“Brother,” said George, “I have neglected long To think of all thy perils--it was wrong; But do forgive me; for I could not be Than of myself more negligent of thee. Now tell me, Richard, from the boyish years Of thy young mind, that now so rich appears, 270 How was it stored? ’twas told me, thou wert wild, A truant urchin, a neglected child. I heard of this escape, and sat supine Amid the danger that exceeded thine; Thou couldst but die--the waves could but infold Thy warm, gay heart, and make that bosom cold-- While I--but no! Proceed, and give me truth; How past the years of thy unguided youth? Thy father left thee to the care of one Who could not teach, could ill support a son; 280 Yet time and trouble feeble minds have stay’d, And fit for long-neglected duties made. I see thee struggling in the world, as late Within the waves, and, with an equal fate, By Heaven preserved--but tell me, whence and how Thy gleaning came?--a dexterous gleaner thou!” “Left by that father, who was known to few, And to that mother, who has not her due Of honest fame,” said Richard, “our retreat Was a small cottage, for our station meet, 290 On Barford Downs; that mother, fond and poor, There taught some truths, and bade me seek for more, Such as our village-school and books a few Supplied; but such I cared not to pursue. I sought the town, and to the ocean gave My mind and thoughts, as restless as the wave; Where crowds assembled, I was sure to run, Hear[d] what was said, and mused on what was done; Attentive listening in the moving scene, And often wondering what the men could mean. 300 “When ships at sea made signals of their need, I watch’d on shore the sailors, and their speed; Mix’d in their act, nor rested till I knew Why they were call’d, and what they were to do. “Whatever business in the port was done, I, without call, was with the busy one; Not daring question, but with open ear And greedy spirit, ever bent to hear. “To me the wives of seamen loved to tell What storms endanger’d men esteem’d so well; 310 What wond’rous things in foreign parts they saw, Lands without bounds, and people without law. “No ships were wreck’d upon that fatal beach, But I could give the luckless tale of each; Eager I look’d, till I beheld a face Of one disposed to paint their dismal case; Who gave the sad survivors’ doleful tale, From the first brushing of the mighty gale Until they struck; and, suffering in their fate, I long’d the more they should its horrors state; 320 While some, the fond of pity, would enjoy The earnest sorrows of the feeling boy. “I sought the men return’d from regions cold, The frozen straits, where icy mountains roll’d;