And wish that every being felt it too”— “Beware, my Tracy! let these Spirits sleep And for the days of certain sorrow keep! Kind [are] thy wishes, but are all in vain: 130 There will be Griefs, Sighs, Sufferings and pain! Waste not the strength that [a] Kind Heaven affords In a vain flourish of Exulting Words; But train thyself for the uncertain task— I ask it fondly and ’tis all I ask!”— “Friend of my Soul,” replied the youth, “suppress These fearful Precepts and their fond Distress! If Time indeed must all my Joys expell, Oh, let me feel them when at ease and well! I war with Care; it is my wish to go 140 Where he resides and treat him as a foe. When in the Cot the ugly fiend I trace, I ask his business in that favour’d place; A Golden Shield I cast before his Eyes And never leave him till away he flies. Tho’ stubborn oft, his utmost Wrath I dare And sing exulting, Now begone, old Care! This Villain Care had pinch’d a modest Cheek, And so opprest her that she fear’d to speak. Her Lover’s father, of her Charms afraid, 150 Forc’d [her] fond Lover from the pining Maid. Poor Ellen’s Mother shar’d her Daughter’s Pain, And her best offer met the Earl’s disdain. Grief held them all, when like an Hero true I freed the Captives and the Giant slew; Held a fair Prospect in the father’s Eye And saw resistance in an instant die. Oh, take my Horses, and my Hounds dismiss, But [give] Thy Tracy such delight as this! * * * * War 160 With grief and wish him from thy bosom far! I for this cause * * * strive, And am content to seem but half alive; Yet can I never from myself conceal That giving Pleasure is the way to feel. “Can I be sad, when I behold her mine, A beauteous maiden with a Soul divine? Did ever beauty meet the wond’ring Eye, Perfect as that which shines in Emely? Does not her Father to our Love consent? 170 Then what [can] damp our joys, or what prevent? And is she not belov’d, esteem’d of thee? Oh I am happy,—happy let me be! “Want I a kindred mind, my Julian? Shame Be to the Man who gave th’ Apostate’s Name To one whose Virtues all who know must Prize, And who from Truth will ne’er apostatize! Guide of my Life, Companion of my Youth, Thy modest Manners and thy love of Truth Cheer, aid and sooth me in my earthly race; 180 And Want of Joy would [thus] be Want of Grace.”— “All, all are thine,” the gentle Lady cried; “Wealth, Health and Friends has bounteous Heaven supply’d; The happiest Spirits and the loveliest Maid That ever smil’d; and yet am I afraid. For Friends have fallen off, and Love grown cold, And failing Health sigh’d over useless Gold; While the strong Spirits, once to Error led, Have flam’d to Madness or in Anguish fled. Nay, look not thus; against myself I plead; 190 Bid thee be grave, and yet would not succeed.