The Borough Part 17

One was a female, who had grievous ill Wrought in revenge, and she enjoy'd it still: With death before her, and her fate in view, Unsated vengeance in her bosom grew: Sullen she was and threat'ning; in her eye Glared the stern triumph that she dared to die: But first a being in the world must leave - 'Twas once reproach; 'twas now a short reprieve.

She was a pauper bound, who early gave Her mind to vice and doubly was a slave: Upbraided, beaten, held by rough control, Revenge sustain'd, inspired, and fill'd her soul: She fired a full-stored barn, confess'd the fact, And laugh'd at law and justified the act: Our gentle Vicar tried his powers in vain, She answer'd not, or answer'd with disdain; Th' approaching fate she heard without a sigh, And neither cared to live nor fear'd to die.

Not so he felt, who with her was to pay The forfeit, life--with dread he view'd the day, And that short s.p.a.ce which yet for him remain'd, Till with his limbs his faculties were chain'd: He paced his narrow bounds some ease to find, But found it not,--no comfort reach'd his mind: Each sense was palsied; when he tasted food, He sigh'd and said, "Enough--'tis very good."

Since his dread sentence, nothing seem'd to be As once it was--he seeing could not see, Nor hearing, hear aright;--when first I came Within his view, I fancied there was shame, I judged resentment; I mistook the air, - These fainter pa.s.sions live not with despair; Or but exist and die: --Hope, fear, and love, Joy, doubt, and hate, may other spirits move, But touch not his, who every waking hour Has one fix'd dread, and always feels its power.

"But will not mercy?"--No! she cannot plead For such an outrage;--'twas a cruel deed: He stopp'd a timid traveller;--to his breast, With oaths and curses, was the danger press'd: - No! he must suffer: pity we may find For one man's pangs, but must not wrong mankind.

Still I behold him, every thought employ'd On one dire view!--all others are destroy'd; This makes his features ghastly, gives the tone Of his few words resemblance to a groan; He takes his tasteless food, and when 'tis done, Counts up his meals, now lessen'd by that one; For expectation is on time intent, Whether he brings us joy or punishment.

Yes! e'en in sleep the impressions all remain, He hears the sentence and he feels the chain; He sees the judge and jury, when he shakes, And loudly cries, "Not guilty," and awakes: Then chilling tremblings o'er his body creep, Till worn-out nature is compell'd to sleep.

Now comes the dream again: it shows each scene, With each small circ.u.mstance that comes between - The call to suffering and the very deed - There crowds go with him, follow, and precede; Some heartless shout, some pity, all condemn, While he in fancied envy looks at them: He seems the place for that sad act to see, And dreams the very thirst which then will be: A priest attends--it seems, the one he knew In his best days, beneath whose care he grew.

At this his terrors take a sudden flight, He sees his native village with delight; The house, the chamber, where he once array'd His youthful person; where he knelt and pray'd: Then too the comforts he enjoy'd at home, The days of joy; the joys themselves are come; - The hours of innocence;--the timid look Of his loved maid, when first her hand he took, And told his hope; her trembling joy appears, Her forced reserve and his retreating fears.

All now is present;--'tis a moment's gleam Of former suns.h.i.+ne--stay, delightful dream!

Let him within his pleasant garden walk, Give him her arm, of blessings let them talk.

Yes! all are with him now, and all the while Life's early prospects and his f.a.n.n.y's smile: Then come his sister and his village-friend, And he will now the sweetest moments spend Life has to yield;--No! never will he find Again on earth such pleasure in his mind: He goes through shrubby walks these friends among, Love in their looks and honour on the tongue: Nay, there's a charm beyond what nature shows, The bloom is softer and more sweetly glows; - Pierced by no crime, and urged by no desire For more than true and honest hearts require, They feel the calm delight, and thus proceed Through the green lane,--then linger in the mead, - Stray o'er the heath in all its purple bloom, - And pluck the blossom where the wild bees hum; Then through the broomy bound with ease they pa.s.s, And press the sandy sheep-walk's slender gra.s.s, Where dwarfish flowers among the gorse are spread, And the lamb browses by the linnet's bed; Then 'cross the bounding brook they make their way O'er its rough bridge--and there behold the bay! - The ocean smiling to the fervid sun - The waves that faintly fall and slowly run - The s.h.i.+ps at distance and the boats at hand; And now they walk upon the sea-side sand, Counting the number and what kind they be, s.h.i.+ps softly sinking in the sleepy sea: Now arm in arm, now parted, they behold The glitt'ring waters on the s.h.i.+ngles roll'd: The timid girls, half dreading their design, Dip the small foot in the r.e.t.a.r.ded brine, And search for crimson weeds, which spreading flow, Or lie like pictures on the sand below; With all those bright red pebbles, that the sun Through the small waves so softly s.h.i.+nes upon; And those live lucid jellies which the eye Delights to trace as they swim glittering by: Pearl-sh.e.l.ls and rubied star-fish they admire, And will arrange above the parlour fire, - Tokens of bliss!--"Oh! horrible! a wave Roars as it rises--save me, Edward! save!"

She cries: --Alas! the watchman on his way Calls, and lets in--truth, terror, and the day!

LETTER XXIV.

Be it a weakness, it deserves some praise, - We love the play-place of our early days; The scene is touching, and the heart is stone That feels not at that sight--and feels at none.

The wall on which we tried our graving skill; The very name we carved subsisting still; The bench on which we sat while deep employ'd, Though mangled, hack'd, and hew'd, yet not destroy'd.

The little ones unb.u.t.ton'd, glowing hot, Playing our games, and on the very spot; As happy as we once to kneel and draw The chalky ring and knuckle down at taw.

This fond detachment to the well known place, When first we started into life's long race, Maintains its hold with such unfailing sway, We feel it e'en in age and at our latest day.

COWPER.

Tu quoque ne metuas, quamvis schola verbere multo Increpet et truculenta senex geret ora magister; Degeneres animos timor arguit; at tibi consta Intrepidus, nec te clamor plagaeque sonantes, Nec matutinis agitet formido sub horis, Quod sceptrum vibrat ferulae, quod multa supellex Virgea, quod molis scuticam praetexit aluta, Quod fervent trepido subsellia vestra tumultu, Pompa loci, et vani fugiatur scena timoris.

AUSONIUS.

SCHOOLS. {15}

Schools of every Kind to be found in the Borough--The School for Infants--The School Preparatory: the Sagacity of the Mistress in foreseeing Character--Day Schools of the lower Kind--A Master with Talents adapted to such Pupils: one of superior Qualifications-- Boarding Schools; that for young Ladies; one going first to the Governess, one finally returning Home--School for Youth: Master and Teacher; various Dispositions and Capacities--The Miser-Boy--The Bully-Boy--Sons of Farmers: how amused--What Study will effect, examined--A College Life: one sent from his College to a Benefice; one retained there in Dignity--The Advantage in either Case not considerable--Where, then, the Good of a Literary Life?--Answered-- Conclusion.

To every cla.s.s we have a School a.s.sign'd, Rules for all ranks and food for every mind: Yet one there is, that small regard to rule Or study pays, and still is deem'd a School: That, where a deaf, poor, patient widow sits, And awes some thirty infants as she knits; Infants of humble, busy wives, who pay Some trifling price for freedom through the day: At this good matron's hut the children meet, Who thus becomes the mother of the street: Her room is small they cannot widely stray, - Her threshold high they cannot run away: Though deaf, she sees the rebel-heroes shout, - Though lame, her white rod nimbly walks about; With band of yarn she keeps offenders in, And to her gown the st.u.r.diest rogue can pin: Aided by these, and spells, and tell-tale birds, Her power they dread and reverence her words.

To Learning's second seats we now proceed, Where humming students gilded primers read; Or books with letters large and pictures gay, To make their reading but a kind of play - "Reading made easy," so the t.i.tles tell; But they who read must first begin to spell: There may be profit in these arts, but still Learning is labour, call it what you will; Upon the youthful mind a heavy load, Nor must we hope to find the royal road.

Some will their easy steps to science show, And some to heav'n itself their by-way know; Ah! trust them not,--who fame or bliss would share, Must learn by labour, and must live by care.

Another matron, of superior kind, For higher schools prepares the rising mind; Preparatory she her Learning calls, The step first made to colleges and halls.

She early sees to what the mind will grow, Nor abler judge of infant-powers I know: She sees what soon the lively will impede, And how the steadier will in turn succeed; Observes the dawn of wisdom, fancy, taste, And knows what parts will wear, and what will waste: She marks the mind too lively, and at once Sees the gay c.o.xcomb and the rattling dunce.

Long has she lived, and much she loves to trace Her former pupils, now a lordly race; Whom when she sees rich robes and furs bedeck, She marks the pride which once she strove to check.

A Burgess comes, and she remembers well How hard her task to make his wors.h.i.+p spell; Cold, selfish, dull, inanimate, unkind, 'Twas but by anger he display'd a mind: Now civil, smiling, complaisant, and gay, The world has worn th' unsocial crust away: That sullen spirit now a softness wears, And, save by fits, e'en dulness disappears: But still the matron can the man behold, Dull, selfish, hard, inanimate, and cold.

A Merchant pa.s.ses,--"Probity and truth, Prudence and patience, mark'd thee from thy youth."

Thus she observes, but oft retains her fears For him, who now with name unstain'd appears: Nor hope relinquishes, for one who yet Is lost in error and involved in debt; For latent evil in that heart she found, More open here, but here the core was sound.

Various our Day-Schools: here behold we one Empty and still: --the morning duties done, Soil'd, tatter'd, worn, and thrown in various heaps, Appear their books, and there confusion sleeps; The workmen all are from the Babel fled, And lost their tools, till the return they dread: Meantime the master, with his wig awry, Prepares his books for business by-and-by: Now all th' insignia of the monarch laid Beside him rest, and none stand by afraid; He, while his troop light-hearted leap and play, Is all intent on duties of the day; No more the tyrant stern or judge severe, He feels the father's and the husband's fear.

Ah! little think the timid trembling crowd, That one so wise, so powerful, and so proud, Should feel himself, and dread the humble ills Of rent-day charges, and of coalman's bills; That while they mercy from their judge implore, He fears himself--a knocking at the door; And feels the burthen as his neighbour states His humble portion to the parish-rates.

They sit th' alloted hours, then eager run, Rus.h.i.+ng to pleasure when the duty's done; His hour of leisure is of different kind, Then cares domestic rush upon his mind, And half the ease and comfort he enjoys, Is when surrounded by slates, books, and boys.

Poor Reuben Dixon has the noisiest school Of ragged lads, who ever bow'd to rule; Low in his price--the men who heave our coals, And clean our causeways, send him boys in shoals; To see poor Reuben, with his fry beside, - Their half-check'd rudeness and his half-scorn'd pride, - Their room, the sty in which th' a.s.sembly meet, In the close lane behind the Northgate-street; T'observe his vain attempts to keep the peace, Till tolls the bell, and strife and troubles cease, - Calls for our praise; his labour praise deserves, But not our pity; Reuben has no nerves: 'Mid noise and dirt, and stench, and play, and prate, He calmly cuts the pen or views the slate.

But Leonard!--yes, for Leonard's fate I grieve, Who loaths the station which he dares not leave: He cannot dig, he will not beg his bread, All his dependence rests upon his head; And deeply skill'd in sciences and arts, On vulgar lads he wastes superior parts.

Alas! what grief that feeling mind sustains, In guiding hands and stirring torpid brains; He whose proud mind from pole to pole will move, And view the wonders of the worlds above; Who thinks and reasons strongly: --hard his fate, Confined for ever to the pen and slate: True, he submits, and when the long dull day Has slowly pa.s.s'd, in weary tasks, away, To other worlds with cheerful view he looks, And parts the night between repose and books.

Amid his labours, he has sometimes tried To turn a little from his cares aside; Pope, Milton, Dryden, with delight has seized, His soul engaged and of his trouble eased: When, with a heavy eye and ill-done sum, No part conceived, a stupid boy will come; Then Leonard first subdues the rising frown, And bids the blockhead lay his blunders down; O'er which disgusted he will turn his eye, To his sad duty his sound mind apply, And, vex'd in spirit, throw his pleasures by.

Turn we to Schools which more than these afford - The sound instruction and the wholesome board; And first our School for Ladies;--pity calls For one soft sigh, when we behold these walls, Placed near the town, and where, from window high, The fair, confined, may our free crowds espy, With many a stranger gazing up and down, And all the envied tumult of the town; May, in the smiling summer-eve, when they Are sent to sleep the pleasant hours away, Behold the poor (whom they conceive the bless'd) Employ'd for hours, and grieved they cannot rest.

Here the fond girl, whose days are sad and few Since dear mamma p.r.o.nounced the last adieu, Looks to the road, and fondly thinks she hears The carriage-wheels, and struggles with her tears: All yet is new, the misses great and small, Madam herself, and teachers, odious all; From laughter, pity, nay command, she turns, But melts in softness, or with anger burns; Nauseates her food, and wonders who can sleep On such mean beds, where she can only weep: She scorns condolence--but to all she hates Slowly at length her mind accommodates; Then looks on bondage with the same concern As others felt, and finds that she must learn As others learn'd--the common lot to share, To search for comfort and submit to care.

There are, 'tis said, who on these seats attend, And to these ductile minds destruction vend; Wretches--(to virtue, peace, and nature, foes) - To these soft minds, their wicked trash expose; Seize on the soul, ere pa.s.sions take the sway, And lead the heart, ere yet it feels, astray: Smugglers obscene!--and can there be who take Infernal pains the sleeping vice to wake?

Can there be those by whom the thought defiled Enters the spotless bosom of a child?

By whom the ill is to the heart conveyed, Who lend the foe, not yet in arms, their aid; And sap the city-walls before the siege be laid?

Oh! rather skulking in the by-ways steal, And rob the poorest traveller of his meal; Burst through the humblest trader's bolted door; Bear from the widow's hut her winter-store; With stolen steed, on highways take your stand, Your lips with curses arm'd, with death your hand; - Take all but life--the virtuous more would say, Take life itself, dear as it is, away, Rather than guilty thus the guileless soul betray.

Years pa.s.s away--let us suppose them past, Th' accomplish'd nymph for freedom looks at last; All hards.h.i.+ps over, which a school contains, The spirit's bondage and the body's pains; Where teachers make the heartless, trembling set Of pupils suffer for their own regret; Where winter's cold, attack'd by one poor fire, Chills the fair child, commanded to retire; She felt it keenly in the morning-air, Keenly she felt it at the evening prayer.

More pleasant summer; but then walks were made, Not a sweet ramble, but a slow parade; They moved by pairs beside the hawthorn-hedge, Only to set their feelings on an edge; And now at eve, when all their spirits rise, Are sent to rest, and all their pleasure dies; Where yet they all the town-alert can see, And distant plough-boys pacing o'er the lea.

These and the tasks successive masters brought - The French they conn'd, the curious works they wrought; The hours they made their taper fingers strike Note after note, all dull to them alike; Their drawings, dancings on appointed days, Playing with globes, and getting parts of plays: The tender friends.h.i.+ps made 'twixt heart and heart, When the dear friends had nothing to impart: - All! all! are over;--now th' accomplish'd maid Longs for the world, of nothing there afraid: Dreams of delight invade her gentle breast, And fancied lovers rob the heart of rest; At the paternal door a carriage stands, Love knits their hearts and Hymen joins their hands.

Ah! world unknown! how charming is thy view, Thy pleasures many, and each pleasure new: Ah! world experienced! what of thee is told?

How few thy pleasures, and those few how old!

Within a silent street, and far apart From noise of business, from a quay or mart, Stands an old s.p.a.cious building, and the din You hear without, explains the work within; Unlike the whispering of the nymphs, this noise Loudly proclaims a "Boarding-School for Boys;"

The master heeds it not, for thirty years Have render'd all familiar to his ears; He sits in comfort, 'mid the various sound Of mingled tones for ever flowing round: Day after day he to his task attends, - Unvaried toil, and care that never ends: Boys in their works proceed; while his employ Admits no change, or changes but the boy; Yet time has made it easy;--he beside Has power supreme, and power is sweet to pride: But grant him pleasure; what can teachers feel, Dependent helpers always at the wheel?

Their power despised, their compensation small, Their labour dull, their life laborious all; Set after set the lower lads to make Fit for the cla.s.s which their superiors take; The road of learning for a time to track In roughest state, and then again go back: Just the same way, on other troops to wait, - Attendants fix'd at learning's lower gate.

The Day-tasks now are over--to their ground Rush the gay crowd with joy-compelling sound; Glad to elude the burthens of the day, The eager parties hurry to their play: Then in these hours of liberty we find The native bias of the opening mind; They yet possess not skill the mask to place, And hide the pa.s.sions glowing in the face; Yet some are found--the close, the sly, the mean, Who know already all must not be seen.

Lo! one who walks apart, although so young, He lays restraint upon his eye and tongue, Nor will he into sc.r.a.pes or dangers get, And half the school are in the stripling's debt: Suspicious, timid, he is much afraid Of trick and plot: --he dreads to be betray'd: He shuns all friends.h.i.+p, for he finds they lend When lads begin to call each other friend: Yet self with self has war; the tempting sight Of fruit on sale provokes his appet.i.te; - See! how he walks the sweet seduction by; That he is tempted, costs him first a sigh, - 'Tis dangerous to indulge, 'tis grievous to deny!

This he will choose, and whispering asks the price, The purchase dreadful, but the portion nice: Within the pocket he explores the pence; Without, temptation strikes on either sense, The sight, the smell;--but then he thinks again Of money gone! while fruit nor taste remain.

Meantime there comes an eager thoughtless boy, Who gives the price and only feels the joy: Example dire: the youthful miser stops And slowly back the treasured coinage drops: Heroic deed! for should he now comply, Can he tomorrow's appet.i.te deny?

Beside, these spendthrifts who so freely live, Cloy'd with their purchase, will a portion give: - Here ends debate, he b.u.t.tons up his store, And feels the comfort that it burns no more.

Unlike to him the Tyrant-boy, whose sway All hearts acknowledge; him the crowds obey: At his command they break through every rule; Whoever governs, he controls the school: 'Tis not the distant emperor moves their fear, But the proud viceroy who is ever near.

Verres could do that mischief in a day, For which not Rome, in all its power, could pay; And these boy-tyrants will their slaves distress, And do the wrongs no master can redress: The mind they load with fear; it feels disdain For its own baseness; yet it tries in vain To shake th' admitted power: --the coward comes again: 'Tis more than present pain these tyrants give, Long as we've life some strong impressions live; And these young ruffians in the soul will sow Seeds of all vices that on weakness grow.

Hark! at his word the trembling younglings flee, Where he is walking none must walk but he; See! from the winter fire the weak retreat, His the warm corner, his the favourite seat, Save when he yields it to some slave to keep Awhile, then back, at his return, to creep: At his command his poor dependants fly, And humbly bribe him as a proud ally; Flatter'd by all, the notice he bestows, Is gross abuse, and bantering and blows; Yet he's a dunce, and, spite of all his fame Without the desk, within he feels his shame: For there the weaker boy, who felt his scorn, For him corrects the blunders of the morn; And he is taught, unpleasant truth! to find The trembling body has the prouder mind.

Hark! to that shout, that burst of empty noise, From a rude set of bluff, obstreperous boys; They who, like colts let loose, with vigour bound, And thoughtless spirit, o'er the beaten ground; Fearless they leap, and every youngster feels His Alma active in his hands and heels.

These are the sons of farmers, and they come With partial fondness for the joys of home; Their minds are coursing in their fathers' fields, And e'en the dream a lively pleasure yields; They, much enduring, sit th' allotted hours, And o'er a grammar waste their sprightly powers; They dance; but them can measured steps delight, Whom horse and hounds to daring deeds excite?

Nor could they bear to wait from meal to meal, Did they not slily to the chamber steal, And there the produce of the basket seize, The mother's gift! still studious of their ease.

Poor Alma, thus oppress'd forbears to rise, But rests or revels in the arms and thighs.

"But is it sure that study will repay The more attentive and forbearing?"--Nay!

The farm, the s.h.i.+p, the humble shop, have each Gains which severest studies seldom reach.

At College place a youth, who means to raise His state by merit and his name by praise; Still much he hazards; there is serious strife In the contentions of a scholar's life: Not all the mind's attention, care, distress, Nor diligence itself, ensure success: His jealous heart a rival's powers may dread, Till its strong feelings have confused his head, And, after days and months, nay, years of pain, He finds just lost the object he would gain.

But grant him this and all such life can give, For other prospects he begins to live; Begins to feel that man was form'd to look And long for other objects than a book: In his mind's eye his house and glebe he sees, And farms and talks with farmers at his ease; And time is lost, till fortune sends him forth To a rude world unconscious of his worth; There in some petty parish to reside, The college boast, then turn'd the village guide: And though awhile his flock and dairy please, He soon reverts to former joys and ease, Glad when a friend shall come to break his rest, And speak of all the pleasures they possess'd, Of masters, fellows, tutors, all with whom They shared those pleasures, never more to come; Till both conceive the times by bliss endear'd, Which once so dismal and so dull appear'd.

But fix our Scholar, and suppose him crown'd With all the glory gain'd on cla.s.sic ground; Suppose the world without a sigh resign'd, And to his college all his care confined; Give him all honours that such states allow, The freshman's terror and the tradesman's bow; Let his apartments with his taste agree, And all his views be those he loves to see; Let him each day behold the savoury treat, For which he pays not, but is paid to eat; These joys and glories soon delight no more, Although, withheld, the mind is vex'd and sore; The honour too is to the place confined, Abroad they know not each superior mind: Strangers no wranglers in these figures see, Nor give they wors.h.i.+p to a high degree; Unlike the prophet's is the scholar's case, His honour all is in his dwelling-place: And there such honours are familiar things; What is a monarch in a crowd of kings?

Like other sovereigns he's by forms address'd, By statutes governed and with rules oppress'd.

When all these forms and duties die away, And the day pa.s.ses like the former day, Then of exterior things at once bereft, He's to himself and one attendant left; Nay, John too goes; nor aught of service more Remains for him; he gladly quits the door, And, as he whistles to the college-gate, He kindly pities his poor master's fate.

Books cannot always please, however good; Minds are not ever craving for their food; But sleep will soon the weary soul prepare For cares to-morrow that were this day's care: For forms, for feasts, that sundry times have past, And formal feasts that will for ever last.

"But then from Study will no comforts rise?" - Yes! such as studious minds alone can prize; Comforts, yea!--joys ineffable they find, Who seek the prouder pleasures of the mind: The soul, collected in those happy hours, Then makes her efforts, then enjoys her powers; And in those seasons feels herself repaid, For labours past and honours long delay'd.

No! 'tis not worldly gain, although by chance The sons of learning may to wealth advance; Nor station high, though in some favouring hour The sons of learning may arrive at power; Nor is it glory, though the public voice Of honest praise will make the heart rejoice: But 'tis the mind's own feelings give tho joy, Pleasures she gathers in her own employ - Pleasures that gain or praise cannot bestow, Yet can dilate and raise them when they flow.

For this the Poet looks thy world around, Where form and life and reasoning man are found; He loves the mind, in all its modes, to trace, And all the manners of the changing race; Silent he walks the road of life along, And views the aims of its tumultuous throng: He finds what shapes the Proteus-pa.s.sions take, And what strange waste of life and joy they make, And loves to show them in their varied ways, With honest blame or with unflattering praise: 'Tis good to know, 'tis pleasant to impart, These turns and movements of the human heart: The stronger features of the soul to paint, And make distinct the latent and the faint; MAN AS HE IS, to place in all men's view, Yet none with rancour, none with scorn pursue: Nor be it ever of my Portraits told - "Here the strong lines of malice we behold."

--------------------- This let me hope, that when in public view I bring my Pictures, men may feel them true: "This is a likeness," may they all declare, "And I have seen him, but I know not where:"

For I should mourn the mischief I had done, If as the likeness all would fix on one.

--------------------- Man's Vice and Crime I combat as I can, But to his G.o.d and conscience leave the Man; I search (a Quixote!) all the land about, To find its Giants and Enchanters out, - (The Giant-Folly, the Enchanter-Vice, Whom doubtless I shall vanquish in a trice;) - But is there man whom I would injure?--No!

I am to him a fellow, not a foe, - A fellow-sinner, who must rather dread The bolt, than hurl it at another's head.

No! let the guiltless, if there such be found, Launch forth the spear, and deal the deadly wound.

How can I so the cause of Virtue aid, Who am myself attainted and afraid?

Yet as I can, I point the powers of rhyme, And, sparing criminals, attack the crime.

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