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 1
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PREFACE V 
 
 ARTHUR MERVYN 1 
 
 LONDON 187 
 
 THE HOMES OF THE POOR 207 
 
 EVENING 214 
 
 THE GROANS OF THE BRITONS 217 
 
 THE SHIPWRECK 233 
 
 WATER A TEMPERANCE ODE 242 
 
 WATER 244 
 
 A SONG 246 
 
 1-yy
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 There is, among lawyers, a trite and oft-repeated 
 saying, that "the Law is a jealous mistress, and 
 he who would successfully woo her favours must 
 show no divided attention." 
 
 Perhaps, as in all general expressions, there is 
 a certain degree of truth in this, and where the 
 attention is distracted by conflicting engagements, 
 the mind disturbed by clashing pursuits, there 
 cannot be that concentration of energy, thought, 
 and application, so necessary to attain distinction 
 in a science difficult as the law, with its volu- 
 minous accompaniments of precedents, details, 
 and technicalities. But if it be contended, as I
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 have heard, that a man, to know law, or be a good 
 lawyer, should know nothing else, then I utterly 
 deny the assumption, as the invention of purblind 
 ignorance and narrow bigotry. 
 
 Did the legal profession inevitably draw such 
 a conclusion as a natural sequence, I would cast 
 it from me with disdain, rather than have my soul 
 " cribbed, cabined, and confined" by its deaden- 
 ing, paralysing influence. 
 
 But I fearlessly affirm the converse of this pro- 
 position, and that a man, to become an accom- 
 plished and skilful advocate, ought to be in pos- 
 session of almost universal knowledge, keeping 
 its jiursuit, of course, in due subordination, and 
 auxiliary to, the main purpose of his daily avo- 
 cations. 
 
 In this commercial country, he ought, at least, 
 to be well acquainted with the general principles 
 of business : if he is engaged in railway matters, 
 he should know something of geology and the 
 mathematics ; if in criminal prosecutions or de-
 
 PREFACE. Vll 
 
 fences, in which death by poisons, questions of 
 insanity, &c., form the subject of inquiry, he ought 
 to have such an idea of chemistry and physiology 
 as will enable him to examine a medical witness 
 with some effect; in short, at Nisi Prius, there 
 is scarcely a branch of science or literature 
 that he is not occasionally required to display 
 some acquaintance with, or his ignorance and 
 incompetence are rendered manifest. These in- 
 stances form a sufficient refutation of the aphorism 
 I have above quoted, if intended to be broadly 
 and universally applied. But it may be in- 
 quired, what hath this to do with the publication 
 of the folloAving specimens of verse ? How has 
 the truth or falsehood of a legal saying any con- 
 nexion whatever with a volume of poems that 
 should entitle it to be discussed in the preface ? 
 Simply this — I am a lawyer just passing the 
 threshold of the profession, a barrister of only a 
 few months standing : and some have said, and 
 others have hinted, that I should injure myself,
 
 Mil PREFACE. 
 
 and mar my future career if I ventured to show 
 that 1 had spent an hour in tlie pursuit of any- 
 tliing but legal knowledge. It is to combat this 
 feeling, if it does exist, and to show its gross 
 injustice and absurdity, if admitted without ex- 
 ception, that I make these remarks, and also to 
 ward off from myself any such consequences from 
 attaching my name to the following production, by 
 showing its inapplicability in my particular in- 
 stance. But what, it may be said, (admitting the 
 value and importance of acquiring really useful 
 knowledge of a miscellaneous kind in a legal 
 education,) what hath that to do with the scrib- 
 bling of rhymes — the mere indulgence in the 
 cacoethes scribendi ? And here it is that I feel 
 indeed called upon for a defence. Before entering 
 myself a student at the Temple, as well as subse- 
 quently, it was a matter of earnest consideration 
 a,nd inquiry how I should best qualify myself for 
 the various and important duties of a practising 
 barrister ! By severe and continued application
 
 PREFACE. IX 
 
 to Study, was the ready answer, and as to that I 
 had been in some degree accustomed, and it was 
 my own free choice, I felt it neither burdensome 
 nor tedious to devote eight hours daily to those 
 authorities which contained the principles and 
 practice of the law, diligently reading text-books, 
 poring over reports, and in due time actively and 
 continuously engaged in the practical duties of 
 the pleader's chambers. 
 
 But I also felt that something more than mere 
 knowledge was requisite : a power of giving utter- 
 ance to it, an ease and facility of expression, skill 
 in combining words, and fluency in uttering them, 
 were important elements of success, and therefore 
 desirable to be attained : to acquire the mastery of 
 language, I applied myself to composition, and 
 after the labours of the day, my midnight hours 
 were devoted to this object, which I consider not 
 the least important part of my legal education : 
 the following pages are a portion of the results. 
 
 I believe I may say truly that during my three
 
 X PREFACE. 
 
 years of probation as a student, I have never 
 spent twelve hours of daylight collectively in these 
 compositions, or ever allowed myself to be di- 
 verted by a love of poetry from the most unceas- 
 ing attention, during the proper hours, to the 
 necessary but more prosaic employment of draw- 
 ing declarations and pleas, writing opinions, and 
 wandering occasionally through the mazes of the 
 statute-book. And shall it now be said that 
 because at the dead hour of night, in the soli- 
 tude of my own chambers, I have snatched 
 some hundreds of hours from sleep, I am thereby 
 less fitted for the stirring duties of an advocate, 
 or the calmer business of a legal adviser? If 
 after the same application to study during the 
 day, I had spent the evenings and nights in the 
 billiard-room, the tavern, or the theatre, should I 
 better deserve confidence than at this present? 
 I leave it to the good sense of mankind to answer 
 the question. And yet if the above favourite say- 
 ing be admitted as true, this must inevitably
 
 PREFACE. XI 
 
 follow, that I should be more learned, skilful, and 
 sagacious, had I spent my leisure hours in the 
 ball-room, at an evening party, or in scenes of 
 dissipation, instead of passing the long winter 
 nights in the retirement of my own apartments, 
 with nothing but the subdued roar from the distant 
 street to remind me of the busy world without — 
 because I was engaged in the unpardonable 
 offence, for a lawyer, of scribbling rhymes. 
 
 Whatever may be the opinion now, it is clear 
 
 that a great jurist of former times, an admired 
 
 pleader, and an accomplished scholar, did not 
 
 think poetry and law incompatible : the younger 
 
 Pliny writing to Tuscus says—" I know your 
 
 present attention is principally directed towards 
 
 the eloquence of the bar ; but I would not for that 
 
 reason advise you never to quit the polemic, if I 
 
 may so call it, and contentious style. As land is 
 
 improved by sowing with various seeds, so is the 
 
 mind by exercising it with different studies, I 
 
 would recommend it to you, therefore, sometimes
 
 Xll PREFACE. 
 
 to single out a fine passage of history, and some- 
 times to exercise yourself in the epistolary 
 style." 
 
 "For it frequently happens that in pleading, 
 one has occasion to introduce historical, and even 
 poetical descriptions, as by studying the epistolary 
 manner of writing, you will acquire a concise and 
 easy manner of expression. It will be extremely 
 advantageous, also, to unbend your mind by 
 poetical compositions ; when I say so, I do not 
 mean that species of poetry which turns upon 
 subjects of great length (such being suitable only 
 for persons of much leisure) but those little pieces 
 of the sprightly kind of poesy, which serve as 
 proper reliefs to, and are consistent with, employ- 
 ment of every sort. * * * In this manner 
 the greatest men, as well as the most eminent 
 orators, were accustomed either to exercise or 
 amuse themselves, or rather indeed both." 
 
 " It is surprising how much the mind is enter- 
 tained and refreshed by these little poetical com-
 
 PREFACE. xm 
 
 positions, as they turn upon subjects of gallantry, 
 satire, tenderness, manners, and everything in 
 short that concerns life, and the affairs of the 
 world. Besides, the same advantage attends ex- 
 ercising our minds in this inferior species of 
 poesy, as in every other sort ; we turn from them 
 to the easier compositions of prose with so much 
 the more pleasure, after having experienced the 
 difficulty of being constrained and fettered by 
 numbers." — B. 7, Let. 9. 
 
 And in more modern times, our own E>skine 
 hath somewhere said, that he ascribed his re- 
 markable success at the bai", principally to his 
 diligent and repeated perusal of three books — 
 the dramas of Shakspeare, the poems of Milton, 
 and the English translation of the Bible. I should 
 be glad to have authorities of greater weight, if 
 they exist, cited on the other side. 
 
 But it may be observed, that I might still have 
 enjoyed all the benefit (if any) of these poetical 
 exercises, and have escaped the penalty by keep-
 
 XIV PREFACE. 
 
 ing my own counsel, and not permitting the legal 
 world to see, with honor, the manner of employing 
 my hours of leisure. True ; but I have so little 
 sccretiveness that I care not to conceal, and so 
 much combativeness that I dare to justify these 
 forbidden pursuits, and I want not to appear 
 other than I am. Besides, though self-culture 
 and preparation for forensic honours were motives 
 guiding the choice of means, they did not operate 
 on the subject matter of these compositions : and 
 I naturally availed myself of them as vehicles 
 to convey my sympathy with those of my fellow- 
 citizens who suffered from social evils that ad- 
 mitted of remedy or alleviation, but which the 
 selfishness and prejudice of some, and the igno- 
 rance of others, presented obstacles to the present 
 mitigation and future removal of. I have long 
 felt and considered the lot of the millions to be 
 one of degradation and hardship, which, in the 
 nature of things, was not a necessity. I can 
 perceive no reason why it should be so, but what
 
 PREFACE. XV 
 
 admits of counteraction, and to assist the efforts 
 making, I rejoice to say, in many quarters, I have 
 contributed this little offering; if I can aid in the 
 least degree to dissipate that ignorance which our 
 immortal bard has beautifully and truly described 
 as the curse of God, and to plume the wing of 
 knowledge whose flight is heavenward, 1 shall 
 have performed a duty, and conferred a benefit 
 on society. 
 
 I cannot urge the hackneyed excuse, that the 
 advice or solicitations of friends have driven me 
 to publication against my own convictions; I 
 alone am responsible for the act, having received 
 neither inducement nor discouragement, for the 
 simple reason that few, if any, knew aught of the 
 matter; some may think this a misfortune, and 
 that my friends (if I had any) ought to have taken 
 care and prevented my exposing myself to ridicule 
 or censure, but whatever may be said or thought 
 on that subject, or on the merit or demerit of my 
 productions in general, this I may fairly aflfirm,
 
 XVI PREFACE. 
 
 that they contain nothing repugnant to virtue or 
 morality, and that may not be read aloud in any 
 society. I would I could say as much of some of 
 the noblest productions of genius. The principal 
 portion was written three years ago, before the 
 passing of those measures of commercial reform 
 which have since become law ; but which, at the 
 period I speak of, were considered of remote, if 
 not doubtful, attainment. It was to advance the 
 doctrines of reform and social amelioration that I 
 wrote these lines ; and to the philanthropists, 
 refoi'mers, and people of this empire, I respect- 
 fully dedicate them. 
 
 Sl. Carter. 
 
 3, Chubch Court, Temple, 
 ist June, 1848.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Fair land of England — country of my birth ! 
 Of Freedom, Valour, Constancy, the nurse, 
 Renowned for deeds of enterprise and worth, 
 And social evils grievous to rehearse. 
 
 All hail ! thy rural shades and busy towns. 
 Thy swelling uplands and romantic vales, 
 Thy craggy tors, dark woods, and breezy downs, 
 And corn-fields waving in the summer gales. 
 
 For thee, and thy true glory and repose, 
 The welfare of the universal whole, 
 My throbbing heart with earnest wishes glows. 
 And swell the deep emotions of my soul. 
 
 B
 
 2 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Fain would I strive the glorious fact to see, 
 The power and omnipotence of right, 
 Thy sons and daughters virtuous and free, 
 And equity triumphant over might. 
 
 For this I'll bring the powers that I hold — 
 A slender aid, yet prompt at duty's call— 
 The ruling world's corruption to unfold. 
 Raising a few, demoralizing all. 
 
 Against tyrannic force I lift my voice — 
 The lordly despot of the injured slave — 
 Those who in war's dread thunderbolts rejoice. 
 And turn earth's fairest regions to a grave. 
 
 Where'er usurping might uprears its head, 
 And, rampant, treads its fellow-mortals down, 
 Shrouding itself in that mysterious dread 
 With which mankind invest a regal crown : — 
 
 Or men who claim prescriptive right to be 
 Hereditary ciu'ses to a state, 
 Because, forsooth, some distant ancestry 
 By fire and sword incurred a nation's hate !
 
 INTRODUCTION. 3 
 
 Power inherent, irresponsible, 
 
 I dare affirm is no man's heritage. 
 
 But only His, who can the nations quell, 
 
 And calm the mighty waters when they rage. 
 
 The source from whence authority shoidd spring, 
 That would be called legitimate indeed, 
 Is from the people, where they freely bring 
 Their unbought suffi-ages for wisdom's meed. 
 
 But not with kings and potentates alone 
 Is strength abused : far otherwise, I know, 
 Those ills for which most individuals groan, 
 From petty tyrants mean oppressions flow. 
 
 I never hear a case of man opprest — 
 Some wanton act of reckless tyranny — 
 But indignation glows within my breast, 
 A burning wish to set the victim free. 
 
 But most I do abhor those brutal laws, 
 The legacy of Conquest, ages past, 
 Of crime, and want, and misery the cause — 
 More deadly than the blighting simoom's blast. 
 
 B 2 .
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 These, with some other of more modern growth, 
 The fruit of class, short-sighted legislation, 
 I picture feebly forth, in honest wrath. 
 Embodied in the following nan^ation.
 
 ARTHUR MERVYN: 
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 
 
 Upon the southern border of our Isle, 
 
 Where Devon's flow'ry meads with verdure smile, 
 
 Low in a vale, to which the hollow roar 
 
 Of distant waves is wafted from the shore, 
 
 A rustic village, nestling from the breeze, 
 
 Stands in the shelter of some aged trees ; 
 
 On either side fine swelling hills are seen. 
 
 Which, circling round, the valley lies between. 
 
 At one extreme, the headlands almost meet. 
 
 Then to the centre gradually retreat. 
 
 And leave a fair expanse of pleasant fields. 
 
 Whose varied soil, rich corn and pasture yields.
 
 6 ARTHUR MERVYN. 
 
 A little river winds its graceful way, 
 Marking with verdure where the waters stray. 
 When first it enters, bounding from the hills, 
 In falls fantastic by the village mills, 
 It rushes on with wild and headlong force. 
 Chafing and boiling in its rugged course. 
 The jagged rocks convert to foam and spray 
 Its glancing waters, and impede the way. 
 Repel with steady scorn the fierce attack. 
 And dash its brawling current proudly back, 
 Until at length, by sage exj^erience taught, 
 (Lessons to man with deepest wisdom fraught,) 
 Well sobered down, wild frenzy turn'd aside. 
 Where once it dash'd along, now learns to glide, 
 And mildly tranquil, lays aside rude force, 
 To wend through meadows green its placid course. 
 Just midway down the vale, a little burn 
 Joins with the river at a sudden turn. 
 And sweeping round a gently swelling knoll, 
 Tlienceforth the twin sti'cams in one channel roll- 
 There stood the parish church, serene and still. 
 Gracing the summit of the little hill, 
 And looking down upon the scene below. 
 Where, mix'd in union close, the waters flow.
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 7 
 
 I love to stand, and contemplate at ease, 
 A village church just peeping through the trees; 
 Its ancient walls with lapse of time grown dun, 
 And latticed windows gleaming in the sun; 
 The verdant limes, and yew-trees' darker green, 
 Conti'ast the hoary buttress viewed between; 
 Seen from afar, or standing on the ground. 
 It seems to hallow all the landscape round. — 
 Beyond the church some cottages appear, 
 Each with its little garden in the rear ; 
 And, dotted up and down o'er all the space. 
 Many a whitened farm-house may you trace ; 
 And there the manor-house, a little higher. 
 The pleasant mansion of the parish squire. 
 Surrounded by its large and park-like lawn, 
 Garnish'd with lofty trees, for shelter grown. 
 And ornament as well, with grassy glades 
 And pleasant paths, beneath their sombre shades. 
 Between the park-wall and the village-green, 
 A little verdant winding lane was seen. 
 With grass o'ergrown, threading its mazy way, 
 Where lofty banks exclude the solar ray. 
 Who that hath seen a Devonshire green lane, 
 Will e'er forget its character again ?
 
 8 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 Narrow and devious is the lovely spot, 
 As form'd in days when turnpike roads were not. 
 Soft is the grassy carpet to your feet, 
 While overhead the arching branches meet, 
 And form a pleasant canopy on high, 
 To shade you from the fervent summer sky. 
 When winter, chill and barren, disappears. 
 And earth once more its vernal mantle wears. 
 The mossy hedgerow bounding either side. 
 Is clad in beauty, like an eastern bride ; 
 The lovely springtime flowers of varied hue, 
 Violets, of Heaven's own celestial blue, 
 And daff'odillies, and the primrose pale, 
 Breathe out their fragrant essence on the gale. 
 Around the hazel twigs the wild woodbine 
 And jessamine in wreaths fantastic twine — 
 Exhale their odours on the balmy air. 
 And woo the loitei'er to linger there. 
 Here, in a sheltered nook, a cottage stood. 
 Within a garden bounded by a wood, 
 Which, small and neat, aff'orded ample proof 
 Of rustic taste beneath the humble roof ; 
 For, though by far the greater part was stored 
 With vegetables for the frugal board,
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 9 
 
 The inmates still reserved a sunny side 
 
 For roses, heartsease, stocks, and London pride. 
 
 There stood the poor man's wealth, the straw- 
 
 thatch'd hive. 
 In which those little busy ones contrive. 
 By summer labour, to lay up a store 
 To serve when wintry storms shall loudly roar, 
 And keep the busy artists within door. 
 Lessons of wisdom may we learn from bees. 
 To shun a slothful, self-indulgent ease ; 
 The summer tide of youth to spend aright, 
 Work while 'tis day, with winter comes the night : 
 They teach mankind to use the passing hour. 
 And draw nutrition from the poison flower. — 
 An honest peasant lived within this cot. 
 Who, though to labour daily was his lot. 
 And eat the bread of carefulness, yet spent 
 In useful toil his passing time content. 
 Tis true, the pinching hand of poverty 
 Would now and then assail his constancy, 
 And want of work and loss of time w^ould give 
 Room for contrivance how to eat and live ; 
 The vegetables that his garden yields, 
 Potatoes grown in neighb'ring farmers' fields, 
 
 B 3
 
 10 ARTHUR MERVYN: 
 
 And barley bread, the frugal meals supply, 
 When work is scarce, or necessaries high. 
 When harvest brought an increase to the toil, 
 To reap the produce of the teeming soil. 
 He wrought laborious through the livelong day. 
 And heeded not the sun's fierce scorching ray : 
 For then nutritious food his spirits cheer, 
 (Would that 'twere so throughout the circling year.) 
 The wife, too, found employment on the land, 
 To turn the hay or corn with nimble hand. 
 Rake to the load, or pile the golden sheaf. 
 Till evening came to bring them both relief. 
 The earnings then were mostly laid aside. 
 As farmers for their harvest folks provide ; 
 And these small savings, honestly bestowed, 
 Paid off the little trifles that they owed : 
 Bought some new garments, clear'd away the score. 
 Long chalk'd against them on the huckster's door; 
 Replaced an inmate in their vacant sty, 
 And left a slender surplus to put by. 
 For honesty and steady application, 
 John Mervyn was respected in his station ; 
 With decent pride he strove to keep aloof 
 Himself and family from the workhouse roof;
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 11 
 
 He sought no parish aid, but stoutly tried 
 
 To live on what his labour would provide. 
 
 The village alehouse seldom saw him there, 
 
 For that he had no idle cash to spare. 
 
 And never hitherto had he been found 
 
 A trespasser upon forbidden ground ; 
 
 He lived and laboured hard, yet lived content 
 
 So he could pay his quarter's club and rent. 
 
 But though thus well and peaceably disposed, 
 
 Mervyn was human — and at times disclosed 
 
 Other and coarser feelings — for his mind 
 
 Was not angelic, but of common kind ; 
 
 Though it may injure him, the truth I tell, 
 
 He loved those people best who used him well. 
 
 Priests may declaim and urge the monstrous law, 
 
 That injuries should our affections draw; 
 
 Howe'er it be with them, I think they'll find 
 
 The constitution of the human mind 
 
 More prone to love its friends ; and as to foes, 
 
 'Tis well if no vindictive feeling glows. 
 
 When Mervyn would the parish church attend, 
 
 And hear the \icar preaching to this end. 
 
 Or speak of mercy, temperance, and truth. 
 
 He somehow thought upon the luckless youth
 
 12 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 His reverence had sent in gaol to groan 
 
 For knocking down a partridge with a stone. 
 
 And when he urged the vanity of wealth, 
 
 How blest was poverty — the spirit's health — 
 
 Visions perverse would float before his eyes, 
 
 The stern exaction of the vicar's tithes — 
 
 The brotherhood of man, his equal lot. 
 
 To ■whom was given this terrestrial spot. 
 
 To rule the monsters of the deep profound, 
 
 And hold throughout the earth's remotest bound. 
 
 Dominion over every living thing 
 
 That crawls, or swims, or flutters on the wing — 
 
 This puzzled him, and made him wonder much, 
 
 So little of it came within his clutch ; 
 
 If this were true, and man was made to rule. 
 
 How had he dwindled to a serf and tool ? 
 
 If all the feather'd race that cleave the air. 
 
 Dependent on their Heavenly Father's care, 
 
 The untamed tenants of the wild and wood. 
 
 Who only sought from God their daily food — 
 
 The finny tribes with which the waters teem, 
 
 That swim the sea, the lake, or mountain stream — 
 
 Were given man to be his heritage. 
 
 With whom he might unceasing warfare wage,
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 13 
 
 How had he lost his birthright ? whence the thrall 
 That made dufew usurp the right oi all? 
 Who can make title to the passing wave ? 
 To-day its streams our abbey walls may lave, 
 To-morrow, where are they ? Once gone, they pass 
 Quite undistinguished in the mighty mass ; 
 Lost in the world of waters that surround. 
 And wrap the earth through its remotest bound. 
 Shall then the nations of the peopled deep 
 Be propertied, like oxen, dogs, or sheep ? 
 They wear no livery, nor tribute pay, 
 Nor can they be impounded if they stray ; 
 They need not man's providing hand to live, 
 He does not feed them, nor protection give. 
 Think not the sacred rights of property 
 Should wantonly be trampled on by me ; 
 I so respect them, that I would res^ore 
 Their rights to all — ay, even to the poor. 
 The piracy of property is theirs 
 Who pass usurping laws, and foster weirs. 
 Thwarting an instinct rightly called divine, 
 Which leads the salmon upward from the brine, 
 To seek, in fresher streams, a fitting place 
 Securely to perpetuate its race.
 
 14 ARTHUR MERVYN: 
 
 Those animals reclaim'd by human skill 
 Justice forbids that stranger hands should kill ; 
 The hares and rabbits by the fanner fed 
 By him alone should be to slaughter led ; 
 That is, until they come on common land, 
 Then might they fall by any passing hand ; 
 Or fishpond dug and kept for private use. 
 Should for the owner only fish produce: 
 'Tis theirs by right, like that the Scripture tells 
 Our fathers claim, because " they digg'd those 
 
 wells." 
 The denizens of river, sea, or lake, 
 Those who have skill have native right to take : 
 Exclusive fishery in private hands, 
 Claim'd fi-om possession of adjoining lands. 
 Is an encroachment on that property 
 Of which our Maker made his children free. 
 But thoughts like these distui'b'd not Mervyii's 
 
 mind, 
 He only had some crude ones of the kind, 
 A sort of glimmering of that true light 
 Which minds untutor'd sometimes see aright. 
 He wish'd not on the wealthy to intrude 
 By trespassing on covert, field, or wood, 
 But thought it hard that if a hare should stray
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 15 
 
 Within his reach, upon the king's highway, 
 He dared not take it, though 'twould clearly be 
 His by the right that first made property. — 
 A year of trial had the country past,* 
 A wretched harvest following the last. 
 And scanty work, the summer wet and drear, 
 With war, to make provisions scarce and dear, 
 Had made the poor man's misery complete : — 
 With little clotliing, and still less to eat. 
 Slow dragg'd the weary winter months along, 
 While famine stalked the multitude among. 
 With hideous spectres marching in her train, 
 Haggard disease, crime, discontent, and pain. 
 Some who had corn withheld the meagre store. 
 Though at starvation price, they hoped for more : 
 As spring advanced, with pinching hunger spent, 
 Loud murmurs spoke the people's discontent : 
 lu many parts the population rose, 
 Which brought them little food but many blows. 
 Mervyn had struggled on the summer through. 
 Though work was scarce, he found enough to do, 
 But the incessant floods of rain which fell 
 Occasioned loss of time and cash as well : — 
 
 * The date of the commencement of this tale is laid about 
 the year 1795.
 
 16 ARTHUR MERVYN: 
 
 His fortnight's wages were indeed but scant 
 Enough to keep them from extreme of want. 
 The long exposure to the open air 
 Began at lengtli his vigour to impair ; 
 The constant wet would saturate his clothes, 
 Which scarcely dry each morning when he rose, 
 He must put on — his wardrobe was too bare. 
 To suffer him a dryer suit to wear, 
 And shivering and chill, go forth again, 
 To be once more fresh dehiged wuth the rain. 
 This brought on fever — for a month or more. 
 Illness and poverty combined, he bore, 
 The club, liis sole support, whose friendly aid 
 Yielded return for what in health he paid : 
 But insufficient all their wants to meet. 
 The pig was sold to purchase food to eat. 
 The bees, too, went, in spite of superstition, 
 Which makes their sale unlucky by tradition, 
 God knows with what sad shifts the winter past, 
 The father scarce recover'd — toil, and fast, 
 And misery had worn him to the bone : 
 Harass'd still more, because that not alone 
 He suffered thus : his pale and patient wife, 
 And children in the spring time of their life.
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 17 
 
 Steep'd their young hearts in sorrow ; learnt to 
 
 know 
 The heritage of poverty below, 
 And while they cried for bread, and cried in vain. 
 Shared his privations, and increased his pain. 
 Christmas had come and gone, but brought no 
 
 cheer. 
 And heavy gloom obscured the dawning year : 
 Cramp'd in resources, corn at famine price. 
 Short is the step from misery to vice : 
 Necessity will make the timid bold, — 
 The poultry-yards had suffered, and the fold 
 Had lost its fatlings, stolen from the flock, 
 While the preserves were thinning of their stock : 
 Poachers those sacred precincts had assailed, 
 Great was their fear, but hunger still prevailed. 
 They fought the keepers once and left them bound. 
 Then, unmolested, ranged throughout the ground. 
 In every little path was set a snare, 
 To trap a passing rabbit or a hare ; 
 The squire raved, the parson almost swore 
 To transport all the vOlage of Stanmore. 
 Mervyn from all these projects kept aloof, 
 But in the web of destiny a woof
 
 1 
 
 18 ARTHUR MERVYN: 
 
 Was weaving now, that eaught hira in its toil, 
 And changed the peaceful tiller of the soil 
 To one of Nature's outcasts, wild and stern, 
 Hunted by men and hating in return. 
 As we before have said, his cottage stood 
 Near to the park, and bordered by a wood : 
 Eising one morning, ere the break of day, 
 Having no work, he went awhile to stray 
 Along the wood: his care-abstracted mind 
 Regarded not the little dog behind : 
 One of the keepers who was on the watch, 
 Hoping some trapper in the act to catch. 
 Followed him, unobserved, where'er he went. 
 Until he reach'd again his tenement. 
 Just as he near'd the cottage door, a sound 
 From his small garden made him quick turn round. 
 The half-starved cur had seized a noble hare 
 Feeding among the vegetables there. 
 Mervyn did not a moment hesitate 
 To seize a meal provided him by Fate : 
 Puss had been taken in the very act 
 Of larceny : — an undisputed fact — 
 In trespassing upon his garden store. 
 Where many visits had been paid before.
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 19 
 
 To make her pay the forfeit was but fair, 
 
 They ate his greens and he would eat the hare. 
 
 Unlucky act — he seized the tempting prize, 
 
 Unconscious that look'd on, two other eyes : 
 
 The keeper heard the shrill, peculiar cry 
 
 Poor puss emitted in her agony, 
 
 And saw him lift it up and take it in; 
 
 Then turning round, he mutter'd, with a grin, 
 
 " So then I've caught, at last, one fellow out, 
 
 I'll off to master, and to Parson Prout." — 
 
 The squire and parson both were of the peace, 
 
 Licensed to make small peccadilloes cease. 
 
 The former was a man extremely fit. 
 
 Hated reform, and swore by William Pitt : 
 
 He had a rental of a thousand pounds. 
 
 Kept a good house, besides a pack of hounds ; 
 
 Hunted, and shot, and fished, in due rotation, 
 
 And caird himself a pillar of the nation. 
 
 Took in the " Sporting Magazine," and read 
 
 A Tory weekly — just to hear what said 
 
 The ministers, and what they meant to do 
 
 To put down Jacobins, and freedom too. 
 
 He drank and smoked, abused the French, and 
 
 swore 
 One Englishman was equal to a score ;
 
 20 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 Attended Quarter Sessions, kept a * Burn,' 
 
 And served the post of Sheriff in his turn : 
 
 What would you more a man to qualify 
 
 And fit for irresponsibility ? — 
 
 The vicar was of such another stamp, 
 
 At school a dunce, at college quite a scamp. 
 
 Had rowed and rode, played cricket, drank his 
 
 w^ine, 
 Took his degree — and soon was — a divine. 
 They sent him down, soon after, to Stanmore, 
 To preach the Gospel, and instruct the poor, 
 And sure he was a pattern to his cloth — 
 That is, the scarlet — none could be more wroth 
 Against transgressors — in the poaching way; 
 And oft he threaten'd of the judgment-day. 
 The keeper soon his information laid 
 Before his master, who had some time pray'd 
 To have the chance to catch some fellow out, 
 Who quickly sent him down to Parson Prout. 
 A warrant was prepared with ready haste. 
 And ere poor Mervyn could his dinner taste, 
 The constable had got him in his care. 
 Together with the skin that wrapp'd the hare 
 Which they had found, they did not touch the rest, 
 But left it with the family, half dress'd.
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 21 
 
 Upon the bench " aloft, in awfiil state" 
 
 And gloom portentous, sat each magistrate. 
 
 The criminal was brought, so pale and thin; 
 
 The keeper then was order'd to begin ; 
 
 Who thus commenced : — " Oh ! if your worships 
 
 please, 
 As I was watching underneath the trees 
 This morning early, in your honours' wood, 
 I saw a man not far from where I stood 
 Prowling about, as if upon no good. 
 I thought he had no bus'ness there, and tried 
 To watch his movements from the coppice side. 
 He walk'd but slowly, spying here and there, 
 As if upon the look out for a snare ; 
 But did not seem to find one, for he turn'd 
 With empty hands again, and then I learn'd 
 'Twas neighbour Mervyn thus so early out ; 
 The chance was lost, I fancied, for this bout. 
 When I perceived him reach his garden gate, 
 And enter in, where he came out so late : 
 But scarcely had I turn'd myself around. 
 When from the garden came a well known sound. 
 And running to the hedge and looking through. 
 Which didn't take me very long to do.
 
 22 ARTHUR MERVYN: 
 
 I saw him holding in his hands a hare, 
 
 Which he took in while I was standing there, 
 
 And so I came and told your worships both ; 
 
 And this is true, I'll take my Bible oath." 
 
 The parson took the deposition down, 
 
 Then ask'd the pris'ner, with a gloomy frown, 
 
 " If he had aught to answer in reply ?" 
 
 The latter with a tear-bemoistened eye. 
 
 Began the simple history to tell 
 
 Of what occurred, and how it so befel. 
 
 " I didn't walk, your worships, in the wood 
 
 To look for hares, although we wanted food ; 
 
 The keeper never saw me spy about 
 
 Like one in search of something in the route ; 
 
 The hedgerows were the places for a snare, 
 
 I'm sure the keeper never saw me there, 
 
 Nor doing harm at all, that e'er I know. 
 
 But only walking quiet to and fro : 
 
 My dog, your honours, somehow caught this hare 
 
 In my own garden, ere I was aware. 
 
 And then I pick'd it up, and took it in — 
 
 I'm sure I thought to do so was no sin. 
 
 Your worships know I never have been brought 
 
 Until this hour before the bench for aught."
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 23 
 
 " Oh ! no," replied the parson, " that may be, 
 Because the laws you've broken secretly ; 
 I never knew a rogue who did a crime, 
 But always pleads its being the first time !" 
 " I am no rogue, your worship, but a man 
 Who strive to live as honest as I can ; 
 I labour hard to find my children meat, 
 God knows 'tis little we have had to eat ; 
 No flesh hath pass'd our lips and little flour 
 Since harvest downward to the present hour, 
 But for potatoes, and our garden store, 
 We must have starved, or had relief before ; 
 And sure, your honours, if hares eat my greens. 
 They lessen by that act my slender means ; 
 To take a thief I cannot think amiss, 
 When I can catch him in the act, like this: 
 I'm sure your worships will not think it hard 
 A poor man should his little produce guard." 
 " Oh ! very fine — you tell a pretty tale, 
 A proper docti'ine this for Stanmore Vale ! 
 And so you have the impudence to say 
 You kill our game, and think it but fair play ? 
 But, fellow, we will teach you to beware 
 How thus again you meddle with a hare.
 
 24 ARTHUR mervyn: 
 
 I have no doubt that you were one of these 
 Who beat and tied our keepers to the trees, 
 And stole the sheep, or glean'd the poultry yard, 
 Because you thought, it seems, the times were 
 
 hard ; 
 A likely one, indeed, for such a feat. 
 Rather than live so long and taste no meat!" 
 " Surely your worships cannot mean to state 
 I ever did what you insinuate ? 
 To take a poor man's character away 
 Without a single proof of what you say — 
 Is harsh and cruel — when I've never been 
 Of theft accused, nor yet with poachers seen." 
 " Perhaps you've not been caught before this 
 
 time, 
 But we have proof at least, of present crime. 
 And shall not spare to lay upon your head 
 A punishment shall make your fellows dread ; 
 You've been convicted of a breach of law. 
 By evidence complete, without a flaw, 
 Which you have not denied; nay more, in fact 
 You have confess'd — and by a recent Act, 
 The 80th chapter, 13 George the Third, 
 The penalties thereto attached, incurred,
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 25 
 
 Which says, if any in the night shall dare 
 
 With dog, or net, or gun, to kill a hare. 
 
 Between the hours of seven, and six, a.m., 
 
 A magistrate may lawfully condemn 
 
 To pay a fine of twenty pounds, and we 
 
 Inflict upon you the full penalty ; 
 
 And if you make default, or goods should fail. 
 
 Three months' confinement in the common jail." 
 
 Poor Mervyn stood a moment stupified, 
 
 Then to the bench imploringly he cried, 
 
 " Oh, God ! your worships, pardon me this time, 
 
 I've not been guilty of a heinous crime ; 
 
 Oh ! spare me for my wife and children's sake ; 
 
 What will become of them, if me you take ^ 
 
 Ten shillings in the world we haven't got. 
 
 Nor five pounds' worth about our little cot. 
 
 Surely, you will not, for a worthless hare. 
 
 Inflict this wrong, and drive us to despair? 
 
 Condemn my wretched family to grief. 
 
 And force them to the parish for relief?" 
 
 " That should have flash'd across your mind 
 
 before. 
 If you would keep them fi-om the workhouse 
 
 door ; 
 
 c
 
 
 26 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 Thinli not to move our pity for release, 
 The law forbids — for how would poaching cease ? 
 We are resolved to put it down by force, 
 Justice uncurbed, must therefore take its course." 
 Such was the fiat of the land's stern lords, 
 " The law allows it and the judge awards." 
 For form, a warrant issued to distrain. 
 But with a ' nulla bona,' came again ; 
 A mittimus, the victim then consign'd 
 To be with felons, in the jail confined. 
 Who can portray his desolated hearth .f* 
 (Quench'd is its light, and vanish'd is its mirth,) 
 The sinking heart, the sob of agony. 
 As clung the children round the mother's knee 
 Wondering, with artless looks, to see her weep, 
 And what their sire so long away should keep : 
 While one was standing maundering alone. 
 And making o'er the dog a piteous moan, 
 His little playmate — now all stiff and stark 
 Whose merry gambols and whose joyous bark 
 Had often fill'd the childish heart with glee, 
 Now by the stern oppressors' harsh decree. 
 Lay there, extended lifeless on the ground, 
 Mangled with many a bruise and bleeding wound : 
 
 1 1 
 1 :
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 27 
 
 The tyrants' ruthless orders thus repay 
 With death, his instinct to attack his prey. 
 But leaving this, we hurry on the road, 
 To follow Mervyn to his new abode, 
 The jail of Exeter, where in a den 
 Stock'd not with wolves and bears, but wilder men, 
 He found himself turn'd loose ; condemn'd to herd 
 With felons fierce in deed and foul in word, 
 WTiere blasphemy, loud oaths, and ribald jeers. 
 Falls withering upon the outraged ears, 
 And like the deadly upas tree, the blight 
 Communicates around a hideous night 
 Of moral death ; whose pestilent effects 
 Is seen in all society's sad wrecks. 
 There was the callous wretch, in crime grown grey. 
 The novice here, the child of yesterday ; 
 The robber, smuggler, housebreaker, and He^ 
 Whose greatest crime perhaps was poverty ; 
 Men of each grade, degree, and age in vice. 
 Whom passions madden, or whom lusts entice, 
 Huddled together, or dispersed about 
 In banded gangs, the dreary place throughout. 
 This is a training for the young in crime — 
 As if to leave no chance of losing time, 
 
 c 2
 
 \ 
 
 28 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 The fledgling knave who tremblingly begins 
 
 His juvenile attempts at little sins, 
 
 By stealing apples in a petty way 
 
 At home — is sent without the least delay 
 
 To learn his trade with masters of the art, 
 
 Who willingly their lessons do impart : 
 
 Hoary professors, miscreants of skill, 
 
 Who train him up to rob, perhaps to kill ; 
 
 A little rogue is found, on coming back, 
 
 Few requisites of greater ones to lack. 
 
 In company like this, to pass away 
 
 The tedious hours of each succeeding day 
 
 And hear each harden'd villain boastingly 
 
 Speak of his crimes against society, 
 
 What feats and tricks had mark'd his vile career, 
 
 Now destitute, and then o'ercharged with gear ; 
 
 Their wild adventures, told with careless glee. 
 
 Their drinking bouts, and noisy revelry, 
 
 Poaching exploits, and plundering excursions. 
 
 Of which they gave exaggerated versions, 
 
 Yet not unmark'd with drollery, would cause 
 
 Approving laughter, wonder, and applause. 
 
 With mouth extended, and admiring eyes, 
 
 Theyoung ones swallow'd down the monstrous lies,
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 29 
 
 And longed to take the field, — to try their 
 
 skill,— 
 And signalize themselves in doing ill. 
 Mervyn would listen with a vague distrust, 
 To what at first created great disgust, 
 But then another's humorous detail 
 Of knavish cunning, which could scarcely fail 
 To strike his fancy, and excite a laugh — 
 (Beside the language commonly call'd " chaff" 
 Disguised the naked aspect of the crime) — 
 Until, by slow degrees, he came in time 
 To hear without distaste, some wretch impart 
 Schemes of revenge, would once have made him 
 
 start ; 
 The thickness of a smoky atmosphere. 
 Will scarce at first permit one to see clear 
 Or breathe in freedom — but continued stay, 
 Purges the dimness of our visual ray, 
 And makes the heaving chest a tone assume 
 Adapted to the grossness of the room. 
 Can it be wonder'd such a man as he 
 Should be infected by his company? 
 What training hath a British peasant got. 
 To furnish a sufficient antidotci,?
 
 30 ARTHUR mervyn: 
 
 Not education and refinement high, 
 
 Loftier thoughts and feeling to supply ! 
 
 Such things as to a cultivated mind, 
 
 By wit ennobled, and by thought refined 
 
 Would cause disgust— to men of coarser mould. 
 
 Before whose eyes fair science ne'er unroll'd 
 
 Her elevating stores, to kindle forth 
 
 Sense of ideal grace, and polish'd worth, 
 
 Will pass unmark'd— or otherwise produce 
 
 Pleasure proportion'd to their pungent use. 
 
 Among the inmates of the jail, was one 
 
 Whom Mervyn in his early life had known — 
 
 A man superior to the common herd. 
 
 Who had some petty penalty incurr'd 
 
 For practising upon the revenue : 
 
 In fact, he was connected with a crew 
 
 Of daring smugglers, and had been engaged 
 
 In all the contests which the latter waged 
 
 Against the customs ! Politic and bold, 
 
 Careless of danger, so he won but gold. 
 
 Beady of hand, and skilful to contrive, 
 
 His cautious courage made his projects thrive. 
 
 A little accident had brought him there. 
 
 Which still occun-'d, in spite of all his care.
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 31 
 
 But yet so slight the proof against him brought, 
 A short imprisonment was all he got. 
 With him our peasant soon was intimate, 
 They talk'd of pleasures of a by-gone date, 
 Fought all their childhood's battles o'er, and 
 
 play'd, 
 In words, once more beneath the yew trees' 
 
 shade. 
 Nor was the present circumstance forgot. 
 The mutual hardships of each other's lot: 
 The smuggler was a man whom sense of wrong 
 Fresh from his spirit, burnt upon his tongue, 
 Wliether himself or others were oppressed, 
 Resentful feelings glow'd within his breast; 
 He hated tyranny in men or laws — 
 Either, to him, was a sufficient cause 
 For opposition fierce ; and first had made 
 A convert of him to his dang'rous trade. 
 His ardent spirit knew no other way 
 Than to refuse the system to obey. 
 He heard poor Mervyn's simple tale, and swore 
 Hatred more bitter than he felt before. 
 Denounced all laws proceeding from a class 
 Meant to oppress and trample on the mass :
 
 32 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 No principle had made, that ere he knew, 
 
 In heav'n or earth, the many for the few : 
 
 " 'Tis usurpation all," he fiercely cried; 
 
 " Why should we bend before these sons of pride ? 
 
 Can the possession of some roods of clay 
 
 Impart a greater share of wisdom's ray ? 
 
 And give a right to trample on the poor. 
 
 Because they hold some feet of earth the more ? 
 
 Is it not monstrous such a man as you 
 
 Should be imprisoned, if your tale be true — 
 
 Torn from your home and all you hold most dear. 
 
 At this inclement season of the year — 
 
 For what? — Some flagrant outrage on the time — 
 
 Theft, murder, arson, or such heinous crime. 
 
 Something revolting to our sense of right. 
 
 Shocking to reason, horrible to sight ? 
 
 No ! but the killing of a paltry hare. 
 
 Taken by chance, before you were aware ! 
 
 In your own garden, too, where if the plea 
 
 The rich set up, — the rights of property, 
 
 Were worth a shadow of the least respect, 
 
 Why do they make it thus of none effect ? 
 
 Is it because the poor man's little all 
 
 Is disregarded so for being small ?
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 33 
 
 Why, they should know that that to him is dear, 
 
 As if he had ten thousand pounds a-year, 
 
 And should be so respected ; for the gains 
 
 The wealthy make, take half, and what remains 
 
 Will still give surplus, but the meagre store 
 
 Allotted to the labours of the poor 
 
 Is bare of superfluities at best — 
 
 Tax that one-half, and what is then the rest ? 
 
 A wretched jjittance, less than they afford 
 
 To feed the dogs beneath the rich man's board ! 
 
 But thus they act — the self-elected crew, 
 
 They sacrifice the many to the few : 
 
 Make laws to shield themselves, and when they 
 
 find 
 Their usurj^ations irritate the mind 
 Of their poor bond-slaves, stung beyond control, 
 To utter forth the anguish of the soul, 
 And rouse them up against this tyranny. 
 Loud rings the watch-word of conspiracy. 
 Treason, rebellion, mutiny, they cry, 
 And all the laws artillery let fly 
 On their devoted heads — nor do they spare 
 To loose their bloodhounds should the people 
 
 dare 
 
 c 3
 
 34 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 Their powei* to withstand : Avho couch the lance 
 And havoc cry, as fiercely they advance 
 And overwhelm with ruin young and old, 
 The weak, the strong, the timid, and the bold. 
 'Tis folly, blind, presumptuous, and rash. 
 Making their acts with nature's laws to clash. 
 Thwarting the sure result of Providence 
 Blessings on nations freely to dispense. 
 That generates those men of daring mould, 
 Who, stimulated by the lust of gold. 
 Help to fi'ustrate and paralyse those rules 
 Pass'd by the purblind race of titled fools. 
 Smugglers as surely from bad statesmen rise 
 As by corruption maggots spring from flies. 
 The great Creator's wisdom formed the earth, 
 As if to guard against a general dearth. 
 So varied in its climates, seasons, soils. 
 That man was sure to gather by his toils. 
 If part should fail, enough to serve the whole. 
 Were he but under common-sense control. 
 In districts where the sun's difl'usive ray 
 Sheds its effulgent radiance through the day, 
 And pours a scorching heat on all below, 
 Spices and tropic fi'uits, luxuriant, grow :
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 85 
 
 And where with milder influence he reigns, 
 Casting a genial warmth upon the plains, 
 The generous olive yields his ample store, 
 And floods of wine the teeming vineyards pour, 
 And corn, and oil, and fruits, an ample choice. 
 Causes her grateful children to rejoice. 
 The colder climates of the west and north 
 Are rich in products of undoubted worth. 
 There waves the golden grain throughout the fields. 
 And bread to cheer man's drooping spirit yields ; 
 The verdant pastures flocks and herds supply. 
 And animate the landscape to his eye. 
 In parts the force of human skill and care 
 Deficiencies supply of nature there ; 
 The cold and chilling air, the barren soil 
 Are compensated by increase of toil. 
 And often where above is blasted heath. 
 Lie countless treasures bui-ied underneath ; 
 The surface is unpromising, but know. 
 Coal, metals, fossils, may be found below. 
 These by the manufacturers supplied. 
 Purchase such gifts as nature hath denied. 
 It would appear that Heaven had design'd 
 An intercourse, from this, among mankind.
 
 S6 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 The rich productions of the glowing East, 
 Spices and perfumes, — all excess at least, 
 Should be exchanged with what from other 
 
 lands 
 
 Might be obtained in barter at their hands. 
 One state produces silk, another gold; 
 
 A third the stores of enterprise unfold, I 
 
 By skilful arts produced — and wine and oil 
 A fourth produces from its teeming soil, 
 Corn in abundance in a fifth is found ; 
 Flax, timber, cotton, hemp, elsewhere abound ; 
 Each hath a surplus of some given ware, 
 But lacks a thing a neighbour well could spare ; 
 What is the course, then, common-sense points 
 
 out? 
 A general exchange, beyond all doubt ! — 
 This object to promote, what Government 
 Hath its enlighten'd, strong assistance lent ? 
 How have the ruling powers of each state 
 Further'd what seems the wise designs of Fate ? 
 Why, heavy imposts intercept the store 
 That would flow in from every distant shore : 
 A fierce array of Custom-house police. 
 Cruisers, and coastguards, suicidal fleece
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 37 
 
 The willing trader, and promote the plan, 
 By giving all the trouble that they can. 
 Ah ! wretched policy, perversely blind. 
 How long with folly will ye vex mankind? — 
 Alas ! 'tis but a link in that sad chain 
 With which our vices visit us again ! 
 It is with nations as with units found, 
 The consequence of crime our steps surround, 
 And later ills with which the both are curst, 
 Flow in a stream from one false step at first. 
 War ! sinful war ! on some absurd pretence, 
 Hath jDlunged a people into great expense, 
 Wasted their strength, exhausted all the store 
 That industry and peace laid up before — 
 Their native land with tears and blood is wet, 
 For which they get a heritage of debt. 
 Nor is this all — Medusa-like, each drop 
 Of dripping gore springs up into a crop 
 Of serpents, baneful to the common weal. 
 Whose poison-bite want years of peace to heal. 
 The reckless outlay and the interest due, 
 Must needs demand increasing revenue : 
 New taxes are laid on, and some advanced, — 
 The costs of necessaries are enhanced —
 
 38 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 To save themselves, the powerful combine, 
 Taxation thus assumes a crooked line : 
 What can be done, the rich refuse to pay ? 
 Oh ! tax the imports, heavy duties lay 
 Upon the foreign merchant, that will be 
 Fixing our quarters on the enemy. 
 As if the duty on some foreign thing 
 Were paid by him who doth it hither bring ! 
 'Tis true he seems the money to disburse, — 
 But to return with interest to his purse : 
 Either 'tis so, the country where 'tis brought 
 Repays the tax, in reason as they ought, 
 Or else they are debarred, if fixed too high, 
 From what they need, and robb'd of a supply 
 But no ! a people thus they can't deprive, 
 'Tis but a boon to make the smuggler thrive. 
 Each heavy impost levied on a ware, 
 Holds out a premium to those men who dare 
 Incur a risk, which danger well rewards. 
 Where wants invite, and only folly guards. 
 This is a fact on which you may rely. 
 Smuggling will never cease with duties high- 
 Invest your borders with a cordon round. 
 Let functionaries hold each 'vantage -ground.
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 39 
 
 Guard every inlet with a jealous care, 
 While navies watch the rover to ensnare — 
 Let but a nation want, nor grudge to pay, 
 Rulers will find " the will hath found a way," 
 And spite of armies — penalties and pains. 
 All overborne by hope of greater gains. 
 'Tis well decreed that Nature will not yield 
 And flee inglorious from the battle-field, 
 Without a struggle to maintain her right, 
 And though in fetters, shows her latent might. 
 Defeated here, chain'd, bound, and thwarted 
 
 there. 
 She still eludes and bafBes every snare. 
 The blooming maid, with charms unquestion'd 
 
 graced, 
 A lovely figm-e and a slender waist. 
 Yet, not content, must needs compress it more. 
 And make still smaller what was slight before. 
 This may be done, and stays pernicious cramp. 
 The graceful outline bearing Beauty's stamp. 
 Yet outraged Nature vindicates her law. 
 And makes beneath a greater bulk to grow. 
 The Indian savage in his wilderness. 
 The infant head may flatten and compress.
 
 40 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 Make it recede before, yet still will find 
 A shapeless mass extending from behind ; 
 Prevented growing where it ought to be, 
 It then becomes a maik'd deformity. 
 'Tis thus it happens on a larger scale, 
 Where injudicious obstacles prevail 
 Against the trade of nations : which debarr'd 
 Its proper outlet — Nature's impulse marr'd — 
 Seeks other channels, ay, and finds them too, 
 In spite of all that tyranny can do. 
 Is legal trade forbidden by command ? 
 Then people will pursue the Contraband! 
 And nought will put it down, until you lay 
 That course aside that makes evasion pay : 
 Take off restrictive duties— commerce free. 
 Will soon drive smuggling to a bankruptcy. 
 As to the sin of thus evading law^s. 
 Is not th' effect less wicked than the cause ? 
 Those Avho the wholesale mischief perpetrate 
 Between one country and its neighbour state. 
 To make each look w^ith jealousy ujDon 
 Whate'er success attends the other one, 
 (As if the best of customers should be 
 Those most akin to meagre poverty,)
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 41 
 
 Sowing dissension, rivalry, and hate. 
 
 Where they should mutual friendship cultivate ; 
 
 And by their laws block up that ready source 
 
 Of common good that must result of course, 
 
 Were each permitted freely to exchange 
 
 What with themselves they jointly would arrange — 
 
 As much in magnitude of sin excel. 
 
 As He who from the highest glory fell. 
 
 The arch-apostate Lucifer, and drew 
 
 A third of Heaven to perdition, too. 
 
 Exceeded, in ingratitude and wrong. 
 
 The meanest seraph of that guilty throng. 
 
 Indeed, the smuggler may be said to stand 
 
 Much like Abdiel in the rebel band, 
 
 Prepared to battle in the adverse cause. 
 
 And trample under foot their wicked laws ; 
 
 It only w^ants to earn the latter's name. 
 
 Their motive to oppose should be the same. 
 
 Alas ! in this hard world it doth befal 
 
 The great rogue sits in judgment on the small; 
 
 And lookers-on admire the mighty knave. 
 
 Who sends not one but thousands to the grave. 
 
 Too true the saying, ' greater rogues run loose, 
 
 But petty thieves must dangle at the noose ;'
 
 42 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 One death is murder (mercy stands at zero), 
 
 But slaughtered millions constitute a hero. 
 
 Well ! well ! the time will come when this hath 
 
 past, 
 And truth and justice shall prevail at last!" 
 
 Thus would the smuggler vent his indignation 
 
 As often as they held a conversation. 
 
 And urge on Mervyn the exiDcdiency, 
 
 Of joining him when both again were free. 
 
 He offered him a portion of his gains. 
 
 And in persuasion took no little pains. 
 
 Although his wrongs inflamed his mind with rage, 
 
 Mervyn would not determine to engage. 
 
 But when his friend, at length, was set at large, 
 
 Which was some time before his own discharge. 
 
 They settled where to meet, if he should be 
 
 Inclined to join the other's company. 
 
 His own imprisonment, at length, expired. 
 
 And liberty, so ardently desired, 
 
 Is his once more — turn'd out to find his way 
 
 Back to his home unaided as he may. 
 
 April was far advanced, and genial showers 
 
 Had deck'd the hedgerows with the early flowers ;
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 43 
 
 The fields were clad with verdure — on each spray 
 The rain-drops glisten'd in the sun's soft ray ; 
 The little birds pour'd forth their joyous notes 
 In warbling music from a thousand throats, 
 And often from some little wooded dell 
 Came forth the cuckoo's voice of spring to tell. 
 Sweet harbinger of brighter days to come, 
 Fair gentle stranger from a distant home, 
 How doth thy cheering song our spirits thrill 
 When first we hear thee from some neighbour hill ; 
 A gush of joyful, fond emotions rise, 
 With thoughts of verdant fields and sunny skies ; 
 The fragrant odours of the balmy south 
 Play lightly round, as wafted from thy mouth. 
 We drink the breath of summer, and thy voice 
 Sounds like the turtle, bidding us rejoice. 
 'Tis hope embodied, singing in our ears, 
 Away with timid doubts and anxious fears ; 
 Winter is gone — his dreary reign is past 
 The piercing sleet-storm and the rufiling blast ; 
 The moaning trees, whose bare arms waved on high, 
 As swept the winds of March in thunder by. 
 Will soon be clad — in spring's gay mantle drest. 
 And sigh responsive to the gentle west ;
 
 44 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 Unnumber'd flowei's shall adorn the ground, 
 And deck the lately barren landscape round ; 
 The fruit trees bloom delicious pink and white, 
 So exquisite, shall charm the longing sight. 
 And breathe a perfume sweet, and tell a tale 
 Of rich abundance crowning hill and dale. 
 To one who had for three months been immured 
 In prison walls, the contrast now endured 
 Was rapture to the senses : Mervyn moved, 
 With vigour on, to reach the home he loved ; 
 But, faint and hungry, at the close of day. 
 It still was many tedious miles away. 
 He begged a supper at a farmer's door, 
 And flung his weary limbs, where oft before 
 The poor have slept — beside a rick of hay, 
 He slumber'd soundly till the dawn of day ; 
 Then rose refresh'd, and once again set out. 
 With sturdy pace, upon his homeward route. 
 He reach'd that home at last, or what had been ; 
 But here he found an unexpected scene, 
 Another in possession of his cot, 
 And what had once been his, a stranger got. 
 His anxious questions soon were satisfied. 
 By what the present tenant's wife replied :
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 45 
 
 From her he leamt, that at the quarter-day, 
 His wife, unable all the rent to pay, 
 Had been distrained on, and in fact expell'd 
 By violence, from the tenement they held — 
 Herself and helpless children turn'd to roam. 
 And find elsewhere a shelter and a home. 
 Houseless and wretched, destitute and poor. 
 They went for refuge to the workhouse door. 
 But could not be received : a slender aid 
 The overseer had for the present paid, 
 And promised more. That night they shelter got. 
 To hide their heads in some poor neighbour's cot, 
 Who took compassion on their friendless state. 
 And thus preserved them from the outcast's fate. 
 A wretched hovel, on a barren moor, 
 Roofless in part, and destitute of door 
 Or window, to exclude the chilly air. 
 Was open to them now in their despair. 
 Some poor but feeling neighbours lent their aid 
 To patch the roof, consti'uct a door, and laid 
 Their heads and hands together, just to form 
 A present shelter from the howling storm. 
 This they contrived at last, and by their care. 
 Aided by what their poverty could spare.
 
 46 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 They make the cabin serve : one gave a crock, 
 And others something from their slender stock, 
 To misery more wretched than their own : 
 Straw for a bed, on which some rags were thrown ; 
 A stool or two, and table, with some peat, 
 As fuel to supply the needful heat. 
 Their harsh expulsion — where they now remain — 
 Was all that Mervyn stayed to ascertain ; 
 But as he turn'd away, a cry of rage 
 Against the men who could such warfare wage. 
 Burst from his lips ; he breathed a bitter curse. 
 And swore in thought to pay it back with worse ; 
 Then strode along to reach the ruin'd cot. 
 For well he knew the lone and dreary spot. 
 It long had been untenanted, because 
 Some frenzied wretch, regardless of the laws 
 Of nature or of man, in passion's mood. 
 Had spilt the sacred fount of human blood. 
 Burst with unhallow'd hands the bonds of life. 
 And slew, in jealous rage, his wretched wife. 
 Alas ! in struggling, ere the deed was done. 
 He gave a death- wound to his only son. 
 This double murder, with its lonely station. 
 Soon gave the place an evil reputation.
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 47 
 
 They said 'twas haunted — through the country 
 
 round 
 No tenants, even rent-free, could be found, 
 And so it fell to premature decay, — 
 Without another inmate till the day 
 That Mervyn's wife and children harbour'd there, 
 And drove the ghosts to suit themselves elsewhere. 
 An hour's walk brought Mervyn to the spot, 
 And there, before the doorway of the cot, 
 Two of his little children were at play. 
 Romping bare-headed in the genial day. 
 He stood awhile, with dim and tearful eyes. 
 To watch their sport, and hear their childish cries ; 
 But soon they saw him — first, with some amaze, 
 An anxious look, and then a keener gaze 
 Relieved their fears, and with the joyful sound, 
 " 'Tis father come," together on they bound. 
 And rush into his arms, and clasp him round. 
 The eldest girl, employ'd on work within. 
 Aroused and startled by the sudden din. 
 Came rushing forth, and with a beaming face. 
 Shared in the fervour of his warm embrace : 
 Then shouting, laughing loud, the joyous four 
 Soon reached and stood within the cottage door.
 
 48 ARTHUR mervyn: 
 
 A rapid look for some one else he cast, 
 But none were there save those who held him fast. 
 " Mother is gone to work," the daughter cries, 
 Replying to the language of his eyes ; 
 For now of late to eke their scanty pay, 
 She had gone out to labour through the day. 
 A shade of disappointment crossed his brow. 
 To find his partner should be absent now ; 
 He long'd to see her, for he loved his wife, 
 And peaceable had been their wedded life, 
 No bickerings, nor mutual complaint 
 Had stirred them up to angry discontent ; 
 And from their marriage, now ten years, or more. 
 They had been never parted thus before. 
 Fatigued, he sat him down, at length, to rest. 
 And begged that something might be brought or 
 
 drest, 
 For hunger, unappeased, with gnawing tooth. 
 Was strong within, which kisses scarce could 
 
 soothe. 
 The cottage larder little store supplies, 
 To cheer his frame, or glad his longing eyes ; 
 No meat nor bread was there, but at his wish 
 Some nice potatoes steam'd upon a dish.
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 49 
 
 The proverb says, " Keen appetites require 
 
 No sauce or pickle to provoke desire :" 
 
 And Mervyn found his hunger well supplied, 
 
 Whate'er was wanting to his meal beside. 
 
 The fare, though mean and poor, renew'd his 
 
 strength. 
 Which resting aided, and he rose at length 
 To look about more closely through the cot ; 
 Outside and in and round he view'd the spot, 
 And soon began with vigour to set right 
 Whate'er appear'd obnoxious to the sight. 
 Before misfortune fell upon his head, 
 His house and garden, as it has been said. 
 Were famed for neatness and some show of taste ; 
 But here was wretchedness, decay, and waste : 
 Yet something might be done, if set about, 
 To give the place a better look without. 
 And make it tight within. — He first began, 
 In order to proceed upon a plan. 
 To clear around the door, and move away 
 Such stones and rubble as before it lay. 
 He levell'd o'er the ground, fill'd up each pit, 
 And placed loose stones in crannies where thej 
 
 fit, 
 
 D
 
 60 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 Along the riiin'd wall — by eventide 
 
 Many obstructions had been put aside : 
 
 And then came home his wife — she caught his sight 
 
 While at a distance, through the fading light, 
 
 And went to meet her, as with quicken'd pace 
 
 She hasten'd on to meet his kind embrace. 
 
 " Oh ! John," she cried, " and are you come at hist ; 
 
 Thank God for that." And while he held her fast 
 
 And kiss'd her cheek, a flood of joyful tears 
 
 Proclaim'd her present joy and recent fears. 
 
 That night they sat within their humble cot, 
 
 Discoursing of their past and present lot : 
 
 Of all that had befallen since the day 
 
 That tore them from each other's arms away ; 
 
 The wife hung trembling on his words intent, 
 
 While he described his long imprisonment ; 
 
 The horrors of the jail, the bitter cold, 
 
 The gloom, the shocking oaths — all, all were told; 
 
 And he in turn the history required 
 
 Of all that in his absence had transpired : 
 
 She spoke of keen privations, want, and grief, 
 
 Hard struggles to live on without relief; 
 
 First one thing sold, and then another went, 
 
 Such as they best could spare, for nourishment,
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 51 
 
 And that of coarest kind — beside some fish, 
 
 Milk and jjotatoes were their only dish; 
 
 But that they could have borne — for 'tis, alas ! 
 
 No novelty, howe'er it comes to pass, 
 
 That those who work the hardest to produce. 
 
 In this fair world, the things of common use — 
 
 Corn, fruit, warm dwellings, clothing, wine, and oil, 
 
 Get little of the products for their toil. 
 
 They sow but do not reap, and labour hard 
 
 To live, from every luxury debarr'd : 
 
 The skilful weaver, whose ingenious art 
 
 With cloth of gold and silver crowds the mart. 
 
 And robes the monarch in his shining vest. 
 
 Is either clad in rags, or meanly dress'd : 
 
 The cunning craftsman, by whose well-taught 
 
 hand 
 Fair palaces arise throughout the land. 
 Where does he dwell ? — In some high garrets 
 
 round, 
 Or in a cellar, buried under ground. 
 But to return — She said they struggled on 
 Till many things about the house were gone, 
 Then came the stunning blow, the last event. 
 The landlord's seizure of the rest for rent, 
 
 D 2
 
 52 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 And subsequent expulsion — some declared 
 The act illegal, which should not be spared; 
 " But what could I, a poor lone woman, do 
 Against the landlord and his riches, too ?" 
 The wife and children's sufferings impart 
 A keen resentment to the husband's heart : 
 " Curse on their wolfish, savage acts," he cried; 
 " They want to crush me quite, and rough-shod ride 
 On me and mine. They first inflict a wrong, 
 Send me to jail throughout the winter long, 
 Without a spark of reason or of sense 
 To justify or urge in its defence. 
 Save their own self-made laws — and then expel 
 My wife and children from their home as well. 
 Because we do not pay that very rent 
 Which they, by locking me up, did prevent. 
 And now, no doubt, they'll carry on the Avar, 
 And do again what they have done before : 
 Keep me, perhaps, from work, or set a watch, 
 But I'll take care this time to be a match : 
 I'll seize on all that comes within my way, 
 Of hare or rabbit — night shall be my day ! 
 I'll join Tom Shepherd, for he wants a hand 
 To help his kegs and smuggled goods to land."
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 53 
 
 " Oh, John ! there's risk in that," replies the wife ;. 
 " Don't put in hazard liberty and life." 
 " Nay, never fear, I warrant I'll take heed — 
 You know how they have served me for a deed 
 Of common right; they cannot use me worse 
 If I do something to amend my purse. 
 When I was quiet, doing no one wrong, 
 They sent me off to jail for three months long, 
 And now I'll trample down their tyrant laws, 
 They shan't do so again without some cause. 
 Why, Shepherd told me, all along this shore 
 He could collect his helpers by the score ; 
 Some keep a look-out station on the coast. 
 To watch the vessel — each one has his post, 
 And when they find a chance to make a " run," 
 They gather at a signal, and 'tis done. 
 Why, Farmer Lang, and Farmer Stevens, too. 
 Have been for years connected with the crew, 
 And Harry Wood, and Lavis, and Ned Strong, 
 With many others, to his side belong, 
 Who join whenever wanted : and you know 
 That often when with us the times were low. 
 They had got money, though they never wrought 
 One half as hard as I, who yet had nought.
 
 54 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 To hear those fellows in the gaol declare 
 
 Their thieving, knavish tricks would make you 
 
 stare. 
 I do not want to rob, and wont begin 
 To follow them, but yet I think no sin 
 To make good brandy cheap, or silken gear, 
 Instead of using what is bad and dear. 
 Why, Shepherd told me, where tobacco grows, 
 Some foreign place, but what 'tis calFd Lord 
 
 knows ! 
 They'll run what risks by sea and land abound, 
 And send it here for just a groat a pound; 
 But we don't get it thus, they make us pay 
 Six times as much for duty, which they lay 
 Upon our heads, and, by this imposition. 
 Invite the smuggler to a competition, 
 'Tis quite a premium given to the bold. 
 That honest traders may be undersold." — 
 The next day Mervyn spent at home, and put 
 His time to add some comforts to the hut, 
 And then set out to seek the rendezvous 
 Where he might hear about the Rover's crew. 
 The place appointed was a neighbour town, 
 A little inn, some narrow alley down.
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 55 
 
 Joining the quay, a dark, unwholesome place, 
 
 Where Cleanliness durst never show her face : 
 
 Disease sat brooding with portentous wing, 
 
 And from her baleful pinions horrid spring 
 
 Want, misery, and crime. Fevers abound, 
 
 Bred by the reeking odours from the ground. 
 
 Which pestilential rise, opaque and dense, 
 
 In steams disgusting to the sicken'd sense. 
 
 Fumes of tobacco through the open door. 
 
 With smells which porter, ale, and spirits pour 
 
 In blended vapour, need no other mark 
 
 To find the alehouse even in the dark. 
 
 Mervyn inquired of a portly man, 
 
 Whose bloated look claim'd kindred with the can. 
 
 And bore the sign of landlord in his face, 
 
 (A look of cunning, with a ruby grace,) 
 
 If Captain Shepherd had been lately there ? 
 
 He heard the question with a careless air, 
 
 The leer that look'd out from his twinkling eyes 
 
 Bespoke him one not taken by surprise : 
 
 His answer was evasive, seeming meant 
 
 To hide a query, as to what intent 
 
 He came to ask : it might be Yes or No; 
 
 According as the questioner might show
 
 5C ARTHUR MERVYN I 
 
 Some other token : wliich was soon supplied 
 
 By Mervyn spreading out his lingers wide 
 
 And lifting up his hand to stroke his chin, 
 
 To which the other signalled by a grin : 
 
 This telegrapliing seem'd to satisfy 
 
 The host that he might safely now reply, 
 
 Without disguise : and when the question next 
 
 Was put to him, together with the text, 
 
 ' And wine to cheer man's heart,' he soon replied, 
 
 ** Yes, he is here, and even now inside." 
 
 He then was introduced where many men 
 
 Were sitting drinking in a gloomy den 
 
 Within the bar, which, though 'twas open day, 
 
 Derived no profit from the solar ray : 
 
 Candles were burning dimly in the smoke 
 
 Of vile tobacco, which in eddies broke 
 
 From many pipes ; his friend was sitting there. 
 
 Who now received him with a kindly air, 
 
 Shook his hand warmly, while with manners bluff. 
 
 He bade him welcome, though in accents rough ; 
 
 With pipe in hand atid with a chirping glass. 
 
 They let the fleeting hours unnoticed pass, 
 
 Talk'd of their prison-scenes, its jokes and fare, 
 
 But both agreed 'twas far more pleasant there.
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 57 
 
 Then Mervyn told how hard he had been used, 
 His wife and children shamefully abused, 
 Turn'd out of doors without a place to lie, 
 Like wild beasts driven forth to live or die. 
 This had aroused him, and inflamed his mind 
 Against the laws which thus were made to grind 
 The faces of the poor: — and so he came 
 To war with them beneath a smuggler's name, 
 If they would take him — good — he'd serve them 
 
 well, 
 And give his aid to signal, watch, or sell. 
 The captain freely, when his tale he heard, 
 Agreed at once to keep his former word. 
 And join him to the band : then turning round. 
 He knock'd the table thrice, and at the sound 
 Dead silence was obtain'd : he rose and said, 
 " Comrades, a friend of mine has just been led, 
 From some events, to wish to join our band, 
 And place himself beneath our just command ; 
 I pledge my word for him, do you agree 
 To give him entrance to the company." 
 Loud cries of " Yes I if you are pleased — all 
 
 right!" 
 " Well," says the captain, " then I move, to-night 
 
 D 3
 
 58 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 He takes the oaths, and be allowed to hold 
 
 A share with us, in danger and in gold, 
 
 " We'll christen hiin in punch, and make him free, 
 
 A volunteer of this society." 
 
 This speech produced a tempest of applause, 
 
 The promised puncli, no doubt, the moving cause ; 
 
 A smoking bowl soon steam'd upon the board, 
 
 From which a glass for each was quickly pour'd, 
 
 Then standing up, they form'd a circle round, 
 
 The while the Neophyte was strongly bound 
 
 (Uplifting in his hand a keen-edged knife) 
 
 By solemn oath to hazard limb and life 
 
 In their behalf, and secret counsel keep 
 
 Of them and theirs, on land and on the deep : 
 
 This done, each lifted up the flowing glass. 
 
 And round the mutual pledge, in bumpers, pass. 
 
 Then all sat down, and mirth and revelry 
 
 Reign'd till the midnight hour,with thoughtless glee. 
 
 The third day, Mervyn once more took the road 
 That led from thence towards his own abode, 
 They had arranged the conduct to pursue 
 To lull suspicion, yet be useful, too,
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 59 
 
 Establish'd signs and signals, and thus made 
 His help effective to promote their trade. 
 The distance of all dwellings from his home, 
 Its isolation gave him scope to roam 
 And go and come unmark'd, perhaps afford 
 At times for portions of their smuggled hoard 
 A safe deposit, and a snug retreat 
 From whence to spread it over all that beat. 
 A little farmer, who for years had been 
 A sort of agent, was to serve as screen, 
 And nominally to provide him work. 
 Behind which guard he might in safety lurk. 
 And follow up without so much suspicion 
 The real purpose of his secret mission ; 
 The farmer's work would answer for a blind. 
 Just to conceal the goings on behind. 
 Mervyn had been provided by his friend 
 With a supply, his shatter'd house to mend. 
 And purchase things for necessary use, 
 Until his own work -would some cash produce : 
 Two pounds were thus most generously given. 
 So that he wasn't for the present driven 
 To much distress, but might in little space 
 His furniture and tools and clothes replace.
 
 60 ARTHUR mervyn: 
 
 He first commenced the needful reparation. 
 To render more secure his habitation ; 
 Mended the roof with thatch, repair'd the door, 
 And made it snugger than it was before ; 
 And while to save appearances, he went 
 To weekly work, yet many days he spent 
 From time to time at home, to rectify 
 What was amiss to comfort, or the eye. 
 PVom out the open space his cottage round, 
 He took a little spot for garden ground ; 
 This he enclosed, and compass'd it about 
 With a neat hedge, to keep the cattle out ; 
 For in the summer, even on the moor 
 They find a sweet nor insufficient store: 
 Beneath his sturdy strokes, the stubborn soil 
 Was broken up — what will not yield to toil ? 
 And soon within its precincts might be seen 
 The hardy cabbage, and the winter green ; 
 Another year, potatoes too were set. 
 Leeks, carrots, parsley, daisies, mignonette, 
 And much besides — for here his wife could aid 
 And little children wield the hoe and spade. 
 But this was done at times, for on the coast, 
 He often was required at his post.
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 61 
 
 And many nights, and sometimes days, were 
 
 spent 
 Away from home, when matters would prevent 
 The ready landing at the wish'd-for hour, 
 And cross excisemen with malicious power 
 Would balk their run, and make them scud away 
 Over the waters to another bay. 
 Barring a little danger, and some risk. 
 With Mervyn things went well, and times were 
 
 brisk ; 
 He had more money now, than when before 
 He toil'd from day to dark, yet still was poor. 
 But somehow he with gold, did not possess 
 A greater stock of real happiness : 
 When in his former cottage, trim and neat, 
 The garden with its flowers smelling sweet, 
 The bees and useful herbs — although he knew 
 ,.And felt at periods keen privations, too — 
 Had brought him more of genuine content 
 Than now proceeded from the more he spent. 
 Since that sad time when first misfortune loured 
 And changed his life — his temper had been soured. 
 The milk of human kindness had been spilt, 
 By suffering the punishment of guilt :
 
 6-2 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 He felt degraded, and the prison blot 
 Had cauterized his soul, and left a spot. 
 His mind was restless too, and often vex'd 
 With cares, that ne'er his former days perplex'd. 
 'Twas but a skulking, shirking life, he led, 
 To work at hours he used to be in bed, 
 And lie about by day, and wait, and watch, 
 A customer upon the sly to catch ; 
 For often now he was employed as well 
 In landing first, as afterwards to sell ; 
 Fulfilling orders, and obtaining more, 
 And goods deliv'ring at the buyer's door ; 
 This would involve some risk, and he must lurk. 
 To ply in safety his forbidden work ; 
 And all this great anxiety and care 
 Made him remember he had need beware. 
 Thus in much hazard, though in certain pay. 
 Some eighteen months had slowly pass'd away. 
 And hitherto, by fortune and good heed, 
 An-angement and precaution, did succeed 
 In keeping him unscathed, yet he had past 
 Through many trying scenes from first to last. 
 Some hares and rabbits captured by his hands. 
 And other game from off" the manor lands,
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 63 
 
 Were frequent on his board, for so he made 
 
 A current credit in the way of trade, 
 
 Against his former debit, so much paid 
 
 To cash account, when he in jail was laid. 
 
 He took it out in kind, and did not fail 
 
 To make his cunning for his head go bail ; 
 
 The lesser danger merged, and seem'd but small 
 
 Compared with what from smuggling might befal 
 
 A year and half had pass'd, as hath been sung, 
 
 The days were getting short, and nights were long, 
 
 'Twas dreary dark November, fogs and rain 
 
 Obscured the land, and wrapp'd the restless main. 
 
 A run was to be made, and horse and man, 
 
 Obedient to the signal, soon began 
 
 To make towards the place of rendezvous, 
 
 To take the goods when landed by the crew. 
 
 Some distance from the land a lugger lay, 
 
 Just at the entrance of a narrow bay, 
 
 Where at right angles to the rugged shore, 
 
 A lonely valley, desolate and poor, 
 
 Garnish'd with mighty rocks, whose rugged forms 
 
 Had stood the buffets of a thousand storms, 
 
 Open'd a passage inward to the land, 
 
 And rose abruptly from the sounding strand.
 
 64 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 The day had closed in gloom, and raournfully 
 The hollow blast blew fitful from the sea ; 
 It moan'd and whistled with a dismal sound, 
 As swept the gust along the broken ground ; 
 The night was pitchy dark, save when a streak 
 Of feeble light would through the blackness break 
 And show where riding high the moon enshrouds 
 Her silver face behind the murky clouds ; 
 'Twas such a night as none would choose to roam 
 Who might retain the shelter of a home : 
 The lonely traveller as he hurried by 
 Thought of his distant cot, and heaved a sigh, 
 Then drew his garments closer round his chest 
 And onward with redoubled vigour press'd. 
 Yet crime was then abroad — the cloak of night 
 Best suited deeds that fitted not the light ; 
 The murderer could make his victim bleed. 
 For few were out to interrupt the deed; 
 The death-cry sounding to the hearer's mind 
 Would seem the shrieking of the hollow wind ; 
 The trembling felon who with stealthy pace 
 Shrouding from view his pale and sullen face. 
 Seeks in the farm-yard or the open field, 
 Such prey as either may with safety yield,
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 65 
 
 Pursues unchallenged underneath the mask 
 Of horrid gloom, his despicable task. 
 Others beside, whose crimes are not so deep, 
 (Oh, there are such would make an angel weep !) 
 Are now abroad — the poacher with his net 
 To drive the field, or hidden snare to set. 
 To earn, at cost of sleep, and toil, and pain, 
 Deep punishment for most uncertain gain. 
 The wild contemners of their country's laws 
 (Alas, that Britain e'er should give them cause) 
 Hailed such a chance as this to land their prize, 
 They hoped secure from any prying eyes; 
 Forward and back, an oft-repeated trip, 
 The boat had pass'd between the shore and ship, 
 The ample cargo soon was on the beach, 
 Fondly they trusted, now beyond the reach 
 Of custom-house inspectors — every hand 
 Then join'd to move it inward from the strand, 
 The kegs were slung across the horses' back, 
 Then altogether up the narrow track 
 They slowly toil, each driver as he went. 
 Beneath a load upon his shoulders bent; 
 Silent advancing, thus in single file, 
 They left the shore behind at least a mile.
 
 66 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 And now were winding through a rugged pass 
 
 Rocky and dark, o'ershadowed by a mass 
 
 Of forest ti'ees — a palpable obscure 
 
 As deep as Egypt did of old endure. 
 
 The horses, sure of foot, were making way 
 
 In passing safety, though with some delay ; 
 
 Not so the drivers — who beneath their load 
 
 Stumbled or fell, and cursed the crooked road. 
 
 A single hail from some one in the rear, 
 
 An answering shout from a companion near, 
 
 Would now and then arise — the howling gale 
 
 Permitted not these cries to tell a tale 
 
 Obnoxious to their safety, but dispersed 
 
 The sound of broken words that from them burst. 
 
 And bore along upon its rustling wings, 
 
 A mingled tumult of imaginings. 
 
 They reach'd at length a huge colossal rock, 
 
 Whose giant sides upheaved — the mighty shock 
 
 Of elemental strife, had ages borne, 
 
 And mock'd its bootless rage with quiet scorn — 
 
 The Pixie's Torr, renown'd throughout the west, 
 
 The usual stock of legends wild possess'd : 
 
 The Druids, on its bald and lofty head, 
 
 Had, many ages since, tradition said,
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 67 
 
 Kindled the sacred fire — with pious awe 
 The multitude had worshipp'd from below, 
 Bent to their dreadful gods, and humbly sued 
 By human gore to purchase human good. 
 A noble temple — were the worship pure — 
 And one which will to latest time endure ; 
 The everlasting rock, their altar stone, 
 And Heaven's vaulted arch above, alone. 
 But twenty centuries have rolled along, 
 And left no record but the poet's song. 
 In times succeeding these, another race 
 Possess'd the land, and left a softer grace 
 About such scenes — they peopled all the glade 
 With elfs and fairies, dancing in the shade 
 Of forest green, or in the moon's pale light 
 Keeping their merry orgies through the night ; 
 Until returning day's awakened power 
 Sent them to couch within the blue-bell's flower. 
 The thoughts of other days, the times of old 
 Pass as a dream, or like a tale that's told. 
 Yet do we love to ponder musingly 
 And lift the veil of hoar antiquity, 
 Plunge in the dark abyss of bygone days, 
 And feed our fancy with a backward gaze.
 
 68 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 The rock was reach'd, and, winding round its base, 
 They would have enter'd on an open space ; 
 But what is this? What means this short delay? 
 What intercepts them in the narrow way? 
 The foremost horse is down — some obstacle 
 Is in his path, o'er which he spurn'd and fell, 
 The rest are all obstructed — Hark ! the man 
 Is calling out who occupied the van, 
 "Ilelj)! comrades— help!" with stumbling haste 
 
 they speed 
 To render him assistance in his need. 
 Then rose a voice in accents of command, 
 " Halt! Stand ! — I charge you in the king's name — 
 
 stand !" 
 And coming from their ambush in the front, 
 A party stands prepared to bear the brunt 
 Of battle there, while further in the rear, 
 Prompt at the signal, other men appear. 
 A moment of dismay assail'd the band 
 At this unlook'd for resolute command ; 
 Each head threw down its load, and gazed around. 
 Or rather listen'd for another sound. 
 But little time was lost — again each hears 
 A summons to surrender prisoners :
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 69 
 
 And then a whistle rose, so loud and shrill, 
 It echoed from the torr and up the hill, 
 As with a curse, and, bidding them keep back. 
 The foremost smugglers rushed to the attack ; 
 Each bore a heavy bludgeon in his hand 
 And strove to force a way, or make a stand : 
 The officers were arm'd, and well prepared, 
 Whereas the others had been somewhat snared. 
 Yet still they were no cowards, and with rage 
 They, hand to hand, in conflict fierce engage. 
 But this endured not long, for discipline 
 With better arms and preparation, win 
 An easy conquest, as they always do. 
 Unless strong motives urge the others, too. 
 Finding the smugglers resolute to fight 
 In self-defence, and shrouded by the night, 
 The officers no longer hesitate 
 To use the arms provided by the state : 
 One had been levell'd by a heavy blow. 
 But his assailant soon was laid as low: 
 A comrade's hand was raised — a vivid light 
 Of ruddy flame flash'd swiftly on the night, 
 A sharp report, and then a piercing cry 
 Burst from the strong man as he fell to die.
 
 70 ARTHUR mervyn: 
 
 Another, and another, gleaming fast, 
 Like meteors, a moment's radiance cast 
 Upon the adverse parties, and displayed 
 An instant's view of how they stood array'd ; 
 Each pistol shot, so close they were at hand. 
 Had carried death into the smugglers' band; 
 Till panic-struck, they turn'd in haste and fled. 
 Leaving the field of battle and the dead, 
 Some prisoners, and horses with their load. 
 As trophies of that night's sad episode. 
 A dreary pause ensued — the gloom jDrofound 
 Permitted nothing to be seen around ; 
 Then voices spake, at first to ascertain 
 A comrade's safety — who alive remain, 
 Hailing by name, to which some one replies. 
 While orders mingle with the other cries. 
 A light obtain'd from some materials brought, 
 Enabled them to promenade the spot. 
 And take a survey of the battle-field. 
 Which, sad and silent now, a scene reveal'd. 
 Beneath the glancing shadows of the light, 
 Awful to thought and painful to the sight ; 
 Advancing slowly, and with cautious tread. 
 They stumbled on the foremost of the dead :
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 71 
 
 Prone on his face, he lay — while, tightly clasp'd, 
 A heavy stick was in his right hand grasp'd : 
 Tubs lay around — the ground was wet with 
 
 blood 
 Which from a horse had issued in a flood. 
 Some heavy groans a little to the right, 
 Attracted them to where, in sorry plight. 
 Another man was writhing on the ground 
 With broken leg, but with no other wound. 
 Him they supported, moaning piteously, 
 To where the others stood in custody, 
 Then, passing on, they thread their mazy way 
 Through kegs and other trophies of the fray : 
 These they pick'd up and carried to a heap, 
 Caught two stray horses part way up the steep, 
 And likewise found a third man lying dead, 
 A pistol-ball had shot him through the head ; 
 Struck from behind, it reach'd him as he tried 
 To force his passage up the yonder side ; 
 The death was instantaneous, and he fell 
 With scarce a pang, if truth the features tell. 
 Poor wretch ! they found 'twas one whom many 
 
 knew. 
 The subject of our story hitherto :
 
 72 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 Mervvn was dead — a victim to the fate 
 
 Which foUowVl him with unrelenting hate, 
 
 From that nnhicky day when accident 
 
 Had sent him to unjust imprisonment. 
 
 Slow pass'd the dismal watches of the night 
 
 In weary expectation of the light, 
 
 With morning dawn the prisoners were sent. 
 
 Under an escort, from the cantonment ; 
 
 The rest remain'd their captured prize to guai'd. 
 
 Until deposited in safer ward. 
 
 The news soon spread of what had taken place, 
 
 And rumour, in incredible short space. 
 
 Had magnified the horrors of the scene — 
 
 " A dozen men were slain — some said fifteen ; 
 
 The officers had captured all the crew. 
 
 Taking the lugger, and her lading too." 
 
 Another version represents the fight 
 
 Wholly on land, and lasting through the night. 
 
 That many men had perished in the strife, 
 
 As either side were prodigal of life. 
 
 But all agreed, a terrible defeat 
 
 The smugglers had sustain'd, the bloodshed great. 
 
 That booty of great value was the prize, 
 
 Aforfeit to the Customs or excise.
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 73 
 
 Great consternation through the country reign'd, 
 Some ran away — and many that remain'd 
 Trembled with fear, lest something should be 
 
 found 
 To speak their presence on the fatal ground. 
 During the day, some prying stragglers came 
 To ascertain the truth of common fame. 
 And gaze upon the dead, survey the site 
 Made memorable by the bloody fight. 
 The real news by them was quickly spread 
 Of whom, in fact, were found among the dead ; 
 Poor Mervyn's name from mouth to mouth was 
 
 pass'd. 
 And reach'd his wretched family at last ; 
 Some gossip, far more zealous than discreet. 
 In well-meant kindness, sought, with busy feet. 
 His lonely cottage, eager to relate 
 The mournful tidings of his early fate : 
 She found the wife in some anxiety, 
 And wond'ring what should keep him near the sea ; 
 For he, on leaving home, had chanced to say 
 He hoped this time to be not long away. 
 With face of length portentous, and a whine 
 Which pious awe and sympathy combine, 
 
 E
 
 74 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 She seem'd a fitting messenger of woe, 
 
 At whom to laugh or cry you scarcely know: 
 
 She first began, in snuffling tone, to teach 
 
 Philosophy — and resignation preach, — 
 
 " How God was good to all, and he knew best — 
 
 Misfortunes come our constancy to test — 
 
 We ought to be resign'd, and humbly bend 
 
 Submissive to the rod, lest we offend 
 
 Our Father's love, who only meant to bless 
 
 And fit us for eternal happiness." 
 
 The wife alarmed, broke in on this tirade 
 
 And sundry others of the self-same grade, 
 
 Meant to console, and earnestly entreated 
 
 To hear the tale with which the crone was 
 
 freighted. 
 " My husband ! where is he ? — say ! what is 
 
 wrong ^ 
 Tell me at once, or ever hold your tongue," 
 And through her frighten'd mind dark fancies glide 
 Of gaols and chains, and nameless ills beside. 
 But, no ! the gossip must her tale impart, 
 According to the rules of village art 
 For softening the blow — until suspense 
 Had wrought to agony each trembling sense,
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 75 
 
 And so produced a greater irritation 
 Than if declared without such preparation : 
 And left the object with dimimsh'd strength 
 To sink at once when came the blow at length — 
 The stunning blow, so far exceeding all 
 Her fears had painted — of her husband's fall. 
 Horror was in her look — she did not shriek, 
 But stood aghast to hear the other speak : 
 At length, escaped her lips a feeble cry, 
 Such as alone we utter when we die, 
 Then fi-om her nose and mouth the crimson blood 
 Came gushing forth and pour'd a sanguine flood, 
 Her fleeting senses reel'd, and turning round, 
 She sunk, supine and senseless, to the ground. 
 The woman, much alarm'd and terrified, 
 Ran to assist her, but in vain she tried 
 To stop the vital stream — the silver cord 
 Had snapp'd — the wheel was broken at the spring; 
 The spirit, loosen'd at the tale abhorr'd, 
 Had from its clay-built mansion taken wing. — 
 The wretched pair, united thus in death. 
 Were buried in one grave, and folly saith 
 That often in the dead watch of the night 
 Their gliding ghosts alarm the startled sight 
 
 E 2
 
 76 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 Of some lone trav'ller — flitting o'er the heath, 
 Along the sea-beat shore, or underneath 
 The lofty torr, when mists the valleys fill, 
 And shapes are conjured at the gazer's will : 
 The sea-gull's scream, the lapwing's whistling cry 
 Arouse the terrors of the passer-by, 
 Confirm the tales of discontented ghosts 
 Conderan'd to wander round their former posts. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST PART. 
 
 1
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 77 
 
 PART II. 
 
 Hard is the lot of man where want and woe 
 Compose his sad inheritance below : 
 Born to a state of care, disease, and pain, 
 The grave's oblivion is to him a gain. 
 Thousands — in lieu of gold and spreading lands 
 Transmitted to them at their parent's hands, 
 Fair houses, station, competence, and wealth — 
 Inherit poverty and broken health ! 
 They reap the sure reward of outraged laws. 
 As certain as effect will follow cause. 
 Such is the union in this mortal state. 
 The sour grapes the father's folly ate 
 Do set, alas ! the children's teeth on edge ; 
 The Scriptures this and moralists allege, 
 And who the joint authority can doubt. 
 That ever felt hereditary gout ?
 
 78 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 Surely there must be more than now appears — 
 The toilsome struggles of a few short years ; 
 The deep, the stern anxieties of life, 
 Its constant warfare and incessant strife : 
 The sickness of the soul, of " hope deferr'd," 
 "When aspirations have the spirit stirr'd 
 With dreams of high ambition, to be cross'd, 
 Fritter'd away, or in fruition lost. 
 It cannot be that this uncertain state 
 Should form man's only boundary and date. 
 Merely to fret his hour upon the stage. 
 Then die and pass away, in youth or age : 
 If that were so, his animal existence 
 Would be more independent of assistance. 
 Less liable to weakness, want, and change; 
 Sorrow more rare, nor happiness so strange. 
 The little lambs, who frisk their hours away 
 In playful gambols through the merry May : 
 The happy birds, who poised on lightsome wing, 
 Carol their joyous songs to welcome spring: 
 The sportive dolphins, bounding on the main, 
 Now on the wave high riding, now again 
 Plunged in the heaving bosom of the deep. 
 Or in the caves of ocean lull'd asleep: —
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 79 
 
 That glorious sylph-like thing, the butterfly, 
 With gorgeous wings of gold and pui-jjle dye, 
 Whose radiant hues eclipse the shining gems 
 Of beauty's wreaths, or monarch's diadems, 
 And like a child of ether, soars on high. 
 As if it sought to scale the vaulted sky. 
 Who draws ambrosia from the violet blue, 
 And drinks the nectar of the morning dew : — 
 Even the reptile, who, with mottled back, 
 Glides, undulating, on his mazy track. 
 Or on a bank high-coil'd in sunny day. 
 Darting his tongue, lies basking in the ray :— 
 These all are happy, most completely blest. 
 Pleased with their sports and song, their food and 
 
 rest, 
 With instinct, fleetness, strength, or skill to shun 
 Their enemies : — their pleasures, too, begun 
 Even with life, prepared to live at first, 
 Their new-born gifts scarce needing to be nurst ; 
 The pliant limbs grow strong, they w^alk and 
 
 run. 
 Fly, swim, or crawl, ere many days are done. 
 And so continue to the verge of life. 
 Then ripen'd drop, or die in battle's strife.
 
 80 ARTHUR mervyn: 
 
 The bounteous gifts of Heaven, too, they share 
 
 As freely as they breathe the common air, 
 
 All is amain — no primogeniture 
 
 Robs all for one — this nature wont endure : 
 
 They roam, unfetter'd, through the broad domains 
 
 Of sea and air, and earth's wide-spreading 
 
 plains. 
 Not so with man — in sorrow and distress 
 He comes, the type of real helplessness : 
 But for the bonds of deep maternal love, 
 A spark from that bright flame that burns above. 
 He needs must perish, for to that degree 
 Each living creature in their infancy 
 Are his superiors, as in after-years, 
 By intellect, his strength surpasses theirs. 
 But if he all those obstacles survives 
 That intercept in youth so many lives, 
 (Disease and want, which hath such armies 
 
 wreck'd. 
 The fruits of poverty and gross neglect. 
 Or from the care and gorging to excess, 
 The rich inflict, the file is not much less,) 
 He reaches man's estate, perhaps untaught, 
 His powers wasted, mind and being fraught 
 
 I-
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 81 
 
 With evil aspirations, led astray 
 By ignorance and habit — bearing sway 
 To warp the noble gifts of Providence 
 With the debasements of unbridled sense : 
 Who but for that, and train'd to better things, 
 Had glow'd with wisdom's best imaginings, 
 The depths of science fathom'd, or laid bare 
 The hidden things of earth, and sea, and air. 
 How many, too, for whom have fondly cared. 
 In youth, dear friends who no endeavour spared 
 To make them happy, wise, upright, and good, 
 Storing their minds with intellectual food. 
 Have lived to bring upon those fi-iends disgrace ; 
 The glow of shame across the honest face 
 Of some good father — broke the gentle heart 
 Of a kind mother, stricken with the dart 
 Her son's misconduct, parricidal, threw — 
 And those who gave him life his vices slew. 
 Others, again, misfortunes have beset. 
 Whose labours only seem to bring them debt: 
 To earn subsistence they but toil in vain, 
 No profit comes to recompense their pain; 
 Bankrupt in pocket, broken down in health, 
 They live sad martyrs to the want of wealth. 
 
 E 3
 
 82 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 Even the few on whom success attends, 
 The pride and glory of admiring friends, 
 Who march with rapid strides to wealth and fame. 
 While Fortune showers honours on their name, 
 Balk'd in some cherish'd wish, the vain regret 
 Haunts them by night, and all their days beset : 
 Some are cut off when full before their eyes 
 The crown of high ambition and the prize 
 They long have toiled for seems within the grasp, 
 Ready to drop and settle in their clasp: 
 The laurel-wreath is scatter'd with the gust 
 That lays their budding glories in the dust. 
 On all mankind, whatever be their state, 
 Lofty or low, the blest or curst of fate. 
 Barbarians — men whom fine arts civilize — 
 The meanly wretched, and the worldly wise, 
 A longing seems to rest, a keen desire. 
 For something that is to advance them higher. 
 To fill the aching void their souls possess 
 For coming joy and future happiness. 
 It is the instinct of the conscious soul 
 Pointing the way to some far nobler goal : 
 They feel that all is not completed here, 
 But waits fruition in another sphere.
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 83 
 
 Paul spoke but half the truth wherein he 
 
 said, 
 That were no resurrection for the dead 
 Who die in Christ — his followers would be, 
 Of all mankind, most sunk in misery. 
 He might have said, that if the silent tomb 
 Were man's eternal everlasting home, 
 He would, of all created things, remain 
 The only type of having lived in vain — 
 His boasted reason a poor substitute 
 For the completer instinct of the brute : 
 That with unfailing aim secured the end. 
 No scope to err, no power to offend — 
 The same in all, and each in that possess'd 
 The means of being most completely blest. 
 Alas ! the former, with deceptive ray. 
 Too often glitters but to lead astray. 
 Always uncertain, oftentimes perverse. 
 It when abused but makes the wicked worse. 
 Yet in itself most glorious, from afar, 
 A beacon light, or like the polar star : 
 Transcendent honours hath its lustre shed 
 On Shakespeare, Milton, Locke, and Newton's 
 head,
 
 84 ARTHUR mervyn: 
 
 In them and others, since the world began, 
 
 Approved itself God's last best gift to man. 
 
 But is it, then, indeed so incomplete. 
 
 As to need planting in another seat ? 
 
 For my own part, I think that even here 
 
 It must be good, if men would persevere, 
 
 Obey its dictates, reverence its laws, 
 
 And make their actions spring from such a cause. 
 
 They ought to be more happy than they seem, 
 
 'Tis a brave world, I trow, no idle dream. 
 
 Its goods are most substantial, and 'tis deck'd 
 
 In manner worthy its great Architect. 
 
 I stand and look upon its smiling face, 
 
 Radiant with beauty, harmony, and grace, 
 
 I mark the product of each varied soil, 
 
 How richly grateful for a little toil ; 
 
 The teeming sea, a never-failing store. 
 
 Rolling its boundless wealth to every shore. | 
 
 A great highway, for ever in repair. 
 
 Where nations may exchange what each can spare; 
 
 Above, below, around, the world contains 
 
 Within itself, to recoropense our pains. 
 
 What well repays the search, or can conduce 
 
 To health or pleasure, ornament or use ; 

 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 85 
 
 To charm the sight, and gratify the taste, 
 It pours forth treasures to the verge of waste. 
 1 fear 'tis man, unjust unto himself, 
 A miser, starving in the midst of pelf. 
 Cruel towards his fellows, who contrives 
 Himself to be unhappy, and deprives 
 Others of that which should contentment bring. 
 And all the joys that fi'om its advent spring. 
 But leaving the didactic, I resume 
 My narrative of misery and gloom : — 
 The wretched orphans suddenly bereft 
 Of parents and protectors, now were left 
 To reap the tender mercies that the poor 
 Too often find within the workhouse door. 
 I am not one of those who idly rant 
 Against this refuge of the child of want : 
 It has been much abused, and may be still 
 The scene of cruelty, and causeless ill. 
 Its needful strictness turn'd to hai'sh restraint. 
 And thus afforded grounds for loud complaint. 
 A stint of food from grinding peculation. 
 Hath justly raised the public indignation. 
 But yet it hath a noble aim and end 
 The destitute to shelter and befriend,
 
 86" ' ARTHUR mervyn: 
 
 To harbour in old age, at others' cost, 
 
 The man who on life's billows tempest tost 
 
 Worn down with this world's buffets, broken, spent, 
 
 Had perished, but for such assistance lent : 
 
 And those whom stern misfortune hath oppress'd. 
 
 May find a haven there wherein to rest ; 
 
 None are permitted, to whate'er extent 
 
 Their destitution is a punishment 
 
 For past imprudence, folly, or excess. 
 
 To die unaided in their helplessness ; 
 
 The system may have faults, and 'tis unwise 
 
 To see them not, because we shut our eyes, 
 
 But still withal its object does impart 
 
 An equal honour to the head and heart. 
 
 Two boys and girls had Mervyn left behind. 
 
 The eldest two were old enough to bind 
 
 Apprentices, according to the mode. 
 
 The others in the poor-house still abode : 
 
 Arthur was only seven years of age, 
 
 Too young and weak at present to engage 
 
 In labours of the farm, and he remained 
 
 Until more strength and stature were attained. 
 
 At nine years old they bound him out at length 
 
 To battle with the world, and gather strength
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 87 
 
 As fortune should decide — till twenty-one, 
 Twelve tedious weary years must travel on 
 To bring emancipation. In a suit 
 Of parish clothes equipt fi'om head to foot, 
 He left his two years' home, but bore away 
 Too little other profit from his stay. 
 Poor little fellow ! with a pale, thin face 
 And aching heart, he went to fill his place. 
 The ready tear hung trembling in his eye. 
 When bidding his companions a good-bye ; 
 Playmates they hardly were, for childhood's joy 
 Had been attempered with too much alloy 
 To flourish in that soil ; they had in truth 
 But little of the sports of happy youth. 
 Yet still he dreaded change, for hitherto 
 From bad to worse was all the change he knew ; 
 And judging by the past, he feared to find 
 Worse ills before than those he left behind. 
 Sorrow had left its mark, and early care 
 Had stamp'd him with a sad and thoughtful air 
 In one so young unusual, but distress 
 Increased his native tact and cleverness. 
 To weed the garden, drive the cows afield 
 At first was all the service he could yield ;
 
 88 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 Then followed leading horses at the jDlough, 
 
 Or oxen driving, as the times allow: 
 
 He who is youngest lad upon a farm 
 
 Will lack no exercise to keep him warm, 
 
 From early dawn (in winter long before) 
 
 Till night shall close again the farmer's door 
 
 There is no rest for him ; the slave of all. 
 
 What can the weakest do but go to wall ? 
 
 Whatever may be thrown upon his back 
 
 By workmen, women, boys, he must not lack 
 
 In due performance, till some younger slave 
 
 Shall take his place, or he is in his grave. 
 
 Promotion comes at last, a junior drudge 
 
 Must yield to him, and at his bidding trudge. 
 
 And he in turn will exercise a sway, 
 
 So true it is ' Each dog will have his day.' 
 
 And oftentimes ('tis matter for reflection) 
 
 Those who have suffered most when in subjection, 
 
 Were most abused, hard treated, and oppressed, 
 
 More buffeted, and stinted of their rest. 
 
 Will prove the greatest tyrants when in power, 
 
 And revel in the triumph of the hour — 
 
 On others with unfeeling hand repay 
 
 What they have suffered in their early day,
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 89 
 
 Forgetting all their sorrow, grief, and pain — 
 Of which no other records now remain 
 Than this impression — what themselves endured 
 Others might bear, and be like them inured. 
 The slave become a master, oft displays 
 The most amount of harshness in his ways. 
 In summer though the work is long and hard, 
 From common pleasures they are not debarr'd ; 
 The harvest brings much jollity and mirth 
 Housing the bounteous products of the earth ; 
 They toil and sweat beneath the blazing sun. 
 But feast in plenty when the day is done ; 
 The song goes round, while nut-brown ale they 
 
 quaff, 
 And joke and tale excite the joyous laugh ; 
 All is abundant then to lighten toil 
 And cheer the hardy children of the soil ; 
 In every region 'tis a jocund time 
 When autumn pours the products of each 
 
 clime 
 To gladden man with that abundant store 
 Whose budding promise greeted him before, 
 His soul is joyful with prosperity. 
 And all partake in more or less degree.
 
 90 ARTHUR mervyn: 
 
 But winter conies, bleak, comfortless, and chill, 
 To those Avho have to brave it on the hill 
 Or open field, obnoxious to the force 
 Of sleet, and hail, and wind, with murmurs hoarse, 
 The young are most exposed, and suffer much 
 With bitter cold, from what they needs must touch. 
 Standing throughout the day on some high ground 
 No shelter near, and all the landscape round 
 One dreary white, the snow descending fast. 
 While piercing blows the keen and churlish blast, 
 To gather turnips for the hungry kine, 
 Poor little wretch ! a cruel fate is thine ! 
 Thy fingers numb'd until devoid of sense, 
 Chapp'djblaiued, and blistered by the cold intense, 
 The turnips, always chilling at the best, 
 Now lumps of ice, seem freezing winter's crest. 
 Yet time wore on, the seasons came and went 
 Without producing any marked event. 
 Our little friend the usual changes stood 
 Of summer heat, and winter's angry mood ; 
 Now with a nose of blue and shaking form, 
 Shrinking with cold before the nipping storm, 
 Anon, half frying in the scorching ray. 
 Beneath the blaze of some hot July day.
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 91 
 
 Yet Still he thrived withal, and grew apace, 
 
 While ruddy health was painted in his face ; 
 
 For though exposure and a life of toil, 
 
 Sore tried his frame, to both there was a foil — 
 
 His food was coarse, 'tis true, but well supplied. 
 
 And that with hungry boys will often hide. 
 
 Or counteract, the hardships of a life 
 
 Of laboiu", passed 'mid elemental strife ; 
 
 Besides, it is not always in extremes. 
 
 The sun sometimes will shine with milder beams, 
 
 And genial days will now and then appear 
 
 In all the various seasons of the year. 
 
 Then will the open air and exercise 
 
 Brace up the frame, and make the spirits rise. 
 
 Create a glow of health, and drive away, 
 
 The fruits of many an unpropitious day. 
 
 There is in nature such vitality. 
 
 So deeply seated is her agency. 
 
 That 'tis no easy matter to withstand 
 
 Or neutralize the workings of her hand. 
 
 The tendency and scope of all the laws 
 
 Proceeding from the great sublime First Cause, 
 
 So points to good, that foolish sinful man 
 
 May check, but cannot crush, do what he can.
 
 92 ARTHUR mervyn: 
 
 'Tis true the aged poor too oft present 
 Marks of the toil in which their lives are spent ; 
 The stooping frame, distorted limbs and back, 
 Which aches and cramps, and rheumatisms 
 
 rack. 
 Point to a life of hardship as the cause 
 For which they suffer thus from Nature's laws : 
 Yet 'tis not labour in itself alone. 
 That works those evils under which they groan, 
 But want of food nutritious, clothing warm, 
 To cheer them on returning from the storm ; 
 A change of dress when deluged with the rain 
 Instead of putting on the same again 
 Cramping their limbs and chilling all their frame. 
 Is one strong reason they are halt and lame ; 
 Another is the wretched habitation 
 Allotted to their poverty of station; 
 These all conjoined, afford sufficient ground 
 Why many crippled, deaf, and bent, are found. 
 Those animals which render man their aid, 
 Are better fed, have more attention paid. 
 Witness the brewer's dray, or merchant's car, 
 What noble steeds ! — how fat and sleek they 
 
 are !
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 93 
 
 Their mighty strength is purchased and sustain'd, 
 By some return of what their labour gained ; 
 While man, so much the nobler of the two, 
 Is left to cold neglect: — Alas ! how few 
 Enjoy a tithe the comfoi'ts and the cheer 
 That fill their fellow lab'rers through the year. 
 A life of toil, privation, want, and care. 
 Is all the rich man can his brother spare ; 
 No, 'tis not all — or fear or caution gave, 
 A workhouse refuge, and a pauper grave. 
 
 The boy had had the fortune to be bound, 
 To one who till'd his own paternal ground ; 
 A man of substance, capital, and worth. 
 Humane to all who met around his hearth. 
 A readiness to learn, and strong desire 
 For such small knowledge as he could acquire, 
 With general acuteness and good sense, 
 Besides an effort to avoid offence, 
 Soon made him much a favourite with all — 
 His mistress said, while he was yet but small. 
 He did an errand better than the rest. 
 And she of course preferred who did it best. 
 His master found him, as he older gi'ew, 
 A useful servant, and a faithful, too.
 
 94 ARTHUR mervyn: 
 
 On whom he could for thoughtfulness depend. 
 Who seldom did what he had need to mend. 
 A genius for mechanics, made him turn 
 His leisure time its principles to learn ; 
 At least such little as he well could reach 
 From what a country carjoenter could teach ; 
 He had a knack of carving, and would bring 
 A piece of timber to a shapely thing ; 
 Small toys at first, a little horse, or cow, 
 And then produced the model of a plough ; 
 This for his master's children was a prize 
 That gave him great importance in their eyes ; 
 And, when about fifteen, he made a ship 
 With masts and spars, like those that in a ti'ip 
 To Plymouth once, upon some holiday 
 He saw and carried in his mind away ; 
 Their joy was so complete, that in return 
 They taught him what he long had wished to learn, 
 To read and write ; on every night of leisure 
 He followed this, and they again took pleasure 
 To be his little teachers, and convey 
 What they had learnt at school throughout the day. 
 Each Sunday afternoon was always spent 
 In thus obtaining mental nourishment,
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 95 
 
 And such his ardent, persevering mind, 
 
 That difficulties soon were left behind. 
 
 He knew his teachers' zeal might chance to tire, 
 
 And so it was his object to acquire 
 
 Enough at first to put him in the train 
 
 For further progress, if they should refrain. 
 
 The primer in his pocket, he would con 
 
 Its pages briefly as he travelled on, 
 
 And while at work would often take a glance, 
 
 Refresh his mind, and stimulate advance. 
 
 His efforts were productive of success. 
 
 For perseverance stops at nothing less ; 
 
 In two years' space he wrote a decent hand. 
 
 Easy to read, and therefore understand. 
 
 Another year, to gain facility 
 
 In reading, spelling, and chirography ; 
 
 And then his young ambition thought it right 
 
 To dare the hazard of the higher flight 
 
 He long had hoped to reach, but slow and sure 
 
 Took time his jDresent knowledge to mature ; 
 
 One thing at once he felt he might succeed in. 
 
 Which common sense and practice both agreed in. 
 
 Then came the hour at length in which he might 
 
 Without presumj)tion gird him for the fight.
 
 96 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 With crabbed figures ranged prepared for action, 
 By keen addition and acute subtraction. 
 Multiplication, simple and compound. 
 Division, long and short, in time he found. 
 Yield to the steady efforts of a will, 
 Whose best allies were energy and skill. 
 To master these, and fix them on his mind. 
 Consumed the remnant of the years behind 
 Remaining of his bondage, and enough 
 For one who had a peasant's lot to rough 
 Upon a farm, learning to plough and sow, 
 To hedge and shear, make ricks, or reap and mow ; 
 These were his main employments, and the zest 
 For self-improvement made him learn the rest ; 
 Pursued amid such obstacles, as show 
 What persevering youth can overthrow. 
 Besides, by day and night, though working hard, 
 His ingenuity was not debarr'd. 
 From exercise, to plan and introduce 
 Improvements in the tools in common use. 
 Many a scheme his active brain would frame. 
 Which others seized and labell'd with their name ; 
 The carpentei", and country blacksmith, too, 
 Made little fortunes by the hints they drew.
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 97 
 
 And carried out from Arthur's teeming mind, 
 With iron ploughs and tools of every kind ; 
 He loved to watch them at their work, and aid, 
 With ready hand, as often as he stay'd 
 To have his horses shod, or sole relaid : 
 Invention was his forte, his talent lay 
 In pointing out a new and better way, 
 And would suggest what came into his head, 
 While they had sense to value what he said. 
 
 In toiling, scheming, learning, seasons pass'd 
 With rapid wing, and twenty-one at last 
 Is reached, the date at which the man is free 
 To traffic on his proper industry ; 
 Make market of his skill and native strength 
 To the extent of depth, and breadth, and length 
 The laws will give him tethei- — these, alas. 
 Too strongly moulded by a ruling class. 
 Cramp the resources of the common man, 
 Who is not free of that more favour'd clan ; 
 Give not his efforts scope, but bind him down, 
 To live a drudge and die a muddy clown. 
 True that at times the seeming earthy clod, 
 Stampt with the seal and impress of a God, 
 
 F
 
 98 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 Bursts through the vulgar bands, and rends away 
 What woukl eclipse its intellectual ray ; 
 Genius, too mighty for these warping ties, 
 Soars up, and claims its kindred wdth the skies ; 
 Before its awful front the shadows flee 
 Of selfish might and gaunt monopoly. 
 Oh ! how this people worship at the shrine 
 Of wealth ! as if its gifts were all divine ; 
 They serve the golden calf, and bend the knee 
 With slavish zeal and base idolatry. 
 Let those bow down who will — be mine to show 
 I love the soil where manly virtues grow ; 
 Him will I honour whose exalted soul 
 Will sympathize with man from pole to pole ; 
 Wit, wisdom, learning, wheresoever found, 
 With kings and lords, or tillers of the ground : 
 Who leaves the world improved — at least, who tries 
 To make it better — only will I prize. 
 Skill'd in the daily routine of the farm, 
 Possess'd of youth and health — a lusty arm, 
 For thought, contrivance, industry renown'd, 
 Arthur might choose among the farmers round 
 What place he liked : but anxious not for change 
 Preferring not the new because 'twas strange.
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY, 99 
 
 He bargain'd to remain a twelvemonth more 
 Where he had spent his 'prenticed years before. 
 Good masters make good servants, and 'tis true, 
 The latter influence their masters too ; 
 An honest servant, careful and discreet. 
 In whom the humble virtues seem to meet, 
 Laborious, ti'usty, thoughtful, full of zeal. 
 To do his duty for a master's weal — 
 With such an one full half the task is done 
 By which a good employer's name is won. 
 The worthless oft are those who most complain, 
 Who seldom long in any place remain ; 
 From post to pillar buffeted about, 
 Wanting no aid when in to get them out. 
 These are the men who give an evil name 
 To what their own misconduct but became, 
 And like the fable proves, the weakest spoke 
 Is just the one most liable to croak. 
 
 The dreadful war which for so many years 
 Had deluged Europe's soil with blood and tears. 
 Wasting her treasure, drying up the springs 
 Whence wealth proceeds, on commerce-spreading 
 wings, 
 
 f2
 
 100 ARTHUR MERVYN: 
 
 Whilst ever and anon the booming guns 
 Were mowing down the noblest of her sons. 
 Peace spread her dove-like wings, and shrieking 
 
 fled, 
 Scared by the piles of slain, the countless dead, 
 And desolation stalked across the land, 
 A blood-stained sword clutch'd in one bony hand. 
 The other grasp'd and waved a burning brand. 
 The mutual slaughters, famine, and disease. 
 That ravaged earth and tainted every breeze, 
 Had decimated full the nation's youth, — 
 Drawn out to fall before the cannon's mouth, 
 To gorge the eagles with the flesh of men, 
 And lure the grim wolf fi'om his savage den. 
 Or cast to feed the monsters of the sea. 
 When navies struggled fierce for mastery. 
 This sacrificial drain upon the land 
 Made blood, and bones, and sinews in demand. 
 To gorge the war-fiend's all-devouring maw, 
 And take their turn for Pluto's realm below. 
 All means were used to tempt the headlong youth. 
 The ministers of heaven-descended truth 
 (Alas, by church and state communion quench'd) 
 On the recruiting sergeant's office trench'd,
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 101 
 
 And preach'd the spoiler's trade : extoU'd the man 
 
 Who blue or scarlet mounted, and began 
 
 To waste, and burn, and slay, and madly mar 
 
 The human form divme in horrid war. 
 
 Yes ! shame to say it, those would be successors 
 
 Of apostolic martyrs and confessors, 
 
 Of Him whose holy office, too, began 
 
 With "peace on earth and good will towards man," 
 
 In God's own house bray'd out the hero's name. 
 
 And loudly blew the brazen trump of fame : 
 
 The Christian temples echoed with the sound. 
 
 And martial deeds from vaulted roofs rebound : 
 
 They consecrated banners for the brave 
 
 To rush to battle where their colours wave, 
 
 And die around or bear them gallantly 
 
 O'er mangled bodies on to victory. 
 
 The tatter'd ensigns taken from the foe. 
 
 In high cathedrals hung, a dusky row, 
 
 Wave to the pealing anthem's lofty strain 
 
 As once they flutter'd on the sanguine plain. 
 
 For lopaeans rise, and joyous songs — 
 
 " The victory is God's — to him belongs 
 
 The breaking of the arrow and the bow, 
 
 The sword, the shield, the battle, and the foe."
 
 102 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 Thus will they dare profane his hallow'd shrine 
 With trophies stecp'd in blood, whose law divine 
 Forbad the strife of nations, and abhorr'd 
 The taking and the smiting with the sword : 
 And those who led the way to dusky death, 
 Amid the din of arms — whose latest breath 
 Was tainted with fierce hate, and scorn, and rage, 
 Which must exist where adverse hosts engage. 
 The captains and commanders sculptured lie 
 In monumental marble : Fie ! oh, fie ! 
 The sacred fane, the fervent men of old 
 Raised to the God of Peace, should now enfold 
 Within its hallow'd walls the effigies 
 Of spoilers of the earth, destroyers on the seas. 
 
 While men enlisted with a willing mind. 
 
 And sold themselves for hire to slay mankind, 
 
 While fail' persuasion was the only force 
 
 To enter them in such a bloody course. 
 
 However we may reprobate the end. 
 
 The means were such as none may discommend 
 
 We may regret the ignorant and poor 
 
 Should be enticed to steep themselves in gore ;
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 103 
 
 That Christian men, apostates to their creed, 
 Should basely lend their aid to such a deed, 
 And from the pulpit rouse the passion's strife 
 To headlong rage, destroying human life, 
 Yet liberty exists to go or stay. 
 The tempter may be safely kept at bay, 
 And if he yields, the object's own volition 
 Concurs in shaping thus his sad condition. 
 But what where tyrant rulers do not use 
 To give their bond-slaves privilege to choose ? 
 Declare a war without their first consent — 
 Against the count, to aid the men of Ghent — 
 To place an archduke on the throne of Spain, 
 Or crush a rival power on the main. 
 Subdue a nation struggling to be free. 
 By aiding despots in their tyranny. 
 And when arousing from their long repose 
 Of death-like sleep an outraged people rose. 
 And burst the galling, soul- degrading chain 
 That had on them and theirs for ages lain. 
 With insolent presumption thwart the choice 
 And interfere to stifle the free voice 
 Of independent men, whose sole consent 
 Had right to form their own self-government.
 
 104 ARTHUR mervyn: 
 
 To war in such a quarrel, and appeal 
 To arbitration of the murd'ring steel, 
 Is bad enough when willing agents bleed 
 To soften down the horrors of the deed : 
 But when to feed the havoc, and the drain 
 Arising from the wounded and the slain, 
 Eecourse is had to that thrice damning act, 
 Imjiressment ! to supply the numbers lack'd, 
 What curses from deep hell, what ban of shame 
 Can 1 invoke upon that wretch's name 
 Who dares resort to force, and so constrain. 
 Against his will, to serve upon the main. 
 Or in the martial ranks, a free-born man ? 
 Upon his head, dread Heaven, set thy ban ! 
 The mark of Cain upon his sullen brow, 
 May black remorse assail him — mock and mow 
 Revile his counsels, and confound his schemes; 
 May furies haunt him nightly in his dreams. 
 Till sorrow split his heart or drive him mad ! 
 Is this too bitter ? Then I would he had 
 The fate to be impressed — to drain the cup 
 He fill'd for others till he drank it up : 
 To toil and slave — and balsam for his woes 
 To reap a rich acknowledgment of blows.
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 105 
 
 Yet, here soft Pity whispers to my heart, 
 
 " You would not wish an enemy a part 
 
 So full of woe." Let this, then, be his 
 
 fate. 
 To live detested by all good men's hate ; 
 May his dark deeds arise in stern array, 
 To scare his soul until his dying day, 
 So may repentance deep assuage his sin, 
 That Heaven's portals he at length may win. 
 With deep regret I've ever heard the use 
 Of stealing men made subject of excuse — 
 Defended on the score, that in the main. 
 Our naval strength 'tis needful to sustain : 
 Perish the navy ! Perish England's power, 
 If to maintain it for a single hour 
 Such black injustice we must perpetrate ! — 
 There needs no prophet to foretel the fate 
 That such will be the end, or soon or late. 
 Of power based on human misery, 
 Scorning the sacred birthright of the free ; 
 Can nations thrive who wilfully contemn 
 The rights of man, and God's own law condemn? 
 In walls and guards the bastille may be strong, 
 Yet founded not on right, but crying wrong, — 
 
 F 3
 
 106 ARTHUR mervyn: 
 
 The captives wail, the curses of the brave, 
 
 Immured within it as a hving grave, 
 
 Its own misdeeds will draw destruction down. 
 
 And raze the crime-built structure to the ground : 
 
 The time must come, the cup shall overflow, 
 
 And fell destruction lay the spoilers low. 
 
 If to impress be right, then tell me where 
 
 That right should stop, or whoso should it spare, 
 
 The peer, the merchant, or the royal duke, 
 
 Would they this flagrant outrage tamely brook ? 
 
 Not these ! not these ? then where, say, should it 
 
 fall. 
 Upon the lordling, in his father's hall ? 
 The dapper tradesman, and the parson sleek. 
 The crafty lawyer, train'd to think and speak, 
 Or son of Galen smug, with hand so soft — 
 How would these do to clamber up aloft ? 
 To reef the topsails, rocking in the gale. 
 When brindled waves with coming rage look 
 
 pale ? 
 Yet, 'tis but just, the men who have a stake 
 (To use the canting phrase) the laws should take 
 To be their own defenders : for their loss 
 Would be the greatest should the foeman cross
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 107 
 
 The briny deep, and on old England's shore 
 The standard of invasion rear once more, 
 And fierce adventurers, with gloating eyes, 
 Look to her fair possessions as their prize : 
 To parcel out among their hungry bands 
 Her factories, her towns, and fertile lands. 
 What ! will ye dare to make the poor man be 
 (Whose sole possession is his poverty) 
 Your substitute ! and that against his will ! 
 Perdition catch the doers of such ill, 
 What has he got to lose if enemies 
 Should sweep our gallant navy from the seas, 
 And landing here, the British isles subdue. 
 What could his losses be compared to you ? 
 Would they deprive him of his poverty ? — 
 Make him a slave ! Why, if he now were free, 
 That would indeed be something : but while 
 
 he 
 Is made the prey of heartless tyranny, 
 Is liable, by laws accursed, to be 
 Torn from his home, his work, and native plains, 
 To serve where naval despotism reigns 
 With power uncontrolled : and ever still, 
 Against his own and at another's will,
 
 108 ARTHUR mervyn: 
 
 May thus be press'd uncheck'd, he is not free, 
 To call him so is but a mockery. 
 I trust that those will feel its vulture claw 
 Who tolerate (if any) such a law : 
 'Tis fitting that its advocates should first 
 Its working feel and ascertain the worst. — 
 In Devonshire, when summer decks the scene, 
 And forest glades assume a darker green, 
 When pasture-fields with buttercups look gay, 
 And sunny June succeeds to fragrant May, 
 From times of old, each village in rotation, 
 Sets days apart for sports and recreation : 
 They call them revels, famous for good cheer, 
 For mirth and skittles, wrestling, buns and beer: 
 The Sunday sacred to the Patron Saint, 
 Will usher in the long looked for event. 
 Then to the little church will crowds repair. 
 And strangers come to show themselves and stare: 
 Each good old Liver entertains his friends, 
 He first with them the parish church attends, 
 Then to the village alehouse, just to see 
 The busy, happy, well-pack'd company, 
 To taste the nut-brown ale and melting bun, 
 Pass his old jokes, and smiling, view the fun.
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 109 
 
 His guests, from country town or parish near, 
 
 Pailake his homely but his hearty cheer : 
 
 His table spread with good old English fare, 
 
 Their morning's walk or ride, inbracing air. 
 
 Will make them much enjoy, while smiles invite, 
 
 And pressing warm, to tax the appetite. 
 
 Perhaps, again, when comes the dewy eve, 
 
 If not too far, before the strangers leave, 
 
 They take a stroll to see the wake once more. 
 
 And gaze upon the frolics of the poor ; 
 
 The golden buns which melt within the mouth, 
 
 And ale and cider, to supply the drouth. 
 
 Have done their work, of each there is no dearth, 
 
 All tongues wag fast, and furious is the mirth. 
 
 The maiden sits upon her sweetheart's knee. 
 
 Or at his side, and who so gay as he. 
 
 The Sunday is a sort of rural fete, 
 
 To talk, be happy, and enjoy the treat: 
 
 The people in their best, their conduct, too, 
 
 More decorous, as of a tribute due. 
 
 On Monday afternoon, the sports begin. 
 
 Of manly contests, dear-loved fame to win ; 
 
 For fame is precious to the peasant's heart 
 
 As 'tis to those who play a higher part.
 
 110 ARTHUR MERVYN: 
 
 A love of glory — to be chicfcst, best — 
 
 Springs up spontaneous in the human breast: 
 
 Touch but that spring to which most souls vibrate, 
 
 And man will even dare a war with fate. 
 
 A prize to play at kayles, a gold-laced hat 
 
 To him who lays his adversaries flat, 
 
 In wrestling best, for which athletic game 
 
 The men of Devon long have had a name, 
 
 Two days are thus consumed — at least, were so — 
 
 I speak of matters thirty years ago, — 
 
 Now times are alter'd much, new manners cast 
 
 A shadow on this remnant of the past. 
 
 Revels, though still kept up in some degree, 
 
 Are not at all what they were wont to be ; 
 
 Perhaps 'tis for the best — I am not one 
 
 Prone to Avalk backwards, but to travel on ; 
 
 Association, poetry, romance 
 
 Point to the past, but reason says — Advance ! 
 
 The grown-up man may look with pleasure back 
 
 Upon his childhood's joys, yet sure would lack 
 
 A manly mind, if he would e'er return 
 
 To A, B, C, and penny primers leana. 
 
 As well might he enfold his stalwart frame 
 
 In garments that his infancy became. —
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. Ill 
 
 'Twas on a day, ere great Napoleon's fall 
 Had given jDeace to Europe and to Gaul, 
 That Stanniore held its revel, — far and near 
 The woods resounded to the ardent cheer. 
 The shout of triumph, or discordant groan 
 When some stout wrestler on his back was thrown, 
 For Stan more struggled hard to hold the game 
 Against the men of Woodcliff'e, Leigh, and Rame. — 
 For some time past the pressing had been hot 
 To man the Royal Navy — from his cot 
 They tore the peasant, took the fisherman, 
 And seize each merchant seaman when they 
 
 can, 
 Britain had need of men, for on her hands, 
 Besides the French — the children of those lands 
 Our fathers planted in the wilderness 
 Across the great Atlantic, angry press. 
 And threaten hateful war, and we had need 
 Against such men as these to take good heed : 
 They fought with better weapons than the foe, 
 Whose naval strength our own had brought so 
 
 low, 
 Descended like ourselves, they well maintain 
 The leaven of the fine old Saxon strain :
 
 112 ARTHUR MERVYN: 
 
 Their wide-spread commerce train'd them to the 
 
 seas, 
 And men and money were obtain'd with ease. 
 For ever from free institutions rise 
 Skill, courage, and enduring enterprise. 
 S2:)eaking a common language, they could drag 
 Our ablest sailors from the British flag, 
 And fight us with our own, and all this, too, 
 While English vessels lack'd a proper crew, 
 Would ye the reason know how this befel ? 
 Then mark the cause ! They paid their sailors 
 
 well, 
 Gave them good usage, treated them like men. 
 And not like muzzled wild beasts in a den. 
 While England, boasting of her wooden walls 
 As sure protectors of her hearths and halls. 
 The stout defenders of her sea-girt land, 
 Repaid the service with a niggard hand. 
 While millions squandered worthlessly away 
 In sinecures and pensions, these her stay, 
 Her arm of war, and buckler of defence, 
 Are sacrificed to save a small expense. 
 True that enough is spent, if well applied, 
 To keep our gallant seamen on our side,
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 113 
 
 But in this class-ruled forty shilling land 
 Votes must be purchased to obtain command, 
 And those who have them seize as lawful 
 
 prize 
 On army, navy, customs, and excise. 
 Yes, officers indeed are nowise scarce, 
 Which well reminds me of our school-boy 
 
 farce. 
 Playing at soldiers, every, youth would claim 
 A lofty title and a sounding name. 
 As captain, major, colonel, general stand. 
 But not a common soldier in the band. 
 I grant a body form'd without a head 
 Is badly off and might as well be dead. 
 But aggregate ones may have some relief. 
 And find within themselves an able chief. 
 The brave ten thousand, that immortal band 
 Of warlike Greeks, in Persia's adverse land 
 Their captain lost, and all their leaders gone. 
 Yet found in need a- greater, Xenophon. 
 And to come down to these our modern days. 
 Without detracting from the leader's praise. 
 The mighty victor who at Waterloo 
 BafHed his great antagonist, and threw
 
 114 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 Aside his genius — when he loudly bawl'd, 
 
 " Up Guards, and at them !" Came they not when 
 
 caird 
 To back his well-plann'd schemes, the head in 
 
 vain 
 Had form'd what hands were lacking to sustain. 
 An army may without its chief be lost, 
 But sure the latter must^ without the host, 
 Be powerless, were he as brave as Roland, 
 As Casar wdse, or skilful as Napoleon. 
 Oh ! were not votes a marketable ware. 
 Purchased with what a minister can spare 
 In way of office, sinecure, commission, 
 Our navy would not be in this condition : 
 Two thousand captains to a hundred sail. 
 Just twenty kept, lest one should chance to fail. 
 And admirals whose flags, if all unfurl'd, 
 Would more than serve the navies of the world. 
 What would be said by those who cry, retrench.^ 
 Instead of twenty judges on the bench. 
 We kept a staff" of ten times that amount. 
 Lest justice should be lacking at the fount? 
 Is it not vile, to every one employ'd. 
 There should be nineteen utterly devoid
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 115 
 
 Of needful occupation ? left to run 
 
 To waste or seed ? and idly in the sun 
 
 His manly years throw slothfully away, 
 
 Pining and grumbling, starving on half-])ay. 
 
 Who, but for this accursed system, would 
 
 His industry and skill have turn'd to good. 
 
 Flourish'd as merchant, tradesman, or mechanic, 
 
 Or broker, scheming for a rise or panic ; 
 
 Exceird as author, banker, engineer, 
 
 Perhaps laid by a thousand pounds a-year, 
 
 Instead of eating out his heart, to feel 
 
 The misery of beggary genteel. 
 
 Truly the system every way is ill, 
 
 Survey its various phases as you will. 
 
 The adage says, " that ease proceeds from use, 
 
 And habit will facility produce." 
 
 If " practice maketh perfect," then the plan 
 
 That takes so largely from the life of man 
 
 Removes him from the sea, for less or more 
 
 Than twenty years, to vegetate on shore : 
 
 In rusty ease to sleep his time away. 
 
 Apart from aught to keep his hand in play. 
 
 At any future time will be less fit 
 
 His duties to discharge ; because his wit
 
 116 ARTHUR MERVYN: 
 
 Is weaken'd by disuse, his knowledge less 
 
 Than where emergencies will often press 
 
 And stimulate his faculties to meet, 
 
 Whether as master of a sliip or fleet, 
 
 The face of danger, and to look it down, 
 
 Or cleave the whirling waters when they frown, 
 
 A man laid up for twenty years on shore 
 
 Can scarcely be so fit when billows roar. 
 
 Or whirlwinds lash the ocean into foam. 
 
 As he who long hath used it as a home, 
 
 O'er heaving surges fearlessly to ride, 
 
 To dare its madness in its hour of pride, 
 
 Baflle the fury of the winds and waves 
 
 When Folly casts away, but Wisdom saves. 
 
 If, then, this costly system does not tend 
 
 To forward what should be its chiefest end, 
 
 Our maritime efficiency, — remove 
 
 The useless mode experience doth prove 
 
 To be a worthless outlay — offer, then, 
 
 A better rate of wages to the men : 
 
 Give them good food, kind treatment, and protect 
 
 Themselves, their wives and orphans from neglect; 
 
 Receive their batter'd hulls, and grateful waft 
 
 To pleasant havens the distemper'd craft :
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 117 
 
 Reward the meritorious and thus, see 
 
 If gallant seamen from our flag will flee ! 
 
 We shall not need impressment, and shall save 
 
 Thousands of pounds : the skilful and the brave 
 
 Shall work our fleets, and men no more shall view 
 
 The ofiicers and ships without a crew. 
 
 The second day of revel at Stanmore 
 Was witnessing the standards playing o'er. 
 All was excitement, uproar, and dismay 
 Throughout the treble and quadruple play. 
 But when, at length, the favourite was thrown, 
 A mingled shout, half cheer and half a groan. 
 Bespoke the varied feelings of the ring, 
 Some cried, " Well done !" and some, " A settled 
 
 thing !" 
 " He gives his back — ' a sell' " — " No, no ! all 
 
 right !" 
 And then the uproar ended in a fight. — 
 Our hero, Arthur, had been on the ground. 
 As usual, thrown his man, until he found 
 A match to whom he, in his turn, must yield. 
 And measure out his length upon the field ;
 
 118 ARTHUR MERVYN: 
 
 Then laughing, rose, yet looking not o'er wise 
 At losing thus his credit, and the prize. — 
 Leaving the scene of contest, late at night, 
 Arthur and two companions took the right. 
 Passing the little church, and by the burn. 
 Until it made a somewhat sudden turn: 
 Then down a narrow lane, which led away. 
 Along the vale, to where their farm-house lay. 
 The air was clear and calm, and softly cool, 
 And back from rushing brook and reedy pool 
 The moonbeams glimmered on the stilly night. 
 While shone the stars with mild and steady light. 
 Delicious rose upon the dewy air. 
 Scenting the valley with its odour rare, 
 The fragrant sweetness of the new made hay. 
 Which o'er the verdant meadows thickly lay ; 
 The startled blackbird fluttered from her nest 
 As their loud laugh disturbed her quiet rest. 
 And rung with careless glee athwart the glade ; 
 Talking in earnest tones, their way they made 
 Through quiet lanes to reach their own abode. 
 Until they came to cross the turnpike road, 
 But scarcely had they entered there, when, lo ! 
 A sudden grapple from an ambush'd foe,
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 119 
 
 Seized each man by the collar and the arm, 
 And struck them dumb with wonder and alarm. 
 A rapid movement with the heel and toe, 
 Laid one of Arthur's captors quickly low, 
 And shook the other off, but instantly 
 Two others seized him ere he well was free ; 
 The sudden movement and the great dismay, 
 Had made the others fall an easy prey. 
 The struggle past, a would-be wheedling voice 
 Begg'd to inquire if they would make their choice 
 To serve the king at sea, who wanted men. 
 And would be glad such lads to entertain. 
 A burst of indignation from the three 
 Who all declared they would not go to sea, 
 Was met with jeers and scoffs ; and they were told 
 They might as well go freely, for then gold 
 Would be some consolation, and their due. 
 For go they must, howe'er averse thereto. 
 Chafing with rage, the men exclaimed and swore, 
 Threatened the gang, and many follies more, 
 For such they were, to reason with a band 
 Of armed ruffians, with the upper hand. 
 But one poor fellow begged to be set free. 
 And as a last resort, advanced the plea,
 
 120 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 His wedding-day was fixt, and would they part 
 
 Two lovers thus, and trifle with the heart ? 
 
 At this a peal of noisy laughter broke 
 
 From all the crew, with ribaldry and joke, 
 
 And though our Arthur by soft pity moved 
 
 Offered to do what else he disapproved. 
 
 Become a volunteer, and go to sea. 
 
 If they would only set his comrade free, 
 
 They still refused, and said the girl must stay, 
 
 Her love would keep to some more distant day ; 
 
 Perhaps she'd prove a termagant, and scold, 
 
 At all events was certain to grow old. 
 
 While, he might if he please, possess a wife 
 
 In every port, and lead a merry life ; 
 
 A sweetheart, too, was just the thing to be 
 
 A sailor's star and compass when at sea. 
 
 The bivouac and ambush soon was raised. 
 
 And, with two more whom they had likewise seized, 
 
 They beat a quick retreat, for with a view 
 
 Of catching stragglers, had the press-gang crew 
 
 Been sent to lie in wait; they dared not go 
 
 Where their appearance would have raised a foe 
 
 Too numerous to cope with ; they knew well 
 
 That hatred deep, as ever legends, tell.
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 121 
 
 Burnt in the souls of Britain's peasantry, 
 
 Against the robbers of their liberty ; 
 
 That all as in a common cause would act 
 
 If any at the revel were attack'd. 
 
 And with such odds, the dangers of a fray, 
 
 Were more than what their heads would like to pay 
 
 When stalwart arms, and hearts indignant burn, 
 
 The galling chains of slavery to spurn. 
 
 Without the power to communicate, 
 
 Or bring their friends acquainted with their fate, 
 
 Like felons, or like men whose evil deeds 
 
 Had made no worthier than noxious weeds, 
 
 They forced them onwards with unwilling feet 
 
 To Plymouth dock, and then aboard the fleet. 
 
 In vain their efforts to obtain release, 
 
 The men were poor, and could not purchase peace, 
 
 Too mean and lowly, freedom to procure, 
 
 Born to be ruled, and therefore to endure ; 
 
 Should such as these possess an equal choice 
 
 With men of acres, whose potential voice 
 
 Is heard in senates ? To remain on land, 
 
 Go here or there, regardless of command ? 
 
 No ! ruin dire must be old England's fate 
 
 If e'er reduced to such a wretched state. 
 
 G
 
 122 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 What's liberty and life, compared I pray 
 To the possession of some roods of clay ? 
 Or merit, though of limitless amount 
 To rascal dross — (for settling an account!) 
 It once was said " the life is more than meat, 
 The body more than raiment," yes 'tis sweet, 
 " A man will give the whole he hath to save 
 His life from being swallowed in the grave." 
 Surely this must be wrong — on Britain's soil 
 The men whose active skill and daily toil 
 Make all her wealth — are held in less regard 
 Than what is only labour's rich reward. 
 The means of life is more than life itself, 
 And human souls of less esteem than pelf. 
 Dispersed each man on board a difF'rent ship, 
 They found no means to give them all the slip. 
 For closely watch'd and tether'd to their post. 
 The tyrants kept them while upon the coast ; 
 Arthur was entered on the Argo's books. 
 And here his active frame and sprightly looks, 
 Made him find favour in the captain's eyes 
 And officers', who valued such a prize. 
 When first they put to sea, the usual fate 
 Of wretched landsmen lessened not his hate
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 123 
 
 Towards the service, manned by such a course 
 Of mean entrapping, and detested force. 
 His soul and body equally were sick. 
 Loathing the sea, and doubly so the trick 
 That brought him there ; and in his secret heart 
 He swore when chance should offer, to depart, 
 No laws should keep him, and no ties should 
 
 bind, 
 Nor love of king, of country, nor of kind. 
 Country, indeed ! a bitter stepdame she 
 To treat like slaves her helpless progeny. 
 Upon the deep Atlantic's heaving wave. 
 He longed at times to find therein a grave. 
 Weaken'd by fasting, and by sickness torn, 
 He felt so helpless, wretched and forlorn, 
 As not to wish to live, but would have joy'd 
 Could he some friendly comrade have employ'd 
 To take him up and cast him in the sea 
 And end at once his life and misery. 
 But yet had Heaven opened to his eyes, 
 He could not for himself have won the prize. 
 If to obtain it he must act or rise. 
 Such the prostration that sea-sickness brings. 
 On slaves or heroes, demigods, or kings ; 
 
 G 2
 
 124 ARTHUR mervyn: 
 
 Nor wit, nor wisdom, wealth, nor rank, it spares, 
 And racks the learned head with selfish cares. 
 But most things have an end, and this at last 
 Ceased to torment him, and the nausea past. 
 For eighteen months or more, upon the coast 
 Of Canada, the ship was at her post, 
 While England and the Union of the States, 
 By folly urged, or some say by the fates 
 Were warring fierce, and trying, with their might. 
 Which could inflict the most outrageous spite. 
 They burnt each other's towns, and ravaged lands. 
 Imbrued in brother's blood their kindred hands. 
 Loosed the wild Indian at each other's throats. 
 Who scream'd his war-cry forth ; the hideous notes 
 Resounding through the forest, were the knell 
 Of many gallant hearts, to whom that yell 
 Spoke of despair and death, and bitter hate. 
 The red man's vengeance for his own sad fate. 
 When like two dogs contending for a bone 
 (Most truly worthless if enjoyed alone, 
 But doubly so if purchased by a fray,) 
 They found that even he who won the day 
 Had many wounds, but very little food, 
 A certain evil for uncertain good.
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 125 
 
 They thought it fit hostilities should cease, 
 
 And entered into articles of peace. 
 
 The war concluded, orders were dispatched 
 
 To bring the Argo home, when Arthur snatch'd 
 
 The blissful chance, his wages in his hand, 
 
 To leave the ship, and once more tread the land. 
 
 He did not wait to spend his dear-bought gains. 
 
 The fruit of all his dangers and his pains. 
 
 Amid the scenes of riot and excess 
 
 Of horrid oaths and brutal drunkenness, 
 
 In which too oft the sailor madly wastes 
 
 That gold, to gratify his swinish tastes, 
 
 Which he has bought with blood and galling toil, 
 
 The price of hardships, or the fruit of spoil. 
 
 Throughout his term of service, he had borne 
 
 Against that system, which had rudely torn 
 
 Himself and fellows fi'om their native land 
 
 By despotism's rude and ruffian hand, 
 
 Enduring hate, which rankled in his mind. 
 
 And left the sense of injury behind. 
 
 This made him loathe the sea, and ever still 
 
 To hold his purpose with a steadfast will. 
 
 That nought should keep him, could he ever flee, 
 
 A willing slave, whose right was to be free.
 
 126 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 With this resolve, he wore a cheerful face, 
 Content to do his duty for a space 
 Where he perforce was cast, as sullenness 
 Would not conduce to make his evils less, 
 But might afflict him more ; among the crew. 
 His kindly nature soon in favour gi-ew. 
 The officers perceived the ready zeal 
 With which he laboured for the common weal. 
 And tried his best the seaman's part to act, 
 Pleased with his civil tongue and ready tact ; 
 Whate'er he felt, he kept his counsel well, 
 Content to bide his time, and thus it fell 
 That when paid off, no shadow of suspicion 
 Arose, of hatred to his late condition ; 
 Had that occurred, he would have found it hard 
 To 'scape the crimps and boatswain's watchful 
 
 guard. 
 By far too good a man to lightly lose. 
 He must be kept by violence or by ruse. 
 Let but the vilest slave touch British earth. 
 And though a thrall and bondsman from his 
 
 birth. 
 There is a magic in it can transmute 
 The dross to gold, and raise above the brute
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 127 
 
 To his true i-ank among the sons of God, 
 A human soul — erstwhile a moving clod ; 
 From his freed limbs the fetters melt away, 
 He springs new-born from the Promethean clay ; 
 But they, the heirs and children of the soil, 
 The native born, if poor, by whose hard toil 
 England is great and wealthy, wise, and free — 
 (No loving mother but a stepdame she,) 
 Find their true birthright fettered by a chain 
 Forged by the cruel hands of countrymen. 
 A noisy band in wild excitement bent. 
 To live as madmen till their gold was spent. 
 Proceeded to the haunts where most resort 
 The reckless seamen when arrived in port, 
 In loathsome scenes of foul, disgusting vice, 
 To dissipate with speed the slender price 
 Of days and nights of toil ; the sickeu'd soul 
 Turns with a shudder from this horrid goal. 
 For gallant men to look at as a home. 
 In the short periods when they cease to roam. 
 I fear that those whose influence would check 
 These sad excesses, which too often wreck 
 Health, morals, pocket, everything indeed 
 That men should value, pay but little heed,
 
 128 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 Connive, if not encourage in their crew, 
 
 The brutal riot wliich they thus pursue. 
 
 Do they endeavour when beneath their rule. 
 
 To teach them better than to play the fool ? 
 
 Do they afford instruction, and impress 
 
 Upon their minds, the sin of such excess ? 
 
 The captain reigns with most despotic sway, 
 
 More like a sultan or an eastern bey, 
 
 His word is law, no rival there at hand 
 
 To thwart or check him in his high command ; 
 
 Did he direct to run the ship on shore, 
 
 Or crowd all sail when sweeping whirlwinds roar. 
 
 Against a reef of rocks to turn the helm. 
 
 Where fearful billows wait to overwhelm 
 
 The fated ship ; or in the maelstroom, 
 
 To court the horrors of so dread a doom, 
 
 To dare the dogs of Scylla, or to ride 
 
 Where fell Charybdis rolls her awful tide. 
 
 However madly wicked, wild, or weak, 
 
 His orders are, the sailor must not speak 
 
 Nor disobey, on pain of martial law, 
 
 Though certain death should from his orders flow. 
 
 If then the power such for good or ill. 
 
 How tnuch might be effected, were the will
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 129 
 
 Exerted in behalf of virtue's cause, 
 In teaching men to reverence the laws 
 Of nature's God, and aid the blinded soul 
 To burst the bonds of sensual control ; 
 But no ! the wise and worthy notion rules. 
 That to fight well, the class of knaves and fools. 
 Wild, reckless men, regardless of to-morrow. 
 Who drink confusion to all care and sorrow. 
 Are best adapted ; fittest to be made 
 Dull food for powder in the slayer's trade ; 
 Fair living targets, just to stop the balls 
 When from the bulwark of his wooden walls 
 The British lion roars ; or takes the field. 
 And strikes the bosses of his sounding shield. 
 Perhaps they're right, it argues no great wit 
 That any man should ever think it fit 
 To stand up to be shot at for the pay 
 Of coarse black bread and fourteen pence a day. 
 And so they keep them ignorant and poor, 
 That dupes may still be willing as of yore. 
 With money just received in Portsmouth yard, 
 A band proceeded to the Common Hard, 
 Wild was their mirth and boisterous the glee. 
 With which they hail'd the prospect of a spree ; 
 
 g3
 
 130 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 Led by a warrant officer or two, 
 Apparently the foremost of the crew 
 In keen desire to snatch the passing hour 
 Of short release from arbitrary power, 
 But who were there as much to spur them on 
 To wild excess, that when the gold was gone 
 They might be just at hand to lead them back, 
 To join such ship as seamen chanced to lack. 
 Soon at another house of choice resort, 
 One of the many found in such a port, 
 With floods of grog were placed a noisy band. 
 Shouting and swearing, while in every hand 
 The ever-prized tobacco-pipe is found 
 Spreading a cloud of stifling vapour round. 
 Drest in his gayest suit, and on his back. 
 Each under garment that he well could pack, 
 Arthur had joined his comrades for the day. 
 Intending when he could to steal away. 
 He took no parcel in his hand to show 
 That he a journey inland thought to go, 
 But left the rest on board, as if he meant 
 To join again whene'er the cash was spent. 
 His money well secured, with seeming zest. 
 He shared the mirth and pleasure of the rest,
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 131 
 
 Yet drank with moderation ; all but he 
 Soon showed the marks of having made too free. 
 In louder tones their noisy clamour rose, 
 While words at times seem'd tending fast to blows. 
 When towards evening, from the clash of tongues, 
 Proceeded stories, boastings, oaths, and songs, 
 A mingled din, and each one seem'd intent 
 On his peculiar source of merriment, 
 Arthur arose, and unobserved withdrew. 
 To put in force what he had thought to do ; 
 Leaving the house, with busy feet he sped 
 Along the streets, to where a drawbridge led 
 Beyond the walls that girdled Portsmouth round ; 
 Passing the archway, soon himself he found, 
 Leaving with hasty strides the town behind, 
 Cheered by the pleasant hopes that fill'd his mind 
 'Of being once more uncontroll'd and free. 
 Safe from the toils and dangers of the sea. 
 Taking the London road he travell'd on. 
 While overhead the moon with lustre shone, 
 Serenely coursing through the fields of air ; 
 Now in the depths of ether, still and fair. 
 Her placid face reflects a silver light. 
 And, from her radiance, earth appears more bright.
 
 13-2 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 Anon, enveloped in a fleecy cloud, 
 Which spreads its gauzy texture like a shroud, 
 To dim the pearly brightness of that face, 
 The type of beauty, harmony, and grace. 
 Rising above the flat, the way he went 
 Now pointed upwards with a slight ascent; 
 Gaining the top, he paused to look around, 
 And listen to a low and distant sound ; 
 Along the silent air, upwafted, steals 
 A hollow rumble like the noise of wheels ; 
 Nearer it comes, he hears the steady beat 
 And heavy trampling of the horses' feet. 
 Till close at hand the Evening London Mail 
 Pulls up responsive to his cheerful hail. 
 A moment served to take an outside place, 
 Wlien on again they press, with rapid pace, 
 O'er barren heaths they hold their lonely way, 
 Through fields and forest glades ; until the day 
 Burst from the lap of night, and gaily flung 
 A cheerful ruddy glow upon the throng 
 Of countless houses, columns, domes, and spires. 
 Which sparkled in the distance, as the fires 
 Of Phoebus' beams were from his chariot hurl'd, 
 And lighted up again the one half world.
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 133 
 
 'Twas London now in sight, whose vastness meets 
 The gazer's eye, and, thund'ring through the streets, 
 The smoking horses rush, until they gain, 
 The welcome inn where they are to remain. 
 Alighting here, our Arthur paid his fare. 
 Then wander'd forth, and ere he was aware 
 Became absorb'd in that unceasing stream, 
 (Swift rolling on like objects in a dream,) 
 Of busy life which throng the streets of town, 
 Pressing as if to run each other down. 
 Gazing with wonder at the novel scene, 
 So strange to one who hitherto had been 
 Accustomed from his youth to haunt the grove, 
 The field, or open down, perhaps to rove 
 At times through Plymouth streets, at periods rare, 
 And who of late had only had a share 
 Of some few yards of space to stand and sleep. 
 In England's wooden walls upon the deep. 
 The noble horses, coaches, carts, and drays. 
 That thunder'd on, or stopt the crowded ways, 
 The gorgeous shops, the clamour, and the cries. 
 Excite his mind with wonder and surprise. 
 And so he wandered on throughout the day, 
 He could not lose, because he had no way,
 
 134 ARTHUR mervyn: 
 
 'Twas all alike to him, the east or west, 
 With money either would provide a rest 
 To lay his head at night or fill his mouth, 
 But, that ingredient wanting, north or south 
 Might all be traversed, and explored in vain — 
 He'd merely get the trouble for his pain. 
 Weary at length with wandering about, 
 He sought a cheap and lowly ale-house out 
 Wherein to lodge, and gladly went to bed 
 Ere night again her sable wings had spread. 
 Refresh' d with sleep, next morning when he 
 
 rose 
 He issued forth to change his sailor's clothes, 
 And got instead a simple fustian suit. 
 Giving the old and a small sum to boot. 
 His object henceforth was to shun the sea, 
 And take his labour where he might be free, 
 This thought possess'd his mind, and much he 
 
 weigh' d, 
 The many reasons that his judgment sway'd. 
 To settle here or there ; his spirit yearn'd 
 To see his native hills, but there return'd 
 What should preserve him from a second wrong 
 More than at first, if need should rouse the strong.
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 135 
 
 No ! that was running in the lion's mouth, 
 To seek again his dear and native south. 
 A midland county, far from any port, 
 Where sailors congregate or ships resort. 
 Would keep him safest, when the tyrant's plea 
 Again required fresh conscripts for the sea. 
 A few days more, and he was on his way 
 To Birmingham, intending there to stay 
 And seek employment in the iron trade. 
 Or aught by which a living might be made. 
 His genius for mechanics bade him try 
 His fortune first in what appeared to lie 
 In that peculiar province, though he meant 
 To be not over squeamish, but content 
 With what should offer, so that honest toil 
 Should win a living on old England's soil. 
 'Twas hard indeed, if, with his clerkly skill, 
 His knowledge of accounts, and, better still, 
 A most ingenious persevering mind, 
 Determined to succeed, he could not find 
 An opening somewhere to afford him scope 
 For realizing all he dared to hope. 
 The gold reserved when he received his pay. 
 Well husbanded against a rainy day.
 
 136 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 Would keep hira with economy, ft'om want 
 For many weeks, should labour prove but scant. 
 With health and buoyant spirits he set forth 
 To take his journey to the busy north, 
 On foot he went, and in his strong right hand, 
 He grasp'd a sturdy cudgel, for a wand 
 To aid him on the road, a little pack. 
 Now on his arm and some time on his back. 
 Walking — and riding when he had the chance, 
 He thus continued swiftly to advance. 
 Sometimes a butcher's cart or farmer's wain 
 Would take him up, and set him down again 
 Refresh'd, and fit to walk another stage, 
 Or till some other mode he could engage. 
 A road side alehouse sheltered him at night. 
 And sent him forth again with morning light, 
 At little cost, his journey to pursue. 
 Until some lofty chimneys came in view. 
 Rolling their murky clouds of smoke on high, 
 To black the houses and obscure the sky, 
 And din of hammers striking on his ear, 
 Proclaim'd the town of Birmingham was near. 
 Arrived at length, his care was first to seek 
 For humble lodgings rented by the week.
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 137 
 
 At some low charge proportioned to the state 
 His purse was in, and prospects at that date. 
 After a day or two in quiet spent 
 In resting to recover, forth he went 
 To look around, and see what could be seen, 
 Pick up the news, and information glean. 
 To guide him in his search ; day after day, 
 He tried without success to find some way 
 Of maintenance, above the lowest class. 
 His genius without practice could not pass 
 The muster as a subaltern, nor reach 
 A point where he in theory might teach. 
 Unknown to anv whom he could refer 
 Inquirers for a proof of character. 
 Unfriended, and a stranger, how should he 
 Procure a place of trust, or hope to be 
 Blind fortune's minion, and obtain her smiles 
 Which every adverse circumstance beguiles ? 
 Mere labour he could easily obtain. 
 But his strong inclination was to gain 
 A footing in some workshop, where his will 
 Would force him on to gain mechanic skill. 
 Failing this cherish'd object, he began 
 To enter into treaty with a man,
 
 138 ARTHUR mervyn: 
 
 A common blacksmith, for a premium paid, 
 A trifling sum, to learn the other's trade ; 
 'Twould clear his cash remaining, while his 
 
 pay, 
 
 Until a year at least had passed away, 
 
 Would be but small — barely enough to be 
 
 A meagre living, with economy. 
 
 This, or to live and work a year for nought. 
 
 Supplied with food, was what the other sought. — 
 
 Crossing one day some path-fields near the 
 
 town. 
 Revolving all these things, his head bent down. 
 And musing sadly what was best to do, 
 He spied a little book half hid from view 
 Within a tuft of grass, upon the ground ; 
 Taking it up, he quickly glanced around, 
 But no one was in sight ; with anxious look. 
 He opened to inspect the pocket-book, 
 When lo ! a roll of bills, of bulky size, 
 Appear'd within, before his wond'ring eyes: 
 Two hundred pounds, he found, was the amount, 
 With other things of more or less account ; 
 (Papers and memoranda, which, indeed. 
 Worthless to him, he did not stay to read,)
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 139 
 
 A sum of fourteen guineas, and a name. 
 
 In fair round hand, which told who own'd the 
 
 same, 
 His residence, and where he might be found. 
 Which thus he learnt before he left the ground. 
 It chanced 'twas one to whom he had applied 
 A few days since for work, and been denied, 
 Though civilly — a maker of machines 
 And implements — of comfortable means, 
 Though not engaged in quite so large a 
 
 way 
 As many other makers of the day. 
 Without a moment's doubt or hesitation 
 As to the proper use and application 
 Of what he thus had found, for well he knew 
 That honesty forbade, and justice, too. 
 To keep what was another's right to own, 
 That other owner being likewise known, 
 He turn'd to find his house, without a thought 
 That he was doing other than he ought : 
 Integrity in him was far too sti'ong 
 To wish to do, though he had suffer'd wrong. 
 For every justly regulated mind 
 Will only think of holding what they find
 
 140 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 As trustees for the loser, nor advance 
 
 Their own success by other men's mischance. 
 
 Ten minutes' walking, at an active pace, 
 
 Brought him in sight of Mr. Redmond's place, 
 
 Whom straightway he inquired for and found 
 
 (Attended by his clerks, who stood around) 
 
 In seeming perturbation, talking fast 
 
 And anxiously of something that had pass'd : 
 
 He heard the sound of " twenty pounds reward" 
 
 " Advertisement" — while one seem'd writing hard, 
 
 As taking do^^^l instructions : — with a smile, 
 
 Arthur advanced, and begg'd to speak awhile 
 
 With Mr. Redmond : — in a hasty way, 
 
 The latter ask'd him what he had to say. 
 
 " I call, sir, just to ask if you have been 
 
 In Hardmere fields this morning, near the Green, 
 
 And if so, whether you have lost a book ?" 
 
 " Yes !" cried the other, with an eager look, 
 
 " A scarlet one, with pockets at the sides 
 
 For notes and papers, which the book divides. 
 
 Two hundred pounds in bills, besides some gold. 
 
 And other papers which I leave untold. 
 
 Because my name, profession, and address 
 
 Is written there in full — a proof express.
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 141 
 
 See !" he exclaim'd, " that notice Avriting there, 
 
 We even now to advertise prepare!" 
 
 " It is enough," said Arthur, " without doubt, 
 
 This pocket-book is yours," and drew it out: 
 
 " I'm very happy to relieve your mind. 
 
 By thus returning what I chanced to find 
 
 Within this hour : examine, sir, and say, 
 
 If all remains as when 'twas lost to-day." 
 
 Taking the book, he look'd the papers through. 
 
 Counted the bank notes, and the guineas, too. 
 
 The memoranda — all that it contain'd ! 
 
 Then looking up, he said, " Indeed, my friend. 
 
 There's not a tittle missing that I find : 
 
 Truly, I'm much indebted for the kind 
 
 And honest feeling which has brought you here, 
 
 Saving me much anxiety and fear, 
 
 For papers of more consequence to me 
 
 Than were the gold and notes which here you see 
 
 Were likewise lost : and now I fain would know, 
 
 Besides my hearty thanks, what more I owe. 
 
 To recompense the debt thus far incurr'd, 
 
 Speak what you think, and tell me at a word." 
 
 " I bring you not in debt, sir," Arthur cried ; 
 
 " I thought not of reward, nor aught beside,
 
 142 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 In bringing you your own, but just to do 
 
 What I should wish myself to reap from you, 
 
 You are most welcome to the little good 
 
 That I have done: for be it understood. 
 
 It cost me nothing but the coming here, 
 
 And honesty compell'd me to appear." 
 
 " Nay," cried the other, " you have fairly earn'd 
 
 The full reward to have this book return'd 
 
 That I was taking steps to advertise 
 
 When you came in, so timely, with the prize. 
 
 This twenty pounds is certainly your due. 
 
 And which, with many thanks, I tender you." 
 
 A thrill of pleasure ran through Arthur's veins. 
 
 As once he thought of how his slender means 
 
 Would be improved by owning such a sum. 
 
 To make provision for the time to come : 
 
 'T would pay the smith his premium, and thus give 
 
 A prospect for the future, how to live : 
 
 But then he thought, again, it was not right 
 
 To tax so heavy for an act so slight : 
 
 Or take advantage of a gen'rous soul, 
 
 Whom gratitude, at losing not the whole, 
 
 Would lead to pay so bountiful a price 
 
 For doing what implied no sacrifice :
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 143 
 
 And answering, he said, " I cannot make 
 My conscience up, so large a sum to take, 
 For just the little trouble that I took 
 In lifting up, and bringing here, a book : 
 It matters not that it contain'd much wealth, 
 It was not mine, unless 'twere so by stealth, 
 And that, I hope, though destitute and poor, 
 Will never be a burden at my door : 
 A guinea will sufficiently repay 
 The little service I have done to-day." 
 Pleased and surprised such sentiments to hear, 
 So well befitting of a higher sphere, 
 The master stood, and gazing for a space, 
 Replied, " I seem familiar with your face, 
 Pray have you not been lately to apply 
 For labour here ?" The other, with a sigh, 
 Responded, " Yes ! I've been a weary round !" 
 " And have you not as yet employment found ?" 
 " No, sir ! there was no vacancy with some, 
 Others, again, would ask me whence I come — 
 And why so far from home: I coidd not give 
 A reference, save only where I live, 
 And there I am a stranger, known to fame. 
 By just a fortnight's sojourn and my name."
 
 144 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 (( 
 
 Well," said the other, smiling, " if you will, 
 We'll try to find a place for you to fill. 
 We need no better surety, than the fact 
 Of having known you do a worthy act; 
 'Tis Tuesday now, on Friday come again, 
 If you, on trial, answer, to remain 
 Here, take this pen, and let me see you write !" 
 Then holding up the paper to the light, 
 " Ah ! this will do," he cried ; " 'tis firm and plain. 
 Now you may go ! on Friday come again." 
 With fourteen guineas, Arthur took liis leave, 
 (This Mr. Redmond forced him to receive,) 
 And went, with joyous spirits, to his home, 
 Cheer'd by the hopes of better days to come. 
 His conscience pleased at having acted right, 
 Soothed him by day, and in his dreams at night 
 He saw in long perspective, wealth and fame, 
 A life of virtue, and an honour'd name. — 
 The intervening time was rightly spent. 
 In qualifying for the hoped event: 
 He wrote and cast accounts incessantly, 
 And thus acquired renew'd facility. 
 On Friday, when he went, a junior place, 
 A sort of common clerkship, for a space.
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 145 
 
 Was given him, to overlook and keep 
 
 Minor accounts, which learning not too deep 
 
 Was equal to, and forty pounds a-year — 
 
 And further, what he greatly did prefer, 
 
 His duty led him where he oft could see 
 
 The form and structure of machinery : 
 
 In this his genius fitted him to take 
 
 An active part, and often would he make 
 
 Some shrewd suggestion, tending to improve 
 
 The form in some, in others to remove 
 
 Defects in power, structure, or design : — 
 
 Thus placed where he had scope and heart to 
 
 shine, 
 His zeal was not unmark'd, and by his skill 
 Display'd in some improvements in a mill, 
 His master's trade was soon so much enlarged 
 That workmen needed not to be discharged, 
 But others taken on, and Arthur's pay, 
 Before the first twelve months had pass'd away. 
 Was made two pounds per week, with leave to 
 
 take 
 What time he pleased experiments to make : 
 Attentive to his duty, he would stay 
 Sometimes through half the night as well as day, 
 
 H
 
 146 ARTHUR mervyn: 
 
 Engaged in fitting some new wheel or spring, 
 
 Careless of time and every outward thing. 
 
 He wrought himself, acquired the workman's art, 
 
 And thus his own ideas could impart 
 
 In surest fashion, palpable, direct. 
 
 Or bad designs in principle detect. 
 
 Thus he invented and turn'd out of hand 
 
 A roasting apparatus, wisely plann'd, 
 
 Fuel and labour to economize, 
 
 In a utensil of a mod'rate size. 
 
 Thousands of these were sold : as patentees 
 
 His masters join'd him, paying all the fees ; 
 
 This was the first that on his own account 
 
 He so partook of, saving what amount 
 
 His kind employers, generous and just, 
 
 Forced him to take, or held for him in trust. 
 
 Their house, erewhile but third or second rate, 
 
 Was fast approaching to the first estate, 
 
 Acquiring credit for superior ware. 
 
 Chiefly produced by one man's skill and care. 
 
 In useful labours pass'd three years away, 
 
 While Arthur, still improving day by day, 
 
 Was by his steady, upright, honest course, 
 
 And enterprising skill, the fruitful source 

 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 147 
 
 Of profit to his masters, whose esteem 
 He firmly won : his conduct was the theme 
 Of their eulogium, as they held him forth 
 A model for his probity and worth, 
 A bright example, whom they bade to mark 
 And try to learn of him, each junior clerk. 
 He now was in the annual receipt 
 Of full five hundred pounds, no sum unmeet 
 For such desert, besides the extra gold 
 Derived from movements patented and sold. 
 He oftentimes appeal 'd, an honour'd guest, 
 At either master's board, on days of rest, 
 Who gladly paid to merit honour due. 
 Though found in one who had been poor, 'tis true, 
 Yet, by his genius, industry, and sense, 
 Might mix with nature's kings without offence. 
 His next invention was a new machine 
 For lifting heavy weights, on which was seen 
 A novel movement, working like a pump 
 In double action, that a cumbrous lump 
 When raised would not recede, but firmly stand. 
 And need no holding by the workman's hand : 
 Up stroke and down, its power was the same, 
 Still speeding up, and ever where it came, 
 
 H 2
 
 148 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 The click retain'd it, while the working gear 
 
 Righted itself, and kept the power clear : 
 
 Simple yet strong, the leverage was such 
 
 To lift a ton scarce needed but a touch. 
 
 This caused such noise, that overtures were made 
 
 To enter him a partner in the trade, — 
 
 His masters so determined, to retain 
 
 Such services, lest he might not remain : 
 
 For many were the tempting offers sent 
 
 To draw him off, if such were his intent. 
 
 Though Arthur's grateful mind paid no regard 
 
 To those attempts, 'twas fitting to reward 
 
 At once his skill and honourable sense, 
 
 By thus promoting him in self-defence. — 
 
 Behold him now, that poor and orphan boy, 
 
 Whose youth had pass'd with scarce one gleam of 
 
 Whom dark affliction cradled in her arms, 
 Rock'd with misfortune's deep and dire alarms ; 
 Whose budding manhood saw him made the 
 
 prey 
 Of cursed oppression's arbitrary sway, 
 Condemn'd by brutal violence to brave 
 The toils and dangers of the ocean wave —
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 149 
 
 Now, by his ardent, persevering mind, 
 
 And honest worth, with skill and sense combined. 
 
 Rising to honour, competence, and fame, 
 
 A wealthy station, and an envied name. 
 
 Deep in his inmost soul did Arthur feel 
 
 What still he strove by actions to reveal, 
 
 A thankfulness for benefits confei-r'd, 
 
 Which warm'd his zeal and all his being 
 
 stirr'd. 
 With unremitting ardour he applied 
 His time and skill, for nought he had beside 
 To business, its interest to promote — 
 He schemed, invented, calculated, wrote, 
 More for liis honoured pai'tners — to repay 
 The debt he owed by all that in him lay. 
 And these endeavours met with full success. 
 Their trade increased — though seasons of distress 
 Disturb'd the nation, from the rough recoil 
 Of war's reaction on the British soil. 
 At home their wares were spread throughout the 
 
 land. 
 Abroad they also met a fair demand. 
 And when 'twas thought a voyage might be made. 
 To carry further still their thriving trade,
 
 150 ARTHUR MERVYN. 
 
 Across the great Atlantic, Arthur went, 
 
 And many months with much advantage spent 
 
 At New York, Boston, Washington, and where 
 
 His mission led him: having time to spare, 
 
 And mixing freely, as a merchant may 
 
 Of name and skill, wherever through his stay 
 
 He chanced to be, with men of sense and 
 
 worth. 
 Who look'd not to the accident of birth. 
 He left that country polisli'd and improved, 
 Grateful for kindness shown where'er he moved. 
 And bearing with him the substantial proofs 
 Of pleasant profit drawn beneath their roofs. 
 In useful labours time flew swiftly by, 
 (With idlers only is it slow to fly) 
 And brought increasing fame and well-earned 
 
 wealth ; 
 Active and buoyant, with the glow of health. 
 In the full prime of manhood, fair and tall. 
 And growing rich : in high repute with all, 
 Who knew his worth, Arthur might now aspire 
 And lift his eyes, if such were his desire, 
 Among the merchants round, to choose a wife, 
 Who, disregarding all his former life,
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 151 
 
 Would gladly of their fairest daughters give 
 
 The choice to one who knew so well to live. 
 
 With scheming mothers, he was deem'd a prize, 
 
 Nor was he void of favour in the eyes, 
 
 The soft blue eyes, and orbs of flashing black, 
 
 That met hira often, neither did he lack 
 
 The courteous, winning, soul-attracting smile, 
 
 The sweet low voice, and fascinating wile ; 
 
 Choice gems of beauty, potent in their charms, 
 
 To lure a worthy husband to the arms 
 
 Of duteous daughters, train'd to play the dove, 
 
 Or fair ones form'd for loving and for love. — 
 
 He saw, and heard, and felt — lie was not dead 
 
 To woman's worth, nor yet averse to wed. 
 
 For one sweet girl he in his inmost soul 
 
 Long nourish'd love, yet kept in due control 
 
 The restless guest, discouraged by the thought 
 
 That what he would must bend to what he ought. 
 
 When first he came, a wanderer and poor. 
 
 To Birmingham, as hath been said before, 
 
 Amelia Redmond, then just seventeen, 
 
 Was leaving school, where she for years had been. 
 
 An only child, her father's joy and pride, 
 
 No means were spared, and nothing left untried
 
 152 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 To clothe her mind and person in a dress 
 
 Fitted to show their native loveliness; 
 
 And well she had repaid the care and toil 
 
 By the sweet products of a genial soil : 
 
 To native talent and a docile mind, 
 
 A gentle spirit, generous and kind, 
 
 She brought a keen endeavour to excel — 
 
 To aim at much, yet still to do it well : 
 
 Knowledge she sought not merely for display, 
 
 But that the mind inquiring led the way. 
 
 Slender — a,bove the middle size, and yet not tall, 
 
 Her arching neck, and shoulders' gi-aceful fall, 
 
 Gave dignity and grandeur to a mien, 
 
 In one so few of years but seldom seen. 
 
 Her fair locks cluster'd round a brow of snow. 
 
 And swept in wavy ringlets far below : 
 
 The dimpled cheeks soft blushing like the morn. 
 
 When aught aroused her sympathy or scorn ; 
 
 The small, uncorner'd mouth, and underneath 
 
 The coral lips, the white enamell'd teeth : 
 
 This, with such eyes of deep ethereal blue, 
 
 Like heaven by starlight, or the violet's hue, 
 
 Now soft dissolving in a liquid light 
 
 Of tenderness — or animated— bright
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 153 
 
 With beams of joy, they laugh'd so merrily 
 That others twinkled in pure sympathy. 
 Need I do more to fill the portrait in ? — 
 Describe her small, straight nose and rounded 
 
 chin, 
 The pencill'd eyebrows, and the silken lash 
 Which temper'd by their length the brilliant 
 
 flash. 
 And lent such softness to the downcast eye ? 
 Ah, now 'tis done I What do I say ? Oh, fie ! 
 Put in the little foot, and slender hand. 
 Just fit to wield Titania's fairy wand. 
 And then you have my fair one at full length, 
 Her face and form, her weakness and her strength, 
 The very beau ideal of a lass 
 Most often found among that wealthy class 
 That fill the middle ranks, with whom no care 
 Nor want is found to mar a thing so fair. 
 And placed below that blight of dissipation. 
 The bane of hundreds in a higher station. 
 Accomplish'd, wealthy, lovely, too, and young, 
 She did not want for suitors, but the throng 
 Afforded none that struck her fancy much. 
 Or yet so slight the impress, that the touch 
 
 H 3
 
 154 AETHUR MEIIVYN : 
 
 Faded away, nor left a trace behind, 
 
 Like summer clouds, or like the viewless wind. 
 
 In truth she was, if truth must needs be told, 
 
 Somewhat romantic : and the days of old, 
 
 Of stately courtesy and gallant deeds, 
 
 Of knights in arras, and maids in mourning weeds ; 
 
 When chivalrous devotion to maintain 
 
 His lady's beauty, proud to wear her chain. 
 
 To champion forth the injured orphan's right, 
 
 Was valiant knighthood's war-cry in the fight — 
 
 The poetry of this her mind imbued, 
 
 Not the revolting portions, coarse and rude. 
 
 Of lawless outrage, tyranny and crime. 
 
 Which made the real features of the time. 
 
 There must be much of this or would there be 
 
 Scope for the exercise of chivalry ? 
 
 To save from ill, there must be evil first, 
 
 And Ivanhoe by Front-de-bcEuf be nurst: 
 
 In righting wrongs is much of nobleness. 
 
 But better far to have none to redress. 
 
 Though wanting not a man in steel complete 
 
 To come and lay his trophies at her feet. 
 
 In these our moderii days, the polish'd tone 
 
 Of poetry had mark'd her for its own :
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 155 
 
 She sigh'd for one, as in that pleasant dream, 
 Worthy to love, to honour, and esteem. 
 Devoid of empty, frivolous pretence, 
 If not Ulysses, yet a man of sense. 
 'Twas not much marvel, then, her tiny hand. 
 At twenty-two, should still be in demand, 
 At least unpledged — her finger yet unbound, 
 And unencircled by the golden round — 
 Not deep in love, or what the turn oft serves. 
 When influenced by brain, and blood, and nerves, 
 No whit persuaded that her throbbing heart 
 Was made a sheath for Cupid's restless dart. 
 'Twas three years previous, when about nineteen, 
 That Arthur at her father's board was seen. 
 Before he was a partner, when his name 
 Was first becoming known to common fame : 
 Thenceforth, by Mr. Redmond's kindness, he 
 Was often there to dine, or take his tea. 
 Especially on Sundays, showing forth 
 He valued real, unassuming worth. 
 'Twas thus in scenes domestic he imbibed 
 Those feelings better cherish'd than described ; 
 The first soft dawnings of that flaming day. 
 Ere passion sweeps the mental mists away,
 
 156 ARTHUR mervyn: 
 
 To gaze into those eyes of liquid blue, 
 
 When bent upon you — looking kindly, too — 
 
 To listen to the soft bewitching sound 
 
 Of that sweet voice : and as it rings around 
 
 In silver tones, to join, wnth ready glee, 
 
 The joyous laugh — beware, 'tis witchery. 
 
 Amelia's manners were to Arthur kind 
 
 And courteous, as became her gentle mind ; 
 
 She knew his story, and the honest trait 
 
 That first had thrown him in her father's way ; 
 
 His skill and genius shining through neglect, 
 
 Gave him strong claims to honour and respect ; 
 
 But this indeed was all : for as to love. 
 
 Her station seem'd at first so much above 
 
 His humble lot, the thought had never life. 
 
 Or such a dream, as being Arthur's wife. 
 
 But when with years his prospects blossom'd fair. 
 
 And he in wealth and honour might compare 
 
 With other men, and looking calmly round, 
 
 But few so wise and worthy might be found : 
 
 And further, when at still a latei- day, 
 
 Returning, polish'd, from his lengthen'd stay 
 
 Among our brethren resident across 
 
 The broad and deep Atlantic's teeming foss,
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 157 
 
 He came again, as introduced anew, 
 Another man, the past kept out of view ; 
 So courteous and genteel, his honest hand 
 Might gi'ace the best and noblest in the land : 
 Yes, then she thought, when marking his address, 
 His ease of manner, and his manliness. 
 Set oflFby modest sense, through which there shone 
 Rays of that genius which was all his own, 
 " How Arthur is improv'd ! how better far 
 Than Thelwall, Herbert, Gray, or Gennys are ; 
 How much superior to the common herd, 
 While talent may to folly be preferr'd!" 
 Yet still, though this comparison she drew, 
 To his advantage, there it rested too, 
 She could not go beyond, nor was it meet 
 For maidenly reserve to seem to greet 
 Or cast a lure, a lover to attract — 
 Woman to think is free, but man to act. 
 Besides, although a hero in his way. 
 Her class of heroes were of other clay. — 
 Perhaps if he, with mutely-speaking eye. 
 Instead of breathing forth the secret sigh, 
 Had boldly look'd his love, or spoke it out, 
 And placed the matter so beyond all doubt.
 
 158 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 It might have kindled up an answering flame, 
 And made the fair Ameha take his name : 
 But worth and true love ever modest is, 
 And marriage comes as please the destinies ; 
 So while " among the rest young Arthur bow'd, 
 But never talk'd of love," the very crowd 
 Of suitors thrust his humble claims aside, 
 Eclipsed by loud pretension's look of pride. 
 True that at times, for maidens' wits are keen. 
 And quick to see what men in secret mean. 
 Especially in their own province, " love. 
 Which rules the court, the city, and the grove," 
 As some one says, but whom I now forget — 
 Amelia might suspect (though no coquette) 
 That Arthur was not quite insensible 
 To her bright eyes, though he dissembled well. 
 And slily smile, well pleased at heart to find 
 Her soft attractions lost not on mankind : 
 For where's the woman ? — ay, just show me where 
 That is but only young, and passing fair. 
 That her good beauties, shorn of their effect. 
 Would see condemn'd to coldness and neglect. — 
 Among the foremost of the little band 
 Of candidates who sought to win her hand.
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 159 
 
 The first in her esteem was Randal Bray, 
 A fine young man, and somewhat in her way, 
 That is, one-third romantic, scribbled rhymes, 
 Talk'd of the glory of the olden times — 
 Quoted the bards of chivalry and song, 
 Who roused the brave to vindicate from wrong 
 The helpless and the weak: inspired the knight 
 To die or conquer, in defence of right : 
 Besides, he could be very useful, too. 
 In helping people who had nought to do ; 
 He danced a merveille, sang a famous second, 
 And sketching might among his gifts be reckon'd, 
 Play'd cards, and touching airs upon the flute, 
 And could be almost anything — but mute. 
 Who could resist such charms ? What heroine 
 Could such a hero ever fail to win ? — 
 And yet Amelia was not quite subdued. 
 For some misgivings would at times intrude ; 
 She saw him once, upon an April day, 
 Run from a little shower swift away, 
 While she stood gazing on heaven's radiant bow. 
 Spanning, with glorious hues, the scene below, 
 The chiefest form of beauty — child of light. 
 As fair as dreams, as transient and as bright.
 
 160 ARTHUR mervyn: 
 
 Another time she saw him change his shoes 
 For walking in the clew : — and faint to lose 
 A little blood, which falling and alarm 
 Made requisite to borrow from his arm. 
 This made her draw comparisons with those 
 Of by-gone days, who in the midst of foes 
 Beset by danger in a hundred forms, 
 Laugh'd at the raving of the wildest storms 
 Who lay o' nights upon the bleak hill-side, 
 Couch'd on the heath, their glory and their pride 
 To train their iron frames to do and bear 
 What fate should will, and death for honour 
 
 dare. 
 These were sad drawbacks, yet he stood, withal, 
 First in her favour, though that was but small. 
 Until those feelings were at length aroused 
 By one whom shortly after she espoused. 
 That quite extinguish'd every wayward thought, 
 And stirr'd those depths with which her soul Avas 
 
 fraught. 
 It happen'd thus — upon a lovely day. 
 Balmy and soft, about the end of May, 
 A party had been form'd, on pleasure bent, 
 To change the parlour for the gipsy tent.
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 161 
 
 And while the breath of spring was in the air, 
 To seek the greenwood and to quaff it there : 
 Not that the most romantic had a wish 
 To feast alone on that chameleon's dish — 
 No ! Pic-nics would not do without the cheer, 
 The chicken, ham and tongue, champagne and 
 
 beer: 
 The latter I discard myself, because 
 1 advocate the water-drinker's laws. 
 And hold that clear, pure element to be 
 More worth than seas of Burgundy to me: 
 But in those days the movement was unknown 
 Of temperance, contending for the throne 
 Of human reason, striving to redeem 
 Man's noble natui-e from the swinish steam 
 Of base debauch — Unknown the fervent pledge 
 Of abstinence — and therefore I allege 
 That wine was there, and porter, with a store 
 Of what I did enumerate before. 
 And standing pies, and cake, and bread and cheese, 
 That all might have enough of what they please. 
 Upon the grassy turf, beneath an oak 
 Whose spreading boughs the scorching sun-beams 
 
 broke,
 
 162 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 And form'd a pleasant canopy o'er-head — 
 
 The hampers were unpack'd, the cloth was spread. 
 
 In merry groups, expectant, gathered round 
 
 The joyous party, some ujDon the ground 
 
 Reclined at ease, beneath the cooling shade. 
 
 While rung their laugh along the verdant glade. 
 
 Others, more active, lent a ready aid 
 
 In carving for the rest, and none delay'd 
 
 To taste the bounteous feast, made doubly sweet. 
 
 As exercise gave appetite to eat ; 
 
 Around from hand to hand the bumpers pass'd 
 
 And cunning smiles and merry looks were cast 
 
 From each to each, and as the spirits rose. 
 
 Gay repartee in wordy torrents flows ; 
 
 Wit flashed and sparkled, and the very breeze 
 
 Was vocal, as it played among the trees. 
 
 At length, the meal was done, small parties rove 
 
 In straggling file along the shady grove. 
 
 Forming such groups as taste or feeling drew 
 
 To sympathy with many, or with few. 
 
 A tender couple here pursued their way, 
 
 Breathing such tales as suited genial May, 
 
 There rose the laugh from some gregarious herd, 
 
 Who noisy mirth to sentiment preferred,
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 163 
 
 Or, lacking for themselves a fitting mate, 
 With whom to hold a pleasant tete-a-tete, 
 Took refuge in a crowd which like a mart. 
 Contains in bulk the lacking counterpart. 
 An hour's stroll or two, and then they took 
 Their course along the borders of a brook, 
 Which ran across some meadows near the wood. 
 To reach the place where now the servants stood. 
 Waiting with horse and equipage at hand 
 The slow arrival of the loit'ring band. 
 Crossing the fields, some distance from the road, 
 Quite near a common labourer's abode, 
 In all the gay attire of summer drest. 
 White, green, and scarlet, too, among the rest. 
 The ladies look'd like butterflies, and drew 
 Unlook'd for notice by their gaudy hue. 
 When half across a field of largest size. 
 An object just behind them caught their eyes. 
 Or rather struck their ears — a bellowing sound. 
 Short, low, and tremulous — and looking round. 
 They spy a portly bull approaching near. 
 Whose movements now betoken'd cause for fear, 
 Slowly he came at first, with louring look. 
 Pawing the ground — and then his head he shook,
 
 164 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 And lashing with his tail his brawny sides, 
 Came faster on with short uncertain strides. 
 Amelia, who was leaning on the arm 
 Of Randal Bray, showed symptoms of alarm, 
 And other ladies who were in the rear. 
 Betrayed by screams and hasty steps their fear. 
 Arthur was in advance, but turning round, 
 As struck upon his ears the hollow sound 
 Of rising rage emitted by the bull, 
 He saw he was of mischief seeming full, 
 And knowing well their habits from of yore. 
 That flight would but encourage him the more. 
 He called aloud to those who were behind 
 To stay their pace, if they would safety find, 
 And make a slow retreat — to show no fear. 
 But keep together should he still draw near; 
 Himself, and those around him, chanced to be 
 So close upon the outer boundary, 
 'Twas easy to escape ; but thus to save 
 Himself, and leave his hapless friends to brave 
 The danger of the creature's goring horn. 
 His true and gallant nature thought foul scorn. 
 Besides, the secret idol of his soul, 
 She whom he valued far beyond the whole,
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 165 
 
 The fair Amelia, still so good and kind, 
 So bright and gentle, she too was behind ; 
 And turning back, firm grasping in his hand 
 A walking-stick, he hoped to make a stand. 
 Assisted by the men, and thus to shield 
 The ladies while escaping from the field. 
 But ere he reached the scene, the bull had shown 
 Signs to what fearful height his rage had grown, 
 And spite of Arthur's caution, fear so shook 
 The nerves of all, that each with anxious look 
 Increased the pace, and when, with dreadfid roar. 
 The bull pursued, still faster than before, 
 Oppress'd with fatal terror and dismay, 
 Both men and women fairly ran away. 
 The rout was now complete — his head depress'd. 
 The bull appeared to single from the rest 
 A flying nymph, whose purple mantle spread 
 In ample volume from behind her head. 
 Arthur had marked this chase, and calling out 
 To cast away the cloak, and face about, 
 Implored the men by name to aid him now 
 To intercept the bull, and told them how. 
 But all in vain, for every fi-ightened elf, 
 Seemed only bent on shifting for himself.
 
 166 ARTHUR mervyn: 
 
 Swiftly in every way the runners sped, 
 While terror lent them wings, and as they fled 
 'Mid frequent falls each struggled wildly on. 
 Thoughtless of other safety than their own. 
 Meanwhile the bull was gaining on the fair, 
 Whose shrieks arose and thrill'd along the air ; 
 Nearer and nearer see — Oh God ! she falls — 
 The raging beast shoots past her, and recalls 
 The curdling blood that stagnates round the heart 
 Of all who see, but dread to take her part : 
 But no ! he turns, and roars with baffled rage, 
 Her purple cloak his fiery eyes engage ; 
 He runs to gore her now ! — Ah no ! he's stayed 
 By Arthur i-ushing to Amelia's aid. 
 Oh ! bravely done, he throws him in the way, 
 Tearing the mantle from her as she lay ; 
 What does he mean } He takes it on his arm 
 And shakes it at the bull ! See, see ! the charm 
 Hath done its work to draw the bull aside 
 And glut on him its rage — wuth hasty stride 
 The bull ran at him now with lower'd head. 
 When instantly upon his horns he spread 
 The fatal cloak, and nimbly sprang behind. 
 Leaving the creature cumbered with the blind.
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 167 
 
 As quick as thought the bushy tail he seized, 
 And twisted round his left hand as he pleased, 
 While with his right he wields the oaken stick. 
 On ribs, and back, and legs, the blows fell thick ; 
 The bull astonish'd, bellowed with the pain, 
 Tore up the ground, and rent the cloak in vain ; 
 Then as the cudgel fell upon his hide, 
 He turned and twisted round from side to side. 
 To reach his stout assailant, but in vain, 
 A storm of buffets fell with might and main 
 On nose, and eyes, and ears — enraged to find 
 He could not reach his enemy behind. 
 Because he pull'd him after him around, 
 He started off and tore along the ground. 
 But no, it would not do, he dragg'd his foe 
 Close at his heels, and Avhether fast or slow, 
 Down came the stick upon him as he went. 
 For Arthur's strength of ai'm was not soon spent : 
 Then, stopping short, he once more tried to gore, 
 But reached him now no better than before. 
 And got so much of punishment instead. 
 As madden'd him with equal rage and dread. 
 Arthur had tried to plant some heavy blows, 
 As erst he turned, upon his eyes and nose.
 
 168 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 With such effect, that he was almost blind, 
 Besides the soreness which he felt behind. 
 The contest now was wonderful to see, 
 The furious bull obliged in turn to flee, 
 Dragging along his pertinacious foe. 
 Still planting as he could a heavy blow, 
 Or as the speed increased, with trailing feet, 
 Haul'd like a log along in swift retreat. 
 Those who upon the hedge in safety stood. 
 Were watching with intensely anxious mood 
 And beating heart, to see how this would end. 
 But none came down to help their gallant friend. 
 Once, when the two had struggled far away 
 From where Amelia still unconscious lay, 
 Two of the party ventured in to aid 
 And bear away the fair and hapless maid 
 At Arthur's call, as swift he pass'd them by ; 
 But ere they reached the place where she did lie, 
 A sudden turn of Arthur's tandem leader, 
 A rush and bellow, and they failed to heed her, 
 And scamper'd for their lives ; convinced at heart 
 Discretion was stout valour's better part. 
 Again the bull essayed, without avail, 
 Just like a kitten, coursing of its tail.
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 169 
 
 To reach and gore him — round and round he went, 
 While Arthur plied the stick till almost spent. 
 They both were now exhausted with the fray, 
 And when he turned once more to flee away, 
 After a few yards drag and parting blow, 
 He fairly loosed his hold, and let him go. 
 Onward he gallop'd, fleeter than the wind, 
 Nor stay'd to cast one frightened look behind, 
 While Arthur fell, and for a minute lay 
 To fetch his breath, then rose, and ran away. 
 To lift the maiden gently in his arms, 
 And bear her off" secure from more alarms. 
 Great was the joy that burst from every tongue. 
 As Avith his lovely burthen, in the throng 
 He stood, without the field in safety now. 
 The perspiration on his manly brow. 
 And face flush'd with exertion, while his eyes 
 Beam'd with the fire of chivalrous emprise. 
 Amelia's female friends full soon contrive 
 Her consciousness and spirits to revive. 
 Restored to life, they find with great delight. 
 She had escaped with nothing but the fi'ight, 
 No wound or bruise^ but that severe alarm 
 Had render'd needful, bleeding in the arm, 
 
 I
 
 170 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 Which a young surgeon did — the party then 
 
 Return'd with expedition home again. 
 
 Though matters thus had ended for the best, 
 
 The men appeared crest-fallen and depress' d, 
 
 The ladies silent — all appeared to think 
 
 That Arthur only snatched them from the brink 
 
 Of awful death ; and but for him alone, 
 
 Destruction had o'ertaken more than one, 
 
 For certain else a dear and valued friend, 
 
 Had prematurely met a fearful end. 
 
 Her intimates conveyed her home the first, 
 
 Then left her to repose — the rest dispersed. 
 
 Next day the tale was whisper'd far and near. 
 
 With full details to every list'ning ear. 
 
 And Birmingham with Arthur's prowess rung, 
 
 The theme of praise by each admiring tongue. 
 
 For near a week Amelia kept her room, 
 
 The shock had much unhinged her, but the gloom 
 
 Of sickness was by loving friends assuaged, 
 
 Who vied to keep her pleasantly engaged. 
 
 Her young companions told at her request. 
 
 After a little interval of rest. 
 
 What had occurred when she had swooned away, — 
 
 How Arthur rushed before her as she lay,
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 171 
 
 Painted his gallant bearing, and the scene, 
 Him and his fierce antagonist between, 
 In glowing terms ; each minute part rehearsed, 
 Once and again, repeated from the first. 
 She heard and dwelt upon with secret joy, 
 And often did this theme her thoughts employ 
 When left alone ; she ponder'd wdth delight, 
 On the chivalric spirit of her knight, 
 For so she dubb'd him ; of his manly sense, 
 True wit and gallantry, without pretence. 
 Contrasted him full length with Randal Bray, 
 Whose love and valour made him — run away. 
 Indeed, the latter had sustain'd a fall 
 In her esteem, that if she thought at all 
 Of him, it was with feelings near allied 
 To what would not be soothing to his pride. 
 The slender place he held in her esteem, 
 Had vanish'd like the fabric of a dream, 
 And left no trace behind, but some regret, 
 That in forgiving, she could not forget. 
 During her short seclusion, she had space 
 The looks, and words, and actions, to retrace 
 Of Arthur and herself, for two years past. 
 Forgetting not the greatest and the last ; 
 
 I 2
 
 172 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 From these she drew the pleasing, soothing, 
 
 thouglit, 
 That he had not risk'd life and limb for nought, 
 And though, perhaps, his native courage would 
 Have urged him on to run, for others' good, 
 An equal peril — yet without that spin' 
 That made him gladly dare the worst for her. 
 And this contented her, because it showed 
 That those high deeds at which her spirit glowed, 
 Might still be wrought, and with a trumpet blast, 
 Proclaim'd the age of chivalry not past — 
 That generous and loyal hearts exist, 
 Though mail and pennon, spear, and plume be 
 
 miss'd. 
 There is no little danger for the maid, 
 (Who hath received some well-directed aid 
 In time of peril,) from her own kind heart, 
 When gratitude concurs to take the part 
 Of her preserver, and to pave the way, 
 For love to follow at no distant day ; 
 And thus Amelia, while her mind portray'd 
 Her recent danger, and the ready aid. 
 From dwelling on the action, soon began 
 To think with equal pleasure on the man.
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 173 
 
 The weak require protection from the strong — 
 For this the fair at times inflict a wrong 
 Upon the poor civihan — pass him by, 
 To look with favour and approving eye, 
 Upon the coat of scarlet, or deep blue: — 
 Is it because the gay and gaudy hue 
 Of outward dress attracts them by its show? 
 I must defend them there, and answer, " No !" 
 It is the instinct of the weak to cling, 
 As will the ivy round the forest king, 
 And therefore will the gentlest woman twine 
 Her fondest love, like tendrils of the vine. 
 Around the man whose hardy frame hath stood 
 The fierce extremes of winter's freezing mood, 
 Amid the polar snows, and gasp'd for breath 
 Where broiling suns spread pestilence and 
 
 death. 
 Whose firm, unyielding soul hath stood unmoved 
 Amid the clash of armies, which but proved 
 That self-reliance in itself secure. 
 What it cannot control, it will endure. 
 Yes, woman's weakness seeks to be allied 
 With fearless strength, and dwells, with tender 
 
 pride.
 
 174 ARTHUR mervyn: 
 
 Upon the glory of tlie hero's name, — 
 The great reward and worshipper of fame, 
 Whose smiles incite and nerve the warrior's arm. 
 And to the triumph lends the greatest charm : 
 Doth, then, her gentle nature not abhor 
 The di'eadful scenes of brutalizing war? 
 Yes ! did these horrors pass before their eyes. 
 The mangled slain, the wounded soldiers' cries, 
 As parch'd with thirst he lies upon the ground. 
 His life-blood welling forth from every wound ; 
 Or did the orphan's tear, the widow's moan. 
 The blacken'd fields, the ruin'd peasant's groan. 
 The towns destroy'd, and harvests swept away^ 
 Or cities to the soldiers' lust a prey. 
 Arise in stern perspective, it would wTing 
 Their inmost souls with anguish; but they bring 
 These very facts, if dimly shadow'd forth. 
 To estimate and prove the soldier's worth, 
 Whose prowess can withstand the hostile state. 
 And save and shelter her from such a fate. — 
 An early day did Mr. Redmond take 
 To render Arthur, for his daughter's sake, 
 His deepest, warmest thanks: "Oh, happy hour," 
 He cried, " when, shunning arbitrary power.
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 175 
 
 You sought this place ! what owe I not to you — 
 Wealth, honour, rank, and now my daughter, 
 
 too: 
 The latter lost, the first indeed were vain. 
 Your gallantry hath saved me from that pain, 
 And kept the few remaining years I have 
 From sinking down, in sorrow, to the grave : 
 What can I offer, in exchange for life, 
 Except you take Amelia for a wife ?" 
 A brilliant flash from Arthur's eye shot forth, 
 " And say you so ?" he cried ; " oh, that were worth 
 A monarch's ransom ! To possess that hand 
 I'd hazard life and all I can command, 
 But that is not for me," he softly sigh'd : — 
 " Nay, have that from herself," the other cried ; 
 " You know the adage, ' Faint heart never won 
 Fair lady yet ;' full half the work is done 
 In your behoof : what woman could refuse 
 A man but lately found of so much use ? 
 If not averse yourself, but pluck up heart. 
 And I predict success upon your part. 
 What! shall a man whose courage did not fail 
 To seize a bull (not by the horns but tail) 
 Before the meek eyes of a maiden quail ?"
 
 176 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 Then with a kindly pressure of the hand, 
 
 " Try her, my friend — what weight I can command 
 
 To guide her choice, shall labour on your side, 
 
 I'd rather see her Arthur Mervyn's bride 
 
 Than married to a prince : so now, adieu. 
 
 And full success attend your interview." 
 
 Encouraged by her father's cheering tone, 
 
 Arthur resolved, when next with her alone. 
 
 To hazard an avowal — then a thought 
 
 Flash'd on his mind, " 'twill look as if I sought 
 
 To take advantage of the little good 
 
 I render'd her to tax her gratitude." 
 
 To seem to use a plea, by deed or word. 
 
 Of, " This I claim for benefits conferr'd," 
 
 He shrank from, with a generous disdain. 
 
 Scorning to profit by another's pain. — 
 
 During the week Amelia kept confined. 
 
 Doubts, hopes, and fears by turns perplex'd his 
 
 mind. 
 Such as a lover only can possess, 
 When love's misgivings on his fancy press; 
 Merit is modest, coxcombs only cry ' '*^ 
 
 With vain presumption, " let them look and > ', 
 
 die." i^ 
 
 •■'I
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 177 
 
 Meantime, his keen solicitude was shown 
 By due inquiries till her health had grown 
 So much establish'd that the ruddy glow 
 Again appear'd beneath her skin of snow. 
 Then with a message, that she fain would see 
 Her brave preserver, by whose gallantry 
 Life, with its pleasing, anxious cares and joys, 
 Like precious gold, attemper'd with alloys, 
 Was still possess'd — Amelia sought to pay 
 Her early grateful tribute where it lay — 
 With beating hearts, and all that vague sensation 
 Produced by strong though latent agitation. 
 They met, alone — a blush was on her cheek 
 Which pass'd away, for as she strove to speak, 
 Emotion, weakness, from her recent fears, 
 O'ercame her so, that words were lost in tears. 
 Arthur himself, almost too moved to stand, 
 Sprang forward now, and gently took her hand ; 
 With soothing words he sought to stem the course 
 Of that emotion which with so much force 
 Had overflow'd in tears, that bringing ease. 
 Her low-fetch'd sobs subsided by degrees: 
 Wiping, at length, her moist yet charming eyes, 
 " Pardon," she faintly cried, " this slight surprise. 
 
 I 3
 
 178 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 My weakness overcame me ere I knew 
 
 How sadly childish I must seem to you." 
 
 Then faintly smiling, " This is not the way 
 
 My meed of deep-felt gratitude to pay, 
 
 And thank my brave preserver for a life 
 
 Snatch'd from destruction by a fearful strife, 
 
 Endangering his own — yet not the less 
 
 I deeply feel what feebly I express." — 
 
 " Nay, do not speak of gratitude or debt, 
 
 Talk of yourself — I fear you suffer yet; 
 
 The languid paleness of your face betrays 
 
 Too many traces of the last few days : 
 
 But soon, I trust, your anxious friends may 
 
 seek 
 And find, the bloom of health upon that cheek." 
 " Thank you," she cried ; " I feel recover'd now. 
 For having 'scaped all wounds, (I scarce know 
 
 how, 
 For sure I felt his hot breath on my neck, 
 So close he was,) there's nothing more to check 
 My speedy getting well, which only fright 
 And its effects delay'd beyond one night : 
 That life, and limbs uninjured, I possess, 
 Is owing to your courage and address,
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 179 
 
 Such skill to plan and daring to effect 
 Provokes my wonder, and excites respect." 
 " Nay, lady, now you flatter me outright, 
 My service, though successful, was but slight. 
 The risk 1 ran is equall'd every day 
 By thousands in the world for little pay : 
 I should indeed feel shame if I could stand 
 And tamely see, without a helping hand. 
 Another's danger — what for you I tried 
 I must have done for any one beside." — 
 " My vanity," she utter'd, in reply, 
 And looking down with half a smile and sigh, 
 " Is not so great, a moment to infer 
 That you would not an equal risk incur 
 For any one in peril as for me. 
 And must, perforce, admire your chivalry." — 
 " Nay, madam, now you wrong me," Arthur cried ; 
 " To save your life I would myself have died: 
 I spoke my meaning ill — but meant to say. 
 Quite the reverse of what your words convey: 
 T would — I wish," — he here became confused — 
 While looking up, Amelia, half amused. 
 Replied, with archness, " Well, my friend, I know 
 You don't intend to deal my pride a blow.
 
 180 ARTHUR mervyn: 
 
 When you the noble principle express, 
 A beggar would not claim your efforts less : 
 Such sentiments excite more joy than grief, 
 Although one likes to think oneself the chief." 
 " Ah, lady, you are jesting— could you read 
 The hidden springs and motives of the deed, 
 I fear you would not think me quite so free 
 From selfish feelings in my sympathy." 
 Then speaking hurriedly, with kindling eyes, 
 " Miss Redmond may repress, but wont despise 
 My deep presumption, when I now declare 
 My secret heart, and lay its feelings bare. 
 I love you deeply, truly — years have pass'd. 
 And each hath left it stronger than the last. 
 I've seen you circled by the young and gay, 
 And sighing, fear'd to see you borne away : 
 I dared not venture to contest the prize, 
 And boldly seek for favour in your eyes ; 
 What claims had one so humble to aspire. 
 And seek the daughter of your honour'd sire. 
 My friend and benefactor, to whose grace 
 I owe my past success and present place. 
 Humility and dread of doing wrong 
 Repressed my passion and seal'd up ray tongue-
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 181 
 
 I have not ventured thus at length to speak, 
 
 Without assurance that I do not break 
 
 My duty to your father, nor repay 
 
 His confidence with base return this day ; 
 
 With his approval arm'd, I thus presume 
 
 To gather from your lips my future doom : 
 
 If aught on my part, throughout after-life. 
 
 Would reconcile you to become my wife, 
 
 Or might I dare to hope that time will bring 
 
 Success upon its slow advancing wing, 
 
 I am content to wait, and serve the while. 
 
 To win your favour and approving smile. 
 
 Forgive me, lady, if I am too bold. 
 
 My tale is done, my fears and wishes told : 
 
 Unhappy may I be if you reject, 
 
 Yet still, I trust, deserving of respect." 
 
 With much emotion, lifting up her eyes, 
 
 Amelia said, " Nor anger nor surprise 
 
 Disturb my soul ; no woman ever can 
 
 Feel, at the homage of a worthy man. 
 
 Other than deep respect and grateful pride, — 
 
 To be selected from the world, beside 
 
 So flattering a tribute to receive 
 
 Of confidence unbounded, cannot grieve
 
 182 ARTHUR MERVYN : 
 
 The spirit of the proudest : I regret 
 You speak as if you feared I could forget 
 The recent in the present — though I say 
 The liighest compliment a man can pay 
 A lady's pride, cannot provoke disdain 
 Were she an empress ; saving that the swain 
 Should merely rank, or wealth, or station 
 
 woo. 
 Which I will not suppose the case with you." 
 " You do me only justice," Arthur cried, 
 " But may I hope that you will not decide 
 Against my suit, ambitious though it be, — 
 Oh ! bid me not despair that constancy 
 May win you to consent ; you do not speak, 
 But turn away to hide your heighten'd cheek ; 
 I tremble with excitement — do I err 
 In pressing rudely what you can't confer ? 
 If I offend in urging what I seek. 
 Breathe but a wish, and though my heart should 
 
 break, 
 I will desist nor persecute again, 
 Or wait till better days your favour to obtain." 
 As soon as soft confusion left her nerve, 
 To overcome the maidenly reserve,
 
 A TALE OF THE PEASANTRY. 183 
 
 Contending with that frank and better part, 
 
 A noble nature speaking from the heart, 
 
 She turn'd, and with a soft, bewitching, smile, 
 
 Replied in words and accents void of guile — 
 
 " Ungrateful should I be, and insincere, 
 
 To wear the mask of semblance, and appear 
 
 Cold or disdainful of your ofFer'd love ; 
 
 Let me, all silly coquetry above, 
 
 The pride and pleasure that I feel confess. 
 
 In being made the object of address, 
 
 From one whom I both honour and esteem. 
 
 Here is my hand ; if henceforth you should deem 
 
 It worth possessing — at some future day 
 
 Claim it as yours, I will not answer nay." 
 
 A throb of pleasure thrill'd through Arthur's veins, 
 
 Joy seized his heart, and tingled in his reins. 
 
 Catching her in his arms, a burning kiss 
 
 Express'd the essence of tumultuous bliss. 
 
 Then did she gently strive with crimson'd face. 
 
 To disengage herself from his embrace, 
 
 And wear again a dignified repose, 
 
 Which kisses somehow ruffle : Cupid knows 
 
 'Tis sweet to press a ripe and ruby lip. 
 
 To taste its freshness, and its fragrance sip,
 
 184 ARTHUR MERVYN. 
 
 To draw the balmy breath, which from surprise 
 Is fluttering hke love's ecstatic sighs, 
 Most rich and racy, being stolen bliss — 
 But (Dian aid me!) following a kiss, 
 Each looks so silly and so out of place, 
 As robs the pleasure of all sign of grace. 
 With all the joyous fervour of his heart, 
 And words that only love can e'er impart, 
 Arthur now breathed in fair Amelia's ear. 
 Those pleasing tales to tender lovers dear. 
 In three months from that time with manly pride, 
 Arthur received his fair and blushing bride, 
 And as he pressed her to his heaving breast. 
 He looked and felt at once completely blest. — 
 Bright smiled the morn that soft September day. 
 When friends and guests with wedding favours gay. 
 Surround the bridegroom and the blushing fair. 
 Whom all pronounce a well-assorted pair, 
 She blooming like a rosebud, rich and young. 
 And softly pure as ever poet sung, 
 He, manly, strong, and brave, whose ownrighthand, 
 Had won him fame and fortune in the land. 
 By worth ennobled on Queen Nature's plan, 
 Her noblest peer, a truly honest man.
 
 LONDON: 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS.
 
 187 
 
 LONDON. 
 
 I. 
 
 Great city of contrasts, proud queen of the 
 
 nations! 
 The centre of commerce, of arts, and renown : 
 The force of whose power and splendour 
 
 occasions 
 The far-distant east and the west to bow down: 
 And on thy rich altar to offer oblations. 
 The spoils of their provinces decking thee round. 
 The thought of thy vastness produces sensations 
 Overwhelmingly pleasing, yet sadly profound : 
 I think of mighty Babylon, and Nineveh's sad end, 
 And dread lest such another fate may over thee 
 
 impend. 
 
 II. 
 
 Thy giant-like bulk still extends its proportions. 
 The marks of its jarogress appear on all sides:
 
 188 LONDON. 
 
 From the walls of old London, those puny 
 
 abortions 
 Of Romans or Normans, how vast are thy 
 
 strides : — 
 On the banks of the Thames, and its slimy 
 
 contortions, 
 Where proudly, securely, thy merchant fleet 
 
 rides, 
 Of yore wert thou huddled — thy wealthiest 
 
 portions 
 Look'd on its stream and were wash'd by its 
 
 tides. 
 So once of old the Royal Tyre look'd from her 
 
 city rock, 
 Nor dreamt of ruin's earthquake near till whelm'd 
 
 beneath the shock. 
 
 III. 
 
 Now northward, and southward, and eastward, 
 
 and west. 
 Like a vast inundation o'erflowing the land, 
 Still onward and onward, scarce pausing to rest. 
 Thy bulk thou advancest in majesty grand — 
 Say, when wilt thou cease the soft glades to 
 
 molest,
 
 LONDON. 189 
 
 Which, tranquil and rural once, far from the 
 
 brand 
 Of the smoke of thy chimneys, were sweetly 
 
 impress'd 
 With the footsteps of God, not man's puny hand ? 
 Oh ! stay thy brickfield-building march, nor with 
 
 thy outworks rude, 
 On scenes to contemplation dear, unhallowed dare 
 intrude. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Oh ! couldst thou but speak of thy people of old — 
 What scenes thou hast witness'd of glory and 
 
 crime — 
 Could the shades of past ages their secrets 
 
 unfold. 
 For ever now lost in the dark gulf of time ! 
 If all the misdeeds thou hast look'd on were told 
 To the wond'ring earth, in plain prose or rhyme, 
 From the days when the wild aborigines prowl'd 
 In the forests around thee, till now in thy prime, 
 Methinks 'twould be a thrilling tale of spirit- 
 stirring force. 
 Of glorious deeds, and vice, and shame, light, 
 darkness, and remorse.
 
 190 LONDON. 
 
 Though much is forgotten, yet famous in story, 
 Preserved in thy legends, and history's page — 
 On tablets inscribed in the temple of glory, 
 Or cursed in tradition by each rolling age — 
 (Thus ranging themselves under such category 
 As suits their complexion on life's busy stage,) 
 Enough remains known, yet,if marshall'd before 
 
 ye, 
 
 To kindle soft pity or stimulate rage : 
 For spirits cast in gentle mould will weep at 
 
 human woes, 
 While others, made of sterner stuff, a fiercer mind 
 
 disclose. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But we need not retrace thy eventful career. 
 Nor single out cases of sorrow or pride. 
 Of gallant achievements or cowardly fear, 
 In those who fled basely or daringly died. 
 No! though they continue deservedly dear. 
 Let Walworth and Whittington rest side by 
 
 side, 
 Nor yet need old Falstaff or Guy Fawkes appear. 
 The young Lady Jane, or Harry's fair bnde :
 
 LONDON. 191 
 
 The tortured Jews now freed from thrall, and 
 
 Smithfield's martyrs pure, 
 May with their tyrants rest in peace, from further 
 
 ills secure. 
 
 VII. 
 
 The present alone, the identical now, 
 
 Is more than sufficient our thoughts to engage ; 
 
 Thy varying aspects may justly allow 
 
 Such scope for the fancy in this passing age, 
 
 That were but the weight of it stampt on the brow 
 
 Of what is enacted within thy broad stage. 
 
 The mightiest intellect prostrate must bow. 
 
 And cease with thee contest unequal to wage. 
 
 The mind of man too weak to grasp thy magnitude 
 sublime. 
 
 Would like Semele, scorch and burn, a mark to 
 future time. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 When we contemplate size independent of 
 
 beauty. 
 As the sculptured remains of old Egypt present. 
 In its sphinxes and pyramids coarse forra'd and 
 
 sooty.
 
 192 LONDON. 
 
 The produce of art in its eai'ly advent. 
 
 Or the measureless solitudes shrubless and 
 
 grooty, 
 The home of the ostrich, — the Bedouin's tent, — 
 Preferr'd to that Araby, luscious and fruity, 
 By nomads, disdaining in towns to be pent ; 
 The soul with awe imprest surveys the desert's 
 
 boundless space, 
 And in the grandeur of the sphynx forgets ideal 
 grace. 
 
 IX. 
 
 'Tis thus that thy masses of dense population. 
 Thy thousands on thousands of occupied homes, 
 Survey'd from th' advantage of some elevation. 
 From Avhence may be seen columns, steeples, 
 
 and domes. 
 And streets like the web of a spider — sensation 
 Itself seems suspended, till over us comes 
 A touch of such sadness — profound isolation. 
 As the living might feel in a city of tombs. 
 We think what minute atoms we, what slight 
 
 relation bear. 
 In hope or fear, and love or hate, to all the myriads 
 there.
 
 LONDON. 198 
 
 X. 
 
 The varied pulsations of that mighty heart, 
 Are the mingled conditions, hopes, prospects, 
 
 and fears, 
 Of its million of units, in workshop or mart. 
 In palace or hovel, from porters and peers. 
 The fair one who plays in the ball-room her 
 
 part, 
 And the wretch doom'd to eat her bread 
 
 moisten'd with tears — 
 The wealthy, preserved from adversity's dart, 
 And misery's offspring whom poverty sears : 
 All these combined, compose the stream that throbs 
 
 within its veins. 
 Can such a healtliful current be so mixt with 
 
 Imman pains ? 
 
 XI. 
 
 The contact of splendour, with filth and decay, 
 The temples of mammon, religion, and vice, 
 The trappings and gorging of lord mayor's day, 
 And the wretches whom offal and rags must 
 suffice, 
 
 E
 
 194 LONDON. 
 
 With churches and theatres placed on half- 
 
 And gin temples glitt'ring, weak fools to entice. 
 Luxurious club-houses where gentlemen play, 
 And hells where they rob you by sharpers and 
 dice. 
 All this must strike th' observer's mind where'er he 
 
 turns his eyes, 
 And fill his soul with mingled pride, shame, 
 sorrow, and surprise. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Oh, who would suppose in this luminous age, 
 
 In a city renowned for its civilization, 
 
 Its arts and refinement — that grave men should 
 
 wage 
 A war 'gainst the progi'ess of self-reformation ? 
 And clad in the tinsel befitting the stage. 
 In mountebank costume assuming their station 
 In front of a glass and gilt gingerbread cage, 
 Make fools of themselves in the eyes of the nation. 
 With men in iron, brass, and steel — the seignors 
 
 in furred gowns. 
 Should sink their magisterial weight, by acting 
 
 licensed clowns.
 
 LONDON. 195 
 
 XIII. 
 
 How much, too, such spectacles draw the 
 
 attention 
 Of thousands of gazers, rich vulgar, and poor, 
 Who rush fiom each alley, street, suburb — their 
 
 penchant 
 For sight-seeing, fed by the multiplied store ; 
 While cash-making shop-keepers tax their 
 
 invention 
 To extract from their windows and balconies 
 
 more, 
 Than the house front is worth, as, with great 
 
 condescension, 
 They charge you a guinea, and payment before, 
 For room to stand and see the queen, perched on 
 
 the elevation, 
 Or lord mayor's fool, or any fool who fills a lofty 
 
 station. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Within thy circumference much may be found 
 Conducive to human improvement and weal ; 
 Is any one injm*ed — there's balm for the wound 
 
 k2
 
 196 LONDON. 
 
 In hospitals founded diseases to heal ; 
 
 And those who have sufler'd in life's weary 
 
 round, 
 In charity's bosom their woes may conceal. 
 There are schools for the orphan — thrice holy 
 
 the ground 
 Devoted to objects man's woes to anele. 
 More blest the tear fi-ora pity's eye, that falls for 
 
 human grief, 
 Than victims slain for sacrifice where brethren 
 
 want relief 
 
 XV. 
 
 But, alas, there is much to excite our regret 
 Of awful pollution of body and mind ! 
 The sad degradation continually met 
 In thy darker retreats from the dregs of mankind, 
 Our senses appal — while the ears are beset 
 With curses and blasphemy, aptly design'd 
 To strike us with loathing — nay, almost to let 
 Our efforts subside for redeeming mankind. 
 
 The moral darkness seems so gross, so dim the 
 mental ray, 
 
 That faith and hope in virtue's cause alone uphold 
 the day.
 
 LONDON. 197 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Oh, little think many who walk thy broad ways, 
 Or roll in a carriage through street, park, or 
 
 square, 
 Where objects of splendour alone meet the gaze. 
 And all seems luxurious, attractive, and fair — 
 That within some dark court, or the tortuous maze 
 Of some gloomy passage quite near them, does 
 
 care 
 And famine reside, where hope's golden rays 
 Are quench'd in the darkness of vice and 
 
 despair. 
 And fold disease and rottenness from every 
 
 nameless cause, 
 Sit reaping there the sure reward of nature's 
 
 outraged laws, 
 
 XVII. 
 
 And little considers the fair one, bedeck'd 
 
 In satins and velvets of graceful design, 
 
 How the health of her young countrywomen is 
 
 wreck' d 
 In thousands of cases to aid her to shine. 
 That toilworn, exhausted, the child of neglect 
 With whose chaplet of thorns no roses entwine,
 
 198 LONDON. 
 
 O'er her splendid apparel the sad tear hath 
 
 check'd 
 As she sat the long night to complete it in time. 
 The bitter contrast of her fate, condemn'd to 
 
 wasting toil, 
 For unremunerating pay to burn the midnight oil. 
 
 XVIII, 
 
 In a place so extensive there needs will be found 
 Extremes of all natures, and every degree, 
 From the prison, the jail, the cave underground, 
 To the home of the happy, the joyous, the free. 
 The palace of princes where comforts abound, 
 The chambers of lawyers unbless'd with a fee, 
 Disconsolate, bare, up the loftiest round 
 Where poets inhabit by custom's decree. 
 
 And squares and parks, museums, docks, tall 
 columns, statues grim. 
 
 In strong contrast with lazaretts, suburban villas 
 trim. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Did the genius of Britain essay to possess 
 Reports of her chief town, by sending out spies 
 Commission'd to ascertain whether distress
 
 LONDON. 199 
 
 Or pleasure, prevailed in her highways and 
 
 byes, 
 With spirits to aid and afford them access, 
 Like the genii of eastern and sunnier skies. 
 In order to minister future redress. 
 The conflict of statements would cause her 
 surprise. 
 With each a district to survey, one portion would 
 
 possess 
 Intrinsic features which would give its own peculiar 
 dress. 
 
 XX. 
 
 If one were set down in the midst of the city, 
 Where countless, unceasing, like bees from a 
 
 hive, 
 The busy inhabitants, grave, gay, or witty. 
 Are thrusting along, while each street seems 
 
 alive 
 With cars, wagons, carts, chaises, quick step- 
 ping feet, he 
 While stunn'd with the discord can scarcely 
 
 contrive 
 To escape running down, each holds it a pity 
 A moment to lose in his efforts to thi-ive.
 
 200 LONDON. 
 
 The gorgeous shops, the costly goods, and marks 
 
 of weahh around, 
 No idleness or poverty would speak could here 
 
 be found. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Another despatch'd to the squares of the west, 
 The chosen retreats of the wealthy and proud ; 
 No trading is here, and no one seems prest 
 Or hurried for time — no wagons, no crowd ; 
 In respectable dulness each mansion is drest, 
 ('Tis the vulgar alone who are busy and loud) 
 A decorous languor around seems to rest 
 Unbroken — except on the night of a rout. 
 
 Then shouts and curses, flashing lights and noise 
 of wheels declare. 
 
 That some great man's that night ' at home,' at 
 somewhere in the square. 
 
 XXII. , 
 
 Send a third to the haunts of the wretched and 
 
 poor, 
 The hovels and dens of misfortune and vice, 
 Where the demon of poverty glares from each 
 
 door.
 
 LONDON. 201 
 
 And thousand o' mornings scarce know when 
 
 they rise 
 Where their breakfast will meet them : and 
 
 ragged and sore, 
 CoiTupted, diseased, a harbour for lice, 
 In filth and brutality squander that store, 
 So meagre at best, in low drinking and dice, 
 And squalor, oaths and noisome smells, want, 
 
 misery, and crime 
 Would tincture his repoi't with all the evils of the 
 
 time. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 One feature in London, with pleasing surprise. 
 Will strike the observer wherever he turns : 
 The number of buildings still meeting his eyes, 
 From inscriptions on which he wondering learns 
 That on casual donations each safely relies 
 For the means of relieving the spirit that mourns, 
 Or aiding where fallen humanity tries 
 To regain that position for which the heart yearns ; 
 This glorious fact pleads strongly for the voluntary 
 
 cause. 
 And that religion wants no aid from state-enacted 
 laws. 
 
 K 3
 
 •202 LONDON. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 He who hath encounter'd the force of a crowd, 
 A genuine compound of cockneyland life : 
 Hath witness'd its impulses eager and loud, 
 Its humour, vagaries, contention, and strife: 
 Now forward, now backward, to right or left 
 
 bow'd. 
 One cries on his children, and one on his 
 
 wife, 
 With ribs sore — and tatter'd, hath probably 
 
 vow'd 
 To avoid such a thing for the rest of his life. 
 The many-headed monster's strength is felt for 
 
 many a day, 
 You bless your fate if anns and legs are safely 
 
 brought away. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 When we speak of great cities, their grandeur 
 
 and gloiy. 
 Our words are of palaces, temples, and towers: 
 Their monuments, fountains, in thought are 
 
 before ye. 
 Casting up to the heavens their soft, cooling 
 
 showers,
 
 LONDON. 203 
 
 Thus, Memphis, Damascus, Rome — famous in 
 
 story — 
 Remind us of catacombs, columns, and bowers: 
 While many more modern with which tourists 
 
 bore ye, 
 In gardens and fountains are far before ours. 
 Those pleasant shades and cooling streams 
 
 beneath a burning sky. 
 Rich in their sculptured ornaments, are grateful 
 
 to the eye. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 But brought as a test of a nation's advance, 
 Great London will prove to be far in the 
 
 van, 
 Superior to Italy, Spain, ay, or France, 
 For they have left off just where Britain began; 
 We need not to squares or to aqueducts dance. 
 For water is brought to the home of each man; 
 Would the barbarous splendour our comforts 
 
 enhance. 
 If we gave up our own and adopted their plan? 
 No spouting Tritons, mermaids, shells, as civilized 
 
 indices, 
 Are far behind our homely plan as Bagdad now 
 to Nice is.
 
 204 LONDON. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Magnificent, too, is the system of drains, 
 Exceeding the far-spoken wonders of old: 
 So lengthen'd and vast in its branches and chains, 
 That hibyrinths pass like a tale that is told : 
 The sewers gigantic, like multiplied veins. 
 Beneath the whole city their windings unfold, 
 Disgorging the source of plagues, scourges, and 
 
 pains, 
 Which visit those cities to cleanliness cold. 
 Well did the ancient proverb lay down this 
 
 important text. 
 That cleanliness for human weal to Godliness is 
 
 next. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 But, alas ! there is one thing — a stain and a blot, 
 Disgi'aceful, unhealthy, disgusting, and foul. 
 Repugnant to reason, offensive to thought, 
 Revolting and shocking to body and soul : 
 The grave-yards, where common humanity's lot 
 Decrees that the stream of all living must roll, 
 Though they " lie in obstruction," yet scarcely 
 
 can rot 
 In the maw of this flesh-glutted ravenous ghoule ;
 
 LONDON. 205 
 
 'Twas once a hallow'd sacred spot of calm and 
 
 tranquil rest, 
 Where ceased the weary one to toil, the wicked 
 
 to molest. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Yet surely this nation, so gi'eat and so wise, 
 In arts, and refinement, and science so grand, 
 Will never permit beneath their own eyes, 
 An evil so baleful, pernicious, to stand: 
 No ! let them in might and in majesty rise 
 Through the length and breadth of their dear 
 
 native land, 
 And join, one and all, to purge these foul sties, 
 By reason, by union — with head, heart, and 
 
 hand. 
 For health, for decency, for all that's sacred to 
 
 men's minds, 
 Thrust from your towns those reeking pests which 
 
 taint the viewless winds. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Then let me conclude, for I cannot exhaust 
 The themes to dilate on (so boundless a range,) 
 The mind in amazement and wonder is lost
 
 206 
 
 LONDON. 
 
 At the multiplied objects so various and strange : 
 May thy people love justice, at whatever cost, 
 Improve and be happy, not restless for change, 
 May their honest expectancies never be cross'd, 
 And never do aught a just God may avenge ! 
 Thus may this town, so wonderful, so wealthy, 
 
 and so vast, 
 Continue flourishing and free while time and 
 nature last.
 
 THE HOMES OF THE POOR. 
 
 The halls of merry England 
 
 Stand fair upon the plain, 
 Her lordly castles crown the steep, 
 
 Her vessels crowd the main : 
 There are palaces for princes, 
 
 And villas fair to see. 
 Brave homes for nobles, merchants; but 
 
 The poor man — where dwells he ? 
 
 Come, walk into St. Giles's, 
 
 And up that narrow street ; 
 This dirty winding stair conducts 
 
 To poverty's retreat :
 
 208 THE HOMES OF THE POOR. 
 
 The grey light of the morning 
 Is breaking through the air, 
 
 But fi*om the steams u])on the glass, 
 It scarce can enter there. 
 
 Ay ! take your scent of mille flours, 
 
 Or sal volatile, 
 (You need it in this crowded room.) 
 
 Now tell me what you see ! 
 Nine human beings herding 
 
 Within this little den, 
 Of diff''rent ages, sex, and name — 
 
 Boys, women, girls, and men. 
 
 That large bed, in the corner, 
 
 Contains the married pair, 
 Besides two infant children, 
 
 Who occupy a share : 
 The eldest son and lodger 
 
 Another bed enjoy ; 
 The third contains a grown-up girl. 
 
 Her sister, and a boy.
 
 THE HOMES OF THE POOK. 209 
 
 You think this an exception, 
 
 But go from door to door, 
 And you will find it common in 
 
 The dwellings of the poor: 
 It is not of the pariahs, 
 
 The worthless, and the base, 
 Whom idleness and vice have made 
 
 The outcasts of their race, — 
 
 But the artisans of England, 
 
 Of industry and skill, 
 Her honest peasants, whose hard toil 
 
 Our barns and ware-rooms fill — 
 The men whose glorious labours, 
 
 A casket set with gems, 
 A palace-home for liberty. 
 
 Is rearing on the Thames ! 
 
 The men whose skilful fingers 
 Have wove the monarch's vest, 
 
 And from the loom the robe produced, 
 In which the Queen is dress'd :
 
 210 THE HOMES OF THE POOR 
 
 That gorgeous vase who moulded 
 In classic form so pure, 
 
 Which glitters on the ducal board,- 
 This grievous wrong endure. 
 
 Oh ! shame to Christian England, 
 
 That bought at such a price 
 The freedom of the injured slave 
 
 To European vice : 
 Oh ! shame to Christian teachers, 
 
 To traverse distant shores, 
 Whilst they neglect the misery 
 
 That's at their very doors ! 
 
 In vain you build cathedrals, 
 
 Rear steeples to the sky. 
 Concern yourselves about the souls 
 
 Of people when they die : 
 Instead of church extension, 
 
 Extend their living home ; 
 At least, permit the present world 
 
 To share with that to come.
 
 THE HOMES OF THE POOR. 211 
 
 Would ye gather grapes from thistles, 
 
 Or figs upon the sloe ? 
 Expect that aught of purity 
 
 Can from such sources flow ? 
 Where the barriers of modesty 
 
 Are trampled in the dust, 
 And all is there that can provoke 
 
 Brutality and lust. 
 
 Oh ! the happy homes of England, 
 
 They are not for the poor. 
 The household gods find no repose 
 
 Within his wretched door : 
 The fierce wolf of the forest 
 
 Hath to himself Si den. 
 The foxes holes, the bird a nest, 
 
 Why not the sons of men ? 
 
 Rouse up, ye English patriots. 
 And men of Christian mould ! 
 
 Proclaim, as with a trumpet blast, 
 What rulers should be told —
 
 212 THE HOMES OF THE POOR. 
 
 There's something rotten in the state, 
 When men who win their bread 
 
 Live hard, work hard, die, and have not 
 Room, alive or dead. 
 
 The children of the wealthy 
 
 Are nursed with anxious care. 
 Rich silks and velvets wrap those limbs 
 
 So delicately fair ; 
 The balmy airs of heaven. 
 
 When redolent of spring, 
 Dare not, unlicensed, breathe upon 
 
 The offspring of a king. 
 
 The poor man's squalid children 
 
 Are turned adrift to roam, 
 In hunger, rags, and dirt, because 
 
 There is not space at home : 
 The streets supply them schooling 
 
 If they to learn incline. 
 Swearing, lying, theft, by day. 
 
 At night to herd like swine. 
 
 ■;»l 

 
 THE HOMES OF THE POOR. 213 
 
 Ay ! build your model prisons 
 
 And houses of correction, 
 Pass penal laws, transport, and hang 
 
 To keep them in subjection : 
 One Sunday or one ragged school, 
 
 And fitting homes will do. 
 More than Old Baileys by the score, 
 
 And all their terrors too.
 
 EVENING. 
 
 How lovely is the twilight hour, 
 When village bells are ringing, 
 
 And hawthorn buds, and woodbines wild 
 Are dewy odours flinging ! 
 
 The scorching noontide heat is past, 
 And o'er the senses stealing, 
 
 The mellow, light, and balmy breeze 
 Comes with delicious feeling. 
 
 The beetle's swift and drony flight, 
 
 The cattle's distant lowing, 
 The music of the rippling stream 
 
 O'er golden pebbles flowing ;
 
 EVENING. 215 
 
 The whisper of the summer gale 
 Through the forest lightly roaming, 
 
 Falls softly with the cuckoo's note 
 To usher in the gloaming. 
 
 And now the light and subtle dew 
 
 In ambient aether floating, 
 Gently distils in sparkling drops 
 
 Each fragrant wild flower coating. 
 
 The red rose bends her radiant head, 
 
 The balmy freshness drinking, 
 And modest buds unfold their sweets. 
 
 From day's bright glitter shrinking. 
 
 Now richly on the glowing eve 
 
 The glorious sun descending. 
 Leaves a bright track of golden light 
 
 In purple streamlets ending. 
 
 Delicious smells the new mown grass. 
 The conscious zephyr tainting. 
 
 And list the strains from yonder grove, 
 The nightingale lamenting !
 
 i 
 
 216 EVENING. 
 
 Hark ! now its rich and thrilling voice 
 
 In melody is gushing, 
 Now tremulous and wailingly 
 
 Its liquid notes are rushing. 
 
 Yes ! lovely is the evening hour, 
 
 When fairy bells are ringing, 
 And the glow-worm lights its lustrous lamp, 
 
 While the nightingale is singing ! 
 
 i 
 
 ! 
 
 > '
 
 THE GROANS OF THE BRITONS. 
 
 " We know not even which way to flee. Chased by the barbarians 
 to the sea, and forced back by the sea upon tlie barbarians, we have 
 only the choice of two deaths : for we must either perish by the 
 sword, or be swallowed up by the waves." 
 
 Letter to Aetiub. 
 
 See ! the valiant Britons stand 
 
 In firm array npon the strand, 
 To guard, with dauntless hearts, their native land; 
 
 No iron armour girds their frame, 
 
 But stalwart limbs and souls of flame 
 Are found amid that naked, grisly band. 
 
 Onward come the men of blood, 
 
 Riding proudly o'er the flood. 
 Their shields and helmets flashing in the sun. 
 
 Daring courage, strength, and skill, 
 
 Mighty in unyielding will. 
 Taught them how fields alone were fought and won. 
 
 L
 
 218 THE GROANS OF THE BRITONS. 
 
 Firm as their native oak, when tempests roar, 
 The Britons gather on the rock-bound shore, 
 By force their proud invaders to repel : 
 The Roman name 
 Nor Caesar's fame 
 Suffice their free-born souls with fear to quell ; 
 The fire of independence glow'd in every martial 
 
 frame 
 To live as freemen still, or die upon the field of 
 fame. 
 Uprose their wild, terrific cry, 
 As swept the Roman galleys by, 
 Then mounting to their chariots, race 
 To meet them at the landing place. 
 
 Hail ! goddess bright and fair. 
 
 Nymph of the golden hair, 
 With robes of light — enchanting Liberty ! 
 
 Nature, smiling at thy birth, 
 
 Stamp'd thee friend of human worth. 
 Nurse of heroic deeds and constancy : | 
 
 By thee impell'd, the naked savage runs 
 
 On hostile spears — his brawny bosom shuns 
 No form of death — his cry is victory ! — 
 
 t
 
 THE GROANS OF THE BRITONS. 219 
 
 The Roman banners are unfui-rd, 
 And shall the rulers of the world, 
 
 Though shouting thousands hostile crowd the 
 steep, 
 With prows inverted, stand to sea, 
 Inglorious, leave the land and flee. 
 
 And speed their course for safety o'er the deep ? 
 Ye gods forbid ! no thought of flight 
 Is in their minds, for laurels bright, 
 Reap'd from the fields of conquer'd Gaul, 
 Would wither'd from their chieftain fall, 
 
 And like the sear leaves on an autumn day. 
 
 When hollow winds through shrivell'd branches 
 play, 
 Enshroud his glories with a funeral pall. 
 
 Hark ! his well-known voice is heard. 
 And Romans kindle at the word : 
 " By your fame in former fields. 
 Soldiers, forward! raise your shields. 
 Struggle onward to the land, 
 And meet the savage hand to hand : 
 Honour to the first to reach 
 And plant our eagles on the beach : 
 L 2
 
 220 THE GROANS OF THE I5RIT0NS, 
 
 Shall rude barbarians with untutor'd force 
 Arrest our practised arms and stay our course ?" 
 
 Swift they plunge into the wave, 
 First, the fearless and the brave. 
 Their hollow bucklers loudly ring 
 With darts the distant foemen fling. 
 And brazen helmets echo to the sound ; 
 
 A tempest falls, above, around. 
 And blood is gushing forth from many a wound ; 
 Yet onward still, and on they press, 
 Unflinching, in their dauntlessness. 
 The Britons rush to meet them in the sea. 
 With desp'rate valour seek to drive them back. 
 And bear them down in one combined attack, 
 To keep their homes, their wives, and children free. 
 
 Foot by foot — nay, inch by inch — 
 
 There's death in every blow. 
 Each sturdy sweep of a Roman sword 
 
 Doth lay a Briton low. 
 Cries and yells from far and near, 
 
 Assail the list'ning ear : 
 
 And streaming blood 
 Is dying with its sanguine stains the flood.
 
 THE GROANS OF THE BRITONS. 221 
 
 The Romans reach the land at length, 
 And form, and concentrate their strength. 
 While hardy legions through the tide, 
 Are rushing onward still to battle at their side. 
 
 As the foam is flung back from the surf-beaten- 
 rock. 
 So the Britons are roll'd and dispersed by the 
 
 shock : 
 Can naked barbarians, untutor'd, unskill'd, 
 Though their bosoms with spirits heroic are fill'd, 
 Contend with success, and the prowess withstand 
 Of heroes long train'd under Caesar's command ? 
 Where wisdom and conduct with courage unite 
 To make them resistless, unrivall'd in fight. 
 With the ardour and madness derived from despair. 
 The true-hearted savages franticly dare 
 On their iron-clad foemen undaunted to rush — 
 Again and again their fierce onset they push, 
 Till broken, and scatter'd, and driven to yield, 
 They leave their invaders the lords of the field. 
 
 But couch'd not like a former boast, 
 Was Caesar's message from the coast,
 
 2-22 THE GROANS OF THE BRITONS. 
 
 To greet the lords at home : 
 " I came, I saw, I overcame," 
 Those haughty words of deathless fame. 
 Were not again for Rome. 
 With empty professions of hollow submission, 
 He hasten'd away from his new acquisition, 
 
 A hundred years of blood and crime, of rapine 
 
 and of wrong 
 Succeeded this descent, and roll'd the tide of war 
 
 along. 
 And gallant deeds of arms were wrought, and 
 
 much of cruelty. 
 Ere ceased the Celtic race to claim their birthright 
 
 to be free : 
 But craft, disunion, treachery, and desultory rage 
 Undisciplined, are fearful odds successful war to 
 
 wage 
 Against the most consummate skill and high 
 
 civilization, 
 Due order, concert, means applied in proper 
 
 combination : 
 Barbaric courage strives in vain, unless the noble 
 
 soul
 
 THE GROANS OF THE BRITONS. 223 
 
 Can leaven with its qualities and animate the whole. 
 The Britons to the Koman yoke have bent the 
 
 neck at length, 
 Subdued, they seek protection thence, from their 
 
 enslavers' strength : 
 The virtues that the freeman knows, are smother'd 
 
 in the slave, 
 Hereditary bondsmen, — oh, expect not to be 
 
 brave ! 
 All those whose independent souls the victor's 
 
 sway disdaiu'd 
 Have fled to hills and fastnesses, the vile alone 
 
 remain'd. — 
 
 Three centuries have roll'd away 
 Beneath the mighty Caesars' sway ; 
 Imperial Home, with energetic hand, 
 Hath proudly borne the sceptre of command : 
 Just to its friends, to enemies severe, 
 It ruled as much by lenity as fear ; 
 But when rebellion raised aloft its head, 
 Its stern resentment struck the world with dread, 
 And kept each discontented sjDirit down, 
 Scared by the terrors of that haughty frown.
 
 224 THE GROANS OF THE BRITONS. 
 
 But Time, the parent of decay, 
 
 The Capitol hath sapp'd — 
 
 The city of the seven hills, 
 
 In ease luxurious lapp'd, 
 Is nodding to its fall, the cup o'erflows, 
 Red with the stream of human crimes and woes. 
 Rotten at core, its vast, unwieldly strength 
 Heaves with convulsive throes, until, at length. 
 Reeling, it falls. Earth trembles at the sound. 
 The ruin of its greatness strews the ground. 
 
 The fierce barbarians of the north 
 Against her weakness rushing forth, 
 Carry terror and dismay, 
 Rending provinces away, 
 And Rome's old deeds of outrage well repay. 
 Press'd from without, they now recal 
 Their legions from the British shore, 
 In Spain, and Italy, and Gaul, 
 To concentrate their strength the more : 
 Thus, when we seek the citadel to guard. 
 We strip the outposts of their usual ward. 
 
 To palliate the deed of wrong. 
 
 The weak had suffer'd from the strong.
 
 THE GROANS OF THE BRITONS. 225 
 
 By independence lost at first — 
 
 Those arts in which themselves were versed, 
 The skill, the craft, the learning of great Rome 
 Transplanted, found in conquer'd states a home : 
 The vanquish'd felt their loss a real gain, 
 They ceased their savage freedom to retain. 
 But learnt, instead, the arts of polish'd life- 
 Internal peace, in lieu of endless strife. 
 
 And now, before they left the land, 
 O'er which so long they held command, 
 They strove to rouse the Britons' pride, 
 " To seize the good the gods provide ;" 
 Urged them to put their ancient valour on, 
 To guard their native land when they were gone, 
 Repair'd their towns, and strengthen'd to the north. 
 The wall between the rapid Clyde and Forth; 
 Their former lessons having read anew, 
 They spread their swelling sails and thus withdrew. 
 
 Left to themselves, with freedom new endowed. 
 The necks which foreign masters long had bowed 
 Received the gift like slaves; whose souls the chain 
 Of servitude had branded with the stain 
 
 L 3
 
 •226 THE GROANS OF THE BRITONS. 
 
 Of base dependence ; in whose mean desires 
 No spark was left of those bright glowing fires 
 Their fathers burnt with, who preferr'd to die 
 Than live and quail beneath a tyrant's eye. 
 
 Oh, men ! degenerate and base ! 
 
 Children of a feeble race, 
 
 Stain to manhood — willing slaves 
 
 Worthy but of cow^ards' graves ! 
 
 Are ye fallen thus so low 
 
 Rushing wildly to and fro. 
 
 Wailing that the Roman sway, 
 
 Is pass'd from you and yours away ? 
 Ah, yes ! 'tis the sense of what evils impend, 
 Now none are among you to rouse and defend, 
 'Tis the shadowing forth of the future, that rolls 
 Like an ominous cloud o'er your dastardly souls. 
 Ah, well may ye weep, for the low'ring north 
 Will speedily pour her fierce warriors forth 
 To ravage and slaughter, and gather the prey. 
 While screaming the eagles are scenting the fray ! 
 
 Like wolves on the flock when the dogs are 
 
 withdrawn, 
 The savages, hearing the Romans were gone,
 
 THE GROANS OF THE BRITONS. 227 
 
 Arose in their pride, and, with buckler and 
 
 brand, 
 Prepared to assail and burst in on the land. 
 
 First on the northern wall 
 
 The Pictish warriors fall, 
 The weak defenders overcome with fear, 
 Flee from the charge like herds of startled deer. 
 
 In slender wicker boats 
 
 The hardy Scotsman floats. 
 Across the Forth he points his daring way. 
 Thirsting for blood and eager for the fray. 
 
 Landed safely on the strand, 
 
 Like a torrent o'er the land, 
 They rush impetuous with resistless force ; 
 
 None to check or stay their hand 
 
 Interpose — or give command 
 To stop them in their devastating course. 
 Oh ! dreadful the warfare, where savage ferocity. 
 Indulges its instincts of race animosity. 
 And tiger-like riots in carnage and slaughter. 
 While blood in a torrent is flowing like water — 
 No generous feeling of common humanity. 
 No chivalrous daring combined with urbanity.
 
 228 THE GROANS OF THE BRITONS. 
 
 To relieve the dark picture of madness and crime, 
 And rob of its horrors the blood-boltered time ! 
 
 Kaging fierce and uncontroll'd, 
 Burning, not with thirst of gold, 
 But flocks and herds, a welcome prey, 
 They seize on all within their way ; 
 The timid Britons flee before their face, 
 And so invite them to pursue the chase. 
 Wasted, desolate, and bare, 
 Were Britain's hills and valleys fair 
 Her sons unburied on the ground, 
 Spread horrid pestilence around, 
 And famine's gnawing tooth and haggard eye, 
 Like a destroying angel stagger'd by. 
 
 Thus want, and pestilence, and war. 
 Like furies fasten'd to the car 
 Of death, their baleful pinions spread. 
 Filling the land with gloom and dread. 
 The cities of Britain though sorely affrighted. 
 Yet made some resistance from being united, 
 Repell'd from their walls and awhile kept at bay. 
 The prowling invaders wide ranging for prey.
 
 THE GROANS OF THE BRITONS. 229 
 
 By greenwood and meadow, o'er valley and hill, 
 The Northern men wander and plunder at will ; 
 The track of their footsteps all blacken'd and bare 
 Is vocal alone with the cry of despair ; 
 The wolf from his covert rush'd out to partake 
 With the raven and kite, of the slaughter they 
 make. 
 
 Once the Britons cry for aid 
 
 To Rome, obtain'd the boon they pray'd. 
 A legion came, and clear'd the ravaged land 
 With ready speed, from every roving band, 
 Drove them for refuge fleeing in disorder. 
 To seek their mountain fastness o'er the border. 
 
 But these withdrawn, another year 
 
 In larger hosts the Picts appear, 
 
 Some took the east, and some the west. 
 
 While others through the centre prest, 
 
 A.nd mark'd their progress through the nation 
 
 By scenes of blood and desolation. 
 
 The brave among the Britons fight, 
 
 Their safety others seek in flight ; 
 
 While scenting like a wolf their prey. 
 
 The rovers burn, and rob, and slay.
 
 230 
 
 THE GROANS OF THE BRITONS. 
 
 Unburied lie upon the plain, 
 The fest'ring bodies of the slain, 
 Smoke and flame ascend on high, 
 Flashing redly to the sky. 
 And ringing sadly through the air, 
 Arose the battle yell, the wailing of despair. 
 
 Trembling with the fear of dying, 
 
 Sometimes fighting, often flying. 
 Lacking the ardent mind, the daring will. 
 Which tears the laurels oft from strength and skill. 
 And bids defiance to the world in arms. 
 Of men whom love of independence warms, 
 The Britons interpose an ineffectual bar ; 
 While to the horrors of barbai'ic rage. 
 Dire pestilence and hollow famine wage 
 
 With force united, dreadful war, 
 And roll along the wheels of fell destruction's 
 car. 
 
 Harassed, terrified, perplext. 
 With threefold evils vext, 
 The wretched natives once again besought 
 The aid of Rome, and thus the elders wrote
 
 THE GROANS OF THE BRITONS. 231 
 
 " Fathers, save us, inteqDose 
 
 Between us and our cruel foes ; '• 
 
 We know not where to turn or flee, 
 
 Before us lies the raging sea, 
 
 And fierce barbarians at our back. 
 
 With deadly rage pursue the track ; 
 
 The only choice our fate affords 
 
 Is death by water, or their swords. 
 That drives us back to lie in bloody graves, 
 TheT/ force us on to perish by the waves." j 
 
 But dread Attila threaten'd Rome, 
 Who wanted all her strength at home. 
 She sent no aid, but urged them in reply. 
 
 To face their wild pursuers, not tofiy. \ 
 
 "Oh! fight ye," they said, "as your forefathers 
 
 fought 
 When the legions of Caesar your island shores 
 
 sought ; 
 Maintain that high bearing and courage undaunted 
 The gallant Caractacus daringly vaunted, i 
 
 When brought in his fetters a captive to Rome, 
 Was the birthright of all in his own island 
 
 home. ;
 
 232 
 
 THE GROANS OF THE BRITONS. 
 
 Then rouse up your spirits and dare to be free, 
 With your face to the foe, and your back to the 
 
 sea, 
 And death if it comes shall be wedded to fame. 
 No stain on your honour — no blot on your name."
 
 THE SHIPWRECK. 
 
 'Tis night ! The silver moon shines bright, 
 
 There's silence on the deep : 
 And basking in her mellow light, 
 
 The mighty waters sleep. 
 
 The stars that gem the blue expanse 
 
 Are mirror'd in the wave, 
 While coldly pale the moonbeams dance 
 
 O'er many an ocean cave. 
 
 A holy calm of tranquil rest 
 
 Wrapp'd earth, and sea, and air ; 
 
 It seemed the region of the blest, 
 So lovely, still, and fair.
 
 234 THE SHIPWRECK. 
 
 But soon a change comes o'er the scene, 
 
 Black clouds begin to rise, 
 And overcast the blue serene, 
 
 And darkness veils the skies. 
 
 The western gale, with fitful moan. 
 
 Sweeps onward with a sigh. 
 Foretelling, by its hollow tone, 
 
 Of danger lurking nigh. 
 
 But, hark ! what sound breaks on the night. 
 
 Low floating on the breeze ? 
 What bursts majestic on the sight, 
 
 ProjDcU'd with swanlike ease ? 
 
 A ship, before the rising gale. 
 Comes scudding o'er the sea ; 
 
 The wind which swells her flutt'ring sail, 
 Seems not to move more free. 
 
 The careful watch their vigils keep. 
 
 The pilot walks the deck; 
 While all below profoundly sleep. 
 
 Nor think nor dream of wreck. 

 
 THE SHIPWRECK. 235 
 
 With anxious eye he views the change 
 
 Creep slowly on the night ; 
 And carefully he scans the range 
 
 Of all within the sight. 
 
 He marks the still increasing force 
 
 With which the billows roll : 
 The wind now grown from murmurs hoarse, 
 
 To one continued howl. 
 
 No means that skill and caution urge, 
 
 That seaman bold neglects. 
 To aid the ship to breast the surge, 
 
 Which madly sweeps the decks. 
 
 The spirit of the storm is loosed. 
 
 And rides upon the blast ; 
 With wailing cry, and sounds confused. 
 
 It speeds sublimely past. 
 
 The sounds the startled sleepers rouse 
 
 To sense of dangers near; 
 With hurried haste they don their clothes. 
 
 Their pale cheeks blanch'd with fear.
 
 236 THE SHIPWRECK. 
 
 Now lifted on the crested wave, 
 The ship is borne on high ; 
 
 Now helpless, downward to the grave 
 She headlong seems to fly. 
 
 Her heaving timbers creak and strain 
 Beneath the whirlwind's lash ; 
 
 While o'er her sides the roaring main 
 And raging billows dash. 
 
 A furious blast comes rushing by — 
 Great God, some help afford ! 
 
 What means that sad, despairing cry ? 
 The mast goes by the board 1 
 
 Some wretches by its fall are laid 
 
 Helpless amid the foam ; 
 With one faint shriek, one cry for aid, 
 
 They sink into their tomb ! 
 
 Dismasted now and rudderless. 
 The sport of wind and wave, 
 
 No refuge near, in their distress. 
 No hand outstretch'd to save, —
 
 THE SHIPWRECK. 237 
 
 Abandoned to her destiny, 
 
 The ship is dash'd along, 
 While prayers, oaths, and blasphemy. 
 
 Break from the frantic throng. 
 
 With thrilling cries of wild despair, 
 
 Some loudly shriek for aid : 
 While others strive to offer pray'r. 
 
 Who ne'er before have prayed. 
 
 But over all, the tempest's din 
 
 Lifts up its awful voice, 
 And sounds of woe, and words of sin 
 
 Are blended with its noise. 
 
 They now approach the rocky shore. 
 
 With foaming breakers white. 
 O'er which the hollow surges roar, 
 
 Dash'd with resistless might. 
 
 Speechless, aghast, with terror dumb, 
 
 The sight each soul appals ; 
 By shudd'ring horror overcome. 
 
 The senseless clamour falls.
 
 238 THE SHIPWRECK. 
 
 Resistless on, the ship is borne, 
 
 And hurl'd against the rock, 
 A thousand fragments from it torn. 
 
 Attest the dreadful shock. 
 
 Again ! again ! with fury dasliM, 
 
 Its splinters strew the wave ! 
 The wretched crew below are wash'd, 
 
 To find an ocean grave. 
 
 Loud shrieks, and yells, and piercing cries. 
 Burst from them as they sank ; 
 
 With desp'rate grasp each victim tries 
 To cling to sail or plank : 
 
 And arms are wildly thrown about. 
 And quick and gasping breath. 
 
 Speak the strong swimmer's efforts stout, 
 To 'scape impending death. 
 
 But all in vain ! for one by one. 
 
 Each dark head disappears: 
 The last faint cry and stifling moan 
 
 Is quench'd in ocean's tears.
 
 THE SHIPWRECK. 239 
 
 Nor those who cling convulsively 
 
 To fragments floating round, 
 Are doomed a better fate to see 
 
 Than what their comrades found. 
 
 For, onward by the current borne 
 
 Full on the rocky coast. 
 Their mangled bodies, bleeding, torn, 
 
 Are lifeless corpses tost. 
 
 But one alone, of all that band. 
 
 Heaved on a mountain wave, 
 Is senseless cast upon the land. 
 
 Where feeling hearts may save. 
 
 Attended with assiduous care, 
 (Though long benumb'd he lay,) 
 
 His pulse returns — with vacant stare 
 His eyes unclose to day. 
 
 But wounded, bruised, his wasted strength 
 
 Long in the balance hung; 
 And days and nights their weary length 
 
 Have tedious dragg'd along —
 
 240 THE SHIPWRECK. 
 
 Ere he, that solitary one, 
 Upon the cliff once more 
 
 Stood gazing, sadly and alone. 
 Along that ocean shore. 
 
 Again, the sea was calm and smooth, 
 And show'd its placid breast, 
 
 So still and fair — it well might soothe 
 The troubled soul to rest. 
 
 Not e'en a ripple seemed to move 
 
 Along its glassy side ; 
 But harmless, gentle as a dove, 
 
 Appeared its treacherous tide. 
 
 Thus often to the eyes of youth, 
 The world alluring shows 
 
 Its words of peace, and looks of ruth 
 Conceal its hidden woes. 
 
 Till fairly launch'd, in eager chase, 
 
 Men-ily on they go, 
 Nor dream beneath its smiling face 
 
 Is mask'd a deadly foe.
 
 THE SHIPWRECK. 241 J 
 
 ■li 
 
 With buoyant hearts, life's course is set, ;; 
 
 Hope at the helm presides : | 
 
 And trusting Faith, unwounded yet, | 
 
 All anxious care derides. ) 
 
 But as they glide supinely on, 
 Unconscious of mischance. 
 
 Some rude assault, not thought upon, 
 Awakes them from their trance. 
 
 Perchance on Pleasure's sunken rocks. 
 
 By youthful folly drawn. 
 Their noonday shipwreck idly mocks 
 
 Their morning's opening dawn. 
 
 Or on Ambition's breakers lost. 
 
 By Pride or Av'rice led, 
 Too late they feel, by bitter cost. 
 
 The ills they should have fled. 
 
 M
 
 WATER. 
 
 A TEMPERANCE ODE, 
 
 In praise of the deep delights of wine, 
 
 Anacreon woke his tuneful lyre, 
 And warbled its joys in strains divine, 
 With the thrilling force of a poet's fire : 
 But the noisy glee 
 Of the debauchee 
 Possesses no magic charms for me. 
 
 I love the liquid that leaves no sting- 
 To rob the cup of its purest pleasure ; 
 A cooling draught from the bubbling spring 
 Shall be the theme of my humbler measure 
 Where the wild Bee sips 
 With her honeyd lips. 
 And the Martin his glossy plumage dips.
 
 WATER. 243 
 
 Let the toper boast the joys that flow 
 
 From the mantling bowl all joys surpass — 
 While his face reflects the ruddy glow 
 And purple hue of the teeming glass, 
 Like the flaming sight 
 Of a beacon light, 
 It burns to warn and not to invite. 
 
 Refreshing, colourless, sweet and pure, 
 
 Fair water flows from the green hill side, 
 And he is the truest epicure 
 
 Who drinks with pleasure its sparkling tide : 
 From its secret cell. 
 Through the mossy dell, 
 Flowers and verdure its progress tell.
 
 WATER. 
 
 When bursting from chaos, the newly fonn'd 
 
 earth, 
 In the fulness of time had accomplish'd its birth, 
 And order and beauty from darkness awoke, 
 As the light of the sun on the universe broke ; 
 Then the might of Jehovah walked forth on the 
 
 deep, 
 Unsealing the eyelids of day from their sleep, 
 To witness each power prescribe its due bound. 
 And dry land arise by the sea girdled round. 
 
 The firm earth was fitted its stores to produce, 
 As food for all creatures and man's special use, 
 Corn, grass, fruits, and spices, were given to eat, 
 But water alone as a drink with the meat :
 
 WATER. 245 
 
 To its fountains the creatures of earth and of air, 
 All reeking and panting, with rapture repair, 
 The Lion and Vulture, the Ox and Giraffe, 
 But man, foolish man, hath forgotten to quaff. 
 
 Oh ! water — sweet water ! thou fluid divine, 
 Ethereal essence, more precious than wine : 
 Thou life-blood of nature, without whose supply, 
 All things that have being must wither and die ! 
 Too pi'one to overlook from its universality, 
 And estimate lightly its lavish vitality. 
 We feel not the whole of its value, until 
 We faint on the desert, and sigh for the rill.
 
 SONG. 
 
 When clay's golden light from the Heavens is 
 
 fading, 
 And the throstle is piping her lay in the vale, 
 When softness and beauty the landscape per- 
 vading, 
 And music is heard in the whispering gale : 
 Oh ! meet me by the hawthorn tree, 
 And I will breathe my vows to thee ! 
 
 When brightly the star of the evening is shining, 
 And the glow-worm's pale lustre the harvest moon 
 
 greets, 
 Come, wander with me, where the woodbine en- ; | 
 
 twining 
 Around the old oak, is exhaling its sweets : 
 I tarry by the hawthorn-tree 
 To breathe my vows of love to thee. I 
 
 *
 
 tONDON: 
 
 T. C. SAVILI,, PKINTEB, CHANDOS STREET, 
 
 COVENT GARDEN.
 
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