Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, TALES OF THE HALL: BOOK 12. SIR OWEN DALE, by GEORGE CRABBE


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TALES OF THE HALL: BOOK 12. SIR OWEN DALE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Again the brothers saw their friend the priest
Last Line: It may, perchance, continue twice as long.'


AGAIN the Brothers saw their friend the priest,
Who shared the comforts he so much increased;
Absent of late -- and thus the squire address'd,
With welcome smile, his ancient friend and guest.
'What has detain'd thee? some parochial case?
Some man's desertion, or some maid's disgrace?
Or wert thou call'd, as parish priest, to give
Name to a new-born thing that would not live,
That its weak glance upon the world had thrown,
And shrank in terror from the prospect shown?
Or hast thou heard some dying wretch deplore,
That of his pleasures he could taste no more?
Who wish'd thy aid his spirits to sustain,
And drive away the fears that gave him pain?
For priests are thought to have a patent charm
To ease the dying sinner of alarm:
Or was thy business of the carnal sort,
And thou wert gone a patron's smile to court,
And Croft or Cresswell would'st to Binning add,
Or take, kind soul! whatever could be had?
Once more I guess: th' election now is near;
My friend, perhaps, is sway'd, by hope or fear,
And all a patriot's wishes, forth to ride,
And hunt for votes to prop the fav'rite side?'
'More private duty call'd me hence, to pay
My friends respect on a rejoicing day,'
Replied the rector: 'there is born a son,
Pride of an ancient race, who pray'd for one,
And long desponded. Would you hear the tale --
Ask, and 'tis granted -- of Sir Owen Dale?'
'Grant,' said the Brothers, 'for we humbly ask;
Ours be the gratitude, and thine the task:
Yet dine we first: then to this tale of thine,
As to thy sermon, seriously incline:
In neither case our rector shall complain,
Of this recited, that composed in vain.
'Something we heard of vengeance, who appall'd,
Like an infernal spirit, him who call'd;
And, ere he vanished, would perform his part,
Inflicting tortures on the wounded heart;
Of this but little from report we know:
If you the progress of revenge can show,
Give it, and all its horrors, if you please,
We hear our neighbour's sufferings much at ease.
'Is it not so? For do not men delight --
We call them men -- our bruisers to excite,
And urge with bribing gold, and feed them for the fight?
Men beyond common strength, of giant size,
And threat'ning terrors in each other's eyes;
When in their naked, native force display'd,
Look answers look, affrighting and afraid;
While skil, like spurs and feeding, gives the arm
The wicked power to do the greater harm:
Maim'd in the strife, the falling man sustains
Th' insulting shout, that aggravates his pains: --
Man can bear this; and shall thy hearers heed
A tale of human sufferings? Come! proceed.'
Thus urged, the worthy rector thought it meet
Some moral truth, as preface to repeat;
Reflection serious, -- common-place, 'tis true, --
But he would act as he was wont to do,
And bring his morals in his neighbour's view.
'O! how the passions, insolent and strong,
Bear our weak minds their rapid course along;
Make us the madness of their will obey;
Then die, and leave us to our griefs a prey!'

'Sir Owen Dale his fortieth year had seen,
With temper placid, and with mind serene;
Rich; early married to an easy wife,
They led in comfort a domestic life:
He took of his affairs a prudent care,
And was by early habit led to spare;
Not as a miser, but in pure good taste,
That scorn'd the idle wantonness of waste.
'In fact, the lessons he from prudence took
Were written in his mind, as in a book:
There what to do he read, and what to shun;
And all commanded was with promptness done;
He seem'd without a passion to proceed,
Or one whose passions no correction need;
Yet some believed those passions only slept,
And were in bounds by early habits kept:
Curb'd as they wer by fetters worn so long,
There were who judged them a rebellious throng.
'To these he stood, not as a hero true,
Who fought his foes, and in the combat slew,
But one who all those foes, when sleeping, found,
And, unresisted, at his pleasure bound.
'We thought -- for I was one -- that we espied
Some indications strong of dormant pride;
It was his wish in peace with all to live;
And he could pardon, but could not forgive:
Nay, there were times when stern defiance shook
The moral man, and threaten'd in his look.
'Should these fierce passions -- so we reason'd -- break
Their long-worn chain, what ravage will they make!
In vain will prudence then contend with pride,
And reason vainly bid revenge subside;
Anger will not to meek persuasion bend,
Nor to the pleas of hope or fear attend:
What curb shall, then, in their disorder'd race,
Check the wild passions? what the calm replace?
Virtue shall strive in vain; and has he help in grace?
'While yet the wife with pure discretion ruled,
The man was guided, and the mind was school'd;
But then that mind unaided ran to waste:
He had some learning, but he wanted taste:
Placid, not pleased -- contented, not employ'd, --
He neither time improved, nor life enjoy'd.
'That wife expired, and great the loss sustain'd,
Though much distress he neither felt nor feign'd;
He loved not warmly; but the sudden stroke
Deeply and strongly on his habits broke.
'He had no child to soothe him, and his farm,
His sports, his speculations, lost their charm;
Then would he read and travel, would fre quent
Life's busy scenes, and forth Sir Owen went:
The mind, that now was free, unfix'd, uncheck'd,
Read and observed with wonderful effect;
And still the more he gain'd, the more he long'd
To pay that mind his negligence had wrong'd;
He felt his pleasures rise as he improved;
And, first enduring, then the labour loved.
'But, by the light let in, Sir Owen found
Some of those passions had their chain unbound;
As from a trance they rose to act their part,
And seize, as due to them, a feeling heart.
'His very person now appear'd refined,
And took some graces from th' improving mind:
He grew polite without a fix'd intent,
And to the world a willing pupil went.
'Restore him twenty years, -- restore him ten, --
And bright had been his earthly prospect then;
But much refinement, when it late arrives,
May be the grace, not comfort, of our lives.
'Now had Sir Owen feeling; things of late
Indifferent, he began to love or hate;
What once could neither good nor ill impart
Now pleased the senses, and now touch'd the heart;
Prospects and pictures struck th' awaken'd sight,
And each new object gave a new delight.
He, like th' imperfect creature who had shaped
A shroud to hide him, had at length escaped;
Changed from his grub-like state, to crawl no more,
But a wing'd being, pleased and form'd to soar.
'Now, said his friends, while thus his views improve,
And his mind softens, what if he should love?
True; life with him has yet serene appear'd,
And therefore love in wisdom should be fear'd:
Forty and five his years, and then to sigh
For beauty's favour! -- Son of frailty, fly!
'Alas! he loved; it was our fear, but ours,
His friends alone. He doubted not his pow'rs
To win the prize, or to repel the charm,
To gain the battle, or escape the harm;
For he had never yet resistance proved,
Nor fear'd that friends should say -- "Alas! he loved."
'Younger by twenty years, Camilla found
Her face unrivall'd when she smiled or frown'd:
Of all approved; in manner, form, and air,
Made to attract; gay, elegant, and fair:
She had, in beauty's aid, a fair pretence
To cultivated, strong intelligence;
For she a clear and ready mind had fed
With wholesome food; unhurt by what she read;
She loved to please; but, like her dangerous sex,
To please the more whom she design'd to vex.
'This heard Sir Owen, and he saw it true;
It promised pleasure, promised danger too;
But this he knew not then, or slighted if he knew.
'Yet he delay'd, and would by trials prove
That he was safe; would see the signs of love;
Would not address her while a fear remain'd;
But win his way, assured of what he gain'd.
'This saw the lady, not displeased to find
A man at once so cautious and so blind:
She saw his hopes that she would kindly show
Proofs of her passion -- then she his should know.
'"So, when my heart is bleeding in his sight,
His love acknowledged will the pains requite;
It is, when conquer'd, he the heart regards;
Well, good Sir Owen! let us play our cards."
'He spake her praise in terms that love affords,
By words select, and looks surpassing words:
Kindly she listen'd, and in turn essay'd
To pay th' applauses -- and she amply paid
A beauty flattering! -- beauteous flatterers feel
The ill you cause, when thus in praise you deal;
For surely he is more than man, or less,
When praised by lips that he would die to press,
And yet his senses undisturbed can keep,
Can calmly reason, or can soundly sleep.
'Not so Sir Owen; him Camilla praised,
And lofty hopes and strong emotions raised;
This had alone the strength of man subdued;
But this enchantress various arts pursued.
'Let others pray for music -- others pray'd
In vain: -- Sir Owen ask'd, and was obey'd;
Let others, walking, sue that arm to take,
Unmoved she kept it for Sir Owen's sake;
Each small request she granted, and though small,
He thought them pledges of her granting all.
'And now the lover, casting doubt aside,
Urged the fond suit that -- could not be denied;
Joy more than reverence moved him when he said,
"Now banish all my fears, angelic maid!"
And as she paused for words, he gaily cried,
"I must not, cannot, will not be denied."
'Ah! good Sir Owen, think not favours, such
As artful maids allow, amount to much;
The sweet, small, poison'd baits, that take the eye
And win the soul of all who venture nigh.
'Camilla listen'd, paused, and look'd surprise,
Fair witch! exulting in her witcheries!
She turn'd aside her face, withdrew her hand,
And softly said, "Sir, let me understand."
'"Nay, my dear lady! what can words explain,
If all my looks and actions plead in vain?
I love." -- She show'd a cool respectful air,
And he began to falter in his prayer,
Yet urged her kindness -- Kindness she confess'd,
It was esteem, she felt it, and express'd,
For her dear father's friend; and was it right
That friend of his -- she thought of hers -- to slight?
'This to the wond'ring lover strange and new,
And false appear'd -- he would not think it true:
Still he pursued the lovely prize, and still
Heard the cold words, design'd his hopes to kill;
He felt dismay'd, as he perceived success
Had inverse ratio, more obtaining less;
And still she grew more cool in her replies,
And talk'd of age and improprieties.
'Then to his friends, although it hurt his pride,
And to the lady's, he for aid applied;
Who kindly woo'd for him, but strongly were denied.
And now it was those fiercer passions rose,
Urged by his love to murder his repose;
Shame shook his soul to be deceived so long,
And fierce revenge for such contemptuous wrong;
Jealous he grew, and jealousy supplied
His mind with rage, unsooth'd, unsatisfied;
And grievous were the pangs of deeply wounded pride.
His generous soul had not the grief sustain'd,
Had he not thought, "revenge may be obtain'd."
'Camilla grieved, but grief was now too late;
She hush'd her fears, and left th' event to fate;
Four years elapsed, nor knew Sir Owen yet
How to repay the meditated debt;
The lovely foe was in her thirtieth year,
Nor saw the favourite of the heart appear;
'Tis sure less sprightly the fair nymph became,
And spoke of former levities with shame:
But this, alas! was not in time confess'd,
And vengeance waited in Sir Owen's breast.
'But now the time arrives -- the maid must feel
And grieve for wounds that she refused to heal.
Sir Owen, childless, in his love had rear'd
A sister's son, and now the youth appear'd
In all the pride of manhood, and, beside,
With all a soldier's spirit and his pride:
Valiant and poor, with all that arms bestow,
And wants that captains in their quarters know;
Yet to his uncle's generous heart was due
The praise, that wants of any kind were few.
'When he appear'd, Sir Owen felt a joy
Unknown before, his vengeance bless'd the boy --
"To him I dare confide a cause so just;
Love him she may -- O! could I say, she must."
'Thus fix'd, he more than usual kindness show'd,
Nor let the captain name the debt he owed;
But when he spoke of gratitude, exclaim'd,
"My dearest Morden! make me not ashamed;
Each for a friend should do the best he can,
The most obliged is the obliging man;
But if you wish to give as well as take,
You may a debtor of your uncle make."
'Morden was earnest in his wish to know
How he could best his grateful spirit show.
'Now the third dinner had their powers renew'd,
And fruit and wine upon the table stood;
The fire brought comfort, and the warmth it lent
A cheerful spirit to the feelings sent,
When thus the uncle -- "Morden, I depend
On you for aid -- assist me as a friend:
Full well I know that you would much forego,
And much endure, to wreak me on my foe.
Charles, I am wrong'd, insulted -- nay, be still,
Nor look so fiercely, -- there are none to kill.
'"I loved a lady, somewhat late in life,
Perhaps too late, and would have made a wife;
Nay, she consented; for consent I call
The mark'd distinction that was seen of all,
And long was seen; but when she knew my pain,
Saw my first with her favour to obtain,
And ask her hand -- no sooner was it ask'd,
Than she the lovely Jezebel unmask'd;
And by her haughty airs, and scornful pride,
My peace was wounded -- nay, my reason tried;
I felt despised and fallen when we met,
And she, O folly! looks too lovely yet;
Yet love no longer in my bosom glows,
But my heart warms at the revenge it owes.
'"O! that I saw her with her soul on fire,
Desperate from love, and sickening with desire;
While all beheld her just, unpitied pain,
Grown in neglect, and sharpen'd by disdain!
Let her be jealous of each maid she sees,
Striving by every fruitless art to please,
And when she fondly looks, let looks and fondness tease!
So, lost on passion's never resting sea,
Hopeless and helpless, let her think of me.
"Charles, thou art handsome, nor canst want the art
To warm a cold or win a wanton heart;
Be my avenger" -- --
Charles, with smile, not vain,
Nor quite unmix'd with pity and disdain,
Sate mute in wonder; but he sate not long
Without reflection: -- Was Sir Owen wrong?
"So must I think; for can I judge it right
To treat a lovely lady with despite?
Because she play'd too roughly with the love
Of a fond man whom she could not approve,
And yet to vex him for the love he bore
Is cause enough for his revenge, and more.
'"But, thoughts, to council! -- Do I wear a charm
That will preserve my citadel from harm?
Like the good knight, I have a heart that feels
The wounds that beauty makes and kindness heals:
Beauty she has, it seems, but is not kind --
So found Sir Owen, and so I may find.
'"Yet why, O! heart of tinder, why afraid?
Comes so much danger from so fair a maid?
'"Wilt thou be made a voluntary prize
To the fierce firing of two wicked eyes?
Think her a foe, and on the danger rush,
Nor let thy kindred for a coward blush.
'"But how if this fair creature should incline
To think too highly of this love of mine,
And, taking all my counterfeit address
For sterling passion, should the like profess?
'"Nay, this is folly; or if I perceive
Ought of the kind, I can but take my leave;
And if the heart should feel a little sore,
Contempt and anger will its ease restore.
'"Then, too, to his all-bounteous hand I owe
All I possess, and almost all I know;
And shall I for my friend no hazard run,
Who seeks no more for all his love has done?
'"'Tis but to meet and bow, to talk and smile,
To act a part, and put on love awhile:
And the good knight shall see, this trial made,
That I have just his talents to persuade;
For why the lady should her heart bestow
On me, or I of her enamour'd grow,
There's none can reason give, there's none can danger show."
'These were his rapid thoughts, and then he spoke.
"I make a promise, and will not revoke;
You are my judge in what is fit and right,
And I obey you -- bid me love or fight;
Yet had I rather, so the act could meet
With your concurrence, -- not to play the cheat;
In a fair cause" -- -- "Charles, fighting for your king,
Did you e'er judge the merits of the thing?
Show me a monarch who has cause like mine,
And yet what soldier would his cause decline?"
'Poor Charles or saw not, or refused to see,
How weak the reasoning of our hopes may be,
And said -- "Dear uncle, I my king obey'd,
And for his glory's sake the soldier play'd;
Now a like duty shall your nephew rule,
And for your vengeance I will play the fool."
''Twas well; but ere they parted for repose,
A solemn oath must the engagement close.
'"Swear to me, nephew, from the day you meet
This cruel girl, there shall be no deceit;
That by all means approved and used by man
You win this dangerous woman, if you can;
That being won, you my commands obey,
Leave her lamenting, and pursue your way;
And that, as in my business, you will take
My will as guide, and no resistance make:
Take now an oath -- within the volume look,
There is the Gospel -- swear, and kiss the book."
'"It cannot be," thought Charles, "he cannot rest
In this strange humour, -- it is all a jest,
All but dissimulation -- Well, sir, there;
Now I have sworn as you would have me swear."
'"'Tis well," the uncle said in solemn tone;
"Now send me vengeance, Fate, and groan for groan!"
'The time is come: the soldier now must meet
Th' unconscious object of the sworn deceit.
They meet; each other's looks the pair explore,
And, such their fortune, wish'd to part no more.
Whether a man is thus disposed to break
An evil compact he was forced to make,
Or whether some contention in the breast
Will not permit a feeling heart to rest;
Or was it nature, who in every case
Has made such mind subjected to such face;
Whate'er the cause, no sooner met the pair
Than both began to love, and one to feel despair.
'But the fair damsel saw with strong delight
Th' impression made, and gloried in the sight:
No chilling doubt alarm'd her tender breast,
But she rejoiced in all his looks profess'd;
Long ere his words her lover's hopes convey'd
They warm'd the bosom of the conscious maid;
One spirit seem'd each nature to inspire,
And the two hearts were fix'd in one desire.
'"Now," thought the courteous maid, "my father's friend
Will ready pardon to my fault extend;
He shall no longer lead that hermit's life,
But love his mistress in his nephew's wife;
My humble duty shall his anger kill,
And I who fled his love will meet his will,
Prevent his least desire, and every wish fulfil."
'Hail, happy power! that to the present lends
Such views; not all on Fortune's wheel depends;
Hope, fair enchantress, drives each cloud away,
And now enjoys the glad, but distant day.
'Still fears ensued; for love produces fear. --
"To this dear maid can I indeed be dear?
My fatal oath, alas! I now repent;
Stern is his purpose, he will not relent;
Would, ere that oath, I had Camilla seen!
I had not then my honour's victim been:
I must be honest, yet I know not how,
'Tis crime to break, and death to keep my vow."
'Sir Owen closely watch'd both maid and man,
And saw with joy proceed his cruel plan;
Then gave his praise -- "She has it -- has it deep
In her capricious heart, -- it murders sleep;
You see the looks that grieve, you see the eyes that weep;
Now breathe again, dear youth, the kindling fire,
And let her feel what she could once inspire."
'Alas! obedience was an easy task,
So might he cherish what he meant to ask;
He ventured soon, for Love prepared his way,
He sought occasion, he forbad delay;
In spite of vow foregone he taught the youth
The looks of passion, and the words of truth;
In spite of woman's caution, doubt and fear,
He bade her credit all she wish'd to hear;
An honest passion ruled in either breast,
And both believed the truth that both profess'd.
'But now, 'mid all her new-born hopes, the eyes
Of fair Camilla saw through all disguise,
Reserve, and apprehension ---- Charles, who now
Grieved for his duty, and abhorr'd his vow,
Told the full fact, and it endear'd him more;
She felt her power, and pardon'd all he swore,
Since to his vow he could his wish prefer,
And loved the man who gave his world for her.
'What must they do, and how their work begin,
Can they that temper to their wishes win?
They tried, they fail'd; and all they did t' assuage
The tempest of his soul provoked his rage;
The uncle met the youth with angry look,
And cried, "Remember, sir, the oath you took;
You have my pity, Charles, but nothing more,
Death, and death only, shall her peace restore;
And am I dying? -- I shall live to view
The harlot's sorrow, and enjoy it too.
'"How! Words offend you? I have borne for years
Unheeded anguish, shed derided tears,
Felt scorn in every look, endured the stare
Of wondering fools, who never felt a care;
On me all eyes were fix'd, and I the while
Sustain'd the insult of a rival's smile.
'"And shall I now -- entangled thus my foe,
My honest vengeance for a boy forego?
A boy forewarn'd, forearm'd? Shall this be borne,
And I be cheated, Charles, and thou forsworn?
Hope not, I say, for thou mayst change as well
The sentence graven on the gates of hell --
Here bid adieu to hope, -- here hopeless beings dwell.
'"But does she love thee, Charles? I cannot live
Dishonour'd, unrevenged -- I may forgive,
But to thy oath I bind thee; on thy soul
Seek not my injured spirit to control;
Seek not to soften, I am hard of heart,
Harden'd by insult: -- leave her now, and part,
And let me know she grieves while I enjoy her smart."
'Charles first in anger to the knight replied,
Then felt the clog upon his soul, and sigh'd:
To his obedience made his wishes stoop,
And now admitted, now excluded hope;
As loers do, he saw a prospect fair,
And then so dark, he sank into despair.
'The uncle grieved; he even told the youth
That he was sorry, and it seem'd a truth;
But though it vex'd, it varied not his mind,
He bound himself, and would his nephew bind.
'"I told him this, placed danger in his view,
Bade him be certain, bound him to be true;
And shall I now my purposes reject,
Because my warnings were of no effect?"
'Thus felt Sir Owen as a man whose cause
Is very good -- it had his own applause.'

'Our knight a tenant had in high esteem,
His constant boast, when justice was his theme:
He praised the farmer's sense, his shrewd discourse,
Free without rudeness, manly, and not coarse;
As farmer, tenant, nay, as man, the knight
Thought Ellis all that is approved and right;
Then he was happy, and some envy drew,
For knowing more than other farmers knew;
They call'd him learned, and it sooth'd their pride,
While he in his was pleased and gratified.
'Still more t' offend, he to the altar led
The vicar's niece, to early reading bred;
Who, though she freely ventured on the life,
Could never fully be the farmer's wife;
She had a softness, gentleness, and ease,
Sure a coarse mind to humble and displease:
O! had she never known a fault beside,
How vain their spite, how impotent their pride!
'Three darling girls the happy couple bless'd,
Who now the sweetest lot of life possess'd;
For what can more a grateful spirit move
Than health, with competence, and peace, with love?
Ellis would sometimes, thriving man! retire
To the town inn, and quit the parlour fire;
But he was ever kind where'er he went,
And trifling sums in his amusement spent:
He bought, he thought for her -- she should have been content:
Oft, when he cash received at Smithfield mart,
At Cranbourn-alley he would leave a part;
And, if to town he follow'd what he sold,
Sure was his wife a present to behold.
'Still, when his evenings at the inn were spent,
She mused at home in sullen discontent;
And, sighing, yielded to a wish that some
With social spirit to the farm would come:
There was a farmer in the place, whose name,
And skill in rural arts, was known to fame;
He had a pupil, by his landlord sent,
On terms that gave the parties much content;
The youth those arts, and those alone, should learn,
With aught beside his guide had no concern:
He might to neighb'ring towns or distant ride,
And there amusements seek without a guide:
With handsome prints his private room was graced,
His music there, and there his books were placed:
Men knew not if he farm'd, but they allow'd him taste.
'Books, prints, and music, cease, at times, to charm,
And sometimes men can neither ride nor farm;
They look for kindred minds, and Cecil found
In farmer Ellis, one inform'd and sound;
But in his wife -- I hate the fact I tell --
A lovely being, who could please too well:
And he was one who never would deny
Himself a pleasure, or indeed would try.
'Early and well the wife of Ellis knew
Where danger was, and trembled at the view;
So evil spirits tremble, but are still
Evil, and lose not the rebellious will:
She sought not safety from the fancied crime,
"And why retreat before the dangerous time?"
'Oft came the student of the farm and read,
And found his mind with more than reading fed:
This Ellis seeing, left them, or he staid,
As pleased him, not offended nor afraid:
He came in spirits with his girls to play,
Then ask excuse, and, laughing, walk away:
When, as he entered, Cecil ceased to read,
He would exclaim, "Proceed, my friend, proceed!"
Or, sometimes weary, would to bed retire,
And fear and anger by his ease inspire.
'"My conversation does he then despise?
Leaves he this slighted face for other eyes?"
So said Alicia; and she dwelt so long
Upon that thought, to leave her was to wrong.
'Alas! the woman loved the soothing tongue,
That yet pronounced her beautiful and young;
The tongue that, seeming careless, ever praised;
The eye that roving, on her person gazed;
The ready service, on the watch to please;
And all such sweet, small courtesies as these.
'Still there was virtue, but a rolling stone
On a hill's brow is not more quickly gone;
The slightest motion, -- ceasing from our care, --
A moment's absence, -- when we're not aware, --
When down it rolls, and at the bottom lies,
Sunk, lost, degraded, never more to rise!
Far off the glorious height from whence it fell,
With all things base and infamous to dwell.
Friendship with woman is a dangerous thing --
Thence hopes avow'd and bold confessions spring:
Frailties confess'd to other frailties lead,
And new confessions new desires succeed;
And, when the friends have thus their hearts disclosed,
They find how little is to guilt opposed.
'The foe's attack will on the fort begin,
When he is certain of a friend within.
'When all was lost, -- or, in the lover's sight,
When all was won, -- the lady thought of flight.
'"What! sink a slave?" she said, "and with deceit
The rigid virtue of a husband meet?
No! arm'd with death, I would his fury brave,
And own the justice of the blow he gave!
But thus to see him easy, careless, cold,
And his confiding folly to behold;
To feel incessant fears that he should read,
In looks assumed, the cause whence they proceed,
I cannot brook; nor will I here abide
Till chance betrays the crime that shame would hide:
Fly with me, Henry!" Henry sought in vain
To soothe her terrors and her griefs restrain:
He saw the lengths that women dared to go,
And fear'd the husband both as friend and foe.
Of farming weary -- for the guilty mind
Can no resource in guiltless studies find,
Left to himself, his mother all unknown,
His titled father, loth the boy to own,
Had him to decent expectations bred,
A favour'd offspring of a lawless bed;
And would he censure one who should pursue
The way he took? Alicia yet was new:
Her passion pleased him: he agreed on flight:
They fix'd the method, and they chose the night.
'Then, while the farmer read of public crimes,
Collating coolly Chronicles and Times,
The flight was taken by the guilty pair,
That made one passage in the columns there.
'The heart of Ellis bled; the comfort, pride,
The hope and stay of his existence died;
Rage from the ruin of his peace arose,
And he would follow and destroy his foes;
Would with wild haste the guilty pair pursue,
And when he found -- Good heaven! what would he do?
'That wretched woman he would wildly seize,
And agonize her heart, his own to ease;
That guilty man would grasp, and in her sight
Insult his pangs, and her despair excite;
Bring death in view, and then the stroke suspend,
And draw out tortures till his life should end:
O! it should stand recorded in all time,
How they transgress'd, and he avenged the crime!
'In this bad world should all his business cease,
He would not seek -- he would not taste of peace;
But wrath should live till vengeance had her due,
And with his wrath his life should perish too.
'His girls -- not his -- he would not be so weak --
Child was a word he never more must speak!
How did he know what villains had defiled
His honest bed? -- He spurn'd the name of child:
Keep them he must; but he would coarsely hide
Their forms, and nip the growth of woman's pride;
He would consume their flesh, abridge their food,
And kill the mother-vices in their blood.

'All this Sir Owen heard, and grieved for all;
He with the husband mourn'd Alicia's fall;
But urged the vengeance with a spirit stong,
As one whose own rose high against the wrong:
He saw his tenant by this passion moved,
Shared in his wrath, and his revenge approved.
'Years now unseen, he mourn'd this tenant's fate,
And wonder'd how he bore his widow'd state;
Still he would mention Ellis with the pride
Of one who felt himself to worth allied:
Such were his notions -- had been long, but now
He wish'd to see if vengeance lived, and how:
He doubted not a mind so strong must feel
Most righteously, and righteous measures deal.
'Then would he go, and haply he might find
Some new excitement for a weary mind;
Might learn the miseries of a pair undone,
One scorn'd and hated, lost and perish'd one:
Yes, he would praise to virtuous anger give,
And so his vengeance should be nursed and live.
'Ellis was glad to see his landlord come,
A transient joy broke in upon his gloom,
And pleased he led the knight to the superior room;
Where she was wont in happier days to sit,
Who paid with smiles his condescending wit.
'There the sad husband, who had seldom been
Where prints acquired in happier days were seen,
Now struck by these, and carried to the past,
A painful look on every object cast:
Sir Owen saw his tenant's troubled state,
But still he wish'd to know the offenders' fate.
'"Know you they suffer, Ellis?" -- Ellis knew; --
"'Tis well! 'tis just! but have they all their due?
Have they in mind and body, head and heart,
Sustain'd the pangs of their accursed part?"
'"They have!" -- "'Tis well!" -- "and wants enough to shake
The firmest mind, the stoutest heart to break."
"But have you seen them in such misery dwell?"
"In misery past description." -- "that is well."
'"Alas! Sir Owen, it perhaps is just, --
Yet I began my purpose to distrust;
For they to justice have discharged a debt,
That vengeance surely may her claim forget."
'"Man, can you pity?"
"As a man I feel
Miseries like theirs."
"But never would you heal?"
'"Hear me, Sir Owen: -- I had sought them long,
Urged by the pain of ever present wrong,
Yet had not seen; and twice the year came round --
Years hateful now -- ere I my victims found:
But I did find them, in the dungeon's gloom
Of a small garret -- a precarious home,
For that depended on the weekly pay,
And they were sorely frighten'd on the day;
But there they linger'd on from week to week,
Haunted by ills of which 'tis hard to speak,
For they are many and vexatious all,
The very smallest -- but they none were small.
'"The roof, unceil'd in patches, gave the snow
Entrance within, and there were heaps below;
I pass'd a narrow region dark and cold,
The strait of stairs to that infectious hold;
And, when I enter'd, misery met my view
In every shape she wears, in every hue,
And the bleak icy blast across the dungeon flew;
There frown'd the ruin'd walls that once were white;
There gleam'd the panes that once admitted light;
There lay unsavoury scraps of wretched food;
And there a measure, void of fuel, stood;
But who shall part by part describe the state
Of these, thus follow'd by relentless fate?
All, too, in winter, when the icy air
Breathed its black venom on the guilty pair.
'"That man, that Cecil! -- he was left, it seems,
Unnamed, unnoticed: farewell to his dreams!
Heirs made by law rejected him of course,
And left him neither refuge nor resource: --
Their father's? No: he was the harlot's son
Who wrong'd them, whom their duty bade them shun;
And they were duteous all, and he was all undone.
'"Now the lost pair, whom better times had led
To part disputing, shared their sorrow's bed:
Their bed! -- I shudder as I speak -- and shared
Scraps to their hunger by the hungry spared."
'"Man! my good Ellis! can you sigh?" -- "I can:
In short, Sir Owen, I must feel as man;
And could you know the miseries they endured,
The poor, uncertain pittance they procured;
When, laid aside the needle and the pen,
Their sickness won the neighbours of their den,
Poor as they are, and they are passing poor,
To lend some aid to those who needed more:
Then, too, an ague with the winter came,
And in this state -- that wife I cannot name
Brought forth a famish'd child of suffering and of shame.
'"This had you known, and traced them to this scene,
Where all was desolate, defiled, unclean,
A fireless room, and, where a fire had place,
The blast loud howling down the empty space,
You must have felt a part of the distress,
Forgot your wrongs, and made their suffering less!"
'"Sought you them, Ellis, from the mean intent
To give them succour?"
"What indeed I meant
At first was vengeance; but I long pursued
The pair, and I at last their misery view'd
In that vile garret, which I cannot paint --
The sight was loathsome, and the smell was faint;
And there that wife, -- whom I had loved so well,
And thought so happy, was condemn'd to dwell;
The gay, the grateful wife, whom I was glad
To see in dress beyond our station clad,
And to behold among our neighbours fine,
More than perhaps became a wife of mine;
And now among her neighbours to explore,
And see her poorest of the very poor! --
I would describe it, but I bore a part,
Nor can explain the feelings of the heart;
Yet memory since has aided me to trace
The horrid features of that dismal place.
'"There she reclined unmoved, her bosom bare
To her companion's unimpassion'd stare,
And my wild wonder: -- Seat of virtue! chaste
As lovely once! O! how wert thou disgraced!
Upon that breast, by sordid rags defiled,
Lay the wan features of a famish'd child; --
That sin-born babe in utter misery laid,
Too feebly wretched even to cry for aid;
The ragged sheeting, o'er her person drawn,
Served for the dress that hunger placed in pawn.
'"At the bed's feet the man reclined his frame:
Their chairs were perish'd to support the flame
That warm'd his agued limbs; and, sad to see,
That shook him fiercely as he gazed on me
'"I was confused in this unhappy view:
My wife! my friend! I could not think it true;
My children's mother, -- my Alicia, -- laid
On such a bed! so wretched, -- so afraid!
And her gay, young seducer, in the guise
Of all we dread, abjure, defy, despise,
And all the fear and terror in his look,
Still more my mind to its foundation shook.
'"At last he spoke: -- 'Long since I would have died,
But could not leave her, though for death I sigh'd,
And tried the poison'd cup, and dropt it as I tried.
'"'She is a woman, and that famish'd thing
Makes her to life, with all its evils, cling:
Feed her, and let her breathe her last in peace,
And all my sufferings with your promise cease!'
'"Ghastly he smiled; -- I knew not what I felt,
But my heart melted -- hearts of flint would melt,
To see their anguish, penury, and shame,
How base, how low, how grovelling they became:
I could not speak my purpose, but my eyes
And my expression bade the creature rise.
'"Yet, O! that woman's look! my words are vain
Her mix'd and troubled feelings to explain;
True, there was shame and consciousness of fall,
But yet remembrance of my love withal,
And knowledge of that power which she would now recal.
'"But still the more that she to memory brought,
The greater anguish in my mind was wrought;
The more she tried to bring the past in view,
She greater horror on the present threw;
So that, for love or pity, terror thrill'd
My blood, and vile and odious thoughts instill'd.
'"This war within, these passions in their strife,
If thus protracted, had exhausted life;
But the strong view of these departed years
Caused a full burst of salutary tears,
And as I wept at large, and thought alone,
I felt my reason re-ascend her throne."
'"My friend!" Sir Owen answer'd, "what became
Of your just anger? -- when you saw their shame,
It was your triumph, and you should have shown
Strength, if not joy -- their sufferings were their own."
'"Alas, for them! their own in very deed!
And they of mercy had the greater need;
Their own by purchase, for their frailty paid, --
And wanted heaven's own justice human aid?
And seeing this, could I beseech my God
For deeper misery, and a heavier rod?"
'"But could you help them?" -- "Think, Sir Owen, how
I saw them then -- methinks I see them now!
She had not food, nor aught a mother needs,
Who for another life and dearer feeds:
I saw her speechless; on her wither'd breast
The wither'd child extended, but not prest,
Who sought, with moving lip and feeble cry,
Vain instinct! for the fount without supply.
'"Sure it was all a grievous, odious scene,
Where all was dismal, melancholy, mean,
Foul with compell'd neglect, unwholesome, and unclean;
That arm, -- that eye, -- the cold, the sunken cheek, --
Spoke all, Sir Owen -- fiercely miseries speak!'
'"And you relieved?"
'"If hell's seducing crew
Had seen that sight, they must have pitied too."
'"Revenge was thine -- thou hadst the power, the right;
To give it up was heaven's own act to slight."
'"Tell me not, sir, of rights, and wrongs, or powers!
I felt it written -- Vengeance is not ours!"
'"Well, Ellis, well! -- I find these female foes,
Or good or ill, will murder our repose;
And we, when Satan tempts them, take the cup,
The fruit of their foul sin, and drink it up:
But shall our pity all our claims remit,
And we the sinners of their guilt acquit?"
'"And what, Sir Owen, will our vengeance do?
It follows us when we our foe pursue,
And, as we strike the blow, it smites the smiters too."
'"What didst thou, man?"
'"I brought them to a cot
Behind your larches, -- a sequester'd spot,
Where dwells the woman: I believe her mind
Is now enlighten'd -- I am sure resign'd:
She gave her infant, though with aching heart
And faltering spirit, to be nursed apart."
'"And that vile scoundrel" ----
'"Nay, his name restore,
And call him Cecil, -- for he is no more:
When my vain help was offer'd, he was past
All human aid, and shortly breathed his last;
But his heart open'd, and he lived to see
Guilt in himself, and find a friend in me.
'"Strange was their parting, parting on the day
I offer'd help, and took the man away,
Sure not to meet again, and not to live
And taste of joy -- He feebly cried, 'Forgive!
I have thy guilt, thou mine, but now adieu!
Tempters and tempted! what will thence ensue
I know not, dare not think!' -- He said, and he withdrew."
'"But, Ellis, tell me, didst thou thus desire
To heap upon their heads those coals of fire?
'"If fire to melt, that feeling is confest, --
If fire to shame, I let that question rest;
But if aught more the sacred words imply,
I know it not -- no commentator I."
'"Then did you freely from your soul forgive?" --
'"Sure as I hope before my Judge to live,
Sure as I trust his mercy to receive,
Sure as his word I honour and believe,
Sure as the Saviour died upon the tree
For all who sin, -- for that dear wretch and me, --
Whom never more on earth will I forsake or see."

'Sir Owen softly to his bed adjourn'd,
Sir Owen quickly to his home return'd;
And all the way he meditating dwelt
On what this man in his affliction felt;
How he, resenting first, forbore, forgave,
His passion's lord, and not his anger's slave:
And as he rode he seem'd to fear the deed
Should not be done, and urged unwonted speed.
'Arrived at home, he scorn'd the change to hide,
Nor would indulge a mean and selfish pride,
That would some little at a time recal
Th' avenging vow; he now was frankness all:
He saw his nephew, and with kindness spoke --
"Charles, I repent my purpose, and revoke;
Take her -- I'm taught, and would I could repay
The generous teacher; hear me, and obey:
Bring me the dear coquette, and let me vow
On lips half perjured to be passive now:
Take her, and let me thank the powers divine
She was not stolen when her hand was mine,
Or when her heart -- Her smiles I must forget,
She my revenge, and cancel either debt."
'Here ends our tale, for who will doubt the bliss
Of ardent lovers in a case like this?
And if Sir Owen's was not half so strong,
It may, perchance, continue twice as long.'





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