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And now his tales the sailor feebly told,
“Uncle will die!” said George—the piteous wife
Once in a week the father came to say, “George, are you ill?”—and hurried him away; Yet to his wife would on their duties dwell, And often cry, “Do use my brother well”: And something kind, no question, Isaac meant, Who took vast credit for the vague intent. But truly kind, the gentle boy essayed To cheer his uncle, firm, although afraid; But now the father caught him at the door, And, swearing-yes, the man in office swore, And cried, “Away! How! brother, I'm surprised, That one so old can be so ill advised: Let him not dare to visit you again, Your cursed stories will disturb his brain; Is it not vile to court a foolish boy, Your own absurd narrations to enjoy?
What! sullen!-ha! George Fletcher! you
see, Proud as you are, your bread depends on me!”
He spoke, and, frowning, to his dinner went,
George yet stole up, he saw his uncle lie
George now remarked that all was still at night,
What! not a word? be thankful I am cool-
dumb: I'll ope your mouth, impostor! if I come: Let me approach-I'll shake you from the bed, You stubborn dog — God! my brother's dead!"
Timid was Isaac, and in all the past He felt a purpose to be kind at last; Nor did he mean his brother to depart, Till he had shown this kindness of his heart: But day by day he put the cause aside, Induced by avarice, peevishness, or pride. But now awakened, from this fatal time His conscience Isaac felt, and found his crime: He raised to George a monumental stone, And there retired to sigh and think alone; An ague seized him, he grew pale, and shook“So,” said his son, “would my poor uncle look.”“And so, my child, shall I like him expire.”“No! you have physic and a cheerful fire."“Unhappy sinner! yes, I'm well supplied
my cold heart denied.” He viewed his brother now, but not as one Who vexed his wife by fondness for her son; Not as with wooden limb, and seaman's tale, The odious pipe, vile grog, or humbler ale: He now the worth and grief alone can view Of one so mild, so generous, and so true; “The frank, kind brother, with such open heart, And I to break it—twas a demon's part!”
So Isaac now, as led by conscience, feels,
He takes his son, and bids the boy unfold
“Did he not curse me, child?”—“He never cursed, But could not breathe, and said his heart would burst.”“And so will mine.”—“Then, father, you must pray; My uncle said it took his pains away.”
Repeating thus his sorrows, Isaac shows
OMRADES, leave me here a little, while as yet 'tis early
morn; Leave me here, and when you want me, sound upon the bugle
'Tis the place and all around it, as of old, the curlews call, Dreary gleams about the moorland flying over Locksley Hall;
Locksley Hall, that in the distance overlooks the sandy tracks, And the hollow ocean-ridges roaring into cataracts.
Many a night from yonder ivied casement, ere I went to rest, Did I look on great Orion sloping slowly to the west.
Many a night I saw the Pleiads, rising thro' the mellow shade, Glitter like a swarm of fireflies tangled in a silver braid.
Here about the beach I wandered, nourishing a youth sublime With the fairy tales of science, and the long result of time;
When the centuries behind me like a fruitful land reposed; When I clung to all the present for the promise that it closed;
When I dipped into the future far as human eye could see, Saw the vision of the world and all the wonder that would be.
In the spring a fuller crimson comes upon the robin's breast; In the spring the wanton lapwing gets himself another crest;