I search'd his room, and in his absence read Books that I knew would turn a stronger head. The works of atheists half the number made, The rest were lives of harlots leaving trade; Which neither man nor boy would deign to read, If from the scandal and pollution freed: I sometimes threaten'd, and would fairly state My sense of things so vile and profligate; But I'm a cit, such works are lost on me - They're knowledge, and (good Lord!) philosophy." "Oh, send him down," the Father soon replied; Let me behold him, and my skill be tried: If care and kindness lose their wonted use, Some rougher medicine will the end produce." Stephen with grief and anger heard his doom - "Go to the farmer? to the rustic's home? Curse the base threat'ning--" "Nay, child, never curse; Corrupted long, your case is growing worse." "I!" quoth the youth; "I challenge all mankind To find a fault; what fault have you to find? Improve I not in manner, speech, and grace? Inquire--my friends will tell it to your face; Have I been taught to guard his kine and sheep? A man like me has other things to keep; This let him know."--"It would his wrath excite: But come, prepare, you must away to-night." "What! leave my studies, my improvements leave, My faithful friends and intimates to grieve?" "Go to your father, Stephen, let him see All these improvements; they are lost on me." The Youth, though loth, obey'd, and soon he saw The Farmer-father, with some signs of awe; Who, kind, yet silent, waited to behold How one would act, so daring, yet so cold: And soon he found, between the friendly pair That secrets pass'd which he was not to share; But he resolved those secrets to obtain, And quash rebellion in his lawful reign. Stephen, though vain, was with his father mute; He fear'd a crisis, and he shunn'd dispute; And yet he long'd with youthful pride to show He knew such things as farmers could not know; These to the Grandam he with freedom spoke, Saw her amazement, and enjoy'd the joke: But on the father when he cast his eye, Something he found that made his valour shy; And thus there seem'd to be a hollow truce, Still threat'ning something dismal to produce. Ere this the Father at his leisure read The son's choice volumes, and his wonder fled; He saw how wrought the works of either kind On so presuming, yet so weak a mind; These in a chosen hour he made his prey, Condemn'd, and bore with vengeful thoughts away; Then in a close recess the couple near, He sat unseen to see, unheard to hear. There soon a trial for his patience came; Beneath were placed the Youth and ancient Dame, Each on a purpose fix'd--but neither thought How near a foe, with power and vengeance fraught. And now the matron told, as tidings sad, What she had heard of her beloved lad; How he to graceless, wicked men gave heed, And wicked books would night and morning read; Some former lectures she again began, And begg'd attention of her little man; She brought, with many a pious boast, in view