Brought by long habitude from bad to worse,
Must hear the frequent oath, the direful curse
The latest weapon of the wretch's war;
And blasphemy, sad comrade of despair.

Now Emma, now, the last reflection make, What thou wouldst follow, what thou must forsake:

By our ill-omen'd stars, and adverse Heav'n,
No middle object to thy choice is given.
Or yield thy virtue, to attain thy love; [rove.
Or leave a banish'd man condemn'd in woods to

EMMA.

O grief of heart! that our unhappy fates Force thee to suffer what thy honor hates ; Mix thee amongst the bad; or make thee run Too near the paths which virtue bids thee shun. Yet with her Henry still let Emma go; With him abhor the vice, but share the woe; And sure my little heart can never err, Amidst the worst, if Henry still be there.

Our outward act is prompted from within;
And from the sinner's mind proceeds the sin;
By her own choice free Virtue is approv'd;
Nor by the force of outward objects mov'd.
Who has assay'd no danger gains no praise;
In a small isle, amidst the widest seas,
Triumphant Constancy has fix'd her seat :
In vain the sirens sing, the tempests beat,
Their flattery she rejects, nor fears their threat.
For thee alone these little charms I dress'd;
Condemn'd them, or absolv'd them by thy test.
In comely figure rang'd, my jewels shone,
Or negligently plac'd, for thee alone;
For thee again they shall be laid aside;
The woman, Henry, shall put off her pride;
For thee, my clothes, my sex, exchang'd for
thee,.

I'll mingle with the people's wretched lee;
O line extreme of human infamy!
Wanting the scissors, with these hands I'll
tear,

(If that obstructs my flight) this load of hair. Black soot or yellow walnut shall disgrace This little red and white of Emma's face. These nails with scratches shall deform my breast,

Lest by my look or color be express'd
The mark of aught high-born, or ever better
dress'd.

Yet in this commerce, under this disguise,
Let me be grateful still in Henry's eyes;
Lost to the world, let me to him be known;
My fate I can absolve, if he shall own,
That, leaving all mankind, I love but him
alone.

HENRY.

O wildest thought of an abandon'd mind! Name, habit, parents, woman, left behind! E'en honor dubious, thou preferr'st to go Wild to the woods with me: said Emma so? Or did I dream what Emma never said? O guilty error! and O wretched maid! Whose roving fancy would resolve the same

With him, who next should tempt her easy
fame;
[flame.
And blow with empty words the susceptible
Now why should doubtful terms thy mind
perplex ?

Confess thy frailty, and avow thy sex;
No longer loose desire for constant love
Mistake; but say, 'tis man with whom thou
long'st to rove.

EMMA.

Are there not poisons, racks, and flames and swords;

That Emma thus must die by Henry's words' Yet what could swords or poison, racks or flame,

But mangle and disjoint this brittle frame? More fatal Henry's words: they murder Em

ma's fame.

[tongue,

And fall these sayings from that gentle Where civil speech and soft persuasion hung Whose artful sweetness and harmonious strain Courting my grace, yet courting it in vain, Call'd sighs, and tears, and wishes, to its aid; And, whilst it Henry's glowing flame convey'd, Still blam'd the coldness of the Nut-Brown Maid?

Let envious jealousy and canker'd spite Produce my actions to severest light, And tax my open day, or secret night. Did e'er my tongue speak my unguarded heart The least inclin'd to play the wanton's part? Did e'er my eye one inward thought reveal, Which angels might not hear, and virgins tell ? And hast thou, Henry, in my conduct known One fault, but that which I must ever own, That I, of all mankind, have loy'd but thee alone?

HENRY.

Vainly thou talk'st of loving me alone : Each man is man; and all our sex is one. False are our words, and fickle is our mind; Nor in love's ritual can we ever find Vows made to last, or promises to bind.

By nature prompted, and for empire made, Alike by strength or cunning we invade : [foe, When arm'd with rage, we march against the We lift the battle-axe, and draw the bow: When, fir'd with passion, we attack the fair, Delusive sighs and brittle vows we bear: Our falsehood and our arms have equal use; As they our conquest or delight produce.

The foolish heart thou gav'st, again receive, The only boon departing love can give. To be less wretched, be no longer true; What strives to fly thee why shouldst thou pursue ?

Forget thy present flame, indulge a new. Single the loveliest of the am'rous youth: Ask for his vow; but hope not for his truth. The next man (and the next thou shalt believe)

Will pawn his gods, intending to deceive; Will kneel, implore, persist, o'ercome, and leave.

flight.

Why shouldst thou weep? Let Nature judge I saw thee young and fair; pursu'd the chase Of youth and beauty; I another saw Fairer and younger; yielding to the law Of our all-ruling mother, I pursued More youth, more beauty blest vicissitude! My active heart still keeps its pristine flame; The object alter'd, the desire the same.

:

This younger, fairer, pleads her rightful charms;

With present power compels me to her arms.
And much I fear from my subjected mind,
(If beauty's force to constant love can bind,)
That years may roll, ere in her turn the maid
Shall weep the fury of my love decay'd;
And weeping follow me, as thou dost now,
With idle clamors of a broken vow.

Nor can the wildness of thy wishes err So wide, to hope that thou mayst live with her.

Love, well thou know'st, no partnership alCupid averse rejects divided vows: [lows: Then from thy foolish heart, vain maid, re

move

An useless sorrow, and an ill-starr'd love; And leave me with the fair at large in woods to rove.

EMMA.

Are we in life through one great error led ? Is each man perjur'd, and each nymph betray'd?

Of the superior sex art thou the worst?
Am I of mine the most completely curst?
Yet let me go with thee; and going prove,
From what I will endure, how much I love.
This potent beauty, this triumphant fair,
This happy object of our diff'rent care,
Her let me follow; her let me attend,
A servant (she may scorn the name of friend :)
What she demands, incessant I'll prepare;
I'll weave her garlands, and I'll plait her hair:
My busy diligence shall deck her board
(For there at least I may approach my lord);
And, when her Henry's softer hours advise
His servant's absence, with dejected eyes
Far I'll recede, and sighs forbid to rise. [ease;
Yet, when increasing grief brings slow dis-
And ebbing life, on terms severe as these,
Will have its little lamp no longer fed;
When Henry's mistress shows him Emma

dead;

Rescue my poor remains from vile, neglect ;
With virgin honors let my hearse be deck'd,
And decent emblem; and at least persuade
This happy nymph, that Emma may be laid
Where thou, dear author of my death, where
she

With frequent eye my sepulchre may see.
The nymph amidst her joys may haply breathe
One pious sigh, reflecting on my death,

The well-plac'd basis of my lasting love.
O powerful virtue! O victorious fair!
At least excuse a trial too severe :
Receive the triumph, and forget the war.
No banish'd man, condemn'd in woods to
rove,

Entreats thy pardon, and implores thy love:
No perjur'd knight desires to quit thy arms,
Fairest collection of thy sex's charms,
Crown of my love, and honor of my youth!
Henry, thy Henry, with eternal truth,
As thou mayst wish, shall all his life employ,
And found his glory in his Emma's joy.

In me behold the potent Edgar's heir,
Illustrious earl: him terrible in war
Let Loyre confess; for she has felt his sword,
And trembling fled before the British lord.
Him great in peace and wealth fair Deva
knows :

For she amidst his spacious meadows flows:
Inclines her urn upon his fatten'd lands;
And sees his numerous herd imprint her sands

And thou, my fair, my dove, shalt raise thy

thought

To greatness next to empire; shall be brought With solemn pomp to my paternal seat; Where peace and plenty on thy word shall

wait.

Music and song shall wake the marriage-day; And, while the priests accuse the bride's delay,

Myrtles and roses shall obstruct her way. Friendship shall still thy evening feasts

adorn;

And blooming peace shall ever bless thy morn.
Succeeding years their happy race shall run
And Age unheeded by delight come on,
While yet superior Love shall mock his pow'r,
And when old Time shall turn the fated hour,
Which only can our well-tied knot unfold,
What rests of both one sepulchre shall hold.

Hence then for ever from my Emma's breast (That heaven of softness, and that seat of rest), Ye doubts and fears, and all that know to

move

Tormenting grief, and all that trouble love, Scatter'd by winds recede, and wild in forests

rove.

All, all are fled; yet still I linger here!
What secret charms this silent spot endear?
Mark yon old mansion frowning thro' the]
trees,

Whose hollow turret wooes the whistling
breeze.
[shade,
That casement, arch'd with ivy's brownest
First to these eyes the light of heaven convey'd.
The mouldering gateway strews the grass-
grown court,

Once the calm scene of many a simple sport; When nature pleas'd, for life itself was new, And the heart promis'd what the fancy drew. See, thro' the fractur'd pediment reveal'd, Where moss inlays the rudely sculptur'd shield, The martin's old, hereditary nest.

Long may the ruin spare its hallow'd guest!

As jars the hinge, what sullen echoes call! Oh haste, unfold the hospitable hall! That hall, where once in antiquated state, The chair of justice held the grave debate. Now stain'd with dews, with cobwebs darkly hung,

Oft has its roof with peals of rapture rung; When round yon ample board, in due degree, We sweeten'd every meal with social glee. The heart's light laugh pursued the circling

jest ;

And all was sunshine in each little breast. 'Twas here we chas'd the slipper by the sound; And turn'd the blindfold hero round and round.

'Twas here, at eve, we form'd our fairy ring; And Fancy flutter'd on her wildest wing. Giants and genii chain'd each wondering

ear;

And orphan-sorrows drew the ready tear.
Oft with the babes we wander'd in the wood,
Or view'd the forest-feasts of Robin Hood:
Oft, fancy-led, at midnight's fearful hour,
With startling step we scal'd the lonely tower;
O'er infant innocence to hang and weep,
Murder'd by ruffian hands, when smiling in its
sleep.

Ye Household Deities! whose guardian eye Mark'd each pure thought, ere register'd on high;

Still, still ye walk the consecrated ground,
And breathe the soul of Inspiration round.
As o'er the dusky furniture I bend,
Each chair awakes the feelings of a friend.
The storied arras, source of fond delight,
With old achievement charms the wilder'd
sight;

Those muskets, cas'd with venerable rust; Those once-lov'd forms, still breathing thro their dust,

Still from the frame, in mould gigantic cast, Starting to life-all whisper of the past!

As thro' the garden's desert paths I rove, What fond illusions swarm in every grove! How oft, when purple evening ting'd the west, We watch'd the emmet to her grainy nest; Welcom'd the wild-bee home on weary wing, Laden with sweets, the choicest of the spring! How oft inscrib'd, with Friendship's votive rhyme,

The bark now silver'd by the touch of Time; Soar'd in the swing, half pleas'd and half afraid, Thro' sister elms that wav'd their summer

shade;

Or strew'd with crumbs yon root-inwoven seat, To lure the redbreast from his lone retreat!

Childhood's lov'd group revisits every scene; The tangled wood-walk, and the tufted green! Indulgent Memory wakes, and lo, they live! Cloth'd with far softer hues than light can give. Thou first, best friend that heav'n assigns below,

To soothe and sweeten all the cares we know;
Whose glad suggestions still each vain alarm,
When nature fades, and life forgets to charm;
Thee would the Muse invoke!--to thee belong
The sage's precept, and the poet's song.
What soften'd views thy magic glass reveals,
When o'er the landscape Time's meek twi-
light steals!

As when in ocean sinks the orb of day,
Long on the wave reflected lustres play;
Thy temper'd gleams of happiness resign'd,
Glance on the darken'd mirror of the mind.
The school's lone porch, with reverend moss-

es gray,

Just tells the pensive pilgrim where it lay.
Mute is the bell that rung at peep of dawn,
Quickening my truant-feet across the lawn:
Unheard the shout that rent the noontide
air,

When the slow dial gave a pause to care.
Up springs, at every step, to claim a tear,
Some little friendship form'd and cherish'd
here!

And not the lightest leaf, but trembling teems
With golden visions, and romantic dreams!

Down by yon hazel copse, at evening blaz'd The Gipsy's faggot-there we stood and gaz'd; Gaz'd on her sun-burnt face with silent awe, Her tatter'd mantle, and her hood of straw; Her moving lips, her caldron brimming o'er; The drowsy brood that on her back she bore, Imps, in the barn with mousing owlet bred, From rifled roost at nightly revel fed; Whose dark eyes flash'd through locks of blackest shade, [bay'd: When in the breeze the distant watch-dog And heroes fled the Sibyl's mutter'd call,