  If, ’mid the passions of the breast, There be one deadlier than the rest, Whose poisonous influence would control The generous purpose of the soul, A cruel selfishness impart, And harden, and contract the heart; If such a passion be, the vice Is unrelenting Avarice. And would my youthful readers know The features of this mortal foe, The lineaments will hardly fail To strike them in the following tale. In England—but it matters not That I precisely name the spot— A Miller liv’d, and humble fame Had grac’d with rustic praise his name. For many a year his village neighbours Felt and confess’d his useful labours; Swift flew his hours, on busy wing Revolving in their rosy ring: His life, alternate toil and rest, Nor cares annoy’d, nor want oppress’d. Whang’s mill, beside a sparkling brook, Stood shelter’d in a wooded nook: The stream, the willow’s whispering trees, The humming of the housing bees, Swell’d with soft sounds the summer breeze; Those simple sounds, that to the heart A soothing influence impart, And full on every sense convey Th’ impression of a summer’s day. A cot, with clustering ivy crown’d, Smil’d from a gently sloping mound, Whose sunny banks, profusely gay, Gave to the view, in proud display, The many colour’d buds of May; Flowers, that spontaneous fringe the brink Of sinuous Tame, and bend to drink. My native River! at thy name What mix’d emotions thrill my frame! Through the dim vista of past years, How shadowy soft thy scene appears! With earliest recollections twin’d, To thee still fondly turns my mind; While Memory paints with faithful force The grace of thy meandering course ’Neath bending boughs, whose mingling shade Now hid, and now thy stream betray’d.— Bright—though long distant from my view— Rise all thy magic charms anew; And on thy calm and shallowy shore Again, in Fancy’s eye, I pore, The steps retrace, our infant feet So buoyant trod, and once more meet Each object in my wandering gaze That form’d the joys of “other days.” All, all return, and with them bring The “life of life,” its vivid spring. The sun is bright, the flowers re-bloom, Cold friends are kind, kind e’en the tomb: For one brief moment ’tis forgot There once were those, who now are not. Eyes beam, and hearts as fondly beat, Voices their wonted tones repeat— But ’tis on Fancy’s ear alone— I wake, alas! and all are gone! Yet, Tame, the theme of childish praise, For thee were fram’d my earliest lays; Thy banks of all were deem’d the pride, Thy flowers, by none to be outvied. Those days are past—and sad I view The time I bade thee, Tame, adieu: Those days are gone, and I have seen Full many a river’s margent green; Full many a bursting bud display The rich luxuriance of May— But loveliest still thy flowers I deem, And dearest thou, my native stream! Thus clings around our early joys A mystic charm no time destroys, Endearing recollections more, When all of real joy is o’er. Forgive, Whang, this digressive strain; The journey done, I’m yours again. If for a simile I sought Back through the distant tracks of thought, The flowers I gather’d by the way Upon your fabled banks I lay; Where primrose groups were yearly seen Peeping beneath their curtain green, With aromatic mint beside, And violets in purple pride. In gay festoons, o’er hazles thrown, Hung many a woodbine’s floral crown; The brier-rose too, that woos the bee, And thyme, that sighs its odours free. The lark, the blackbird, and the thrush, Hymn’d happiness from every bush: The Eden to their lot assign’d Fill’d with content the feather’d kind; Example worthy him, I ween, Who reign’d sole monarch of the scene— The Miller.——“What!” you will enquire, “Possess’d he not his soul’s desire? Ah! could his wishes soar above The calm of this untroubled grove?” Alas! his frailty must be told— Whang entertain’d a love for gold: And none, whatever their demerit, That did of wealth a store inherit, But gain’d (so strong the dire dominion) Whang’s reverence, and his best opinion. “Gold, my dear spouse,” would cry his wife, “Is call’d an evil of our life.” “True,” Whang rejoin’d, “the only evil Whose visits I consider civil; But ’tis, alack!—the thought is grievous— The evil most in haste to leave us.” ’Twere proper that my readers knew, That, by degrees, this passion grew; Not always was the silly elf So craving, coveting of pelf, Though he was ever prone to hold In high esteem pound-notes and gold: And circumstances sometimes root Firm in the mind the feeblest shoot; A truth, erewhile, this man of meal By his example will reveal. “True,” would he say, “I am not poor: What then? may I not wish for more? This paltry mill provides me food, Keeps dame and I from famine—good! Yet, mark the labour I endure, A meagre living to secure. ’Tis lucky that I have my health, Since this poor mill is all my wealth; Though irksome, I confess, to toil To catch Dame Fortune’s niggard smile, When she so prodigal can be To men of less desert than me, By all, his contrite spirit’s seen; Till even they who smil’d at first, When o’er his head the tempest burst, Were forc’d, in justice, to declare His penitence appear’d sincere. “They trusted, nay, almost believ’d His loss of character retriev’d:” And, soften’d by his chang’d address, “Good fortune wish’d, and happiness.” And he was happy—“he was bless’d Beyond desert,” he oft confessed, By friends, by all the good caress’d. A smiling garden, rescu’d mill, His dear old cottage on the hill, A faithful wife, a conscience clear, Shed brightness on each coming year. The church-yard stone, that bears his name, Records his failing and his fame; And, in his life and death, conveys A moral truth to future days. FINIS. Burst from their lips the ardent prayer. ’Tis lucky that I have my health. Since this poor mill is all my wealth: At eve before the cottage-door. They talk’d the wondrous story o’er; My pretty window! that commands Those meadows green and wooded lands. One foot a little in advance. With nose and lip contemptuous curl’d. That said, “A fig for all the world!” ——ye Powers! what do I see?—— This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. 1.F. 1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with your written explanation. 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