_F._ Suppose you saw him—does your mind retain So much, that you would know the man again? Yet hold in mind, he may have felt the press Of grief or guilt, the withering of distress; 50 He now may show the stamp of woe and pain, And nothing of his lively cast remain. Survey these features—see if nothing there May old impressions on your mind repair! Is there not something in this shattered frame Like to that— _P._ No! not like it, but the same; That eye so brilliant, and that smile so gay, Are lighted up, and sparkle through decay. But may I question? Will you that allow? There was a difference, and there must be now; 60 And yet, permitted, I would gladly hear What must have pass’d in many a troubled year. * * * * * _F._ Then hear my tale; but I the price demand: } That understood, I too must understand } Thy wanderings through, or sufferings in, the land; } And, if our virtues cannot much produce, Perhaps our errors may be found of use. To all the wealth my Father’s care laid by, I added wings, and taught it how to fly. To him that act had been of grievous sight; 70 But he survived not to behold the flight. Strange doth it seem to grave and sober minds, How the dear vice the simple votary blinds, So that he goes to ruin smoothly on, And scarcely feels he’s going, till he’s gone. I had made over, in a lucky hour, Funds for my Aunt, and placed beyond my power: The rest was flown, I speak it with remorse, And now a pistol seem’d a thing in course. But, though its precepts I had not obey’d, 80 Thoughts of my Bible made me much afraid Of such rebellion, and, though not content, I must live on when life’s supports were spent; Nay, I must eat, and of my frugal Aunt Must grateful take what gracious she would grant; And true, she granted, but with much discourse— Oh! with what words did she her sense enforce! Great was her wonder, in my need that I Should on the prop myself had raised rely— I, who provided for her in my care, 90 “Must be assured how little she could spare!” I stood confounded, and with angry tone, With rage and grief, that blended oath and groan, I fled her presence—yet I saw her air Of resignation, and I heard her prayer; “Now Heaven,” she utter’d, “make his burden light!” And I, in parting, cried, “Thou hypocrite!” But I was wrong—she might have meant to pray; Though not to give her soul—her cash—away. Of course, my Uncle would the spendthrift shun; 100 So friends on earth I now could reckon none. One morn I rambled, thinking of the past, Far in the country—Did you ever fast Through a long summer’s day? or, sturdy, go To pluck the crab, the bramble, and the sloe, The hyp, the cornel, and the beech, the food And the wild solace of the gypsy brood? To pick the cress, embrown’d by summer sun,