And now can poet sing, or proseman say, The disappointment of that trying day? As he who long had train'd a favourite steed, (Whose blood and bone gave promise of his speed,) Sanguine with hope, he runs with partial eye O'er every feature, and his bets are high; Of triumph sure, he sees the rivals start, And waits their coming with exulting heart; Forestalling glory, with impatient glance, And sure to see his conquering steed advance: The conquering steed advances--luckless day! A rival's Herod bears the prize away, Nor second his, nor third, but lagging last, With hanging head he comes, by all surpass'd: Surprise and wrath the owner's mind inflame, Love turns to scorn, and glory ends in shame; - Thus waited, high in hope, the partial 'Squire, Eager to hear, impatient to admire; When the young Preacher, in the tones that find A certain passage to the kindling mind, With air and accent strange, impressive, sad, Alarm'd the judge--he trembled for the lad; But when the text announced the power of grace, Amazement scowl'd upon his clouded face At this degenerate son of his illustrious race; Staring he stood, till hope again arose That James might well define the words he chose: For this he listen'd--but, alas! he found The preacher always on forbidden ground. And now the Uncle left the hated pew, With James, and James's conduct, in his view; A long farewell to all his favourite schemes! For now no crazed fanatic's frantic dreams Seem'd vile as James's conduct, or as James: All he had long derided, hated, fear'd, This, from the chosen youth, the uncle heard; - The needless pause, the fierce disorder'd air, The groan for sin, the vehemence of prayer, Gave birth to wrath, that, in a long discourse Of grace triumphant, rose to fourfold force: He found his thoughts despised, his rules transgress'd, And while the anger kindled in his breast, The pain must be endured that could not be expressed: Each new idea more inflamed his ire, As fuel thrown upon a rising fire: A hearer yet, he sought by threatening sign To ease his heart, and awe the young divine; But James refused those angry looks to meet, Till he dismiss'd his flock, and left his seat: Exhausted then he felt his trembling frame, But fix'd his soul,--his sentiments the same; And therefore wise it seem'd to fly from rage, And seek for shelter in his parsonage: There, if forsaken, yet consoled to find Some comforts left, though not a few resign'd; There, if he lost an erring parent's love, An honest conscience must the cause approve; If the nice palate were no longer fed, The mind enjoy'd delicious thoughts instead; And if some part of earthly good was flown, Still was the tithe of ten good farms his own. Fear now, and discord, in the village reign, The cool remonstrate, and the meek complain; But there is war within, and wisdom pleads in vain. Now dreads the Uncle, and proclaims his dread, Lest the Boy-priest should turn each rustic head; The certain converts cost him certain woe,