We cannot all succeed: I now command The Betsy sloop, and am not much at land: But when we meet, you shall your story tell Of foreign parts--I bid you now farewell!" Allen so long had left his native shore, He saw but few whom he had seen before; The older people, as they met him, cast A pitying look, oft speaking as they pass'd - "The man is Allen Booth, and it appears He dwelt among us in his early years: We see the name engraved upon the stones, Where this poor wanderer means to lay his bones," Thus where he lived and loved--unhappy change! - He seems a stranger, and finds all are strange. But now a widow, in a village near, Chanced of the melancholy man to hear; Old as she was, to Judith's bosom came Some strong emotions at the well-known name; He was her much-loved Allen, she had stay'd Ten troubled years, a sad afflicted maid; Then was she wedded, of his death assured. And much of mis'ry in her lot endured; Her husband died; her children sought their bread In various places, and to her were dead. The once fond lovers met; not grief nor age, Sickness nor pain, their hearts could disengage: Each had immediate confidence; a friend Both now beheld, on whom they might depend: "Now is there one to whom I can express My nature's weakness, and my soul's distress." Allen look'd up, and with impatient heart - "Let me not lose thee--never let us part: So heaven this comfort to my sufferings give, It is not all distress to think and live." Thus Allen spoke--for time had not removed The charms attach'd to one so fondly loved; Who with more health, the mistress of their cot, Labours to soothe the evils of his lot. To her, to her alone, his various fate, At various times, 'tis comfort to relate; And yet his sorrow--she too loves to hear What wrings her bosom, and compels the tear. First he related how he left the shore, Alarm'd with fears that they should meet no more. Then, ere the ship had reach'd her purposed course, They met and yielded to the Spanish force; Then 'cross th' Atlantic seas they bore their prey, Who grieving landed from their sultry bay: And marching many a burning league, he found Himself a slave upon a miner's ground: There a good priest his native language spoke, And gave some ease to his tormenting yoke; Kindly advanced him in his master's grace, And he was station'd in an easier place; There, hopeless ever to escape the land, He to a Spanish maiden gave his hand; In cottage shelter'd from the blaze of day, He saw his happy infants round him play; Where summer shadows, made by lofty trees, Waved o'er his seat, and soothed his reveries; E'en then he thought of England, nor could sigh, But his fond Isabel demanded, "Why?" Grieved by the story, she the sigh repaid, And wept in pity for the English maid: Thus twenty years were pass d, and pass'd his views Of further bliss, for he had wealth to lose: His friend now dead, some foe had dared to paint "His faith as tainted: he his spouse would taint;