TALE XIV. THE STRUGGLES OF CONSCIENCE. A SERIOUS toyman in the city dwelt, Who much concern for his religion felt; Reading, he changed his tenets, read again, He had the road of every traveller tried; He saw his pious kinsman's watchful care, And thought such anxious pains his own might spare, And he, the truth obtain'd, without the toil, might share. In fact, young Fulham, though he little read, Perceived his uncle was by fancy led; And smiled to see the constant care he took, Collating creed with creed, and book with book. At length the senior fix'd; I pass the sect He call'd a church, 'twas precious and elect; Yet the seed fell not in the richest soil, For few disciples paid the preacher's toil; All in an attic-room were wont to meet, These few disciples at their pastor's feet; With these went Fulham, who, discreet and grave, Follow'd the light his worthy uncle gave ; Till a warm preacher found a way t'impart Awakening feelings to his torpid heart: Some weighty truths, and of unpleasant kind, Sank, though resisted, in his struggling mind; He wish'd to fly them, but compell'd to stay, Truth to the waking Conscience found her way; For though the youth was call'd a prudent lad, And prudent was, yet serious faults he had; Who now reflected-" Much am I surprised, "I find these notions cannot be despised; "No! there is something I perceive at last, 66 Although my uncle cannot hold it fast; "Though I the strictness of these men reject, "This man alarms me, and I must begin 66 Nay, my good uncle, by all teachers moved, "Will be preferr'd to him who none approved; "Better to love amiss than nothing to have loved." Such were his thoughts, when Conscience first began To hold close converse with th' awaken'd man: Pious he was not, but he fear'd the pain Of sins committed, nor would sin again. Whene'er he stray'd, he found his Conscience rose, The uncle died, and when the nephew read (For Fulham's virtue was to be correct); He and his Conscience had their compact made 66 Urge me with truth, and you will soon persuade; "But not," he cried, " for mere ideal things "Give me to feel those terror-breeding stings." "Let not such thoughts," she said, "your mind con found; "Trifles may wake me, but they never wound; "In them indeed there is a wrong and right, "But you will find me pliant and polite; "Not like a Conscience of the dotard kind, "And I shall sleep our whole existence long." "Sweet be thy sleep," said Fulham; "strong must be "The tempting ill that gains access to me: "Never will I to evil deed consent, "Or, if surprised, oh! how will I repent! "Should gain be doubtful, soon would I restore Thus our young Trader and his Conscience dwelt |