Upon whose lapse, or error, something more
Than brotherly forgiveness may attend;
To such will we restrict our notice, else
Better my tongue were mute.

And yet there are, 660
I feel, good reasons why we should not leave
Wholly untraced a more forbidding way.
For, strength to persevere and to support,
And energy to conquer and repel—
These elements of virtue, that declare
The native grandeur of the human soul—
Are oft-times not unprofitably shown
In the perverseness of a selfish course:
Truth every day exemplified, no less.

665

In the grey cottage by the murmuring stream
Than in fantastic conqueror's roving camp, 671
Or 'mid the factious senate unappalled
Whoe'er may sink, or rise-to sink again,
As merciless proscription ebbs and flows.

"There," said the Vicar, pointing as he spake, 675

“A woman rests in peace; surpassed by few In power of mind, and eloquent discourse. Tall was her stature; her complexion dark And saturnine; her head not raised to hold Converse with heaven, nor yet deprest towards earth,

680

But in projection carried, as she walked
For ever musing. Sunken were her eyes;
Wrinkled and furrowed with habitual thought
Was her broad forehead; like the brow of

one

Whose visual nerve shrinks from a painful glare 685 Of overpowering light.-While yet a child, She, 'mid the humble flowerets of the vale,

Towered like the imperial thistle, not unfurnished

With its appropriate grace, yet rather seeking
To be admired, than coveted and loved. 690
Even at that age she ruled, a sovereign queen,
Over her comrades; else their simple sports,
Wanting all relish for her strenuous mind,
Had crossed her only to be shunned with scorn.
-Oh! pang of sorrowful regret for those 695
Whom, in their youth, sweet study has en-
thralled,

That they have lived for harsher servitude,
Whether in soul, in body, or estate!

700

Such doom was hers; yet nothing could subdue
Her keen desire of knowledge, nor efface
Those brighter images by books imprest
Upon her memory, faithfully as stars
That occupy their places, and, though oft
Hidden by clouds, and oft bedimmed by haze,
Are not to be extinguished, nor impaired. 705

"Two passions, both degenerate, for they both

Began in honour, gradually obtained
Rule over her, and vexed her daily life;
An unremitting, avaricious thrift;

And a strange thraldom of maternal love, 710
That held her spirit, in its own despite,
Bound-by vexation, and regret, and scorn,
Constrained forgiveness, and relenting vows,
And tears, in pride suppressed, in shame con-
cealed-

715

To a poor dissolute Son, her only child.
-Her wedded days had opened with mishap,
Whence dire dependence. What could she

perform

To shake the burthen off? Ah! there was felt,

719

Indignantly, the weakness of her sex.
She mused, resolved, adhered to her resolve;
The hand grew slack in alms-giving, the heart
Closed by degrees to charity; heaven's blessing
Not seeking from that source, she placed her

trust

In ceaseless pains-and strictest parsimony Which sternly hoarded all that could be spared, From each day's need, out of each day's least gain.

726

730

"Thus all was re-established, and a pile Constructed, that sufficed for every end, Save the contentment of the builder's mind; A mind by nature indisposed to aught So placid, so inactive, as content; A mind intolerant of lasting peace, And cherishing the pang her heart deplored. Dread life of conflict! which I oft compared To the agitation of a brook that runs Down a rocky mountain, buried now and lost In silent pools, now in strong eddies chained; But never to be charmed to gentleness: Its best attainment fits of such repose

735

As timid eyes might shrink from fathoming. 740

"A sudden illness seized her in the strength Of life's autumnal season.-Shall I tell How on her bed of death the Matron lay, To Providence submissive, so she thought; But fretted, vexed, and wrought upon, almost To anger, by the malady that griped 746 Her prostrate frame with unrelaxing power, As the fierce eagle fastens on the lamb? She prayed, she moaned ;-her husband's sister

watched

Her dreary pillow, waited on her needs; 750

And yet the very sound of that kind foot Was anguish to her ears! 'And must she rule,'

This was the death-doomed Woman heard to

say

In bitterness, and must she rule and reign, Sole Mistress of this house, when I am gone? Tend what I tended, calling it her own!' 756 Enough;-I fear, too much.-One vernal evening,

While she was yet in prime of health and strength,

I well remember, while I passed her door Alone, with loitering step, and upward eye 760 Turned towards the planet Jupiter that hung Above the centre of the Vale, a voice

Roused me, her voice; it said, 'That glorious

star

In its untroubled element will shine

As now it shines, when we are laid in earth 765
And safe from all our sorrows.' With a sigh
She spake, yet, I believe, not unsustained
By faith in glory that shall far transcend
Aught by these perishable heavens disclosed
To sight or mind. Nor less than care divine

Is divine mercy. She, who had rebelled,
Was into meekness softened and subdued;
Did, after trials not in vain prolonged,
With resignation sink into the grave;
And her uncharitable acts, I trust,
And harsh unkindnesses are all forgiven,

771

775

Tho', in this Vale, remembered with deep awe.”

THE Vicar paused; and toward a seat advanced, A long stone-seat, fixed in the Church-yard wall;

780

Part shaded by cool sycamore, and part
Offering a sunny resting-place to them
Who seek the House of worship, while the bells
Yet ring with all their voices, or before
The last hath ceased its solitary knoll.
Beneath the shade we all sate down; and there
His office, uninvited, he resumed.

786

"As on a sunny bank, a tender lamb Lurks in safe shelter from the winds of March, Screened by its parent, so that little mound Lies guarded by its neighbour; the small heap Speaks for itself; an Infant there doth rest; 791 The sheltering hillock is the Mother's grave. If mild discourse, and manners that conferred A natural dignity on humblest rank; If gladsome spirits, and benignant looks, That for a face not beautiful did more Than beauty for the fairest face can do ; And if religious tenderness of heart, Grieving for sin, and penitential tears Shed when the clouds had gathered and distained

The spotless ether of a maiden life;

If these may make a hallowed spot of earth
More holy in the sight of God or Man ;
Then, o'er that mould, a sanctity shall brood
Till the stars sicken at the day of doom.

795

800

805

"Ah! what a warning for a thoughtless man, Could field or grove, could any spot of earth, Show to his eye an image of the pangs Which it hath witnessed; render back an echo Of the sad steps by which it hath been trod! 810 There, by her innocent Baby's precious grave, And on the very turf that roofs her own, The Mother oft was seen to stand, or kneel