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By guilt and sorrow, and the opening morn
Woke her from quiet sleep to days of peace.
In other occupation then I trod
The beach at eve; and then when I beheld
The billows as they rolld before the storm
Burst on the rock and rage, my timid soul
Shrunk at the perils of the boundless deep,
And heaved a sigh for suffering mariners.
Ah! little thinking I myself was doom'd
To tempt the perils of the boundless deep,
An Outcast, unbeloved and unbewail'd.

No more condemu'd the mercenary tool
Of brutal Just, while heaves the indignant heart
With Virtue's stilled sigli, to fold my arms
Round the rank felon, and for daily bread
To hug contagion to my poison'd breast;
On these wild shores the saving hand of Grace
Shall probe my secret soul; shall cleanse its wounds,
And fit the faithful penitent for Heaven.

1794.

HUMPHREY AND WILLIAM.

Time, Noon.

Still wilt thou haunt me, Memory! still present The fields of England to my exiled eyes, The joys which once were mine! Even now I see The lowly lovely dwelling! even now Behold the woodbine clasping its white walls, Where fearlessly the red-breasts chirp around To ask their morning meal: and where at eve I loved to sit and watch the rook sail by, And hear his hollow tones, what time he sought The church-yard elm, that with its ancient bouglis Full-foliaged half conceal'd the house of God; That holy house, where I so oft have heard My father's voice explain the wondrous works Of heaven to sinful man. Ah! little deem'd His virtuous bosom, that his shameless child So soon should spurn the lesson! sink, the slave Of Vice and Jofamy! the lireliny prey Of brutal appetite ! at length worn out With famine, and the avenging scourge of guilt, Should share dishonesty-Yet dread to die!

HUMPHREY. Seest thou not, William, that the scorching Sun Ry this time half his daily race has run? The savage thrusts his light canoe to shore, And hurries homeward with his fishy store. Suppose we leave awhile this stubborn soil, To cat our dinner and to rest from toil!

WILLIAM

Welcome, ye savage lands, ye barbarous climes, Where angry England sends her outcast sons, I hail your joyless shores! My weary bark, Long tempest-lost on Life's inclement sea, Here hails her haven! welcomes the drear scene, The marshy plain, the briar-entangled wood, And all the perils of a world unknown. For Elinor has nothing now to fear From fickle Fortune! All her rankling shafts, Barb'd with disgrace, and venom'd with discase, Have pierced my bosom, and the dart of death las lost its terrors to a wretch like me.

Agreed. Yon tree, whose purple gum bestows
A ready mcdicine for the sick man's woes,
Forms with its shadowy boughs a cool retreat
To shield us from the noontide's sultry heat.
Ah, Iumphrey! now upon old England's sliore
The weary labourer's morning work is o'er:
The woodman there rests from his measured stroke,
Flings down his

axe,

and sits beneath the oak;
Savour'd with hunger there he eats his food,
There drinks the cooling streamlet of the wood.
To us no cooling streamlet winds its way,
No joys domestic crown for us the day;
The felon's name, the outcast's garh we wear,
Toil all the day, and all the night despair.

HUMPHREY.
Aye, William ! labouring up the furrow'd ground,
I used to love the village clock's dull sound,
Rejoice to hear my morning toil was done,
And trudge it homewards when the clock went one.
'Twas ere I turn'd a soldier and a siuner!
Pshaw! curse this wh ing- let us fall to dinner.

WILLIAM

Welcome, ye marshy heathis! ye pathless woods, Where the rude pative rests his wearied frame Beneath the sheltering shade: where, when the storm, As rough and bleak it rolls along the sky, Benumbs his naked limbs, he flies to seek The dripping shelter. Welcome, ye wild plains Unbroken by the plough, undelved by hand Of patient rustic; where for lowing herds, And for the music of the bleating tlocks, Alone is heard the kangaroo's sad note Deepening in distance. Welcome, ye rude climes, The realm of Nature ; for, as yet unknown The crimes and comforts of luxurious life, Nature benignly gives to all enoughi, Denics to all a superfluity. What though the garb of infamy I wear, Though day by day along the echoing beach J cull the wave-worn shells; yet day by day I earn in honesty my frugal food, And lay me down at night to calm repose,

I too have loved this hour, nor yet forgot
Each joy domestic of my

little cot.
For at this hour my wife with watchful care
Was wont her humble dainties to prepare;
The keenest sauce by hunger was supplied,
And my poor children pratiled at my side.
Methinks I see the old oak table spread,
The clean white trencher and the good brown bread,
The cheese my daily food which Mary made,
For Mary knew full well the liousewife's trade:
The jug of cidler,-cider I could make-
And then the kuives,-1 won 'em at the wake.
Another has them now! I toiling here
Look backward like a child, and drop a tear.

HUMPHREY.
I love a dismal story: tell me thine,
Meantime, good Will, I 'llisten as I dine.
I 100, my fricud, can tell a piteous story,
When I turn'd bero, liow I purchased glory.

DUMPUREY.

WILLIAM.

Come, Humphrey, come! thou art a lad of spirit;
But, Humphrey, sure thou never canst have known Rise to a halbert, as I did, --- hy merit!
The comforts of a little home thine own:

Wouldst thou believe it? even I was once
A home so snuç, so cheerful too, as mine-

As thou art now, a plough-boy and a dunce;
'T was always clean, and we could make it tine; But courage raised me to my rank. How now, boy!
For there King Charles's Golden Rules were seen, Shall Hero Humphrey still be Numps the plough-boy?
And there-God bless 'em both-the King and Queen. A proper-shaped young fellow! tall and straight!
The pewter plates, our garnish'd chimney's grace, Why, thou wert made for glory!---five feet eight!
So bright that in them you might see your face; The road to riches is the field of fight!
And over all, to frighten thieves, was hung,

Didst ever see a guinca look so bright?
Well clean'd, although but seldom used, my gun. Why, regimentals, Sumps, would give thee grace,
Ah! that damnd fun! I took it down one morn, - A hat and feather would become that face;
A desperate deal of harm they did my corn!

The girls would crowd around thec to be kist!
Our testy Squire too lov'd to save the breed,

Dost love a girl?»-«Od Zounds!» I cried, « I 'll list! So covey upon covey ate my secd.

So pass'd the night : anon the morning came,
I marked the mischievous rogues, and took my aim; And off I set a volunteer for fame.
I fired, they fell, and-up the keeper came.

« Back shoulders, turn out your toes, hold up your head, That cursed morning brought on my undoing ; Stand casy!» so I did-till almost dead. I went to prison, and my farm to ruin.

O how I long'd to tend the plough again, Poor Mary! for her grave the parish paid,

Trudge up the field, and whistle o'er the plain, No lomb-stone tells where her poor corpse is laid! When tired and sore amid the piteous throng My Children--my poor boys

Hungry and cold and wet I limp'd along,

And growing fainter as I pass'd and colder,

Come!-Grief is dry.- Cursed that ill bour when I became a soldier! You to your dinner--to my story I.

In town I found the hours more gaily pass, To you my friend who happier days lave known, And time fled swiftly with my girl and glass; And cach calm comfort of a home your own,

The girls were wondrous kind and wondrous fair, This is bad living : I have spent my

life

They soon transferr'd me to the Doctor's care; In hardest soil and unavailing strife,

The Doctor undertook to cure the evil, And here (from forest ambush safc at least)

And he almost transferrd me to the Devil. To me this scanty pittance seems a feast.

'T were tedious to relate the dismal story I was a ploughi-boy once; as free from woes

Of fighting, fasting, wretchedness, and glory. And blithesome as the lark with wliom I rose.

At last discharged, to England's shores I came, Each evening at return a meal I found;

Paid for my wounds with want instead of fame; And, though my bed was hard, my sleep was sound. Found my fair friends, and plunder'd as they bade me One Whitsuntide, to go to Fair, I drest

They kist me, coax'd me, robb'd me, and betray'd me. Like a great bumpkin in my Sunday's best;

Tried and condemn'd llis Majesty transports me, A primrose posry in my bat I stuck,

And here in peace, I thank liim, be supports me. And to the revel went to try my luck.

So ends my dismal and heroic story,
From show to show, from booth to booth I stray, Anil Humphrey gets more good from guilt than glory.
Sec, stare, and wonder all the live-long day.

1794.
A Sergeant to the fair recruiting came,
Skilled in man-catching, to beat up for game;
Our booth he enter'd and sat down by me;-

JOHN, SAMUEL, AND RICHARD.
Methinks even now the very scene I see!
The canvas roof, the hogshead's running store,

Time, Erening,
The old blind fiddler seated nert the door,
The frothy tankard passing to and fro,
And the rude rabble round the puppet-show.

"T is a calm pleasant evening, the light fades away,
The Sergeant eyed me well; the punch-bowl comes, And the sun going down has done watch for the day.
And as we laugh'd and drank, up struck the drums. To my mind we live wonderous well when transported; 1
And now he gives a bumper to his wench,

It is but to work, and we must be supported,
God save the king, and then, God damn the French!

Fill the
caon,

Dick! Success here to Botany-Bay!
Then tells the story of his last campaign,
llow
many
wounded and how many slain,

Success if you will,-- but God send me away! Flags flying, cannons roaring, drums a-beating, The English marching on, the French retreating.- You lubberly landsmen doo't know when you're well! « Push on--push on, my lads! tey fly before ye, Hadst thou known half the fiardships of which I can tell March on to riches, happiness, and glory!»

The sailor has no place of safely in store; At first I wonder d, by degrees grew bolder,

From the tempest at sea, to the press-gang on shore! Then cried, « 'T is a fine thing to be a soldier'» When Roguery rules all the rest of the carth, « Aye, Humphrey!» says the Scrgeant, ,-« that's your God be thank'd in this corner I've got a good birth.

pame? 'T is a fine thing to fight the French for fame! Talk of hardships! what these are the sailor don't know; March to the field,-knock out a Mounseer's brains, 'T is the soldier, my friend, that's acquainted with woe; And pick the scoundrel's pocket for your paips. Long journeys, short halting, hard work and small paj,

JOHN.

RICHARD.

JOHN.

SAMUEL.

JOIN.

SAMUEL.

SAMUEL

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JOHN.

JOHN.

my life.

dark sky;

To be popt at like pigeons for sixpence a day!

When we work'd at the pumps worn with labour and Thank God I'm safe quarter'd at Botany-Bay.

weak,

And with dread still beheld the increase of the leak?
Ah! you know but little : I'll wager a pot

Sometimes as we rose on the wave couid our sight
I have suffer'd more evils than fell to your lot. From the rocks of the shore catch the light-house's
Come, we'll have it all fairly and properly tried,

light;
Tell
story

for
story, and Dick shall decide.

In vain to the beach to assist us they press,

We fire faster and faster our guns of distress;
Done.

Still with rage unabating the wind and waves roar;
JOIN.

llow the giddy wreck reels, as the billows burst o'er! Done. 'T is a wager, and I shall be winner; Leap, leap; for she yawns, for she sinks in the wave! Thou wilt go without grog, Sam, to-morrow at dinner. Call on God to preserve-for God only can save!

SAMUEL.
I was trapp'd by the Sergeant's palav'ring pretences, There's an end of all troubles, liowever, at last!
He listed me when I was out of my senses.

And when I in the waggon of wounded was cast,
So I took leave to-day of all care and all sorrow,

When my wounds with the chilly night-wind smarted And was drilld to repentance and reason to-morrow.

sore, JOHN.

And I thought of the friends I should never see more,
I would be a sailor and plough the wide ocean,

No hand to relieve, scarce a morsel of bread,
But was soon sick and sad with the billows' commotion, Sick at heart, I have envied the peace of the dead!
So the Captain he sent me aloft on the mast,

Left to vot in a jail till by treaty set free,
And cursed me, and bade me cry there, -and hold fast! Old England's white cliffs with what joy did I see!
SAMUEL

I liad gain'd enough glory, some wounds, but no good,
After marching all day, faint and lungry and sore, And was turn'd on the public to shift how I could.
I have lain down at night on the swamps of the moor,

When I think what I've suffer'd, and where I am now,
Uushelter'd and forced by fatigue to remain,

I curse him who snared me away from the plough. All chill'd by the wind and benumb'd by the rain.

When I was discharged I went home to my wife,
I have rode out the storm when the billows beat high,

There in comfort to spend all the rest of
And the red gleaming lightnings flaslı'd through the My wife was industrious, we carn'd what we spent,

And though little we had, were with little content;
Wlien the tempest of night the black sea overcast,

And whenever I listen'd and hicard the wind roar, Wet and weary bour'd, yet sung to the blast.

I bless'd God for little

my snug cabin on shore.

At midnight they seized me, they drage'd me away, I have march'd, trumpets sounding, drums beating. They wounded me sore when I would not obey, flags flying,

And because for my country I'd ventured my life, Where the music of war drown'd the shrieks of the I was drage'd like a thief from my home and my wife. dying,

Then the fair wind of fortune chopt round in my face, When the shots whizz'd around me all dangers defied,

And Want at length drove me to guilt and disgrace. Push'd on when my comrades fell dead at my side;

But all 's for the best ;-on the world's wide sea cast,
Drove the foe from the mouth of the cannon away,

I am haven'd in peace in this corner at last.
Fought, conquer'd, and bled, -all for sixpence a day.

Come, Dick! we have done-and for judgment we call.
JOHN.
And I too, friend Samuel! have heard the shots rattle!

And in faith I can give you no judgment at all:
But we seamen rejoice in the play of the batte;
Though the chain and the grape-shot roll splintering

But that as you 're now settled, and safe from foul

weather,
round,
With the blood of our messmates though slippery the

You drink up your grog, and be merry together.
ground,
The fiercer the fight, still the fiercer we grow,

FREDERIC.
We heed not our loss so we conquer the foe;
And the hard battle won, if the prize be not sunk,

Time, Night. Scene, The Woods.
The Captain gets rich, and the Sailors get drunk.

WHERE shall I turn me? whither shall I bend
God help the poor soldier wlien backward he goes

My weary way? thus worn with toil and faint,
Ju disgraceful retreat through a country of foes !

Uov through the thorny mazes of this wood
No respite from danger by day or by night,

Attain my distant dwelling? That deep cry
He is still forced to fly, still o'ertaken to fight;

That rings along the forest seems to sound
Every step that he takes he must batile his way,

My parting koell: it is the midnight howl
He must force his hard mcal from the peasant away; Of hungry monsters prowling for their prey!
No rest, and no hope, from all succour afar,

Again! O save me-save me, gracious Heaven !
God forgive the poor soldier for going to the war!

I am not fit to die !

Thou coward wretch,
But what are these dangers to those I have past Why heaves thy trembling heart? wliy shake thy limbs
When the dark billows roard to the roar of the blast! Bencath their palsicd burden? Is there auglit

SAMUEL.

SAMUEL

RICHARD.

SAMUEL.

JOHN.

So lovely in existence? wouldst thou drain
Even to its dregs the bitter draught of life?
Stamp'd with the brand of Vice and Infamy,
Why should the felon Frederic shrink from Death?

And quick-ear'd guilt will never start alarm'd
Amid the well-earn'd meal. This felon's garb-
Will it pot shield me from the winds of fleaven?
And what could purple more? O strengthen me,
Eternal One, in this serener state!
Cleanse thou mine beart, so PENITENCE and FAITI
Shall heal my soul, and my last days be peace.

1794.

Death! Where the magic in that empty name
That chills my inmose heart? why at the thought
Starts the cold dew of fear on every limb?
There are no terrors to surround the Gravc,
When the calm Mind collected in itself
Surveys that narrow house: the chastly train
That launt the midnight of delicious Guilt
Then vanish; in that home of endless rest
All sorrows cease! -Would I might slumber there!

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SONNETS.
Go, Valentine, and tell that lovely, maid

Whom fancy still will portray to my sight,
How here I linger in this sullen shade,

This dreary gloom of dull monastic night.
Say, that from every joy of life remote

At evening's closing hour I quit the throny,
Listening in solitude the ring-dove's note,
Who
pours

like me hier solitary song.
Say, that her absence calls the sorrowing sigh;

Say, that of all her charms I love to speak, In fancy feel the magic of her eye,

In fancy view the smile illume her check, Court the lone hour when silence stills the grove, And heave the sighi of Memory and of Love.

1794.

Why then this panting of the fearful heart?
This miser love of life, that dreads to lose
Its cherish'd torment? Shall the man diseased
Yield up his members to the surgeon's knife,
Doubtful of succour, but to rid his frame
Of tleshly anguish; and the coward wretch,
Whose ulcerated soul cau know no help,
Sirink from the best Physician's certain aid?
Oh, it were better far to lie me down
Here on this cold damp earth, till some wild beast
Seize on his willing victim!

If to die
Were all, 't were sweet indeed to rest my head
On the cold clod, and sleep the sleep of Death.
But if the Archangel's trump at the last lour
Siartle the ear of Death, and wake the soul
To frenzy ?-Dreams of infancy; fit tales
For garrulous beldames to affrighten babes!
What if I warrd upon the world ? the world
Had wrong'd me first: I had endur'd the ills
Of hard injustice; all this goodly earth
Was but to me one wide waste wilderness;
I had no share in nature's patrimony;
Blasted were all my morning hopes of youth,
Dark DISAPPOINTMENT followed on my ways,
Care was my bosom inmate, and keen WANT
Gnawed at my

heart. ETERNAL One, thou knowest llow that poor heart even in the bitter hour Of lewdest revelry bas inly yearu'd For peace!

My Father! I will call on thee,
Pour to thy mercy-seat my earnest prayer,
And wait thy righteous will, resign'd of soul.
O thoughts of comfort! how the afllicted heart,
Tired with the tempest of its passions, rests
On you with holy hope! The hollow howl
Of yonder harmless lenant of the woods
Comes with no terror to the sober'd sense.
If I have sino'd against mankind, on them
Be that past sin; they made me what I was.
In these extremest climes can Want no more
Urge to the deeds of darkness, and at length
Here shall I rest. What though my hut be poor-
The rains descend not through its bumble roof:-
Would I were there agaja! The night is cold;
And what if in my wanderings I should rouse
The savage from his thicket!

Hark! the gun!
And lo, the fire of safety! I shall reach
My little but again ! agria by toil
Force from the stubborn earth my sustenance,

Think, Valentine, as speeding on thy way

Homeward thou hastest light of heart along,
If heavily creep on one little day

The medley crew of travellers among,
Think on thine absent friend: reflect that here

On life's sad journey comfortless he roves,
Remote from every scene his heart holds dear,

From him he values, and from her he loves. And when, disgusted with the vain and dull

Whom chance companions of thy way may doom, Thy mind, of each domestic comfort full,

Turns to itself and meditates on home,
Ah think what cares must ache within his breast
Who loathes the road, yet sees no home of rest!

1794

Not to thee, Bedford, mournful is the tale

Of days departed. Time in his career

Arraigos not thee that the neglected year
Hath past unheeded onward. To the vale
Of years thou journeyest; may the future road

Be pleasant as the past! and on my friend

Friendship and Love, best blessings! still attend, Till full of days he reach the calm abode Where Nature slumbers. Lovely is the age

Of Virtue: with such reverence we behold

The silver hairs, as some grey oak crown old That whilom mock'd the rushing tempest's rage,

Now like the monument of strength decay'd. With rarely-sprinkled leaves casting a trembling shade.

1794.

As thus I stand beside the murmuring stream

And watch its current, Memory here portrays

Scenes faintly form of half-forgotten days, Like far-off woodlands by the moon's bright beam

Dimly descried, but lovely. I have worn

Fair is the rising morn when o'er the sky Amid these haunts the heavy hours away,

The orient sun expands his roseate ray, When Childhood idled through the Sabbath-day; And lovely to the bard's enthusiast eye Risen to my tasks at winter's earliest morn;

Fades the soft radiance of departing day; And when the twilight slowly darken'd, here, But fairer is the smile of one we love Thinking of home, and all of heart forlorn,

Than all the scenes in Nature's ample sway, Have sigh'd and shed in silence many a tear.

And sweeter than the music of the grove, Dream like and indistinct those days appear,

The voice that bids us welcome. Such delight, As the faint sounds of this low brooklet borne

Edita! is mine, escaping to thy sight Upon the breeze, reach fitfully the ear."

From the hard durance of the empty throng. 1794 Too swiftly then towards the silent night,

Ye hours of happiness ! ye speed along;

Whilst I, from all the World's cold cares apart,

Pour out the feelings of my burthea'd heart. TO THE EVENING RAINBOW.

1794. Mild arch of promise! on the evening sky

Thou shinese fair with many a lovely ray Each in the other melting.

Much mise eye

How darkly o'er yon far-off mountain frowns

The gather'd tempest! from that lurid cloud Delights to linger on thce; for the day,

The deep-voiced thunders roll, awful and loud Changeful and many-weather'd, seem'd to smile

Though distanı; while upon the misty downs Flashing brief splendour through the clouds awhile,

Fast falls in shadowy sereaks the pelting rain. Which deepen'd dark anon and fell in rain :

I never saw so terrible a storm! But pleasant is it now to pause, and view

Perhaps some way-woro traveller in vain Thy various tints of frail and watery hue,

Wraps his torn raiment round his shivering form, And think the storm shall not return again.

Cold even as llope within him! I the while Such is the smile that Piety bestows

Pause me in sadness, though the sun-beains smile Ou the good man's pale cheek, when he, in peace

Cheerily round me. Al that thus my lot Departing gently from a world of woes,

Miglie be with Peace and Solitude assigned, Anticipates the realm where sorrows cease.

Where I might from some little quiet cot 1794. Sigh for the crimes and miseries of mankiod !

1794

Witi many a weary step, at length I gain

Thy summit, Lansdown; and the cool breeze plays

Gratefully round my brow, as hence I gaze Back on the fair expanse of yonder plain.

'T was a long way and tedious! To the eye Though fair the extended vale, and fair to view The autumnal leaves of many a faded hue,

That eddy in the wild gust moaning by.
Even so it fared with life! in discontent
Restless through fortune's mingled scenes I went-

Yet wept to think they would return no more!
But cease, fond heart, in such sad thoughts to roam;
For surely thou ere long shalt reach thy biome,
And pleasant is the way that lies before.

1794.

O mnou sweet Lark, that in the heaven so high
| Twinkling thy wings dost sing so joyfully,

I watch thee soaring with no mcan delight;
And when at last I turn mine aching eye

That lags, how far below that lofty flight,
Sı:ll silently receive thy melody,
O thou sweel Lark, that I had wings like thiec!

Not for the joy it were in yon bluc light

Upward to plunge, and from my heavenly height
Gaze on the creeping multitude below,

But that I soon would wing my eager flight
To that loved home where Fancy even now
Hath tled, and Hope looks onward through a tear,
Counting the weary hours that keep hier here.

1798.

This beautiful sonnet was originally addressed. To a Brook near the Village of Corston ;, but as the alterations which ar Soutley Taou lingcrest, Spring! still wintry is the scene, afterwards thongbt fit to make on it are considerable, the reader will not be displeased to see it such as it appeared when first given

The fields their dead and sapless russet wear; to the public.- Epit.

Scarce does the glossy celaudine appear

Starring the sunny bank, or early green
As tbus I bend me o'er tby babbling stream
And watch thy current, Memory's band portrays

The elder yet its circling tufts put forthi.
The faint formd scenes of the departed days,

The sparrow feuants still the eaves-built nest
Like the far foresl by the moon's pale beam

Where we should see our martin's snowy breast Dimly descried yet lovely. I have worn

Oft darting out. The blasts from the bleak north Upon thy banks the live-long hour away, When sportive childhood wantoned through the day,

And from the keener east still frequent blow. Joy'd at the opening splendour of the moru,

Sweet Spring, thou lingerest! and it should be so,Or as the twilight darken'd, heaved the sight

Late let the fields and gardens blossom out! Thinking of distant home; as down my cheek

Like man when most with smiles thy face is drest, At the food thought slow stealing on, would speak The silent eloquence of the full eye.

'Tis 10 deceive, and he who knows Dim are the long past days, you still they please

When most ye promise, ever most must doubt. As thy soft sounds balf beard, borne on the inconstant breeze.

1799

ye besi,

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