SUCH was his fall; and Edward, from that time,
Felt in full force the censure and the crime-
Despised, ashamed; his noble views before,
And his proud thoughts, degraded him the more:
Should he repent-would that conceal his shame?
Could peace be his? It perish'd with his fame :
Himself he scorn'd, nor could his crime forgive;
He fear'd to die, yet felt asham'd to live:
Griev'd, but not contrite was his heart; oppress'd,
Not broken; not converted, but distress'd;
He wanted will to bend the stubborn knee,
He wanted light the cause of ill to see,
To learn how frail is man, how humble then should be;
For faith he had not, or a faith too weak
To gain the help that humbled sinners seek,
Else had he pray'd-to an offended GOD
His tears had flown a penitential flood;
Though far astray, he would have heard the call
Of mercy-"Come! return, thou prodigal."
Then, though confused, distress'd, ashamed, afraid,
Still had the trembling penitent obey'd;
Though faith had fainted, when assail'd by fear,
Hope to the soul had whisper'd,-" Persevere !"
Till in his Father's house an humbled guest,
He would have found forgiveness, comfort, rest.
But all this joy was to our Youth denied,
By his fierce passions and his daring pride;
And shame and doubt impell'd him in a course,
Once so abhorr'd, with unresisted force.
Proud minds and guilty, whom their crimes oppress,
Fly to new crimes for comfort and redress;
Such were the notions of a mind to ill
Now prone, but ardent, and determined still:
Of joy now eager, as before of fame,
And screen'd by folly when assail'd by shame,
Deeply he sank; obey'd each passion's call,
And used his reason to defend them all.
Shall I proceed, and step by step relate
The odious progress of a sinner's fate?
No-let me rather hasten to the time
(Sure to arrive!) when misery waits on crime.
Struck by new terrors, from his friends he fled,
And wept his woes upon a restless bed;
Returning late, at early hour to rise,
With shrunken features, and with bloodshot eyes:
If Sleep one moment closed the dismal view,
Fancy her terrors built upon the true;
And night and day had their alternate woes,
That baffled pleasure, and that mocked repose ;
Till to despair and anguish was consign'd
The wreck and ruin of a noble mind.
Harmless at length the unhappy man was found,
The spirit settled, but the reason drown'd;
And all the dreadful tempest died away,
To the dull stillness of the misty day.
AN orphan girl succeeds: ere she was born
Her father died, her mother on that morn ;
The pious mistress of the school sustains
Her parents' part, nor their affection feigns,
But pitying feels: with due respect and joy,
I trace the matron at her loved employ;
What time the striplings, wearied e'en with play,
Part at the closing of the summer's day,
And each by different paths returns the well-known way-
Then I behold her at her cottage door,
Frugal of light; her Bible laid before,
When on her double duty she proceeds,
Of time as frugal,-knitting as she reads;
Her idle neighbours, who approach to tell
Some trifling tale, her serious looks compel
To hear reluctant-while the lads who pass,
In pure respect, walk silent on the grass.
Then sinks the day, but not to rest she goes,
Till solemn prayers the daily duties close.
SOME acts will stamp their moral on the soul,
And while the bad they threaten and control,
Will to the pious and the humble say,
Yours is the right, the safe, the certain way,
'Tis wisdom to be good, 'tis virtue to obey.
So Rachel thinks, the pure, the good, the meek,
Whose outward acts the inward purpose speak;
As men will children at their sports behold,
And smile to see them, though unmoved and cold,
Smile at the recollected games, and then
Depart and mix in the affairs of men:
So Rachel looks upon the world, and sees
It cannot longer pain her, longer please,
But just detain the passing thought, or cause
A gentle smile of pity, or applause ;
And then the recollected soul repairs
Her slumbering hope, and heeds her own affairs.
SLOWLY they bore, with solemn step, the dead;
When grief grew loud, and bitter tears were shed
My part began; a crowd drew near the place,
Awe in each eye, alarm in every face;
Friends with the husband came their griefs to blend;
For good-man Frankford was to all a friend.
The last-born boy they held above the bier,
He knew not grief, but cries express'd his fear;
Each different sex and age reveal'd its pain,
In now a louder, now a lower strain;
While the meek father, listening to their tones,
Swell'd the full cadence of the grief by groans.
The elder sister strove her pangs to hide,
And soothing words to younger minds applied;
"Be still, be patient;" oft she strove to say:
But fail'd as oft, and weeping turn'd away.
Curious and sad, upon the fresh-dug hill,
The village lads stood melancholy still;
And idle children, wandering to and fro,
As nature guided, took the tone of woe.
Arrived at home, how then they gazed around,
In every place, where she, no more, was found—
The seat at table she was wont to fill;
The fire-side chair, still set, but vacant still;
The garden-walks, a labour all her own;
The latticed bower, with trailing shrubs o'er-grown ;
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