Chaucer to Burns

While hers, though teasing, boasted to be kind,
And she, resenting, to be all resign'd.

The dame was sick, and when the youth applied For her consent, she groan'd, and cough'd and cried:

Talk'd of departing, and again her breath

Drew hard, and cough'd, and talk'd again of death:
Here you may live, my Dinah! here the boy

And you together my estate enjoy ;"

Thus to the lovers was her mind express'd,
Till they forebore to urge the fond request.
Servant, and nurse, and comforter, and friend,
Dinah had still some duty to attend ;

But yet their walk, when Rupert's evening call
Obtain'd an hour, made sweet amends for all;
So long they now each other's thoughts had known,
That nothing seem'd exclusively their own;
But with the common wish, the mutual fear,
They now had travell'd to their thirtieth year.
At length a prospect open'd; but, alas!
Long time must yet, before the union, pass;
Rupert was call'd in other clime, t' increase
Another's wealth, and toil for future peace;
Loath were the lovers; but the aunt declared
'Twas fortune's call, and they must be prepared ;
"You now are young, and for this brief delay,
And Dinah's care, what I bequeath will pay;
All will be yours; nay, love, suppress that sigh;
The kind must suffer, and the best must die :"
Then came the cough, and strong the signs it gave
Of holding long contention with the grave.

The lovers parted with a gloomy view,
And little comfort but that both were true;
He for uncertain duties doom'd to steer,
While hers remain'd too certain and severe.
Letters arrived, and Rupert fairly told
"His cares were many, and his hopes were cold;
The view more clouded, that was never fair,
And love alone preserved him from despair :"
In other letters, brighter hopes he drew,

Now the grave niece partook the widow's cares.
Look'd to the great and ruled the small affairs;
Saw clean'd the plate, arranged the china show
And felt her passion for a shilling grow:
Th' indulgent aunt increased the maid's delight,
By placing tokens of her wealth in sight;
She loved the value of her bonds to tell,
And spake of stocks, and how they rose and fell.
This passion grew, and gain'd at length such

sway,

That other passions shrank to make its way,
Romantic notions now the heart forsook,
She read but seldom, and she changed her book;
And for the verses she was wont to send,
Short was her prose, and she was Rupert's friend.
Seldom she wrote, and then the widow's cough,
And constant call, excused her breaking ff;
Who, now oppress'd, no longer took the air,
But sate and dozed upon an easy chair.
The cautious doctor saw the case was clear,
But judged it best to have companions near;
They came, they reason'd, they prescribed―at last,
Like honest men, they said their hopes were past;
Then came a priest-'tis comfort to reflect,
When all is over, there was no neglect;
And all was over-by her husband's bones,
The widow rests beneath the sculptured stones,
That yet record their fondness and their fame,
While all they left the virgin's care became ;
Stocks, bonds, and buildings;-it disturb'd her rest,
To think what load of troubles she possess'd:
Yet, if a trouble, she resolved to take
Th' important duty, for the donor's sake;
She too was heiress to the widow's taste,
Her love of hoarding and her dread of waste.
Sometimes the past would on her mind intrude
And then a conflict full of care ensued;
The thoughts of Rupert on her mind would press
His worth she knew, but doubted his success;
Of old she saw him heedless; what the boy

"His friends were kind, and he believed them Forebore to save, the man would not enjoy;
true."

When the sage widow Dinah's grief descried,
She wonder'd much, why one so happy sigh'd:
Then bade her see how her poor aunt sustain'd
The ills of life nor murmur'd nor complain'd.
To vary pleasures, from the lady's chest
Were drawn the pearly string and tabby vest;
Beads, jewels, laces, all their value shown,
With the kind notice," They will be your own."
This hope, these comforts, cherish'd day by day,
To Dinah's bosom made a gradual way;
Till love of treasure had as large a part,
As love of Rupert, in the virgin's heart.
Whether it be that tender passions fail,
From their own nature, while the strong prevail;
Or whether avarice, like the poison tree,*
Kills all beside it, and alone will be;
Whatever cause prevail'd, the pleasure grew
In Dinah's soul, she loved the hoards to view;
With lively joy those comforts she survey'd,
And love grew languid in the careful maid.

*Allusion is here made, not to the well known species of sumach, called the poison oak, or toxicodendron, but to the upas, or poison tree of Java: whether it be real or imaginary, this is no proper place for inquiry

Oft had he lost the chance that care would seize,
Willing to live, but more to live at ease:
Yet could she not a broken vow defend,
And Heaven, perhaps, might yet enrich her friend
Month after month was pass'd, and all were

spent

In quiet comfort and in rich content:
Miseries there were, and woes the world around,
But these had not her pleasant dwelling found:
She knew that mothers grieved, and widows wept,
And she was sorry, said her prayers, and slept :
Thus pass'd the seasons, and to Dinah's board
Gave what the seasons to the rich afford;
For she indulged, nor was her heart so small,
That one strong passion should engross it all.

A love of splendour now with avarice strove,
And oft appeared to be the stronger love:
A secret pleasure fill'd the widow's breast,
When she reflected on the hoards possess'd;
But livelier joy inspired th' ambitious maid,
When she the purchase of those hoards display'd
In small but splendid room she loved to see
That all was placed in view and harmony;
There, as with eager glance she look'd around,
She much delight in every object found;
While books devout were near her to destroy
Should it arise, an overflow of joy.

Within that fair apartment, guests might see
The comforts cull'd for wealth by vanity:
Around the room an Indian paper blazed,
With lively tint and figures boldly raised :
Silky and soft upon the floor below,
Th' elastic carpet rose with crimson glow,
All things around implied both cost and care,
What met the eye was elegant or rare :
Some curious trifles round the room were laid
By hope presented to the wealthy maid;
Within a costly case of varnish'd wood,
In level rows her polish'd volumes stood;
Shown as a favour to a chosen few,
To prove what beauty for a book could do:
A silver urn with curious work was fraught,
A silver lamp from Grecian pattern wrought:
Above her head, all gorgeous to behold,
A time-piece stood on feet of burnish'd gold;
A stag's head crest adorn'd the pictured case,
Through the pure crystal shone th' enamell'd face:
And while on brilliants moved the hands of steel,
It click'd from prayer to prayer, from meal to meal.
Here as the lady sate, a friendly pair
Stept in t' admire the view, and took their chair:
They then related how the young and gay
Were thoughtless wandering in the broad highway;
How tender damsels sail'd in tilted boats,
And laugh'd with wicked men in scarlet coats;
And how we live in such degenerate times,
That men conceal their wants and show their

crimes ;

While vicious deeds are screen'd by fashion's name,
And what was once our pride is now our shame.
Dinah was musing, as her friends discoursed,
When these last words a sudden entrance forced
Upon her mind, and what was once her pride
And now her shame, some painful views supplied;
Thoughts of the past within her bosom press'd,
And there a change was felt, and was confess'd:
While thus the virgin strove with secret pain,
Her mind was wandering o'er the troubled main;
Still she was silent, nothing seem'd to see,
But sate and sigh'd in pensive revery.

The friends prepared new subjects to begin,
When tall Susannah, maiden starch, stalk'd in;
Not in her ancient mode, sedate and slow,
As when she came, the mind she knew, to know;
Nor as, when listening half an hour before,
She twice or thrice tapp'd gently at the door;
But, all decorum cast in wrath aside,

"I think the devil's in the man!" she cried;
"A huge tall sailor, with his tawny cheek,
And pitted face, will with my lady speak;
He grinn'd an ugly smile, and said he knew,
Please you, my lady, 'twould be joy to you;
What must I answer?"-Trembling and distress'd
Sank the pa.e Dinah, by her fears oppress'd;
When thus alarm'd, and brooking no delay,
Swift to her room the stranger made his way.
"Revive, my love!" said he, "I've done thee
harm,

Give me thy pardon," and he look'd alarm:
Meantime the prudent Dinah had contrived
Her soul to question, and she then revived.

We parted bless'd with health, and I am now
Age-struck and feeble, so I find art thou;
Thine eye is sunken, furrow'd is thy face,
And downward look'st thou-so we run our race
And happier they, whose race is nearly run,
Their troubles over, and their duties done."

"True, lady, true, we are not girl and boy,
But time has left us something to enjoy."
"What! thou hast learn'd my fortune?-yes I

live

To feel how poor the comforts wealth can give,
Thou too, perhaps, art wealthy; but our fate
Still mocks our wishes, wealth is come too late."
"To me nor late nor early; I am come
Poor as I left thee to my native home:
Nor yet," said Rupert," will I grieve; 'tis mine
To share thy comforts, and the glory thine;
For thou wilt gladly take that generous part
That both exalts and gratifies the heart;
While mine rejoices."-" Heavens!" return'd the
maid,

On the meek maiden, by her speech amazed:
Dinah," said he, " dost thou respect thy vows?
What spousal mean'st thou?-thou art Rupert's
spouse;

The chance is mine to take, and thine to give,
But, trifling this, if we together live:
Can I believe, that, after all the past,

Our vows, our loves, thou wilt be false at last?
Something thou hast-I know not what-in view
I find thee pious-let me find thee true."
"Ah! cruel this; but do, my friend, depart,
And to its feelings leave my wounded heart."

Be fair; nor longer keep me in the dark;
Am I forsaken for a trimmer spark?
Heaven's spouse thou art not; nor can I believe
That God accepts her who will man deceive:
True I am shatter'd, I have service seen,
And service done, and have in trouble becn;
My cheek (it shames me not) has lost its red,
And the brown buff is o'er my features spread;
Perchance my speech is rude; for I among
Th' untamed have been, in temper and in tongue
Have been trepann'd, have lived in toil and care.
And wrought for wealth I was not doom'd to sharo
It touch'd me deeply, for I felt a pride
In gaining riches for my destined bride.
Speak then my fate; for these my sorrows past,
Time lost, youth fled, hope wearied, and at last
This doubt of thee-a childish thing to tell,
But certain truth-my very throat they swell;

"See! my good friend," and then she raised her They stop the breath, and but for shame could I

head,

The bloom of life, the strength of youth is fled; Living wo die; to us the world is dead;

Give way to weakness, and with passion cry;
These are unmanly struggles, but I feel
This hour must end them, and perhaps will heal.

Here Dinah sigh'd as if afraid to speakAnd then repeated-"They were frail and weak; His soul she loved, and hoped he had the grace To fix his thoughts upon a better place. '

She ceased;-with steady glance, as if to see The very root of this hypocrisy,

He her small fingers moulded in his hard

And bronzed broad hand; then told her his regard,
His best respect were gone, but love had still
Hold in his heart, and govern'd yet the will-
Or he would curse her :-saying this, he threw
The hand in scorn away, and bade adieu
To every lingering hope, with every care in view.
Proud and indignant, suffering, sick, and poor,
He grieved unseen; and spoke of love no more-
Till all he felt in indignation died,

As hers had sunk in avarice and pride.

In health declining, as in mind distress'd,
To some in power his troubles he confess'd,
And shares a parish-gift ;-at prayers he sees
The pious Dinah dropp'd upon her knees;
Thence as she walks the street with stately air,
As chance directs, oft meet the parted pair:
When he, with thickset coat of badge-man's blue,
Moves near her shaded silk of changeful hue;
When his thin locks of gray approach her braid,
A costly purchase made in beauty's aid;
When his frank air, and his unstudied pace,
Are seen with her soft manner, air, and grace,
And his plain artless look with her sharp meaning
face;

It might some wonder in a stranger move,
How these together could have talk'd of love.
Behold them now!-see there a tradesman stands,
And humbly hearkens to some fresh commands;
He moves to speak, she interrupts him-" Stay,"
Her air expresses-" Hark! to what I say :"
Ten paces off, poor Rupert on a seat
Has taken refuge from the noonday heat,
His eyes on her intent, as if to find
What were the movements of that subtle mind:
How still! how earnest is he !-it appears

His thoughts are wandering through his earlier years;

Through years of fruitless labour, to the day
When all his earthly prospects died away:

Had I," he thinks, "been wealthier of the two,
Would she have found me so unkind, untrue?
Or knows not man when poor, what man when
rich will do?

Yes, yes! I feel that I had faithful proved
And should have soothed and raised ner, bless'a
and loved."

But Dinah moves-she had observed before
The pensive Rupert at an humble door :
Some thoughts of pity raised by his distress,
Some feeling touch of ancient tenderness;
Religion, duty urged the maid to speak
In terms of kindness to a man so weak:
But pride forbad, and to return would prove
She felt the shame of his neglected love;
Nor rapt in silence could she pass, afraid
Each eye should see her, and each heart up
braid;

One way remain'd-the way the Levite took.
Who without mercy could on misery look:

A way perceived by craft, approved by pride,)
She cross'd, and pass'd him on the other side.

A BOROUGH BAILIFF, who to law was train'd
A wife and sons in decent state maintain'd;
He had his way in life's rough ocean steer'd,
And many a rock and coast of danger clear'd;
He saw where others fail'd, and care had he
Others in him should not such failings see;
His sons in various busy states were placed,
And all began the sweets of gain to taste,
Save John, the younger; who, of sprightly parts,
Felt not a love for money-making arts:
In childhood feeble, he, for country air,
Had long resided with a rustic pair;
All round whose room were doleful ballads, songs
Of lovers' sufferings and of ladies' wrongs,
Of peevish ghosts who came at dark midnight,
For breach of promise, guilty men to fright;
Love, marriage, murder, were the themes, with
these,

All that on idle, ardent spirits seize ;
Robbers at land and pirates on the main,
Enchanters foil'd, spells broken, giants slain;
Legends of love, with tales of halls and bowers,
Choice of rare songs, and garlands of choice flowers
And all the hungry mind without a choice devours
• From village children kept apart by pride,
With such enjoyments, and without a guide,
Inspired by feelings all such works infused,
John snatch'd a pen, and wrote as he perused:
With the like fancy he could make his knight
Slay half a host and put the rest to flight;
With the like knowledge, he could make him ride
From isle to isle at Parthenissa's side;
And with a heart yet free, no busy brain
Form'd wilder notions of delight and pain,
The raptures smiles create, the anguish of disdain.
Such were the fruits of John's poetic toil,
Weeds, but still proofs of vigour in the soil:
He nothing purposed but with vast delight,
Let Fancy loose, and wonder'd at her flight:
His notions of poetic worth were high,
And of his own still hoarded poetry ;-
These to his father's house he bore with pride,
A miser's treasure, in his room to hide;
Till spurr'd by glory, to a reading friend
He kindly show'd the sonnets he had penn'd :
With erring judgment, though with heart sincere,
That friend exclaim'd, "These beauties must ap

pear."

In magazines they claim'd their share of fame, Though undistinguish'd by their author's name;

And with delight the young enthusiast found
The muse of Marcus with applauses crown'd.
'This heard the father, and with some alarm:
"The boy," said he, "will neither trade nor farm;
He for both law and physic is unfit ;
Wit he may have, but cannot live on wit
Let him his talents then to learning give,
Where verse is honour'd, and where poets live.
John kept his terms at college unreproved,
Took his degree, and left the life he loved;
Nor yet ordain'd, his leisure he employ'd
In the light labours he so much enjoy a ;
His favourite notions and his daring views
Were cherish'd still, and he adored the muse.
A little time, and he should burst to light,
And admiration of the world excite;
And every friend, now cool and apt to blame
His fond pursuit, would wonder at his fame."
When led by fancy, and from view retired,
He call'd before him all his heart desired;
"Fame shall be mine, then wealth shall I possess,
And beauty next an ardent lover bless ;
For me the maid shall leave her nobler state,
Happy to raise and share her poet's fate."
He saw each day his father's frugal board
With simple fare by cautious prudence stored ·
Where each indulgence was foreweigh'd with

care,

And the grand maxims were to save and spare
Yet in his walks, his closet, and his bed,
All frugal cares and prudent counsels fled;
And bounteous Fancy, for his glowing mind,
Wrought various scenes, and all of glorious kind;
Slaves of the ring and lamp! what need of you,
When Fancy's self such magic deeds can do?

Though rapt in visions of no vulgar kind,
To common subjects stoop'd our poet's mind;
And oft, when wearied with more ardent flight,
He felt a spur satiric song to write;
A rival burgess his bold muse attack'd,
And whipp'd severely for a well-known fact;
For while he seem'd to all demure and shy,
Our poet gazed at what was passing by;
And e'en his father smiled when playful wit
From his young bard, some haughty object hit.
From ancient times the borough where they
dwelt

Had mighty contest at elections felt :

Sir Godfrey Ball, 'tis true, had held in pay
Electors many for the trying day;
But in such golden chains to bind them all
Required too much for e'en Sir Godfrey Ball.
A member died, and to supply his place,
Two heroes enter'd for th' important race;
Sir Godfrey's friend and Earl Fitzdonnel's son,
Lord Frederick Damer, both prepared to run;
And partial numbers saw with vast delight
Their good young lord oppose the proud old knight.
Our poet's father, at a first request,
Gave the young lord his vote and interest,
And what he could our poet, for he stung
The foe by verse satiric, said and sung.
Lord Frederick heard of all this youthful zeal,
And felt as lords upon a canvass feel;

He read the satire, and he saw the use
That such cool insult, and such keen abuse

Then too his praises were in contrast seen,
A lord as noble as the knight was mean."
"I much rejoice," he cried," such worth to find
To this the world must be no longer blind
His glory will descend from sire to son,
The Burns of English race, the happier ChattertAL"
Our poet's mind, now hurried and elate,
Alarm'd the anxious parent for his fate;

Who saw with sorrow, should their friend succeed,

That much discretion would the poet need.

Their friend succeeded, and repaid the zeal The poet felt, and made opposers feel,

By praise (from lords how soothing and how sweet)
And invitation to his noble seat.

The father ponder'd, doubtful if the brain
Of his proud boy such honour could sustain ;
Pleased with the favours offer'd to a son,
But seeing dangers few so ardent shun.

Thus, when they parted, to the youthful breast
The father's fears were by his love impress'd :
"There will you find, my son, the courteous ease
That must subdue the soul it means to please;
That soft attention which e'en beauty pays
To wake our passions, or provoke our praise;
There all the eye beholds will give delight,
Where every sense is flatter'd like the sight
This is your peril; can you from such scene
Of splendour part, and feel your mind serene,
And in the father's humble state resume
The frugal diet and the narrow room?"
To this the youth with cheerful heart replied,
Pleased with the trial, but as yet untried;
And while professing patience, should he fai!
He suffer'd hope o'er reason to prevail.

Impatient, by the morning mail convey'd The happy guest his promised visit paid; And now arriving at the hall, he tried For air composed, screne, and satisfied; As he had practised in his room alone, And there acquired a free and easy tone: There he had said, "Whatever the degree A man obtains, what more than man is he?" And when arrived-" This room is but a room; Can aught we see the steady soul o'ercome? Let me in all a manly firmness show, Upheld by talents, and their value know."

This reason urged; but it surpass'd his skill To be in act as manly as in will: When he his lordship and the lady saw, Brave as he was, he felt oppress'd with awe; And spite of verse, that so much praise had won, The poet found he was the bailiff's son.

But dinner came, and the succeeding hours Fix'd his weak nerves, and raised his failing powers;

Praised and assured, he ventured once or twice
On some remark, and bravely broke the ice;
So that at night, reflecting on his words,
He found, in time, he might converse with lords
Now was the sister of his patron seen-

A lovely creature, with majestic mien ;
Who, softly smiling while she look'd so fair,
Praised the young poet with such friendly air;
Such winning frankness in her looks express'd.
And such attention to her brother's guest,

Might on the wavering minds of voting men pro- That so much beauty, join'd with speech so kind

duce;

Raised strong emotions in the poet's mind:

Till reason fail'd his bosom to defend

From the sweet power of this enchanting friend.
Rash boy what hope thy frantic mind invades ?
What love confuses, and what pride persuades?
Awake to truth! shouldst thou deluded feed
On hopes so groundless, thou art mad indeed.
What say'st thou, wise one? "that all powerful

love

Can fortune's strong impediments remove;
Nor is it strange that worth should wed to worth,
The pride of genius with the pride of birth."
While thou art dreaming thus, the beauty spies
Love in thy tremor, passion in thine eyes;
And with th' amusement pleased, of conquest vain,
She seeks her pleasure, careless of thy pain;
She gives thee praise to humble and confound,
Smiles to insnare, and flatters thee to wound.
Why has she said that in the lowest state
The noble mind ensures a noble fate?
And why thy daring mind to glory call?
That thou mayst dare and suffer, soar and fall.
Beauties are tyrants, and if they can reign,
They have no feeling for their subject's pain;
Their victim's anguish gives their charms
plause,

And their chief glory is the wo they cause:
Something of this was felt, in spite of love.
Which hope, in spite of reason, would remove.
Thus lived our youth, with conversation, books,
And lady Emma's soul-subduing looks;
Lost in delight, astonish'd at his lot,
All prudence banish'd, all advice forgot-

"A waspish tribe are these, on gilded wings, Humming their lays, and brandishing their stings; And thus they move their friends and foes among, Prepared for soothing or satiric song.

Hear me, my boy; thou hast a virtuous mind--
But be thy virtues of the sober kind;
Be not a Quixote, ever up in arms
To give the guilty and the great alarms:
If never heeded, thy attack is vain;
And if they heed thee, they'll attack again;
Then too in striking at that heedless rate,
Thou in an instant mayst decide thy fate.

"Leave admonition-let the vicar give Rules how the nobles of his flock should live; Nor take that simple fancy to thy brain,

That thou canst cure the wicked and the vain.

Our Pope, they say, once entertain'd the whim,
Who fear'd not God should be afraid of him;
But grant they fear'd him, was it further said,
That he reform'd the hearts he made afraid?
Did Chartres mend? Ward, Waters, and a score
Of flagrant felons, with his floggings sore?
Was Cibber silenced? No; with vigour bless'd,
And brazen front, half earnest, half in jest,
He dared the bard to battle, and was seen
In all his glory match'd with Pope and spleen;
Himself he stripp'd, the harder blow to hit,
Then boldly match'd his ribaldry with wit;
The poet's conquest Truth and Time proclaim,
But yet the battle hurt his peace and fame.

"Strive not too much for favour; seem at ease, And rather pleased thyself, than bent to please :

Hopes, fears, and every thought, were fix'd upon Upon thy lord with decent care attend,

the spot.

'Twas autumn yet, and many a day must frown
On Brandon-Hall, ere went my lord to town;
Meantime the father, who had heard his boy
Lived in a round of luxury and joy,
And justly thinking that the youth was one
Who, meeting danger, was unskill'd to shun;
Knowing his temper, virtue, spirit, zeal,
How prone to hope and trust, believe and feel;
These on the parent's soul their weight impress'd,
And thus he wrote the counsels of his breast.
"John, thou'rt a genius; thou hast some pre-
tence,

I think, to wit, but hast thou sterling sense?

But not too near; thou canst not be a friend
And favourite be not, 'tis a dangerous post-
Is gain'd by labour, and by fortune lost:
Talents like thine may make a man approved,
But other talents trusted and beloved.
Look round, my son, and thou wilt carly see
The kind of man thou art not form'd to be.

"The real favourites of the great are they
Who to their views and wants attention pay,
And pay it ever; who, with all their skill,
Dive to the heart, and learn the secret will;
If that be vicious, soon can they provide
The favourite ill, and o'er the soul preside;
For vice is weakness, and the artful know

That which, like gold, may through the world go Their power increases as the passions grow;

forth,

And always pass for what 'tis truly worth?
Whereas this genius like a bill, must take
Only the value our opinions make.

"Men famed for wit, of dangerous talents vain,
Treat those of common parts with proud disdain ;
The powers that wisdom would, improving, hide,
They blaze abroad with inconsiderate pride;
While yet but mere probationers for fame,

If indolent the pupil, hard their task;
Such minds will ever for amusement ask;
And great the labour! for a man to choose
Objects for one whom nothing can amuse;
For ere those objects can the soul delight,
They must to joy the soul herself excite;
Therefore it is, this patient, watchful kind
With gentle friction stir the drowsy mind:
Fix'd on their end, with caution they proceed,

They seize the honour they should then discl im And sometimes give, and sometimes take the lead Honour so hurried to the light must fade,

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Will now a hint convey, and then retire,
Ard let the spark awake the lingering fire;
Or seek new joys and livelier pleasures bring,
To give the jaded sense a quickening spring.

"These arts, indeed, my son must not pursue;
Nor must he quarrel with the tribe that do:
It is not safe another's crimes to know,
Nor is it wise our proper worth to show :--
My lord,' you say, ' engaged me for that worth
True, and preserve it ready to come forth.

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