Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

This plaintive style I pity and excuse,
Help when I can, and grieve when I refuse;
But here my useless sorrows I resign,
And will be happy in a love like thine."

The husband doubted; he was kind but cool:-
""Tis a strong friendship to arise at school;
Once more then, love, once more the sufferer aid,-
I too can pity, but I must upbraid;

Of these vain feelings then thy bosom free,
Nor be o'erwhelm'd by useless sympathy."

The wife again despatch'd the useless bribe,
Again essay'd her terrors to describe;
Again with kindest words entreated peace,
And begg d her offerings for a time might cease.
A calm succeeded but too like the one
That causes terror ere the storm comes on:
A secret sorrow lived in Anna's heart
In Stafford's mind a secret fear of art;
Not long they lasted-this determined foe
Knew all her claims, and nothing would forego
Again her letter came, where Anna read,

66

My child, one cause of my distress, is dead: Heav'n has my infant:" "Heartless wretch!" she "Is this thy joy?" "I am no longer tied: [cried, Now will I, hast'ning to my friend, partake Her cares and comforts, and no more forsake; Now shall we both in equal station move, Save that my friend enjoys a husband's love."

Complaint and threats so strong the wife amazed, Who wildly on her cottage-neighbour gazed; Her tones, her trembling, first betray'd her grief, When floods of tears gave anguish its relief.

She fear'd that Stafford would refuse assent, And knew her selfish friend would not relent; She must petition, yet delay'd the task, Ashamed, afraid, and yet compell'd to ask; Unknown to him some object fill'd her mind, And, once suspicious, he became unkind: They sate one evening, each absorb'd in gloom, When, hark! a noise and rushing to the room, The friend tripp'd lightly in, and laughing said, “ I come."

Anna received her with an anxious mind, And meeting whisper'd, "Is Eliza kind?" Reserved and cool, the husband sought to prove The depth and force of this mysterious love. To nought that pass'd between the stranger-friend And his meek partner seem'd he to attend ; But, anxious, listen'd to the lightest word That might some knowledge of his guest afford; And learn the reason one to him so dear Should feel such fondness, yet betray such fear. Soon he perceived this uninvited guest, Unwelcome too, a sovereign power possess'd; Lofty she was and careless, while the meek And humbled Anna was afraid to speak: As mute she listen'd with a painful smile, Her friend sate laughing and at ease the while, Telling her idle tales with all the glee Of careless and unfeeling levity. With calm good sense he knew his wife endued, And now with wounded pride her conduct view'd ;

Her speech was low, her every look convey'd―
"I am a slave, subservient and afraid."
All trace of comfort vanish'd; if she spoke,
The noisy friend upon her purpose broke;
To her remarks with insolence replied,
And her assertions doubted or denied ;
While the meek Anna like an infant shook,
Woe-struck and trembling at the serpent's look.

"There is," said Stafford, "yes, there is a cause→
This creature frights her, overpowers and awes."
Six weeks had pass'd-" In truth, my love, this friend
Has liberal notions; what does she intend?
Without a hint she came, and will she stay
Till she receives the hint to go away?"

66

Confused the wife replied, in spite of truth, "I love the dear companion of my youth." ""Tis well," said Stafford; " then your loves renew; Trust me, your rivals, Anna, will be few."

Though playful this, she felt too much distress'd T' admit the consolation of a jest;

Ill she reposed, and in her dreams would sigh,
And murmuring forth her anguish beg to die;

With sunken eye, slow pace, and pallid cheek,

look'd confusion, and she fear'd to speak.

this the friend beheld, for, quick of sight, She knew the husband eager for her flight; And that by force alone she could retain The lasting comforts she had hope to gain: She now perceived, to win her post for life, She must infuse fresh terrors in the wife; Must bid to friendship's feebler ties adieu, And boldly claim the object in her view: She saw the husband's love, and knew the power Her friend might use in some propitious hour.

Meantime the anxious wife, from pure distress Assuming courage, said, "I will confess;" But with her children felt a parent's pride, And sought once more the hated truth to hide. Offended, grieved, impatient, Stafford bore The odious change till he could bear no more; A friend to truth, in speech and action plain, He held all fraud and cunning in disdain; But fraud to find, and falsehood to detect, For once he fled to measures indirect.

One day the friends were seated in that room The guest with care adorn'd, and named her home To please the eye, there curious prints were placed And some light volumes to amuse the taste; Letters and music, on a table laid, The favourite studies of the fair betray'd; Beneath the window was the toilet spread, And the fire gleam'd upon a crimson bed.

In Anna's looks and falling tears were seen How interesting had their subjects been: "Oh! then," resumed the friend, "I plainly find That you and Stafford know each other's mind; I must depart, must on the world be thrown, Like one discarded, worthless and unknown; But shall I carry, and to please a foe, A painful secret in my bosom? No! Think not your friend a reptile you may tread Beneath your feet, and say, the worm is dead;

I have some feeling, and will not be made
The scorn of her whom love cannot persuade:
Would not your word, your slightest wish, effect
All that I hope, petition, or expect?

The power you have, but you the use decline-
Proof that you feel not, or you fear not mine.
There was a time, when I, a tender maid,
Flew at a call, and your desires obey'd;
A very mother to the child became,

Consoled your sorrow, and conceal'd your shame ;
But now, grown rich and happy, from the door
You thrust a bosom-friend, despised and poor;
That child alive, its mother might have known
The hard, ungrateful spirit she has shown."

Here paused the guest,and Anna cried at length"You try me, cruel friend! beyond my strength; Would I had been beside my infant laid, Where none would vex me, threaten, or upbraid." In Anna's looks the friend beheld despair; Her speech she soften'd, and composed her air; Yet, while professing love, she answered still"You can befriend me, but you want the will." They parted thus, and Anna went her way, To shed her secret sorrows, and to pray.

Stafford, amused with books, and fond of home, By reading oft dispell'd the evening gloom; History or tale-all heard him with delight, And thus was pass'd this memorable night. The listening friend bestow'd a flattering smile; A sleeping boy the mother held the while; And ere she fondly bore him to his bed, On his fair face the tear of anguish shed.

And now his task resumed, "My tale," said he,
"Is short and sad, short may our sadness be!"-
"The Caliph Harun, as historians tell,
Ruled, for a tyrant, admirably well;
Where his own pleasures were not touch'd, to men
He was humane, and sometimes even then;
Harun was fond of fruits, and gardens fair,
And woe to all whom he found poaching there :
Among his pages was a lively boy,
Eager in search of every trifling joy;
His feelings vivid, and his fancy strong,

He sigh'd for pleasure while he shrank from wrong;
When by the Caliph in the garden placed,
He saw the treasures which he long'd to taste;
And oft alone he ventured to behold
Rich hanging fruits with rind of glowing gold;
Too long he staid forbidden bliss to view,
His virtue failing as his longings grew;
Athirst and wearied with the noon-tide heat,
Fate to the garden led his luckless feet;
With eager eyes and open mouth he stood, [food;
Smelt the sweet breath, and touch'd the fragrant
The tempting beauty sparkling in the sun
Charm'd his young sense-he ate, and was undone:
When the fond glutton paused, his eyes around
He turn'd, and eyes upon him turning found;
?leased he beheld the spy, a brother-page,
A friend allied in office and in age;
Vho promised much that secret he would be,
Bt high the price he fix'd on secresy.

"Were you suspected, my unhappy friend,' Began the boy,' where would your sorrows end? In all the palace there is not a page The Caliph would not torture in his rage: I think I see thee now impaled alive, Writhing in pangs-but come, my friend! revive; Had some beheld you, all your purse contains Could not have saved you from terrific pains; I scorn such meanness; and, if not in debt, Would not an asper on your folly set.'

66

[store

The hint was strong; young Osmyn search'd his For bribes, and found he soon could bribe no more; That time arrived, for Osmyn's stock was small, And the young tyrant now possess'd it all; The cruel youth, with his companions near, Gave the broad hint that raised the sudden fear; Th' ungenerous insult now was daily shown, And Osmyn's peace and honest pride were flown; Then came augmenting woes, and fancy strong Drew forms of suffering, a tormenting throng; He felt degraded, and the struggling mind Dared not be free, and could not be resign'd; And all his pains and fervent prayers obtain'd Was truce from insult, while the fears remain'd.

"One day it chanced that this degraded boy And tyrant-friend were fix'd at their employ; Who now had thrown restraint and form aside, And for his bribe in plainer speech applied:

66

Long have I waited, and the last supply Was but a pittance, yet how patient I! But give me now what thy first terrors gave, My speech shall praise thee, and my silence save.' Osmyn had found, in many a dreadful day, The tyrant fiercer when he seem'd in play: He begg'd forbearance; I have not to give; Spare me awhile, although 'tis pain to live: Oh! had that stolen fruit the power possess'd To war with life, I now had been at rest.' "So fond of death,' replied the boy, 'tis plain Thou hast no certain notion of the pain; But to the Caliph were a secret shown, Death has no pain that would be then unknown.' Now," says the story," in a closet near, The monarch seated, chanced the boys to hear; There oft he came, when wearied on his throne, To read, sleep, listen, pray, or be alone.

66

"The tale proceeds, when first the Caliph found That he was robb'd, although alone, he frown'd; And swore in wrath, that he would send the boy Far from his notice, favour, or employ; But gentler movements soothed his ruffled mind, And his own failings taught him to be kind.

"Relenting thoughts then painted Osmyn young, His passion urgent, and temptation strong; And that he suffer'd from that villain-spy Pains worse than death till he desired to die; Then if his morals had received a stain, His bitter sorrows made him pure again: To reason, pity lent her powerful aid, For one so tempted, troubled, and betray'd; And a free pardon the glad boy restored To the kind presence of a gentle lord;

Who from his office and his country drove [move;
That traitor-friend, whom pains nor pray'rs could
Who raised the fears no mortal could endure,
And then with cruel av'rice sold the cure.

"My tale is ended; but, to be applied,
I must describe the place where Caliphs hide."
Here both the females look'd alarm'd, distress'd,
With hurried passions hard to be express'd.

"It was a closet by a chamber placed,
Where slept a lady of no vulgar taste;
Her friend attended in that chosen room,
That she had honour'd and proclaim'd her home;
To please the eye were chosen pictures placed,
And some light volumes to amuse the taste;
Letters and music on a table laid,

For much the lady wrote, and often play'd;
Beneath the window was a toilet spread,
And a fire gleam'd upon a crimson bed."

He paused, he rose; with troubled joy the wife
Felt the new era of her changeful life;
Frankness and love appear'd in Stafford's face,
And all her trouble to delight gave place.

Twice made the guest an effort to sustain Her feelings, twice resumed her seat in vain, [pain: Nor could suppress her shame, nor could support her Quick she retired, and all the dismal night Thought of her guilt, her folly, and her flight; Then sought unseen her miserable home, To think of comforts lost, and brood on wants to come.

TALE XX.

THE BROTHERS.

[ocr errors]

Than old John Fletcher, on the British coast,
Dwelt not a seaman who had more to boast;
Kind, simple, and sincere-he seldom spoke,
But sometimes sang and chorus'd-" Hearts of oak;"
In dangers steady, with his lot content,
His days in labour and in love were spent.
He left a son so like him, that the old
With joy exclaim'd, ""Tis Fletcher we behold;
But to his brother when the kinsmen came,
And view'd his form,they grudged the father's name.
George was a bold, intrepid, careless lad,
With just the failings that his father had;
Isaac was weak, attentive, slow, exact,
With just the virtues that his father lack'd.
George lived at sea: upon the land a guest,
He sought for recreation, not for rest-
While, far unlike, his brother's feebler form
Shrank from the cold, and shudder'd at the storm;
Still with the seaman's to connect his trade, [made.
The boy was bound where blocks and ropes were
George, strong and sturdy, had a tender mind,
And was to Isaac pitiful and kind;

A very father, till his art was gain'd,
And then a friend unwearied he remain'd:
He saw his brother was of spirit low,
His temper peevish, and his motion slow;
Not fit to bustle in a world, or make
Friends to his fortune for his merit's sake:

But the kind sailor could not boast the art
Of looking deeply in the human heart;
Else had he seen that this weak brother knew
What men to court-what objects to pursue;
That he to distant gain the way discern'd,
And none so crooked but his genius learn'd.

Isaac was poor, and this the brother felt;
He hired a house, and there the landman dwelt;
Wrought at his trade, and had an easy home,
For there would George with cash and comforts come;
And when they parted, Isaac look'd around,
Where other friends and helpers might be found.
He wish'd for some port-place, and one might fall,
He wisely thought, if he should try for all;
He had a vote-and, were it well applied,
Might have its worth-and he had views beside;
Old Burgess Steel was able to promote

An humble man who served him with a vote;
For Isaac felt not what some tempers feel,
But bow'd and bent the neck to Burgess Steel;
And great attention to a lady gave,

His ancient friend, a maiden spare and grave:
One whom the visage long and look demure
Of Isaac pleased-he seem'd sedate and pure;
And his soft heart conceived a gentle flame
For her who waited on this virtuous dame;
Not an outrageous love, a scorching fire,
But friendly liking and chastised desire;
And thus he waited, patient in delay,
In present favour and in fortune's way.

George then was coasting-war was yet delay'd,
And what he gain'd was to his brother paid;
Nor ask'd the seaman what he saved or spent:
But took his grog, wrought hard, and was content;
Till war awaked the land, and George began
To think what part became a useful man:
"Press'd I must go; why, then, 'tis better far
At once to enter like a British tar,

Than a brave captain and the foe to shun,
As if I fear'd the music of a gun."

"Go not!" said Isaac-" You shall wear disguise.” "What!" said the seaman, " clothe myself with lies?"

"Oh! but there's danger."-" Danger in the fleet?
You cannot mean, good brother, of defeat;
And other dangers I at land must share-
So now adieu! and trust a brother's care."

Isaac awhile demurr'd-but, in his heart,
So might he share, he was disposed to part:
The better minds will sometimes feel the pain
Of benefactions-favour is a chain; [dain;-
But they the feeling scorn, and what they wish, dis-
While beings form'd in coarser mould will hate
The helping hand they ought to venerate;
No wonder George should in this cause prevail,
With one contending who was glad to fail:
"Isaac, farewell! do wipe that doleful eye;
Crying we came, and groaning we may die.
Let us do something 'twixt the groan and cry:
And hear me, brother, whether pay or prize,
One half to thee I give and I devise;
For thou hast oft occasion for the aid

Of learn'd physicians, and they will be paid:
Their wives and children men support, at sea,
And thou, my lad, art wife and child to me:
Farewell!-I go where hope and honour call,
Nor does it follow that who fights must fall."
Isaac here made a poor attempt to speak,
And a huge tear moved slowly down his cheek;
Like Pluto's iron drop, hard sign of grace,
It slowly roll'd upon the rueful face,

Forced by the striving will alone its way to trace.
Years fled-war lasted-George at sea remain'd,
While the slow landman still his profits gain'd:
A humble place was vacant-he besought
His patron's interest, and the office caught;
For still the virgin was his faithful friend,
And one so sober could with truth commend,
Who of his own defects most humbly thought,
And their advice with zeal and reverence sought:
Whom thus the mistress praised, the maid approved,
And her he wedded whom he wisely loved.

No more he needs assistance-but, alas!
He fears the money will for liquor pass;
Or that the seaman might to flatterers lend,
Or give support to some pretended friend:

Still he must write-he wrote, and he confess'd
That, till absolved, he should be sore distress'd;
But one so friendly would, he thought, forgive
The hasty deed-Heav'n knew how he should live;
"But you," he added, "as a man of sense,
Have well consider'd danger and expense:
I ran, alas! into the fatal snare,

And now for trouble must my mind prepare;
And how, with children, I shall pick my way,
Through a hard world, is more than I can say:
Then change not, brother, your more happy state,
Or on the hazard long deliberate."

George answer'd gravely, “It is right and fit,
In all our crosses, humbly to submit:
Your apprehensions are unwise, unjust;
Forbear repining, and expel distrust."-
He added, "Marriage was the joy of life,"
And gave his service to his brother's wife;
Then vow'd to bear in all expense a part,
And thus concluded, "Have a cheerful heart."
Had the glad Isaac been his brother's guide,
In these same terms the seaman had replied;
At such reproofs the crafty landman smiled,
And softly said-" This creature is a child."

Twice had the gallant ship a capture made-
And when in port the happy crew were paid,
Home went the sailor, with his pocket stored,
Ease to enjoy, and pleasure to afford;
His time was short, joy shone in every face,
Isaac half fainted in the fond embrace:

The wife resolved her honour'd guest to please,
The children clung upon their uncle's knees;
The grog went round, the neighbours drank his
health,
[wealth?

And George exclaim'd-"Ah! what to this is
Better," said he, " to bear a loving heart,
Than roll in riches-but we now must part!"
All yet is still-but hark! the winds o'ersweep

The rising waves, and howl upon the deep;
Ships late becalm'd on mountain-billows ride-
So life is threaten'd, and so man is tried.

Ill were the tidings that arrived from sea,
The worthy George must now a cripple be;
His leg was lopp'd; and though his heart was sound,
Though his brave captain was with glory crown'd-
Yet much it vex'd him to repose on shore,
An idle log, and be of use no more:
True, he was sure that Isaac would receive
All of his brother that the foe might leave;
To whom the seaman his design had sent,
Ere from the port the wounded hero went:
His wealth and expectations told, he "knew
Wherein they fail'd what Isaac's love would do;
That he the grog and cabin would supply,
Where George at anchor during life would lie."
The landman read-and, reading, grew dis-

tress'd:

"Could he resolve t' admit so poor a guest? Better at Greenwich might the sailor stay, Unless his purse could for his comforts pay;" So Isaac judged, and to his wife appeal'd, But yet acknowledged it was best to yield:

[ocr errors]

Perhaps his pension, with what sums remain
Due or unsquander'd, may the man maintain;
Refuse we must not.”—With a heavy sigh
The lady heard, and made her kind reply:—
"Nor would I wish it, Isaac, were we sure
How long his crazy building will endure;
Like an old house, that every day appears
About to fall-he may be propp'd for years;
For a few months, indeed, we might comply,
But these old batter'd fellows never die."

The hand of Isaac, George on entering took,
With love and resignation in his look;
Declared his comfort in the fortune past,
And joy to find his anchor safely cast;
“Call then my nephews, let the grog be brought,
And I will tell them how the ship was fought."

Alas! our simple seaman should have known, That all the care, the kindness, he had shown, Were from his brother's heart, if not his memory, All swept away to be perceived no more, [flown: Like idle structures on the sandy shore; The chance amusement of the playful boy, That the rude billows in their rage destroy. PoorGeorge confess'd, though loth the truth to find, Slight was his knowledge of a brother's mind: The vulgar pipe was to the wife offence, The frequent grog to Isaac an expense; Would friends like hers, she question'd, “choose to Where clouds of poison'd fume defiled a room? This could their lady-friend, and Burgess Steel, (Teased with his worship's asthma) bear to feel? Could they associate or converse with himA loud rough sailor with a timber limb?"

[come

Cold as he grew, still Isaac strove to show, By well-feign'd care, that cold he could not grow; And when he saw his brother look distress'd, He strove some petty comforts to suggest; On his wife solely their neglect to lay,

And then t' excuse it, is a woman's way;
He too was chidden when her rules he broke,
And then she sicken'd at the scent of smoke.
George, though in doubt, was still consoled to find
His brother wishing to be reckon'd kind:
That Isaac seem'd concern'd by his distress,
Gave to his injured feelings some redress;
But none he found disposed to lend an ear
To stories, all were once intent to hear:
Except his nephew, seated on his knee,
He found no creature cared about the sea;
But George indeed-for George they call'd the boy,
When his good uncle was their boast and joy-
Would listen long, and would contend with sleep,
To hear the woes and wonders of the deep;
Till the fond mother cried-"That man will teach
The foolish boy his loud and boisterous speech."
So judged the father-and the boy was taught
To shun the uncle, whom his love had sought.
The mask of kindness now but seldom worn,
George felt each evil harder to be borne;
And cried (vexation growing day by day),
"Ah! brother Isaac!-What! I'm in the way!"
"No! on my credit, look ye, No! but I
Am fond of peace, and my repose would buy
On any terms-in short, we must comply:
My spouse had money-she must have her will—
Ah! brother-marriage is a bitter pill.”—

George tried the lady-" Sister, I offend."
"Me?" she replied-"Oh no!-you may depend
On my regard—but watch your brother's way,
Whom I, like you, must study and obey." [mine,
"Ah!" thought the seaman, "what a head was
That easy birth at Greenwich to resign!
I'll to the parish"-but a little pride,
And some affection, put the thought aside.
Now gross neglect and open scorn he bore
In silent sorrow-but he felt the more:
The odious pipe he to the kitchen took,
Or strove to profit by some pious book.

When the mind stoops to this degraded state, New griefs will darken the dependent's fate; "Brother!" said Isaac, " you will sure excuse The little freedom I'm compell'd to use: My wife's relations-(curse the haughty crew)— Affect such niceness, and such dread of you: You speak so loud-and they have natures softBrother I wish-do go upon the loft!"

Poor George obey'd, and to the garret fled, Where not a being saw the tears he shed: But more was yet required, for guests were come, Who could not dine if he disgraced the room. It shock'd his spirit to be esteem'd unfit With an own brother and his wife to sit; He grew rebellious-at the vestry spoke For weekly aid-they heard it as a joke: "So kind a brother, and so wealthy-you Apply to us?No! this will never do: Good neighbour Fletcher," said the overseer, "We are engaged-you can have nothing here!" George mutter'd something in despairing tone, Then sought his loft, to think and grieve alone;

Neglected, slighted, restless on his bed,
With heart half broken, and with scraps ill fed;
Yet was he pleased, that hours for play design'd
Were given to ease his ever-troubled mind;
The child still listen'd with increasing joy,
And he was sooth'd by the attentive boy.

At length he sicken'd, and this duteous child
Watch'd o'er his sickness, and his pains beguiled;
The mother bade him from the loft refrain,
But, though with caution, yet he went again;
And now his tales the sailor feebly told,
His heart was heavy, and his limbs were cold:
The tender boy came often to entreat

His good kind friend would of his presents eat;
Purloin'd or purchased, for he saw, with shame,
The food untouch'd that to his uncle came;
Who, sick in body and in mind, received
The boy's indulgence, gratified and grieved.
"Uncle will die!" said George-the piteous wife
Exclaim'd," she saw no value in his life;
But, sick or well, to my commands attend,
And go no more to your complaining friend."
The boy was vex'd, he felt his heart reprove
The stern decree.-What! punish'd for his love!
No! he would go, but softly to the room,
Stealing in silence-for he knew his doom.
Once in a week the father came to say,
"George are you ill?”—and hurried him away;
Yet to his wife would on their duties dwell,
And often cry, "Do use my brother well:"
And something kind, no question, Isaac meant,
Who took vast credit for the vague intent.

But truly kind, the gentle boy essay'd
To cheer his uncle, firm, although afraid;
But now the father caught him at the door,
And, swearing-yes, the man in office swore,
And cried, "Away! how! brother, I'm surprised,
That one so old can be so ill advised:

Let him not dare to visit you again,
Your cursed stories will disturb his brain;
Is it not vile to court a foolish boy,
Your own absurd narrations to enjoy?
What! sullen!-ha! George Fletcher? you shall
Proud as you are, your bread depends on me!"

[see,

He spoke, and, frowning, to his dinner went, Then cool'd and felt some qualms of discontent; And thought on times when he compell'd his son To hear these stories, nay, to beg for one: But the wife's wrath o'ercame the brother's pain, And shame was felt, and conscience rose in vain. George yet stole up, he saw his uncle lie Sick on the bed, and heard his heavy sigh So he resolved, before he went to rest, To comfort one so dear and so distress'd; Then watch'd his time, but with a child-like art Betray'd a something treasured at his heart: Th' observant wife remark'd, " the boy is grown So like your brother, that he seems his own; So close and sullen! and I still suspect They often meet-do watch them and detect." George now remark'd that all was still as night, And hasten'd up with terror and delight;

« ZurückWeiter »