The harsh pass'd frowning, and the simple smiled; The town maintain'd him, but with some reproof, And clerks and scholars proudly kept aloof. In each lone place, dejected and dismay'd, Shrinking from view, his wasting form he laid; Or to the restless sea and roaring wind Gave the strong yearnings of a ruin'd mind: On the broad beach, the silent summer-day, Stretch'd on some wreck, he wore his life away; Or where the river mingles with the sea, Or on the mud-bank by the elder tree, Or by the bounding marsh-dike, there was he: And when unable to forsake the town, In the blind courts he sat desponding down - Always alone: then feebly would he crawl The church-way walk, and lean upon the wall: Too ill for this, he lay beside the door, Compell'd to hear the reasoning of the poor: He look'd so pale, so weak, the pitying crowd Their firm belief of his repentance vow'd; They saw him then so ghastly and so thin, That they exclaim'd, "Is this the work of sin?" "Yes," in his better moments, he replied, "Of sinful avarice and the spirit's pride; - While yet untempted, I was safe and well; Temptation came; I reason'd, and I fell: To be man's guide and glory I design'd, A rare example for our sinful kind; But now my weakness and my guilt I see, And am a warning--man, be warn'd by me!" He said, and saw no more the human face; To a lone loft he went, his dying place, And, as the vicar of his state inquired, Turn'd to the wall and silently expired! LETTER XX. THE POOR OF THE BOROUGH. Patience and sorrow strove Who should express her goodliest. SHAKESPEARE. "No charms she now can boast,"--'tis true, But other charmers wither too: "And she is old,"--the fact I know, And old will other heroines grow; But not like them has she been laid, In ruin'd castle sore dismay'd; Where naughty man and ghostly spright Fill'd her pure mind with awe and dread, Stalk'd round the room, put out the light, And shook the curtains round her bed. No cruel uncle kept her land, No tyrant father forced her hand; She had no vixen virgin-aunt, Without whose aid she could not eat, And yet who poison'd all her meat, With gibe and sneer and taunt. Yet of the heroine she'd a share, - She saved a lover from despair, And granted all his wish in spite Of what she knew and felt was right: But, heroine then no more, She own'd the fault, and wept and pray'd And humbly took the parish aid, And dwelt among the poor. ------------------ ELLEN ORFORD. {11}