The quick'ning pulse, and faint the limbs that bore The slender form that soon would breathe no more. Then hope of holy kind the soul sustain'd, And not a lingering thought of earth remain'd; Now heaven had all, and he could smile at Love, And the wild sallies of his youth reprove; Then could he dwell upon the tempting days, The proud aspiring thought, the partial praise; Victorious now, his worldly views were closed, And on the bed of death the youth reposed. The father grieved--but as the poet's heart Was all unfitted for his earthly part; As, he conceived, some other haughty fair Would, had he lived, have led him to despair; As, with this fear, the silent grave shut out All feverish hope, and all tormenting doubt; While the strong faith the pious youth possess'd, His hope enlivening gave his sorrows rest; Soothed by these thoughts, he felt a mournful joy For his aspiring and devoted boy. Meantime the news through various channels spread, The youth, once favour'd with such praise, was dead: "Emma," the lady cried, "my words attend, Your syren-smiles have kill'd your humble friend; The hope you raised can now delude no more, Nor charms, that once inspired, can now restore." Faint was the flush of anger and of shame, That o'er the cheek of conscious beauty came: "You censure not," said she, "the sun's bright rays, When fools imprudent dare the dangerous gaze; And should a stripling look till he were blind, You would not justly call the light unkind: But is he dead? and am I to suppose The power of poison in such looks as those?" She spoke, and pointing to the mirror, cast A pleased gay glance, and curtsied as she pass'd. My Lord, to whom the poet's fate was told, Was much affected, for a man so cold: "Dead!" said his lordship, "run distracted, mad! Upon my soul I'm sorry for the lad; And now no doubt th' obliging world will say That my harsh usage help'd him on his way: What! I suppose, I should have nursed his muse, And with champagne have brighten'd up his views; Then had he made me famed my whole life long, And stunn'd my ears with gratitude and song. Still should the father bear that I regret Our joint misfortune--Yes! I'll not forget." Thus they: --the father to his grave convey'd The son he loved, and his last duties paid. "There lies my Boy," he cried, "of care bereft, And heaven be praised, I've not a genius left: No one among ye, sons! is doomed to live On high-raised hopes of what the Great may give; None, with exalted views and fortunes mean, To die in anguish, or to live in spleen: Your pious brother soon escaped the strife Of such contention, but it cost his life; You then, my sons, upon yourselves depend, And in your own exertions find the friend." TALE VI. THE FRANK COURTSHIP.