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A morning-visit to the poor man's shed,
(Who would be rich while One was wanting bread?)
When all are emulous to bring relief,

And tears are falling fast-but not for grief:-
A Walk in Spring-Grattan, like those with thee,
By the heath-side (who had not envied me?)
When the sweet limes, so full of bees in June,
Led us to meet beneath their boughs at noon;
And thou didst say which of the Great and Wise,
Could they but hear and at thy bidding rise,
Thou wouldst call up
and question.

Graver things

Come in their turn. Morning, and Evening, brings
Its holy office; and the sabbath-bell,

That over wood and wild and mountain-dell
Wanders so far, chasing all thoughts unholy
With sounds most musical, most melancholy,
Not on his ear is lost. Then he


The pathway leading through the aged yews,
Nor unattended; and, when all are there,
Pours out his spirit in the House of Prayer,
That House with many a funeral-garland hung (18)
Of virgin-white-memorials of the young,
The last yet fresh when marriage-chimes were ringing,
And hope and joy in other hearts were springing;
That House, where Age led in by Filial Love,
Their looks composed, their thoughts on things above,
The world forgot, or all its wrongs forgiven――
Who would not say they trod the path to Heaven?
Nor at the fragrant hour-at early dawn--
Under the elm-tree on his level lawn,
Or in his porch is he less duly found,

When they that cry for Justice gather round,
And in that cry her sacred voice is drown'd;
His then to hear and weigh and arbitrate,
Like Alfred judging at his palace-gate.

Heal'd at his touch, the wounds of discord close;
And they return as friends, that came as foes.

Thus, while the world but claims its proper part,
Oft in the head but never in the heart,

His life steals on; within his quiet dwelling
That home-felt joy all other joys excelling.
Sick of the crowd, when enters he-nor then
Forgets the cold indifference of men?

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Went Sidney, Russell, Raleigh, Cranmer, More,
On into twilight within walls of stone,
Then to the place of trial; (22) and alone, (23)
Alone before his judges in array

Stands for his life: there, on that awful day,
Counsel of friends-all human help denied-
All but from her who sits the pen to guide,
Like that sweet Saint who sate by Russell's side
Under the Judgment-seat.(24)-But guilty men
Triumph not always. To his hearth again,
Again with honour to his hearth restored,
Lo, in the accustomed chair and at the board,
Thrice greeting those who most withdraw their claim,
(The lowliest servant calling by his name)
He reads thanksgiving in the eyes of all,
All met as at a holy festival!

-On the day destined for his funeral !
Lo, there the Friend, who entering where he lay,
Breathed in his drowsy ear « Away, away!
Take thou my cloak-Nay, start not, but obey-
Take it and leave me." And the blushing Maid,
Who through the streets as through a desert stray'd;
And, when her dear, dear Father pass'd along
Would not be held-but, bursting through the throng,
Halberd and battle-axe-kiss'd him o'er and o'er;
Then turn'd and went-then sought him as before,
Believing she should see his face no more!
And oh, how changed at once-no heroine here,

-Soon through the gadding vine (19) the sun looks in, But a weak woman worn with grief and fear,


And gentle hands the breakfast-rite begin.
Then the bright kettle sings its matin-song,
Then fragrant clouds of Mocha and Souchong
Blend as they rise; and (while without are seen,
Sure of their meal, the small birds on the
And in from far a school-boy's letter flies,
Flushing the sister's cheek with glad surprise)
That sheet unfolds (who reads, that reads it not?)
Born with the day and with the day forgot;
Its ample page various as human life,
The pomp, the woe, the bustle and the strife!

But nothing lasts. In Autumn at his plough
Met and solicited, behold him now
Leaving that humbler sphere his fathers knew,
The sphere that Wisdom loves-and Virtue too,
She who subsists not on the vain applause
Misjudging man now gives and now withdraws.

T was morn-the sky-lark o'er the furrow sung
As from his lips the slow consent was wrung;
As from the glebe his fathers till'd of old,
The plough they guided in an age of gold,

Iler darling Mother! 'T was but now she smiled,
And now she weeps upon her weeping child!
-But who sits by, her only wish below

At length fulfill'd-and now prepared to go?
His hands on hers-as through the mists of night,
She gazes on him with imperfect sight;
Her glory now, as ever her delight! (25)
To her, methinks, a second Youth is given;
The light upon her face a light from Heaven!

An hour like this is worth a thousand pass'd
In pomp or ease-T is present to the last!
Years glide away untold-'T is still the same!
As fresh, as fair as on the day it came!

And now once more where most he loved to be,
In his own fields-breathing tranquillity-
We hail him-not less happy, Fox, than thee!
Thee at St Anne's so soon of care beguiled,
Playful, sincere, and artless as a child!

Thee, who wouldst watch a bird's nest on the spray,
Through the green leaves exploring, day by day.

How oft from grove to grove, from seat to seat, With thee conversing in thy loved retreat,

I saw the sun go down!-Ah, then 't was thine Ne'er to forget some volume half divine,

And She inspires, whose beauty shines in all;
So soon to weave a daughter's coronal,
And at the nuptial rite smile through her tears;-
So soon to hover round her full of fears,

Shakspeare's or Dryden's-through the chequer'd shade And with assurance sweet her soul revive

Borne in thy hand behind thee as we stray'd;

And where we sate (and many a halt we made)
To read there with a fervour all thy own,
And in thy grand and melancholy tone,
Some splendid passage not to thee unknown,
Fit theme for long discourse-Thy bell has toll'd!
-But in thy place among us we behold
One who resembles thee.

'Tis the sixth hour.
The village-clock strikes from the distant tower.
The ploughman leaves the field; the traveller hears,
And to the inn spurs forward. Nature wears
Her sweetest smile; the day-star in the west

Yet hovering, and the thistle's down at rest.

And such, his labour done, the calm He knows,
Whose footsteps we have follow'd. Round him glows
An atmosphere that brightens to the last;
The light, that shines, reflected from the Past,
-And from the future too! Active in Thought
Among old books, old friends; and not unsought
By the wise stranger-in his morning-hours,
When gentle airs stir the fresh-blowing flowers,
He muses, turning up the idle weed;
Or prunes or grafts, or in the yellow mead
Watches his bees at hiving-time; and now,
The ladder resting on the orchard-bough,
Culls the delicious fruit that hangs in air,
The purple plum, green fig, or golden pear,
'Mid sparkling eyes, and hands uplifted there.
At night, when all, assembling round the fire,
Closer and closer draw till they retire,
A tale is told of India or Japan,

Of merchants from Golcond or Astracan,
What time wild Nature revell'd unrestrain'd,
And Sinbad voyaged and the Caliphs reign'd: —
Of some Norwegian, while the icy gale
Rings in her shrouds and beats her iron-sail,
Among the snowy Alps of Polar seas
Immoveable-for ever there to freeze!
Or some great caravan, from well to well
Winding as darkness on the desert fell,

In their long march, such as the Prophet bids,
To Mecca from the Land of Pyramids,
And in an instant lost-a hollow wave
Of burning sand their everlasting grave!-
Now the scene shifts to Venice-to a square
Glittering with light, all nations masking there,
With light reflected on the tremulous tide,
Where gondolas in gay confusion glide,
Answering the jest, the song on every side;
To Naples next--and at the crowded gate,
Where Grief and Fear and wild Amazement wait,
Lo, on his back a Son brings in his Sire, (26)
Vesuvius blazing like a World on fire!—
Then, at a sign that never was forgot,

A strain breaks forth (who hears and loves it not?)
From lute or organ! 'Tis at parting given,

That in their slumbers they may dream of Heaven;
Young voices mingling, as it floats along,
In Tuscan air or Handel's sacred song!

In child-birth-when a mother's love is most alive!
No, 't is not here that Solitude is known.
Through the wide world he only is alone
Who lives not for another. Come what will,
The generous man has his companion still;
The cricket on his hearth; the buzzing fly
That skims his roof, or, be his roof the sky,
Still with its note of gladness passes by:
And, in an iron cage condemn'd to dwell,
The cage that stands within the dungeon-cell,
He feeds is spider-happier at the worst
Than he at large who in himself is curst!

O thou all-eloquent, whose mighty mind (27)
Streams from the depth of ages on mankind,
Streams like the day-who, angel-like, hast shed
Thy full effulgence on the hoary head,
Speaking in Cato's venerable voice,

« Look up, and faint not-faint not, but rejoice!»>
From thy Elysium guide him. Age has now
Stamp'd with its signet that ingenuous brow;
And, 'mid his old hereditary trees,

Trees he has climb'd so oft, he sits and sees

His children's children playing round his knees:
Then happiest, youngest, when the quoit is flung,
When side by side the archer's bows are strung;
His to prescribe the place, adjudge the prize,
Envying no more the young their energies
Than they an old man when his words are wise;
His a delight how pure-without alloy;
Strong in their strength, rejoicing in their joy!

Now in their turn assisting, they repay
The anxious cares of many and many a day;
And now by those he loves relieved, restored,
Ilis very wants and weaknesses afford

A feeling of enjoyment. In his walks,
Leaning on them, how oft he stops and talks,
While they look up! Their questions, their replies,
Fresh as the welling waters, round him rise,
Gladdening his spirit: and, his theme the past,
How eloquent he is! His thoughts flow fast,
And, while his heart (oh can the heart grow old?
False are the tales that in the World are told!)
Swells in his voice, he knows not where to end;
Like one discoursing of an absent friend.

But there are moments which he calls his own.
Then, never less alone than when alone,
Those that he loved so long and sees no more,
Loved and still loves-not dead-but gone before,
He gathers round him; and revives at will
Scenes in his life-that breathe enchantment still-
That come not now at dreary intervals-
But where a light as from the Blessed falls,
A light such guests bring ever-pure and holy-
Lapping the soul in sweetest melancholy
-Ah then less willing (nor the choice condemn)
To live with others than to think on them!

And now behold him up the hill ascending, Memory and Hope like evening-stars attending; Sustain'd, excited, till his course is run,

By deeds of virtue done or to be done.

When on his couch he sinks at length to rest,
Those by his counsel saved, his power redress'd,
Those by the World shunn'd ever as unblest,
At whom the rich man's dog growls from the gate,
But whom he sought out, sitting desolate,
Come and stand round-the widow with her child,
As when she first forgot her tears and smiled!
They, who watch by him, see not; but he sees,
Sees and exults-Were ever dreams like these?
They, who watch by him, hear not; but he hears,
And Earth recedes, and Heaven itself appears!

'T is past! That hand we grasp'd, alas, in vain!
Nor shall we look upon his face again!
But to his closing eyes, for all were there,
Nothing was wanting; and, through many a year
We shall remember with a fond delight
The words so precious which we heard to-night;
His parting, though awhile our sorrow flows,
Like setting suns or music at the close!

Then was the drama ended. Not till then, So full of chance and change the lives of men, Could we pronounce him happy. Then secure From pain, from grief, and all that we endure, He slept in peace--say rather soared to Heaven, Upborne from Earth by Him to whom 't is given In his right hand to hold the golden key That the portals of Eternity.


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to know himself. He tells the proud and insolent, that they are but abjects, and humbles them at the instant. He takes the account of the rich man, and proves him a beggar, a naked beggar. He holds a glass before the eyes of the most beautiful, and makes them see therein their deformity; and they acknowledge it.

O eloquent, just, and mighty Death! whom none could advise, thou hast persuaded; what none have dared, thou hast done; and whom all the world have flattered, thou only hast cast out and despised: thou hast drawn together all the far-stretched greatness, all the pride, cruelty and ambition of man, and covered it all over with these two narrow words, Hic jacet. col. 2.

Note 3, page 11,

Through the dim curtains of Futurity.


Fancy can hardly forbear to conjecture with what temper Milton surveyed the silent progress of his work, and marked his reputation stealing its way in a kind of subterraneous current through fear and silence. I cannot but conceive him calm and confident, little disappointed, not at all dejected, relying on his own merit with steady consciousness, and waiting, without impatience, the vicissitudes of opinion, and the impartiality of a future generation.-JOHNSON.

After line 57, col. 2, in the MS.
O'er place and time we triumph; on we go,
Ranging in thought the realms above, below;
Yet, ah, bow little of ourselves we know!
And why the heart beats on, or how the brain
Says to the foot,Now move, now rest again,"
From age to age we search and search in vain.

Note 4, page 12, col. 1.

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Note 6, page 12, col. 1.

The hour arrives, the moment wished and feared.

A Persian Poet has left us a beautiful thought on this subject, which the reader, if he has not met with it, will be glad to know, and, if he has, to remember.

Thee on thy mother's knees, a new-born child,

In tears we saw, when all around thee smiled.

So live, that, sinking in thy last long sleep,
Smiles may be thine, when all around thee weep.

For my version I am in a great measure indebted to Sir William Jones.

Note 7, page 12, col. 2.

These are my Jewels!»

The anecdote here alluded to, is related by Valerius Maximus, lib. iv, c. 4.

Note 8, page 12, col. 2.

Suffer these little ones to come to me!»

In our early Youth, while yet we live only among those we love, we love without restraint, and our hearts overflow in every look, word, and action. But when we enter the world and are repulsed by strangers, forgotten by friends, we grow more and more timid in our approaches even to those we love best.

How delightful to us then are the little caresses of children! All sincerity, all affection, they fly into our arms; and then, and then only, we feel our first confidence, our first pleasure.

Note 9, page 12, col. 2.

-be reveres

The brow engraven with the Thoughts of Years. This is a law of Nature. Age was anciently synonymous with power; and we may always observe that the old are held in more or less honour as men are more or less virtuous. «Shame," says Homer, bids the youth beware how he accosts the man of many years.» «Thou shalt rise up before the hoary head, and honour the face of an old man.»-Leviticus.

Among us, says a philosophical historian, and wherever birth and possessions give rank and authority, the young and the profligate are seen continually above the old and the worthy: there Age can never find its due respect. But among many of the ancient nations it was otherwise; and they reaped the benefit of it. Rien ne maintient plus les mœurs qu'une extrême subordination des jeunes gens envers les vieillards. Les uns et les autres seront contenus, ceux-là par le respect qu'ils auront pour les vieillards, et ceux-ci par le respect | qu'ils auront pour eux-mêmes. -MONTESQUIEU.

Note 10, page 12, col. 2.

Like Her most gentle, most unfortunate. Before I went into Germany, I came to Brodegate in Leicestershire, to take my leave of that noble Lady Jane Grey, to whom I was exceeding much beholding. Her parents, the Duke and Duchess, with all the Household, Gentlemen and Gentlewomen, were hunting in the park. I found her in her chamber, reading Phado Platonis in Greek, and that with as much delight as some Gentlemen would read a merry tale in Boccace. After salutation and duty done, with some other talk, I asked her, why she would lose such pastime in the Park? Smiling, she answered me, «I wist, all their sport in the park is but a shadow to that pleasure that I find in Plato."-ROGER ASCHAM.

Note 11, page 12, col. 2.

Then is the Age of Admiration.

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Xenophon has left us a delightful instance of conjugal affection.

The king of Armenia not fulfilling his engagement, Cyrus entered the country, and, having taken him and all his family prisoners, ordered them instantly before him. Armenian, said he, you are free; for you are now sensible of your error. And what will you give me, if I restore your wife to you?—All that I am able.— What, if I restore your children?-All that I am able.— And you, Tigranes, said he, turning to the son, What would you do, to save your wife from servitude? Now Tigranes was but lately married, and had a great love for his wife. Cyrus, he replied, to save her from servitude, I would willingly lay down my life.

Let each have his own again, said Cyrus; and when he was departed, one spoke of his clemency; and another of his valour; and another of his beauty, and the wife, if she thought him handsome. Really, said she, graces of his person. Upon which Tigranes asked his I did not look at him.-At whom then did you look?At him who said he would lay down his life for me.Cyropædia, l. iii.

Note 17, page 14, col. 2.

He goes, and Night comes as it never came!

These circumstances, as well as some others that follow, are happily, as far as they regard England, of an ancient date. To us the miseries inflicted by a foreign invader are now known only by description.

Dante in his old age was pointed out to Petrarch Many generations have passed away since our countrywhen a boy; and Dryden to Pope.

Who does not wish that Dante and Dryden could have known the value of the homage that was paid them, and foreseen the greatness of their young ad


Note 12, page 13, col. 1.

Scenes such as Milton sought, but sought in vain. He had arrived at Naples; and was preparing to

women saw the smoke of an enemy's camp.

But the same passions are always at work every where, and their effects are always nearly the same; though the circumstances that attend them are infinitely


Note 18, page 15, col. 1.

That House with many a funeral-garland hung. A custom in some of our country-churches.

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Like Hampden struggling in his Country's cause. Zeuxis is said to have drawn his Helen from an assemblage of the most beautiful women; and many a writer of fiction, in forming a life to his mind, has recourse to the brightest moments in the lives of others.

I may be suspected of having done so here, and of having designed, as it were, from living models; but by making an allusion now and then to those who have really lived, I thought I should give something of interest to the picture, as well as better illustrate my meaning.

Note 21, page 15, col. 2.

On through that gate misnamed.

Mr Attorney General. Yes, a Servant. Lord Chief Justice. Any of your Servants shall assist you in writing any thing you please for you. Lord Russell. My Wife is here, my Lord, to do it.State Trials, ii.

Note 25, page 15, col. 2.

Her glory now, as ever her delight!

Epaminondas, after his victory at Leuctra, rejoiced most of all at the pleasure which it would give his father and mother; and who would not have envied them their feelings?

Cornelia was called at Rome the Mother-in-law of Scipio. When, said she to her sons, shall I be called the mother of the Gracchi?

Note 26, page 16, col. 1.

Lo, on his back a Son brings in his Sire.

An act of filial piety represented on the coins of Cabe seen at the foot of mount Etna. The story is told of tana, a Greek city, some remains of which are still to two brothers, who in this manner saved both their parents. The place from which they escaped was long called the field of the pious; and public games were

Traitor's gate, the water-gate in the Tower of annually held there to commemorate the Event.


Note 22, page 15, col. 2.

Then to the place of trial.

This very slight sketch of Civil Dissension is taken from our own annals; but, for an obvious reason, not from those of our own Age.

The persons here immediately alluded to lived more than a hundred years ago in a reign which Blackstone has justly represented as wicked, sanguinary, and turbulent; but such times have always afforded the most signal instances of heroic courage and ardent affection.

Great reverses, like theirs, lay open the human heart. They occur indeed but seldom; yet all men are liable to them; all, when they occur to others, make them more or less their own; and, were we to describe our

condition to an inhabitant of some other planet, could we omit what forms so striking a circumstance in hu

man life?

Note 23, page 15, col. 2.
—and alone.

In the reign of William the Third, the law was altered. A prisoner, prosecuted for high treason, may now make his full defence by counsel.

Note 24, page 15, col. 2.

Like that sweet Saint who sate by Russell's side
Under the Judgment-sent.

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1 Pope used to mention this poem as the most correct specimen of Dryden's versification. It was indeed written when he had com

Lord Russel. May I have somebody to write, to assist pletely formed his manner, and may be supposed to exhibit, negli my memory?

gence excepted, his deliberate and ultimate scheme of metre. JOHNSON.

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