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TALE X.

THE LOVER'S JOURNEY.

The sun is in the heavens, and the proud day,
Attended with the pleasures of the world,
Is all too wanton. - King John.

The lunatic, the lover, and the poet,

Are of imagination all compact.

Midsummer Night's Dream.

Oh! how this spring of love resembleth
Th' uncertain glory of an April day,
Which now shows all her beauty to the sun,
And by and by a cloud takes all away.

Two Gentlemen of Verona.

And happily I have arrived at last

Unto the wished haven of my bliss. - Taming of the Shrew.

TALE X.

THE LOVER'S JOURNEY. (1)

Ir is the Soul that sees; the outward eyes
Present the object, but the Mind descries;
And thence delight, disgust, or cool indiff'rence rise:
When minds are joyful, then we look around,
And what is seen is all on fairy ground;
Again they sicken, and on every view
Cast their own dull and melancholy hue;
Or, if absorb'd by their peculiar cares,
The vacant eye on viewless matter glares,
Our feelings still upon our views attend,
And their own natures to the objects lend;

(1) ["It was in his walks between Aldborough and Beccles, that Mr. Crabbe passed through the very scenery described in the first part of The Lover's Journey;' while near Beccles, in another direction, he found the contrast of rich vegetation introduced in the latter part of that tale; nor have I any doubt that the disappointment of the story figures out something that, on one of these visits, befell himself, and the feelings with which he received it.

'Gone to a friend, she tells me; -I commend

Her purpose:-means she to a female friend?' &c.

For truth compels me to say, that he was by no means free from the less amiable sign of a strong attachment-jealousy."— Life, antè, Vol. L p. 36.]

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Sorrow and joy are in their influence sure,
Long as the passion reigns th' effects endure;
But Love in minds his various changes makes,
And clothes each object with the change he takes ;
His light and shade on every view he throws,
And on each object, what he feels, bestows.

Fair was the morning, and the month was June,
When rose a Lover;-love awakens soon:
Brief his repose, yet much he dreamt the while
Of that day's meeting, and his Laura's smile;
Fancy and love that name assign'd to her,
Call'd Susan in the parish-register;

And he no more was John-his Laura gave
The name Orlando to her faithful slave.

Bright shone the glory of the rising day,
When the fond traveller took his favourite way;
He mounted gaily, felt his bosom light,
And all he saw was pleasing in his sight.

"Ye hours of expectation, quickly fly, "And bring on hours of blest reality; "When I shall Laura see, beside her stand, "Hear her sweet voice, and press her yielded hand."

First o'er a barren heath beside the coast

Orlando rode, and joy began to boast.

"This neat low gorse," said he, "with golden bloom,

"Delights each sense, is beauty, is perfume;

"And this gay ling, with all its purple flowers, "A man at leisure might admire for hours; "This green-fringed cup-moss has a scarlet tip, “That yields to nothing but my Laura's lip; "And then how fine this herbage! men may say "A heath is barren; nothing is so gay: "Barren or bare to call such charming scene Argues a mind possess'd by care and spleen."

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Onward he went, and fiercer grew the heat,
Dust rose in clouds before the horse's feet;

For now he pass'd through lanes of burning sand,
Bounds to thin crops or yet uncultured land;
Where the dark poppy flourish'd on the dry
And sterile soil, and mock'd the thin-set rye.

"How lovely this!" the rapt Orlando said; "With what delight is labouring man repaid! "The very lane has sweets that all admire,

"The rambling suckling, and the vigorous brier; "See! wholesome wormwood grows beside the way, "Where dew-press'd yet the dog-rose bends the

spray;

"Fresh herbs the fields, fair shrubs the banks adorn, "And snow-white bloom falls flaky from the thorn; "No fostering hand they need, no sheltering wall, "They spring uncultured, and they bloom for all."

The Lover rode as hasty lovers ride,

And reach'd a common pasture wild and wide; Small black-legg'd sheep devour with hunger keen The meagre herbage, fleshless, lank, and lean;

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