"My child, in Durham do you dwell?" She check'd herself in her distress, And said, "My name is Alice Fell; I'm fatherless and motherless. And I to Durham, Sir, belong." And then, as if the thought would choke Her very heart, her grief grew strong; And all was for her tatter'd cloak. The chaise drove on; our journey's end Was nigh; and, sitting by my side, As if she'd lost her only friend She wept, nor would be pacified. Up to the tavern-door we post; Of Alice and her grief I told; And I gave money to the host, To buy a new cloak for the old. "And let it be of duffil grey, As warm a cloak as man can sell!" Proud creature was she the next day, The little orphan, Alice Fell!' I. p. 87, 88. If the printing of such trash as this be not felt as an insult on the public taste, we are afraid it cannot be insulted. After this follows the longest and most elaborate poem in the volume, under the title of 'Resolution and Independence.' The poet, roving about on a common one fine morning, falls into pensive musings on the fate of the sons of song, which he sums up in this fine distich. 'We poets in our youth begin in gladness; But thereof comes in the end despondency and madness.' I. p. 92. In the midst of his meditations-- 'I saw a man before me unawares; The oldest man he seemed that ever wore grey hairs. ---------- Motionless as a cloud the old man stood; That heareth not the loud winds when they call; And moveth altogether, if it move at all. At length, himself unsettling, he the pond Stirred with his staff, and fixedly did look Upon the muddy water, which he conn'd, As if he had been reading in a book: And now such fre[e]dom as I could I took; And, drawing to his side, to him did say, "This morning gives us promise of a glorious day." ---------- "What kind of work is that which you pursue? This is a lonesome place for one like you." He answer'd me _with pleasure and surprise_; And there was, while he spake, a fire about his eyes. He told me _that he to this pond had come To gather leeches_, being old and poor: Employment hazardous and wearisome! And he had many hardships to endure: From pond to pond he roam'd, from moor to moor, Housing, with God's good help, by choice or chance: And in this way he gain'd an honest maintenance.' I. p. 92-95. Notwithstanding the distinctness of this answer, the poet, it seems, was so wrapped up in his own moody fancies, that he could not attend to it.