TALE III.

Gwyn was a farmer, whom the farmers all,

Who dwelt around, the Gentleman would call;

Whether in pure humility or pride,

They only knew, and they would not decide.

Far diff’ rent he from that dull plodding tribe,

Whom it was his amusement to describe;

Creatures no more enliven’ d than a clod,

But treading still as their dull fathers trod;

Who lived in times when not a man had seen

Corn sown by drill, or thresh’ d by a machine:

He was of those whose skill assigns the prize

For creatures fed in pens, and stalls, and sties;

And who, in places where improvers meet,

To fill the land with fatness, had a seat;

Who in large mansions live like petty kings,

And speak of farms but as amusing things;

Who plans encourage, and who journals keep,

And talk with lords about a breed of sheep.

Two are the species in this genus known;

One, who is rich in his profession grown,

Who yearly finds his ample stores increase,

From fortune’ s favours and a favouring lease;

Who rides his hunter, who his house adorns;

Who drinks his wine, and his disbursements scorns,

Who freely lives, and loves to show he can —

This is the farmer, made the gentleman.

The second species from the world is sent,

Tired with its strife, or with his wealth content;

In books and men beyond the former read,

To farming solely by a passion led,

Or by a fashion; curious in his land;

Now planning much, now changing what he plann’ d;

Pleased by each trial, not by failures vex’ d,

And ever certain to succeed the next;

Quick to resolve, and easy to persuade —

This is the gentleman, a farmer made.

Gwyn was of these; he from the world withdrew

Early in life, his reasons known to few;

Some disappointment said, some pure good sense,

The love of land, the press of indolence;

His fortune known, and coming to retire,

If not a farmer, men had call’ d him’ squire.

Forty and five his years, no child or wife

Cross’ d the still tenour of his chosen life;

Much land he purchased, planted far around,

And let some portions of superfluous ground

To farmers near him, not displeased to say,

“My tenants,” nor, “our worthy landlord,” they.

Fix’ d in his farm, he soon display’ d his skill

In small-boned lambs, the horse-hoe, and the drill;

From these he rose to themes of nobler kind,

And show’ d the riches of a fertile mind;

To all around their visits he repaid,

And thus his mansion and himself display’ d.

His rooms were stately, rather fine than neat,

And guests politely call’ d his house a seat;

At much expense was each apartment graced,

His taste was gorgeous, but it still was taste;

In full festoons the crimson curtains fell,

The sofas rose in bold elastic swell;

Mirrors in gilded frames display’ d the tints

Of glowing carpets and of colour’ d prints;

The weary eye saw every object shine,

And all was costly, fanciful, and fine.

As with his friends he pass’ d the social hours,

His generous spirit scorn’ d to hide its powers;

Powers unexpected, for his eye and air

Gave no sure signs that eloquence was there;

Oft he began with sudden fire and force,

As loth to lose occasion for discourse;

Some,’ tis observed, who feel a wish to speak,

Will a due place for introduction seek;

On to their purpose step by step they steal,

And all their way, by certain signals, feel;

Others plunge in at once, and never heed

Whose turn they take, whose purpose they impede;

Resolved to shine, they hasten to begin,

Of ending thoughtless — and of these was Gwyn.

And thus he spake:

——“It grieves me to the soul

To see how man submits to man’ s control;

How overpower’ d and shackled minds are led

In vulgar tracks, and to submission bred;

The coward never on himself relies,

But to an equal for assistance flies;

Man yields to custom as he bows to fate,

In all things ruled — mind, body, and estate;

In pain, in sickness, we for cure apply

To them we know not, and we know not why;

But that the creature has some jargon read,

And got some Scotchman’ s system in his head;

Some grave impostor, who will health insure,

Long as your patience or your wealth endure;

But mark them well, the pale and sickly crew,

They have not health, and can they give it you?

These solemn cheats their various methods choose;

A system fires them, as a bard his muse:

Hence wordy wars arise; the learn’ d divide,

And groaning patients curse each erring guide.

“Next, our affairs are govern’ d, buy or sell,

Upon the deed the law must fix its spell;

Whether we hire or let, we must have still

The dubious aid of an attorney’ s skill;

They take a part in every man’ s affairs,

And in all business some concern is theirs;

Because mankind in ways prescribed are found,

Like flocks that follow on a beaten ground,

Each abject nature in the way proceeds,

That now to shearing, now to slaughter leads.

“Should you offend, though meaning no offence,

You have no safety in your innocence;

The statute broken then is placed in view,

And men must pay for crimes they never knew.

Who would by law regain his plunder’ d store,

Would pick up fallen merc’ ry from the floor;

If he pursue it, here and there it slides;

He would collect it, but it more divides;

This part and this he stops, but still in vain,

It slips aside, and breaks in parts again;

Till, after time and pains, and care and cost,

He finds his labour and his object lost.

“But most it grieves me, ( friends alone are round,)

To see a man in priestly fetters bound;

Guides to the soul, these friends of Heaven contrive,

Long as man lives, to keep his fears alive;

Soon as an infant breathes, their rites begin;

Who knows not sinning, must be freed from sin;

Who needs no bond must yet engage in vows;

Who has no judgment, must a creed espouse:

Advanced in life, our boys are bound by rules, }

Are catechised in churches, cloisters, schools, }

And train’ d in thraldom to be fit for tools; }

The youth grown up, he now a partner needs,

And lo! a priest, as soon as he succeeds.

What man of sense can marriage-rites approve?

What man of spirit can be bound to love?

Forced to be kind! compell’ d to be sincere!

Do chains and fetters make companions dear?

Pris’ ners indeed we bind; but though the bond

May keep them safe, it does not make them fond:

The ring, the vow, the witness, licence, prayers,

All parties known! made public all affairs!

Such forms men suffer, and from these they date

A deed of love begun with all they hate.

Absurd, that none the beaten road should shun,

But love to do what other dupes have done!

“Well, now your priest has made you one of twain,

Look you for rest? Alas! you look in vain.

If sick, he comes; you cannot die in peace,

Till he attends to witness your release;

To vex your soul, and urge you to confess

The sins you feel, remember, or can guess;

Nay, when departed, to your grave he goes,

But there indeed he hurts not your repose.

“Such are our burthens; part we must sustain,

But need not link new grievance to the chain.

Yet men like idiots will their frames surround

With these vile shackles, nor confess they’ re bound;

In all that most confines them they confide,

Their slavery boast, and make their bonds their pride;

E’ en as the pressure galls them, they declare,

( Good souls! ) how happy and how free they are!

As madmen, pointing round their wretched cells,

Cry,‘ Lo! the palace where our honour dwells.’

“Such is our state: but I resolve to live

By rules my reason and my feelings give;

No legal guards shall keep enthrall’ d my mind,

No slaves command me, and no teachers blind.

“Tempted by sins, let me their strength defy,

But have no second in a surplice by

No bottle-holder, with officious aid,

To comfort conscience, weaken’ d and afraid:

Then if I yield, my frailty is not known;

And, if I stand, the glory is my own.

“When Truth and Reason are our friends, we seem

Alive! awake!— the superstitious dream.

“Oh! then, fair Truth, for thee alone I seek,

Friend to the wise, supporter of the weak;

From thee we learn whate’ er is right and just;

Forms to despise, professions to distrust;

Creeds to reject, pretensions to deride,

And, following thee, to follow none beside.”

Such was the speech; it struck upon the ear

Like sudden thunder, none expect to hear.

He saw men’ s wonder with a manly pride,

And gravely smiled at guest electrified;

“A farmer this!” they said, “Oh! let him seek

That place where he may for his country speak;

On some great question to harangue for hours,

While speakers hearing, envy nobler powers!”

Wisdom like this, as all things rich and rare,

Must be acquired with pains, and kept with care;

In books he sought it, which his friends might view,

When their kind host the guarding curtain drew.

There were historic works for graver hours,

And lighter verse, to spur the languid powers;

There metaphysics, logic there had place;

But of devotion not a single trace —

Save what is taught in Gibbon’ s florid page,

And other guides of this inquiring age;

There Hume appear’ d, and, near, a splendid book

Composed by Gay’ s good Lord of Bolingbroke:

With these were mix’ d the light, the free, the vain,

And from a corner peep’ d the sage Tom Paine:

Here four neat volumes‘ Chesterfield’ were named,

For manners much and easy morals famed;

With chaste Memoirs of Females, to be read

When deeper studies had confused the head.

Such his resources, treasures where he sought

For daily knowledge till his mind was fraught:

Then, when his friends were present, for their use

He would the riches he had stored produce;

He found his lamp burn clearer, when each day

He drew for all he purposed to display.

For these occasions, forth his knowledge sprung,

As mustard quickens on a bed of dung;

All was prepared, and guests allow’ d the praise,

For what they saw he could so quickly raise.

Such this new friend; and, when the year came round,

The same impressive, reasoning sage was found:

Then, too, was seen the pleasant mansion graced

With a fair damsel — his no vulgar taste:

The neat Rebecca — sly, observant, still;

Watching his eye, and waiting on his will;

Simple yet smart her dress, her manners meek,

Her smiles spoke for her, she would seldom speak;

But watch’ d each look, each meaning to detect,

And ( pleas’ d with notice ) felt for all neglect.

With her lived Gwyn a sweet harmonious life,

Who, forms excepted, was a charming wife.

The wives indeed, so made by vulgar law,

Affected scorn, and censured what they saw;

And what they saw not, fancied; said’ twas sin,

And took no notice of the wife of Gwyn.

But he despised their rudeness, and would prove

Theirs was compulsion and distrust, not love;

“Fools as they were! could they conceive that rings

And parsons’ blessings were substantial things?”

They answer’ d “Yes;” while he contemptuous spoke

Of the low notions held by simple folk;

Yet, strange that anger in a man so wise }

Should from the notions of these fools arise; }

Can they so vex us, whom we so despise? }

Brave as he was, our hero felt a dread

Lest those who saw him kind should think him led;

If to his bosom fear a visit paid,

It was, lest he should be supposed afraid.

Hence sprang his orders; not that he desired

The things when done: obedience he required;

And thus, to prove his absolute command,

Ruled every heart, and moved each subject hand;

Assent he ask’ d for every word and whim,

To prove that he alone was king of him.

The still Rebecca, who her station knew,

With ease resign’ d the honours not her due;

Well pleased, she saw that men her board would grace,

And wish’ d not there to see a female face;

When by her lover she his spouse was styled,

Polite she thought it, and demurely smiled;

But when he wanted wives and maidens round

So to regard her, she grew grave, and frown’ d;

And sometimes whisper’ d —“Why should you respect

These people’ s notions, yet their forms reject?”

Gwyn, though from marriage bond and fetter free,

Still felt abridgment in his liberty;

Something of hesitation he betray’ d,

And in her presence thought of what he said.

Thus fair Rebecca, though she walk’ d astray,

His creed rejecting, judged it right to pray;

To be at church, to sit with serious looks,

To read her Bible and her Sunday-books.

She hated all those new and daring themes,

And call’ d his free conjectures “devil’ s dreams;”

She honour’ d still the priesthood in her fall,

And claim’ d respect and reverence for them all;

Call’ d them “of sin’ s destructive power the foes,

And not such blockheads as he might suppose.”

Gwyn to his friends would smile, and sometimes say,

“’ Tis a kind fool, why vex her in her way?”

Her way she took, and still had more in view,

For she contrived that he should take it too.

The daring freedom of his soul,’ twas plain,

In part was lost in a divided reign:

A king and queen, who yet in prudence sway’ d

Their peaceful state, and were in turn obey’ d.

Yet such our fate that, when we plan the best,

Something arises to disturb our rest:

For, though in spirits high, in body strong,

Gwyn something felt — he knew not what — was wrong;

He wish’ d to know, for he believed the thing,

If unremoved, would other evil bring:

She must perceive, of late he could not eat,

And when he walk’ d, he trembled on his feet;

He had forebodings, and he seem’ d as one

Stopp’ d on the road, or threatened by a dun;

He could not live, and yet, should he apply

To those physicians — he must sooner die.”

The mild Rebecca heard with some disdain,

And some distress, her friend and lord complain:

His death she fear’ d not, but had painful doubt

What his distemper’ d nerves might bring about;

With power like hers she dreaded an ally,

And yet there was a person in her eye;—

She thought, debated, fix’ d —“Alas!” she said,

A case like yours must be no more delay’ d.

You hate these doctors; well! but were a friend

And doctor one, your fears would have an end.

My cousin Mollet — Scotland holds him now —

Is above all men skilful, all allow:

Of late a doctor, and within a while

He means to settle in this favour’ d isle;

Should he attend you, with his skill profound,

You must be safe, and shortly would be sound.”

When men in health against physicians rail,

They should consider that their nerves may fail;

Who calls a lawyer rogue, may find, too late,

On one of these depends his whole estate;

Nay, when the world can nothing more produce,

The priest, th’ insulted priest, may have his use.

Ease, health, and comfort, lift a man so high,

These powers are dwarfs that he can scarcely spy;

Pain, sickness, languor, keep a man so low,

That these neglected dwarfs to giants grow.

Happy is he who through the medium sees

Of clear good sense — but Gwyn was not of these.

He heard and he rejoiced: “Ah! let him come,

And, till he fixes, make my house his home.”

Home came the doctor — he was much admired;

He told the patient what his case required;

His hours for sleep, his time to eat and drink;

When he should ride, read, rest, compose, or think.

Thus join’ d peculiar skill and art profound,

To make the fancy-sick no more than fancy-sound.

With such attention, who could long be ill?

Returning health proclaim’ d the doctor’ s skill.

Presents and praises from a grateful heart

Were freely offer’ d on the patient’ s part;

In high repute the doctor seem’ d to stand,

But still had got no footing in the land;

And, as he saw the seat was rich and fair,

He felt disposed to fix his station there.

To gain his purpose, he perform’ d the part

Of a good actor, and prepared to start —

Not like a traveller in a day serene,

When the sun shone and when the roads were clean;

Not like the pilgrim, when the morning gray,

The ruddy eve succeeding, sends his way;

But in a season when the sharp east wind

Had all its influence on a nervous mind.

When past the parlour’ s front it fiercely blew, }

And Gwyn sat pitying every bird that flew, }

This strange physician said —“Adieu! adieu! }

Farewell!— Heaven bless you!— if you should — but no,

You need not fear — farewell!’ tis time to go.”

The doctor spoke; and as the patient heard,

His old disorders ( dreadful train! ) appear’ d;

He felt the tingling tremor, and the stress

Upon his nerves that he could not express;

Should his good friend forsake him, he perhaps

Might meet his death, and surely a relapse.”

So, as the doctor seem’ d intent to part,

He cried in terror —“Oh! be where thou art:

Come, thou art young, and unengaged; oh! come,

Make me thy friend, give comfort to mine home;

I have now symptoms that require thine aid,

Do, doctor, stay”— th’ obliging doctor stay’ d.

Thus Gwyn was happy; he had now a friend,

And a meek spouse on whom he could depend.

But now, possess’ d of male and female guide,

Divided power he thus must subdivide:

In earlier days he rode, or sat at ease

Reclined, and having but himself to please;

Now, if he would a fav’ rite nag bestride,

He sought permission —“Doctor, may I ride?”—

( Rebecca’ s eye her sovereign pleasure told,) —

“I think you may; but, guarded from the cold,

Ride forty minutes.”— Free and happy soul!

He scorn’ d submission, and a man’ s control;

But where such friends in every care unite

All for his good, obedience is delight.

Now Gwyn, a sultan, bade affairs adieu,

Led and assisted by the faithful two;

The favourite fair, Rebecca, near him sat,

And whisper’ d whom to love, assist, or hate;

While the chief vizier eased his lord of cares,

And bore himself the burden of affairs.

No dangers could from such alliance flow,

But from that law that changes all below.

When wint’ ry winds with leaves bestrew’ d the ground,

And men were coughing all the village round;

When public papers of invasion told,

Diseases, famines, perils new and old;

When philosophic writers fail’ d to clear

The mind of gloom, and lighter works to cheer;

Then came fresh terrors on our hero’ s mind —

Fears unforeseen, and feelings undefined.

“In outward ills,” he cried, “I rest assured

Of my friend’ s aid; they will in time be cured:

But can his art subdue, resist, control

These inward griefs and troubles of the soul?

Oh! my Rebecca! my disorder’ d mind

No help in study, none in thought can find;

What must I do, Rebecca?” She proposed

The parish-guide; but what could be disclosed

To a proud priest?—“No! him have I defied,

Insulted, slighted — shall he be my guide?

But one there is, and if report be just,

A wise good man, whom I may safely trust;

Who goes from house to house, from ear to ear, }

To make his truths, his Gospel truths, appear; }

True if indeed they be,’ tis time that I should hear. }

Send for that man; and if report be just,

I, like Cornelius, will the teacher trust;

But, if deceiver, I the vile deceit

Shall soon discover, and discharge the cheat.”

To Doctor Mollet was the grief confess’ d,

While Gwyn the freedom of his mind express’ d;

Yet own’ d it was to ills and errors prone,

And he for guilt and frailty must atone.

“My books, perhaps,” the wav’ ring mortal cried,

“Like men deceive — I would be satisfied;

And to my soul the pious man may bring

Comfort and light — do let me try the thing.”

The cousins met; what pass’ d with Gwyn was told;

“Alas!” the doctor said; “how hard to hold

These easy minds, where all impressions made

At first sink deeply, and then quickly fade;

For while so strong these new-born fancies reign,

We must divert them, to oppose is vain.

You see him valiant now, he scorns to heed

The bigot’ s threat’ nings or the zealot’ s creed;

Shook by a dream, he next for truth receives

What frenzy teaches, and what fear believes;

And this will place him in the power of one

Whom we must seek, because we cannot shun.”

Wisp had been ostler at a busy inn,

Where he beheld and grew in dread of sin;

Then to a Baptists’ meeting found his way,

Became a convert, and was taught to pray;

Then preach’ d; and, being earnest and sincere,

Brought other sinners to religious fear.

Together grew his influence and his fame,

Till our dejected hero heard his name;

His little failings were a grain of pride,

Raised by the numbers he presumed to guide:

A love of presents, and of lofty praise

For his meek spirit and his humble ways;

But though this spirit would on flattery feed,

No praise could blind him and no arts mislead.

To him the doctor made the wishes known

Of his good patron, but concealed his own;

He of all teachers had distrust and doubt,

And was reserved in what he came about;

Though on a plain and simple message sent,

He had a secret and a bold intent.

Their minds at first were deeply veil’ d; disguise

Form’ d the slow speech, and op’ d the eager eyes;

Till by degrees sufficient light was thrown

On every view, and all the business shown.

Wisp, as a skilful guide who led the blind, }

Had powers to rule and awe the vapourish mind, }

But not the changeful will, the wavering fear to bind; }

And, should his conscience give him leave to dwell

With Gwyn, and every rival power expel,

( A dubious point,) yet he, with every care,

Might soon the lot of the rejected share,

And other Wisps be found like him to reign,

And then be thrown upon the world again.

He thought it prudent, then, and felt it just,

The present guides of his new friend to trust;

True, he conceived, to touch the harder heart

Of the cool doctor, was beyond his art;

But mild Rebecca he could surely sway,

While Gwyn would follow where she led the way:

So, to do good, ( and why a duty shun,

Because rewarded for the good when done? )

He with his friends would join in all they plann’ d,

Save when his faith or feelings should withstand;

There he must rest, sole judge of his affairs,

While they might rule exclusively in theirs.

When Gwyn his message to the teacher sent,

He fear’ d his friends would show their discontent;

And prudent seem’ d it to th’ attendant pair,

Not all at once to show an aspect fair.

On Wisp they seem’ d to look with jealous eye,

And fair Rebecca was demure and shy;

But by degrees the teacher’ s worth they knew,

And were so kind, they seem’ d converted too.

Wisp took occasion to the nymph to say,

“You must be married: will you name the day?”

She smiled,—“’ Tis well; but, should he not comply,

Is it quite safe th’ experiment to try?”—

“My child,” the teacher said, “who feels remorse,

( And feels not he? ) must wish relief of course;

And can he find it, while he fears the crime?—

You must be married; will you name the time?”

Glad was the patron as a man could be, }

Yet marvell’ d too, to find his guides agree; }

“But what the cause?” he cried; “’ tis genuine love for me.” }

Each found his part, and let one act describe

The powers and honours of th’ accordant tribe:—

A man for favour to the mansion speeds,

And cons his threefold task as he proceeds;

To teacher Wisp he bows with humble air,

And begs his interest for a barn’ s repair;

Then for the doctor he inquires, who loves

To hear applause for what his skill improves,

And gives, for praise, assent,— and to the fair

He brings of pullets a delicious pair;

Thus sees a peasant, with discernment nice,

A love of power, conceit, and avarice.

Lo! now the change complete: the convert Gwyn

Has sold his books, and has renounced his sin;

Mollet his body orders, Wisp his soul,

And o’ er his purse the lady takes control;

No friends beside he needs, and none attend —

Soul, body, and estate, has each a friend;

And fair Rebecca leads a virtuous life —

She rules a mistress, and she reigns a wife.