none distinctly knew.

And there she staid, regardless of each eye, With but one hope, a fervent hope to die: Nor cared she now for kindness-all beheld Her, who invited none, and none repell'd; For there are griefs, my child, that sufferers hide,

And there are griefs that men display with pride;

But there are other griefs that, so we feel,
We care not to display them nor conceal:
Such were our sorrows on that fatal day,
More than our lives the spoilers tore away;
Nor did we heed their insult-some distress
No form or manner can make more or less,
And this is of that kind-this misery of a
Press!

They say such things must be perhaps
they must;
But,sure they need not fright us and disgust;
They need not soul-less crews of ruffians send
At once the ties of humble love to rend:
A single day had Thomas stay'd on shore
He might have wedded,and we ask'd no more;
And that stern man, who forced the lad away,
Might have attended and have graced the day;
His pride and honour might have been at rest,
It is no stain to make a couple blest!
Blest!-no, alas! it was to ease the heart
Of one sore pang, and then to weep and part!
But this he would not.-English seamen fight
For England's gain and glory—it is right:
But will that public spirit be so strong,
Fill'd,as it must be, with their private wrong?
Forbid it, Honour! one in all the fleet
Should hide in war, or from the foe retreat;
But is it just, that he who so defends
His country's cause, should hide him from
her friends?

And soften all the griefs we suffer now. Some laws, some orders might in part redress The licensed insults of a British Press, That keeps the honest and the brave in awe, Where might is right, and violence is law. Be not alarm'd,my child; there's none regard What you and I conceive so cruel-hard: There is compassion, I believe; but still One wants the power to help, and one the will, And so from war to war the wrongs remain, While Reason pleads, and Misery sighs in vain.

"Thus my poor Ruth was wretched and undone,

Nor had an husband for her only son,
Nor had he father; hope she did awhile,
And would not weep, although she could
not smile;

Till news was brought us that the youth
was slain,
And then, I think, she never smiled again;
Or if she did, it was but to express
A feeling far, indeed, from happiness!
Something that her bewilder'd mind con-
ceived:

When she inform’d us that she never grieved,
But was right merry, then her head was wild,
And grief had gain'd possession of my child:
Yet, though bewilder'd for a time, and prone
To ramble much and speak aloud, alone;
Yet did she all that duty ever ask'd
And more, her will self-govern'd and untask'd:
With meekness bearing all reproach, all joy
To her was lost; she wept upon her boy,
Wish'd for his death,in fear that he might live
New sorrow to a burden'd heart to give.

"There was a Teacher, where my husband went

Sent, as he told the people-what he meant You cannot understand, but he was sent: This man from meeting came, and strove to win

Her mind to peace by drawing off the sin, Or what it was, that, working in her breast, Robb'd it of comfort, confidence, and rest: He came and reason'd, and she seem'd to feel The pains he took-her griefs began to heal; She ever answer'd kindly when he spoke, And always thank'd him for the pains he took;

So, after three long years, and all the while Wrapt up in grief, she blest us with a smile, And spoke in comfort; but she mix'd no more With younger persons, as she did before.

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He was a weaver by his worldly trade,
But powerful work in the assemblies made ;
People came leagues to town to hear him sift
The holy text, he had the grace and gift;
Widows and maidens flock'd to hear his voice;
Of either kind he might have had his choice;—
But he had chosen-we had seen how shy
The girl was getting, my good man and 1;
That when the weaver came,she kept with us,
Where he his points and doctrines might
discuss;

'Three days I give you: see that all be right On Monday-morning- this is Thursdaynight

Fulfil my wishes, girl! or else forsake my sight!'

I see her now; and, she that was so meek, It was a chance that she had power to speak, Now spoke in earnest-Father! I obey, And will remember the appointed day!'

But in our bit of garden, or the room
We call our parlour, there he must not come. Then came the man: she talk'd with him
She loved him not, and though she could

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"My husband, thinking of his worldly store,
And not, frail man, enduring to be poor,
Seeing his friend would for his child provide
And hers, he grieved to have the man denied;
For Ruth, when press'd, rejected him, and
grew

To her old sorrow, as if that were new.
Who shall support her? said her father, how
Can I, infirm and weak as I am now?
And here a loving fool this gave her pain,
Severe, indeed, but she would not complain;
Nor would consent,although the weaver grew
More fond, and would the frighten'd girl

pursue.

apart,

But all in vain-she said to me, in tears,
And, I believe, laid open all her heart;
Mother! that man is not what he appears:
He talks of heaven, and let him, if he will,

But he has earthly purpose to fulfil;
Upon my knees I begg'd him to resign
The hand he asks-he said, 'it shall be mine :
What! did the holy men of Scripture deign
To hear a woman when she said 'refrain?”
Of whom they chose they took them wives,

and these

Made it their study and their wish to please;
The women then were faithful and afraid,
As Sarah Abraham, they their lords obey'd,
And so she styled him; 'tis in later days
Of foolish love that we our women praise,
Fall on the knee, and raise the suppliant
hand,

And court the favour thatwe might command.”
O! my dear mother, when this man has power,
How will he treat me-first may beasts
devour!

Or death in every form that I could prove,
Except this selfish being's hateful love."
I gently blamed her, for I knew how hard

"O! much she begg'd him to forbear, to stand It is to force affection and regard.

Her soul's kind friend, and not to ask her hand:
She could not love him. Love me! he

replied,

The love you mean is love unsanctified,
An earthly, wicked, sensual, sinful kind,
A creature-love, the passion of the blind.
He did not court her, he would have her know,
For that poor love that will on beauty grow;
No! he would take her as the Prophet took
One of the harlots in the holy book;
And then he look'd so ugly and severe!
And yet so fond-she could not hide her fear.

"Ah! my dear lad, I talk to you as one Who knew the misery of an heart undone ; You know it not; but,dearest boy, when man, Do not an ill because you find you can : Where is the triumph? when such things men seek

They only drive to wickedness the weak.

Weak was poor Ruth, and this good man so hard, That to her weakness he had no regard : "This fondness grew her torment; she But we had two days peace; he came, and then My daughter whisper'd: Would there were no men!

would fly,

In woman's terror, if he came but nigh;
Nor could I wonder he should odious prove,
So like a ghost that left a grave for love.

But still her father lent his cruel aid
To the man's hope, and she was more afraid :
He said, no more she should his table share,
But be the parish or the Teacher's care.

None to admire or scorn us, none to vex
A simple, trusting, fond, believing sex;
Who truly love the worth that men profess,
And think too kindly for their happiness.”

Poor Ruth! few heroines in the tragic page
Felt more than thee in thy contracted stage;

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