He gaz'd, he pointed to the scenes :-"There stand "My wife, my children, 'tis my lovely land; "See! there my dwelling-oh! delicious scene "Of my best life—unhand me—are ye men?”
And thus the frenzy rul'd him, till the wind Brush'd the fond pictures from the stagnant mind.
He told of bloody fights, and how at length
The rage of battle gave his spirits strength:
'Twas in the Indian seas his limb he lost,
And he was left half-dead upon the coast;
But living gain'd, 'mid rich aspiring men,
A fair subsistence by his ready pen.
"Thus," he continued, " pass'd unvaried years,
"Without events producing hopes or fears."
Augmented pay procur'd him decent wealth,
But years advancing undermin'd his health;
Then oft-times in delightful dream he flew
To England's shore, and scenes his childhood knew:
He saw his parents, saw his fav'rite Maid,
No feature wrinkled, not a charm decay'd;"
And thus excited, in his bosom rose
A wish so strong, it baffled his repose;
Anxious he felt on English earth to lie;
To view his native soil, and there to die.
He then described the gloom, the dread he found,
When first he landed on the chosen ground,
Where undefin'd was all he hop'd and fear'd,
And how confus'd and troubled all appear'd;
His thoughts in past and present scenes employ'd,
All views in future blighted and destroy'd:
His were a medley of bewild'ring themes,
Sad as realities, and wild as dreams.
Here his relation closes, but his mind
Flies back again some resting-place to find;
Thus silent, musing through the day, he sees
His children sporting by those lofty trees,
Their mother singing in the shady scene,
Where the fresh springs burst o'er the lively green;-
So strong his eager fancy, he affrights
The faithful widow by its pow'rful flights;
For what disturbs him he aloud will tell,
And cry-" "Tis she, my wife! my Isabel !"
"Where are my children?"-Judith grieves to hear
How the soul works in sorrows so severe ;-
Assiduous all his wishes to attend,
Depriv'd of much, he yet may boast a friend;
Watch'd by her care, in sleep, his spirit takes
Its flight, and watchful finds her when he wakes.
'Tis now her office; her attention see !
While her friend sleeps beneath that shading tree,
Careful, she guards him from the glowing heat,
And pensive muses at her Allen's feet.
And where is he? Ah! doubtless in those scenes
Of his best days, amid the vivid greens,
Fresh with unnumber'd rills, where ev'ry gale
Breathes the rich fragrance of the neighb'ring vale;
Smiles not his wife, and listens as there comes
The night-bird's music from the thick'ning glooms?
And as he sits with all these treasures nigh,
Blaze not with fairy light the phosphor-fly,
When like a sparkling gem it wheels illumin'd by ?
This is the joy that now so plainly speaks
In the warm transient flushing of his cheeks;
For he is list'ning to the fancied noise
Of his own children, eager in their joys:
All this he feels, a dream's delusive bliss
Gives the expression, and the glow like this.
And now his Judith lays her knitting by,
These strong emotions in her friend to spy;
For she can fully of their nature deem
But see! he breaks the long-protracted theme,
And wakes and cries-" My God! 'twas but a dream."
And weigh thy value with an even hand,
If thou beest rated by thy estimation,
Thou dost deserve enough.
Merchant of Venice, Act II. Scene 7.
Because I will not do them wrong to mistrust any, I will do myself the right to trust none; and the fine is (for which I may go the finer), I will live a bachelor.
Much Ado about Nothing, Act I. Scene 3.
Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of it.
His promises are, as he then was, mighty;
And his performance, as he now is, nothing.
Henry Eighth, Act IV. Scene 2.
|