"Then speak of comfort.

time will give him

sight,

"Where now 'tis dark; where now 'tis wo-delight.

"Have hope,' we say, 'and soon the place to thee "Shall not a prison but a castle be:

"When to the wretch whom care and guilt con

found,

"The world's a prison, with a wider bound;
"Go where he may, he feels himself confined,
"And wears the fetters of an abject mind.'

"But now adieu! those giant-keys appear, "Thou art not worthy to be inmate here: "Go to thy world, and to the young declare "What we, our spirits and employments, are; "Tell them how we the ills of life endure, "Our empire stable, and our state secure ; "Our dress, our diet, for their use describe, "And bid them haste to join the gen'rous tribe: "Go to thy world, and leave us here to dwell, "Who to its joys and comforts bid farewell."

Farewell to these; but other scenes I view, And other griefs, and guilt of deeper hue; Where Conscience gives to outward ills her pain, Gloom to the night, and pressure to the chain : Here separate cells awhile in misery keep Two doom'd to suffer: there they strive for sleep; By day indulged, in larger space they range, Their bondage certain, but their bounds have change.

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 space 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 (1);—when first I came
Within his view, I fancied there was shame,
I judged resentment; I mistook the air,—
These fainter passions 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;

(1) [The tale of the Condemned Felon arose from the following circumstances: While Mr. Crabbe was struggling with poverty in London, he had some reason to fear that the brother of a very intimate friend, a wild and desperate character, was in Newgate under condemnation for a robbery. Having obtained permission to see the man, who bore the same name, a glance at once relieved his mind from the dread of beholding his friend's brother; but still he never forgot the being he then saw before him. He was pacing the cell, or small yard, with a quick and hurried step: his eye was as glazed and abstracted as that of a corpse :

"Since his dread sentence, nothing seem'd to be
As once it was-he seeing could not see,

Nor hearing, hear aright.

Each sense was palsied!"

See antè, Vol. I. p. 197.]

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 circumstance 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 sunshine-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 Fanny'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 pass,
And press the sandy sheep-walk's slender grass,
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!-