And even Frederick lessen’d in my view. Cold and repulsive as he once appear’d, 480 He was by every generous act endear’d; And, above all, that he with ardour fill’d My soul for truth--a love by him instill’d; Till my mamma grew jealous of a maid To whom an husband such attention paid: Not grossly jealous, but it gave her pain, And she observed, “He made her daughter vain; And what his help to one who must not look To gain her bread by poring on a book?” This was distress; but this, and all beside, 490 Was lost in grief--my kinder parent died; When praised and loved, when joy and health he gave, He sank lamented to an early grave; Then love and we the parent and the child, Lost in one grief, allied and reconciled. Yet soon a will, that left me half his worth, To the same spirit gave a second birth; But ’twas a mother’s spleen; and she indeed Was sick, and sad, and had of comfort need. I watch’d the way her anxious spirit took, 500 And often found her musing o’er a book; She changed her dress, her church, her priest, her prayer, Join’d a new sect, and sought her comforts there. Some strange, coarse people came, and were so free In their addresses, they offended me; But my mamma threw all her pride away-- More humble she as more assuming they. “And what,” they said, as having power, “are now The inward conflicts? do you strive? and how?” Themselves confessing thoughts so new and wild, 510 I thought them like the visions of a child. “Could we,” they ask, “our best good deeds condemn? } And did we long to touch the garment’s hem? } And was it so with us? for so it was with them.” } A younger few assumed a softer part, And tried to shake the fortress of my heart; To this my pliant mother lent her aid, And wish’d the winning of her erring maid. I was constrain’d her female friends to hear; But suffer’d not a bearded convert near; 520 Though more than one attempted, with their whine. And “Sister! sister! how that heart of thine?” But this was freedom I for ever check’d: Mine was a heart no brother could affect. But, “would I hear the preacher, and receive The dropping dew of his discourse at eve? The soft, sweet words?” I gave two precious hours To hear of gifts and graces, helps and powers; When a pale youth, who should dismiss the flock, Gave to my bosom an electric shock. 530 While in that act, he look’d upon my face As one in that all-equalizing place; Nor, though he sought me, would he lay aside Their cold, dead freedom, or their dull, sad pride. Of his conversion he with triumph spoke, Before he orders from a bishop took; Then how his father’s anger he had braved,