Had, meeting, sooth’d him, as in days of old; But soon this fact transpired; her strong distress, And his friend’s absence, left him nought to guess. Still cool, though grieved, thus prudence bade him write-- “I cannot pardon, and I will not fight; Thou art too poor a culprit for the laws, And I too faulty to support my cause. 300 All must be punish’d; I must sigh alone, At home thy victim for her guilt atone; And thou, unhappy! virtuous now no more, Must loss of fame, peace, purity deplore; Sinners with praise will pierce thee to the heart, And saints deriding, tell thee what thou art.” Such was his fall; and Edward, from that time, Felt in full force the censure and the crime-- Despised, ashamed; his noble views before, And his proud thoughts, degraded him the more. 310 Should he repent--would that conceal his shame? Could peace be his? It perish’d with his fame. Himself he scorn’d, nor could his crime forgive; He fear’d to die, yet felt ashamed to live; Grieved, but not contrite was his heart--oppress’d, Not broken; not converted, but distress’d; He wanted will to bend the stubborn knee, } He wanted light the cause of ill to see, } To learn how frail is man, how humble then should be; } For faith he had not, or a faith too weak 320 To gain the help that humbled sinners seek; Else had he pray’d--to an offended God His tears had flown a penitential flood; Though far astray, he would have heard the call Of mercy--“Come! return, thou prodigal;” Then, though confused, distress’d, ashamed, afraid, Still had the trembling penitent obey’d; Though faith had fainted, when assail’d by fear, Hope to the soul had whisper’d, “Persevere!” Till, in his Father’s house an humbled guest, 330 He would have found forgiveness, comfort, rest. But all this joy was to our youth denied By his fierce passions and his daring pride; And shame and doubt impell’d him in a course, Once so abhorr’d, with unresisted force. Proud minds and guilty, whom their crimes oppress, Fly to new crimes for comfort and redress; So found our fallen youth a short relief In wine, the opiate guilt applies to grief-- From fleeting mirth that o’er the bottle lives; 340 From the false joy its inspiration gives; And from associates, pleased to find a friend With powers to lead them, gladden, and defend, In all those scenes where transient ease is found For minds whom sins oppress, and sorrows wound. Wine is like anger; for it makes us strong, Blind and impatient, and it leads us wrong; } The strength is quickly lost, we feel the error long. } Thus led, thus strengthen’d in an evil cause, } For folly pleading, sought the youth applause; 350