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Guarded their spirits, kept their inmost thoughts
All lovely, pure, and beautiful. Secure
In the assurance of an authorized pledge,
They, unrepining, brook'd their bliss deferr'd
By charge parental, till maturer years
Should fit them for the cares of wedded life.

Alas ! too wisely spake the poet wise“ The course of true love never did run smooth," How clear soe'er the stream. Though like estate, Congenial birth, affection tried and true, Taste, tempers, studies, finely harmonized By sympathy in dissimilitudeDivided excellence, that sought and found Its full perfection in the bond of love, Decreed the union of the happy pair, Whose mutual passion was obedience To those beloved parents, who had wish'd Their offspring blended in a common stock Ere either babe was born; yet eyeless Fate And human baseness wrought the righteous will Of fate-controlling Heaven. The lovely maid Was doom'd on earth to droop, a virgin flower, Unsoil'd of earth, to bloom in Paradise.

Accursed faction poisons e’en the fount Of household amity. A man there came Of dubious honour, and of race unknown, Deep laden with the plunder'd wealth of Ind; And he, forsooth, must shine a rising star In Britain's senate, make and unmake laws He learn'd but late to keep; beat down prerogative, “ And make bold power look pale”-a patriot he, Profound economist, the people's friend, And champion of reform. Now Leonard's sire Was one of ancient lineage, and estate For many generations handed down, Without an acre added or impair’dHe counted a long line of senators Among his ancestry, and ill could brook The lineal honours of his house usurp'd By the ill-gotten purse of yesterday. And now the day of license was at hand, Britain's septennial Saturnalia, When the soft palm of nice nobility, Ungloved, solicits the Herculean gripe Of hands with bestial slaughter newly stain’d; When ladies stoop their coroneted brows, And patriotic kisses deal to churls A gipsy would refuse; and, reeling ripe, Big Independence, reeking as he

goes Through the rank toll-booth, works his burly way To hiccup perjury.-0 Mountain Nymph! -O Virgin Liberty! behold thy shrine, And send a snow-blast from thy native hills, Or thy fat offerings will all dissolve And choke the world with incense. -Plutus now, And roaring Bacchus, are thy ministers, While swoln Corruption, like a toad, half-hid Beneath the purple trappings of the throne, Distends her bloated features with a laugh, To hear the many take thy name in vain.

Unequal strife had Leonard's sire to wage

Too proud to flatter, and too proud to yield
The palm to flatterers, he fondly deem’d
Hereditary gratitude—the name
Of his time-honour'd house and all the links
That bind the present to the past, and make
Each moment sponsor for eternity, ,
Were barriers potent to resist the flood

pauper treason, back'd with traitorous gold.
Hark !—the loud war proclaim'd by drum and fife,
And labell’d banners, that affront the sky
With gaudy blazonry of factious hate,
Turning the innocent hues of flower and field
To party shibboleths. The clear blue sky
Frown'd on the crimson of the regal rose-
Nor spared the maiden blush. Fierce riot rung
In homely mansions, long devote to peace,
And mild, benignant mirth. From vale to vale
The uproar echoed through the spacious shire,
The clang o’erpowering of the madd’ning wheels
That glow'd incessant in the whirling fog
Of sleepy dust that courts the ground in vain.
The Sabbath bells alarm the slumbering dead
With irreligious peals ; old Silence flies
From all her hallow'd haunts, and hides her head
In the brute dumbness of o'ergorged excess :-
Talk not of Hecatombs, imperial feasts,
Or antique feats of Roman gluttony;
For every alehouse is a temple now,
And flocks and herds but half suffice to stay
The popular maw.—Not sapient Egypt's god,
The lowing Apis, had escaped the knife,
Had slavish Egypt ever claim’d the right

Of unbought suffrage and election free.
Who dare deny—that beast, and fish, and fowl
Were made for man? Calves, sheep, and oxen, slain
In freedom's cause, by freemen are devour'd-
A feller fate attends the generous steed-
Outworn with toil, he gluts a freeman's cur.

But Leonard—and the gentle Susan? Where Walk they the while ? Oft, when the rafter'd hall Shook with the jovial laugh of loyalty, Till each grim ancestor and grandam fair, That on the smokey canvass smiled for aye, In multiplied confusion rolld around, Would Leonard steal into the quiet air Of pensive Night, Love's trusty confidante, To meet his Susan on the silent hill, And silent sit beneath the silent moon; His hand laid lightly on his Susan's palm, While thousand, thousand voices, heard afar, Were soft as murmurs of the distant oceanSolemn and soft-and yet a weary sound To her, who knew her parent's heart estranged From him she long’d to call her second sire ; For Susan's father, reckless of her tears, Of ancient neighbourhood, and deeds of love Too natural to call for gratitudeBlind to the pleadings of the meek, sad eyes Of his child's mother, and his only child— Had pledged his voice, and purse, and utmost power To his friend's rival—whether borne away By the loud torrent of the popular cry, That universal voucher, for whose truth

No man can vouch-or vex’d by wounded pride
For prudent counsel by his friend refused,
Or by congenial baseness, and the bent
And instinct of an earthy, purblind spirit
That hated honour, as a darkling fiend
Detests the sun, to kindred baseness drawn
My Muse, unversed in vileness, not reveals.

age ?

Fearful the perils that beset our youth,
But are there none that lie in wait for
Is not the sight, whose erring faith mistakes
An exhalation for a guiding star,
Better than total blindness ? Good it were
To be a Persian, and adore the sun
At morn and eye-or deem the changeful moon
Imperial arbitress of fickle fate,
To hail the day-dawn as a visible God,
Or, trembling, think the terrible vast sea
A living Godhead in a wrathful mood,
Rather than dwell within the gaol of sense,
To see no God in all the beauteous world-
To feel no God in man.

'Twas sad to mark The passive Susan pace the public way; Her meek, obedient head with weight oppress’d Of gaudy colours, that but ill became Her pale fair cheek-to hear her soft low voice Reluctant task'd to warble scurril rhymes, Set by some ale-bench Pindar to such tunes As carmen whistle. Worse it was to find The Nabob and his train of Bacchanals

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