Classic Poem

ADVENTURES OF RICHARD CONCLUDED

" This then, dear Richard, was the way you took
To gain instruction — thine a curious book,
Containing much of both the false and true;
But thou hast read it, and with profit too.

Come, then, my Brother, now thy tale complete —
I know thy first embarking in the fleet,
Thy entrance in the army, and thy gain
Of plenteous laurels in the wars in Spain,
And what then follow'd; but I wish to know
When thou that heart hadst courage to bestow,
When to declare it gain'd, and when to stand
Before the priest, and give the plighted hand;
So shall I boldness from thy frankness gain
To paint the frenzy that posess'd my brain;
For rather there than in my heart I found
Was my disease; a poison, not a wound,
A madness, Richard — but, I pray thee, tell
Whom hast thou loved so dearly and so well? "

The younger man his gentle host obey'd,
For some respect, though not required, was paid,
Perhaps with all that independent pride
Their different states would to the memory glide;
Yet was his manner unconstrain'd and free,
And nothing in it like servility.

Then he began: — " When first I reach'd the land,
I was so ill that death appear'd at hand;
And though the fever left me, yet I grew
So weak 'twas judged that life would leave me too.
I sought a village-priest, my mother's friend,
And I believed with him my days would end:
The man was kind, intelligent, and mild,
Careless and shrewd, yet simple as the child;
For of the wisdom of the world his share
And mine were equal — neither had to spare;
Else — with his daughters, beautiful and poor —
He would have kept a sailor from his door:
Two then were present, who adorn'd his home,
But ever speaking of a third to come;
Cheerful they were, not too reserved or free,
I loved them both, and never wished them three

The vicar's self, still further to describe,
Was of a simple, but a studious tribe;
He from the world was distant, not retired,
Nor of it much possess'd, nor much desired:
Grave in his purpose, cheerful in his eye,
And with a look of frank benignity
He losThis wife when they together past
Years of calm love that triumph'd to the last.
He much of nature, not of man had seen;
YeThis remarks were often shrewd and keen;
Taught not by books t' approve or to condemn,
He gain'd but little that he knew from them;
He read with reverence and respect the few,
Whence he his rules and consolations drew;
But men and beasts, and all that lived and moved,
Were books to him; he studied them and loved

He knew the plants in mountain, wood, or mead;
He knew the worms that on the foliage feed;
Knew the small tribes that 'scape the careless eye,
The plant's disease that breeds the embryo-fly;
And the small creatures who on bark or bough
Enjoy their changes, changed we know not how:
But now th' imperfect being scarcely moves,
And now takes wing and seeks the sky it loves.

He had no system, and forbore to read
The learned labours of th' immortal Swede;
But smiled to hear the creatures he had known
So long, were now in class and order shown,
Genus and species — " is it meet," said he,
" This creature's name should one so sounding be?
'Tis but a fly, though first-born of the spring —
Bombilius majus, dost thou call the thing?
Majus, indeed! and yet, in fact, 'tis true,
We all are majors, all are minors too,
Except the first and last, — th' immensely distant two.
And here again, — what call the learned this?
Both Hippobosca and Hirundinis?
Methinks the creature should be proud to find
That he employs the talents of mankind;
And thaThis sovereign master shrewdly looks,
Counts all his parts, and puts them in his books
Well! go thy way, for I do feel it shame
To stay a being with so proud a name. "

Such were his daughters, such my quiet friend,
And pleasant was it thus my days to spend;
And when Matilda at her home I saw,
Whom I beheld with anxiousness and awe,
The ease and quiet that I found before
At once departed, and return'd no more.
No more their music soothed me as they play'd,
But soon her words a strong impression made:
The sweet enthusiast, as I deem'd her, took
My mind, and fix'd it to her speech and look;
My soul, dear girl! she made her constant care,
But never whisper'd to my heart " beware!"
In love no dangers rise till we are in the snare
Her father sometimes question'd of my creed,
And seem'd to think it might amendment need;
But great the difference when the pious maid
To the same errors her attention paid;
Her sole design that I should think aright,
And my conversion her supreme delight:
Pure was her mind, and simple her intent,
Good all she sought, and kindness all she meant.
Next to religion friendship was our theme,
Related souls and their refined esteem;
We talk'd of scenes where this is real found,
And love subsists without a dart or wound;
But there intruded thoughts not all serene,
And wishes not so calm would intervene. "
" Saw not her father? "

" Yes; but saw no more
Than he had seen without a fear before:
He had subsisted by the church and plough,
And saw no cause for apprehension now.
We, too, could live: he thought not passion wrong,
But only wonder'd we delay'd so long
More had he wonder'd had he known esteem
Was all we mention'd, friendship was our theme —
Laugh, if you please, I must my tale pursue —
This sacred friendship thus in secret grew
An intellectual love, most tender, chaste, and true:
Unstain'd, we said, nor knew we how it chanced
To gain some earthly soil as it advanced;
But yet my friend, and she alone, could prove
How much it differ'd from romantic love —
But this and more I pass — No doubt, at length,
We could perceive the weakness of our strength.
O! days remember'd well! remember'd all!
The bitter-sweet, the honey and the gall;
Those garden rambles in the silent night,
Those trees so shady, and that moon so bright;
That thickset alley by the arbour closed,
That woodbine seat where we at last reposed;
And then the hopes that came and then were gone,
Quick as the clouds beneath the moon past on:
Now, in this instant, shall my love be shown,
I said — O! no, the happy time is flown!

You smile; remember, I was weak and low,
And fear'd the passion as I felt it grow:
Will she, I said, to one so poor attend,
Without a prospect, and without a friend?
I dared not ask her — till a rival came,
But hid the secret, slow-consuming flame.

I once had seen him; then familiar, free,
More than became a common guest to be;
And sure, I said, he has a look of pride
And inward joy — a lover satisfied.

Can you not, Brother, on adventures past
A thought, as on a lively prospect, cast?
On days of dear remembrance! days that seem,
When past — nay, even when present, like a dream —
These white and blessed days, that softly shine
On few, nor oft on them — have they been thine? "

George answer'd, " Yes! dear Richard, through the years
Long past, a day so white and mark'd appears:
As in the storm that pours destruction round,
Is here and there a ship in safety found;
So in the storms of life some days appear
More blest and bright for the preceding fear;
These times of pleasure that in life arise,
Like spots in deserts, that delight, surprise,
And to our wearied senses give the more,
For all the waste behind us and before;
And thou, dear Richard, hast then had thy share
Of those enchanting times that baffle care? "

" Yes, I have felt this life-refreshing gale
That bears us onward when our spirits fail;
That gives those spirits vigour and delight —
I would describe it, could I do it right

Such days have been — a day of days was one
When, rising gaily with the rising sun,
I took my way to join a happy few,
Known not to me, but whom Matilda knew,
To whom she went a guest, and message sent,
" Come thou to us," and as a guest I went.

There are two ways to Brandon — by the heath
Above the cliff, or on the sand beneath,
Where the small pebbles, wetted by the wave,
To the new day reflected lustre gave:
At first above the rocks I made my way,
Delighted looking at the spacious bay,
And the large fleet that to the northward steer'd
Full sail, that glorious in my view appear'd;
For where does man evince his full control
O'er subject matter, where displays the soul
Its mighty energies with more effect
Than when her powers that moving mass direct?
Than when man guides the ship man's art has made,
And makes the winds and waters yield him aid?

Much as I long'd to see the maid I loved,
Through scenes so glorious I at leisure moved;
For there are times when we do not obey
The master-passion — when we yet delay —
When absence, soon to end, we yet prolong,
And dally with our wish although so strong

High were my joys, but they were sober too,
Nor reason spoil'd the pictures fancy drew;
I felt — rare feeling in a world like this —
The sober certainty of waking bliss;
Add too the smaller aids to happy men,
Convenient helps — these too were present then.

But what are spirits? light indeed and gay
They are, like winter flowers, nor last a day;
Comes a rude icy wind, — they feel, and fade away

High beat my heart when to the house I came,
And when the ready servant gave my name;
But when I enter'd that pernicious room,
Gloomy it look'd, and painful was the gloom;
And jealous was the pain, and deep the sigh
Caused by this gloom, and pain, and jealousy:
For there Matilda sat, and her beside
That rival soldier, with a soldier's pride;
With self-approval in his laughing face,
His seem'd the leading spirit of the place:
She was all coldness — yet I thought a look,
But that corrected, tender welcome spoke:
It was as lightning which you think you see,
But doubt, and ask if lightning it could be.

Confused and quick my introduction pass'd,
When I, a stranger and on strangers cast,
Beheld the gallant man as he display'd
Uncheck'd attention to the guilty maid:
O! how it grieved me that she dared t' excite
Those looks in him that show'd so much delight.
Egregious coxcomb! there — he smiled again,
As if he sought to aggravate my pain:
Still she attends — I must approach — and find,
Or make, a quarrel, to relieve my mind.

In vain I try — politeness as a shield
The angry strokes of my contempt repell'd,
Nor must I violate the social law
That keeps the rash and insolent in awe.
Once I observed, on hearing my replies,
The woman's terror fix'd on me the eyes
That look'd entreaty; but the guideless rage
Of jealous minds no softness can assuage
But, lo! they rise, and all prepare to take
The promised pleasure on the neighbouring lake.

Good heaven! they whisper! Is it come to this?
Already! — then may I my doubt dismiss:
Could he so soon a timid girl persuade?
What rapid progress has the coxcomb made!
And yet how cool her looks, and how demure!
The falling snow nor lily's flower so pure:
What can I do? I must the pair attend,
And watch this horrid business to its end.

There, forth they go! He leads her to the shore —
Nay, I must follow, — I can bear no more:
What can the handsome gipsy have in view
In trifling thus, as she appears to do?
I, who for months have labour'd to succeed,
Have only lived her vanity to feed.

O! you will make me room — 'tis very kind,
And meant for him — it tells him he must mind;
Must not be careless: — I can serve to draw
The soldier on, and keep the man in awe
O! I did think she had a guileless heart,
Without deceit, capriciousness, or art;
And yet a stranger, with a coat of red,
Has, by an hour's attention, turn'd her head.

Ah! how delicious was the morning drive,
The soul awaken'd and its hopes alive:
How dull this scene by trifling minds enjoy'd,
The heart in trouble and its hope destroy'd.

Well, now we land — And will he yet support
This part? What favour has he now to court?
Favour! O, no! He means to quit the fair;
How strange! how cruel! Will she not despair?

Well! take her hand — no further if you please,
I cannot suffer fooleries like these:
How? " Love to Julia!" to his wife? — O! dear
And injured creature, how must I appear,
Thus haughty in my looks, and in my words severe?
Her love to Julia, to the school-day friend
To whom these letters she has lately penn'd!
Can she forgive? And now I think again,
The man was neither insolent nor vain;
Good humour chiefly would a stranger trace,
Were he impartial, in the air or face;
And I so splenetic the whole way long,
And she so patient — it was very wrong.

The boat had landed in a shady scene;
The grove was in its glory, fresh and green;
The showers of late had swell'd the branch and bough,
And the sun's fervour made them pleasant now,
Hard by an oak arose in all its pride,
And threw its arms along the water's side;
Its leafy limbs, that on the glassy lake
Stretch far, and all those dancing shadows make

And now we walk — now smaller parties seek
Or sun or shade as pleases — Shall I speak?
Shall I forgiveneness ask, and then apply
For — — O! that vile and intercepting cry
Alas! what mighty ills can trifles make, —
A hat! the idiot's — fallen in the lake!
What serious mischief can such idlers do?
I almost wish the head had fallen too.

No more they leave us, but will hover round,
As if amusement at our cost they found;
Vex'd and unhappy I indeed had been,
Had I not something in my charmer seen
Like discontent, that, though corrected, dwelt
On that dear face, and told me what she felt.

Now must we cross the lake, and as we cross'd
Was my whole soul in sweet emotion lost;
Clouds in white volumes roll'd beneath the moon,
Softening her light that on the waters shone:
This was such bliss! even then it seem'd relief
To veil the gladness in a show of grief:
We sigh'd as we conversed, and said, how deep
This lake on which those broad dark shadows sleep;
There is between us and a watery grave
But a thin plank, and yet our fate we brave
" What if it burst?" Matilda, then my care
Would be for thee: all danger I would dare,
And, should my efforts fail, thy fortune would I share
" The love of life," she said, " would powerful prove!"
O! not so powerful as the strength of love:
A look of kindness gave the grateful maid,
That had the real effort more than paid.

But here we land, and haply now may choose
Companions home — our way, too, we may lose
In these drear, dark, inosculating lanes,
The very native of his doubt complains;
No wonder then that in such lonely ways
A stranger, heedless of the country, strays;
A stranger, too, whose many thoughts all meet
In one design, and none regard his feet.

" Is this the path?" the cautious fair one cries;
I answer, Yes! — " We shall our friends surprise,"
She added, sighing — I return the sighs

" Will they not wonder?" O! they would, indeed,
Could they the secrets of this bosom read,
These chilling doubts, these trembling hopes I feel!
The faint, fond hopes I can no more conceal —
I love thee, dear Matilda! — to confess
The fact is dangerous, fatal to suppress.

And now in terror I approach the home
Where I may wretched but not doubtful come,
Where I must be all ecstasy, or all, —
O! what will you a wretch rejected call?
Not man, for I shall lose myself, and be
A creature lost to reason, losing thee.

Speak, my Matilda! on the rack of fear
Suspend me not — I would my sentence hear,
Would learn my fate — — Good Heaven! and what portend
These tears? — and fall they for thy wretched friend?
Or — — but I cease; I cannot paint the bliss,
From a confession soft and kind as this;
Nor where we wall'd, nor how our friends we met,
Or what their wonder — I am wondering yet;
For he who nothing heeds has nothing to forget

All thought, yet thinking nothing — all delight
In every thing, but nothing in my sight!
Nothing I mark or learn, but am possess'd
Of joys I cannot paint, and I am bless'd
In all that I conceive — whatever is, is best.
Ready to aid all beings, I would go
The world around to succour human wo;
Yet am so largely happy, that it seems
There are no woes, and sorrows are but dreams.

There is a college joy, to scholars known,
When the first honours are proclaim'd their own;
There is ambition's joy, when in their race
A man surpassing rivals gains his place;
There is a beauty's joy, amid a crowd
To have that beauty her first fame allow'd;
And there's the conqueror's joy, when, dubious held
And long the fight, he sees the foe repell'd:

But what are these, or what are other joys,
That charm kings, conquerors, beauteous nymphs, and boys,
Or greater yet, if greater yet be found,
To that delight when love's dear hope is crown'd?
To the first beating of a lover's heart,
When the loved maid endeavours to impart,
Frankly yet faintly, fondly yet in fear,
The kind confession that he holds so dear.
Now in the morn of our return how strange
Was this new feeling, this delicious change:
That sweet delirium, when I gazed in fear,
That all would yet be lost and disappear.

Such was the blessing that I sought for pain,
In some degree to be myself again;
And when we met a shepherd old and lame,
Cold and diseased, it seem'd my blood to tame;
And I was thankful for the moral sight,
That soberized the vast and wild delight "