Tales | Page 6

his choice attend?In every sport, in every fray defend.?As prospects open'd, and as life advanced,?They walk'd together, they together danced;?On all occasions, from their early years,?They mix'd their joys and sorrows, hopes and fears;?Each heart was anxious, till it could impart?Its daily feelings to its kindred heart;?As years increased, unnumber'd petty wars?Broke out between them; jealousies and jars;?Causeless indeed, and follow'd by a peace,?That gave to love--growth, vigour, and increase.?Whilst yet a boy, when other minds are void,?Domestic thoughts young Alien's hours employ'd.?Judith in gaining hearts had no concern,?Rather intent the matron's part to learn;?Thus early prudent and sedate they grew,?While lovers, thoughtful--and though children, true.?To either parents not a day appeard,?When with this love they might have interfered.?Childish at first, they cared not to restrain;?And strong at last, they saw restriction vain;?Nor knew they when that passion to reprove,?Now idle fondness, now resistless love.
So while the waters rise, the children tread?On the broad estuary's sandy bed;?But soon the channel fills, from side to side?Comes danger rolling with the deep'ning tide;?Yet none who saw the rapid current flow?Could the first instant of that danger know.
The lovers waited till the time should come?When they together could possess a home:?In either house were men and maids unwed,?Hopes to be soothed, and tempers to be led.?Then Allen's mother of his favourite maid?Spoke from the feelings of a mind afraid:?"Dress and amusements were her sole employ,"?She said--"entangling her deluded boy;"?And yet, in truth, a mother's jealous love?Had much imagined and could little prove;?Judith had beauty--and if vain, was kind,?Discreet and mild, and had a serious mind.
Dull was their prospect.--When the lovers met,?They said, "We must not--dare not venture yet."?"Oh! could I labour for thee," Allen cried,?"Why should our friends be thus dissatisfied;?On my own arm I could depend, but they?Still urge obedience--must I yet obey?"?Poor Judith felt the grief, but grieving begg'd delay.
At length a prospect came that seem'd to smile,?And faintly woo them, from a Western Isle;?A kinsman there a widow's hand had gain'd,?"Was old, was rich, and childless yet remain'd;?Would some young Booth to his affairs attend,?And wait awhile, he might expect a friend."?The elder brothers, who were not in love,?Fear'd the false seas, unwilling to remove;?But the young Allen, an enamour'd boy,?Eager an independence to enjoy,?Would through all perils seek it,--by the sea, -?Through labour, danger, pain, or slavery.?The faithful Judith his design approved,?For both were sanguine, they were young, and loved.?The mother's slow consent was then obtain'd;?The time arrived, to part alone remain'd:?All things prepared, on the expected day?Was seen the vessel anchor'd in the bay.?From her would seamen in the evening come,?To take th' adventurous Allen from his home;?With his own friends the final day he pass'd,?And every painful hour, except the last.?The grieving father urged the cheerful glass,?To make the moments with less sorrow pass;?Intent the mother look'd upon her son,?And wish'd th' assent withdrawn, the deed undone;?The younger sister, as he took his way,?Hung on his coat, and begg'd for more delay:?But his own Judith call'd him to the shore,?Whom he must meet, for they might meet no more; -?And there he found her--faithful, mournful, true,?Weeping, and waiting for a last adieu!?The ebbing tide had left the sand, and there?Moved with slow steps the melancholy pair:?Sweet were the painful moments--but, how sweet,?And without pain, when they again should meet!?Now either spoke as hope and fear impress'd?Each their alternate triumph in the breast.
Distance alarm'd the maid--she cried, "'Tis far!"?And danger too--"it is a time of war:?Then in those countries are diseases strange,?And women gay, and men are prone to change:?What then may happen in a year, when things?Of vast importance every moment brings!?But hark! an oar!" she cried, yet none appear'd -?'Twas love's mistake, who fancied what it fear'd;?And she continued--"Do, my Allen, keep?Thy heart from evil, let thy passions sleep;?Believe it good, nay glorious, to prevail,?And stand in safety where so many fail;?And do not, Allen, or for shame, or pride,?Thy faith abjure, or thy profession hide;?Can I believe his love will lasting prove,?Who has no rev'rence for the God I love??I know thee well! how good thou art and kind;?But strong the passions that invade thy mind -?Now, what to me hath Allen, to commend?"?"Upon my mother," said the youth," attend;?Forget her spleen, and, in my place appear,?Her love to me will make my Judith dear,?Oft I shall think (such comforts lovers seek),?Who speaks of me, and fancy what they speak;?Then write on all occasions, always dwell?On hope's fair prospects, and be kind and well,?And ever choose the fondest, tenderest style."?She answer'd, "No," but answer'd with a smile.?"And now, my Judith, at so sad a time,?Forgive my fear, and call it not my crime;?When with our youthful neighbours 'tis thy chance?To meet in walks, the visit, or the dance,?When every lad would on my lass attend,?Choose