Still there they stood, and forced me to behold
A place of horrors-they can not be told—
Where the flood opened, there I heard the shriek
Of tortured guilt-no earthly tongue can speak:
'All days alike! forever!' did they say,
'And unremitted torments every day!'
Yes, so they said." But here he ceased, and gazed
On all around, affrightened and amazed;
And still he tried to speak, and looked in dread
Of frightened females gathering round his bed;
Then dropped exhausted, and appeared at rest
Till the strong foe the vital powers possessed;
Then with an inward, broken voice he cried,
"Again they come!" and muttered as he died.
1801?-9.
"Whom passed we musing near the woodman's shed, Whose horse not only carried him but led,
That his grave rider might have slept the time,
Or solved a problem, or composed a rhyme?
A more abstracted man within my view
Has never come-he recollected you."
Yes, he was thoughtful-thinks the whole day long,
Deeply, and chiefly that he once thought wrong:
He thought a strong and kindred mind to trace
In the soft outlines of a trifler's face.
Poor Finch! I knew him when at school, a boy
Who might be said his labours to enjoy ;
So young a pedant that he always took
The girl to dance who most admired her book,
And would the butler and the cook surprise,
Who listened to his Latin exercise.
The matron's self the praise of Finch avowed,
He was so serious and he read so loud.
But yet, with all this folly and conceit,
The lines he wrote were elegant and neat;
And early promise in his mind appeared
Of noble efforts when by reason cleared.
And when he spoke of wives, the boy would say
His should be skilled in Greek and algebra,
For who would talk with one to whom his themes
And favourite studies were no more than dreams?
For this, though courteous, gentle, and humane,
The boys contemned and hated him as vain,
Stiff, and pedantic.
In after life, the visions of the boy?"
At least they formed his wishes; they were yet
The favourite views, on which his mind was set:
He quaintly said how happy must they prove
Who, loving, study, or who, studious, love;
Who feel their minds with sciences imbued,
And their warm hearts by beauty's force subdued.
His widowed mother, who the world had seen,
And better judge of either sex had been,
Told him that, just as their affairs were placed,
In some respects he must forego his taste;
That every beauty, both of form and mind,
Must be by him, if unendowed, resigned;
That wealth was wanted for their joint affairs-
His sisters' portions and the Hall's repairs.
The son assented-and the wife must bring
Wealth, learning, beauty, ere he gave the ring;
But as these merits, when they all unite,
Are not produced in every soil and site,
And when produced are not the certain gain
Of him who would these precious things obtain,
Our patient student waited many a year,
Nor saw this phoenix in his walks appear.
But as views mended in the joint estate,
He would a something in his points abate:
Give him but learning, beauty, temper, sense,
And he would then the happy state commence.
The mother sighed, but she at last agreed;
And now the son was likely to succeed:
Wealth is substantial good the Fates allot-
We know we have it or we have it not;
But all those graces which men highly rate
Their minds themselves imagine and create,
And therefore Finch was in a way to find
A good that much depended on his mind.
He looked around, observing, till he saw
Augusta Dallas! when he felt an awe
Of so much beauty and commanding grace,
That well became the honours of her race:
This lady never boasted of the trash
That commerce brings; she never spoke of cash;
The gentle blood that ran in every vein
At all such notions blushed in pure disdain.
Wealth once relinquished, there was all beside,
As Finch believed, that could adorn a bride:
He could not gaze upon the form and air
Without concluding all was right and fair;
Her mild but dignified reserve suppressed
All free inquiry, but his mind could rest,
Assured that all was well, and in that view was blest.
And now he asked, "Am I the happy man
Who can deserve her? is there one who can?"
His mother told him he possessed the land
That puts a man in heart to ask a hand;
All who possess it feel they bear about
A spell that puts a speedy end to doubt.
But Finch was modest: "May it, then, be thought
That she can so be gained?" "She may be sought."
Do not, dear Charles, with indignation glow,
"Can love with land be won?" "By land is beauty bought.
All value that the want of which they know:
Nor do I blame her; none that worth denies.
But can my son be sure of what he buys?
Beauty she has; but with it can you find
The inquiring spirit or the studious mind?
This wilt thou need who art to thinking prone,
And minds unpaired had better think alone;
Then how unhappy will the husband be
Whose sole associate spoils his company?"
This he would try; but all such trials prove
Too mighty for a man disposed to love:
He whom the magic of a face enchains
But little knowledge of the mind obtains;
If by his tender heart the man is led,
He finds how erring is the soundest head.
The lady saw his purpose; she could meet
The man's inquiry, and his aim defeat.
She had a studied flattery in her look;
She could be seen retiring with a book;
She by attending to his speech could prove
That she for learning had a fervent love—
Yet love alone, she modestly declared;
She must be spared inquiry, and was spared:
Of her poor studies she was not so weak
As in his presence, or at all, to speak;
But to discourse with him, who, all agreed,
Has read so much, would be absurd indeed;
Ask what he might, she was so much a dunce
She would confess her ignorance at once.
All this the man believed not; doomed to grieve
For his belief, he this would not believe:
No! he was quite in raptures to discern
That love and that avidity to learn.
"Could she have found," she said, “a friend, a guide,
Like him, to study had been all her pride;
But, doomed so long to frivolous employ,
How could she those superior views enjoy?
The day might come, a happy day for her,
When she might choose the ways she should prefer."
Then too he learned, in accidental way,
How much she grieved to lose the given day
In dissipation wild, in visitation gay.
Happy, most happy, must the woman prove
Who proudly looks on him she vows to love;
Who can her humble acquisitions state,
That he will praise, at least will tolerate.
Still the cool mother sundry doubts expressed:
"How! is Augusta graver than the rest?
There are three others: they are not inclined
To feed with precious food the empty mind.
Whence this strong relish?" "It is very strong,"
Replied the son, “and has possessed her long,
Increased indeed, I may presume, by views-
We may suppose-ah! may she not refuse?"
"Fear not!-I see the question must be tried,
Nay, is determined-let us to your bride."
They soon were wedded, and the nymph appeared
By all her promised excellence endeared:
Her words were kind, were cautious, and were few,
And she was proud-of what her husband knew.
Weeks passed away, some five or six, before,
Blest in the present, Finch could think of more.
A month was next upon a journey spent,
When to the Lakes the fond companions went.
Then the gay town received them; and at last
Home to their mansion, man and wife, they passed.
And now in quiet way they came to live
On what their fortune, love, and hopes would give.
The honied moon had naught but silver rays,
And shone benignly on their early days;
The second moon a light less vivid shed;
And now the silver rays were tinged with lead.
They now began to look beyond the Hall,
And think what friends would make a morning call.
Their former appetites returned, and now
Both could their wishes and their tastes avow;
'T was now no longer, "Just what you approve,"
But "Let the wild fowl be to-day, my love."
In fact the senses, drawn aside by force
Of a strong passion, sought their usual course.
Now to her music would the wife repair,
To which he listened once with eager air,
When there was so much harmony within
That any note was sure its way to win;
But now the sweet, melodious tones were sent
From the struck chords, and none cared where they went. 175
Full well we know that many a favourite air,
That charms a party, fails to charm a pair:
And as Augusta played she looked around
To see if one was dying at the sound;
But all were gone-a husband, wrapt in gloom,
Stalked careless, listless, up and down the room.
And now 't is time to fill that ductile mind
With knowledge from his stores of various kind.
His mother, in a peevish mood, had asked,
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