To his aunt’s stores, and make her sweets his prey; By uncle Doctor on a message sent, He stopp’d to play, and lost it as he went. His grave aunt Martha, with a frown austere And a rough hand, produced a transient fear; But Tom, to whom his rude companions taught 500 Language as rude, vindictive measures sought; He used such words that, when she wish’d to speak Of his offence, she had her words to seek. The little wretch had call’d her—’twas a shame To think such thought, and more to name such name. Thus fed and beaten, Tom was taught to pray For his true friends; “but who,” said he, “are they?” By nature kind, when kindly used, the Boy Hail’d the strange good with tears of love and joy; But, roughly used, he felt his bosom burn 510 With wrath he dared not on his uncles turn; So with indignant spirit, still and strong, He nursed the vengeance, and endured the wrong. To a cheap school, far north, the boy was sent: Without a tear of love or grief he went; Where, doom’d to fast and study, fight and play, He staid five years, and wish’d five more to stay. He loved o’er plains to run, up hills to climb, Without a thought of kindred, home, or time; Till from the cabin of a coasting hoy, 520 Landed at last the thin and freckled boy, With sharp keen eye, but pale and hollow cheek, All made more sad from sickness of a week. His aunts and uncles felt—nor strove to hide From the poor boy, their pity and their pride; He had been taught that he had not a friend Save these on earth, on whom he might depend; And such dependence upon these he had As made him sometimes desperate, always sad. “Awkward and weak, where can the lad be placed, 530 And we not troubled, censured, or disgraced? Do, Brother James, th’ unhappy boy enrol Among your set; you only can control.” James sigh’d, and Thomas to the Factory went, Who there his days in sundry duties spent. He ran, he wrought, he wrote—to read or play He had no time, nor much to feed or pray. What pass’d without he heard not—or he heard Without concern, what he nor wish’d nor fear’d; Told of the Captain and his wealth, he sigh’d, 540 And said, “how well his table is supplied!” But with the sigh it caused the sorrow fled; } He was not feasted, but he must be fed; } And he could sleep full sound, though not full soft his bed. } But still, ambitious thoughts his mind possess’d, And dreams of joy broke in upon his rest. Improved in person, and enlarged in mind, The good he found not he could hope to find; Though now enslaved, he hail’d the approaching day, When he should break his chains and flee away. 550 Such were the Dysons: they were first of those Whom Captain Elliot as companions chose; Them he invited, and the more approved, As it appear’d that each the other loved. Proud of their brothers were the sister pair;