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Pleased with his guests, the good man learn'd Lands ho could measure, terms and tides to glow,

presage, And quite forgot their vices in their woe; And ev’n the story ran that he could gauge. Careless their merits or their faults to scan, In arguing, too, the parson own'd his skill, His pity gave ere charity began.

For ev'd though vanquish'd he could argue Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, still; And ev'n his failings lean’d to virtue's side; While words of learned length, and thund'ring But in his duty prompt, at ev'ry call,

sound, He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt, for Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around; all;

And still they gazed, and still the wonder And, as a bird each fond endearment tries

grew To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the That one small head should carry all ho skies,

knew. He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, But past is all his fame. The very spot Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. Where many a time he triumph’d, is forgot.

Beside the bed where parting life was laid, Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dis. high, may'd,

Where once the sign.post caught the passing The rev’rend champion stood. At his control, eye, Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul; Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts Comfort came down the trembling wretch to inspired, raise,

Where grey-beard mirth and smiling toil And his last falt'ring accents whisper'd retired, praise.

Where village statesmen talk'd with looks At church, with meek and unaffected grace, profound, His looks adorn'd the venerable place ; And news much older than their ale went Truth from his lips prevail'd with double round. sway,

Imagination fondly stoops to trace And fools, who came to scoff, remain'd to The parlour splendours of that festive place ; pray.

The white-wash'd wall, the nicely sanded The service past, around the pious man,

floor, With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran : | The varnish'd clock that click'd behind the Ev'n children follow'd, with endearing wile,

door ; And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's The chest contrived a double debt to pay, smile;

A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day; His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest, The pictures placed for ornament and use, Their welfare pleased him, and their cares The twelve good rules, the royal game of distrest:

goose ; To them his heart, his love, his griefs, were the hearth, except when winter chill'd the giv'n,

day, But all his serious thoughts had rest in With aspen boughs, and flowers, and fennel, Heav'n.

gay; As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form, While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show, Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the Ranged o'er the chimney, glisten'd in a row. storm,

Vain transitory splendours! could not all Tho'round its breast the rolling clouds are Reprieve the tott'ring mansion from its fall! spread,

Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart Eternal sunshine settles on its head.

An hour's importance to the poor man's Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the heart; way,

Thither no more the peasant shall repair With blossom'd furze unprofitably gay,

To sweet oblivion of his daily care ; There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule, No more the farmer's news, the barber's The village master taught his little school :

tale, A man severe he was, and stern to view, No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail ; I knew him well, and every truant knew ; No more the smith his dusky brow shall Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to clear, trace

Relax his pond'rous strength, and lean to The day's disasters in his morning face;

hear; Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee The host himself no longer shall be found At all his jokes, for inany a joke had he; Careful to see the mantling bliss go round; Full well the busy whisper, circling round, Nor the coy maid, half willing to be prest, Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd; Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest. Yet he was kind, or if severe in aught,

Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, The love he bore to learning was in fault; These simple blessings of the lowly train ; The village all declared how much he knew; To me more dear, congenial to my heart 'Twas certain he could write and cypher too; One native charm, than all the gloss of art;

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Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play, Where, then, ah! where shall poverty The soul adopts, and owns their first-born reside, sway;

To 'scape the pressure of contiguous pride ? Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, If to some common's fenceless limits stray'd, Unenvied, unmolested, unconfined.

He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade, But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth With all the freaks of wanton wealth array'd, divide, In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain, And e’en the bare-worn common is denied. The toiling pleasure sickens into pain;

If to the city sped - What waits him And, e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy, there? The heart distrusting asks, if this be joy ? To see profusion that he must not share ; Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen, who To see ten thousand baneful arts combined survey

To pamper luxury, and thin mankind; The rich man's joys increase, the poor's To see each joy the sons of pleasure know, decay,

Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe, 'Tis yours. to judge how wide the limits, Here, while the courtier glitters in brocade, stand

There the pale artist plies the sickly trade; Between a splendid and a happy land.

Here, while the proud their long-drawn pomp Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted display, ore,

There the black gibbet glooms beside the And shouting Folly hails them from her way ; shore;

The dome where pleasure holds her midnight Hoards e'en beyond the miser's wish reign, abound,

Here, richly deck'd, admits the gorgeous And rich men flock from all the world train; around.

Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a square, name

The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare. That leaves our useful product still the same. Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy! Not so the loss. The man of wealth and ! Sure these denote one universal joy! pride

Are these thy serious thoughts ?—Ah, turn Takes up a space that many poor supplied ;

thine eyes Space for his lake, his park's extended Where the poor houseless shiv'ring female bounds,

lies : Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds; She once, perhaps, in village plenty blest, The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth | Has wept at tales of innocence distrest; Hus robb’d the neighb'ring fields of half their Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, growth;

Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the His seat, where solitary sports are seen,

thorn; Indignant spurns the cottage from the green; Now lost to all ; her friends, her virtue, fled, Around the world each needful product flies : Near her betrayer's door she lays her head, For all the luxuries the world supplies :

And, pinch'd with cold, and shrinking from While thus the land, adorn'd for pleasure all, the show'r, In barren splendour feebly waits the fall. With heavy heart deplores that luckless As some fair female, unadorn'd and plain,

hour, Secure to please while youth confirms her When idly first, ambitious of the town, reign,

She left her wheel and robes of country Slights ev'ry borrow'd charm that dress sup brown. plies,

Do thine, sweet Auburn, thine, the loveliest Nor shares with art the triumph of her train, eyes;

Do thy fair tribes participate her pain ? But when those charms are past, for charms E'en now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led, are frail,

At proud men's doors they ask a little When time advances, and when lovers fail,

bread! She then shines forth, solicitous to bless,

Ah, no. To distant climes, a dreary scene, In all the glaring impotence of dress :

Where half the convex world intrudes Thus fares the land, by luxury betray'd,

between, In nature's simplest charms at first array'd; Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they But verging to decline, its splendours rise,

go, Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise ;

Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe. While, scourged by famine, from the smiling Far diff’ rent there from all that charm'd land

before, The mournful peasant leads his humble band ; The various terrors of that horrid shore ; And while he sinks, without one arm to Those blazing suns that dart a downward save,

ray, The country blooms—a garden and a grave! And fiercely shed intolerable day ;

Those matted woods where birds forget to

sing, But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling; Those pois'nous fields with rank luxuriance

crown'd, Where the dark scorpion gathers death

around : Where at each step the stranger fears to

wake The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake; Where crouching tigers wait their hapless

prey, And savage men more murd'rous still than

they ; While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies, Mingling the ravaged landscape with the

skies, Far diff'rent these from ev'ry former scene, The cooling brook, the grassy-vested green, The breezy covert of the warbling grove, That only shelter'd thefts of harmless love. Good Heav'n! what sorrows gloom'd that

parting day, That call'd them from their native walks

away; When the poor exiles, ev'ry pleasure past, Hung round the bow'rs, and fondly look'd

their last, And took a long farewell, and wish'd in

vain For seats like these beyond the western

main ; And shudd'ring still to face the distant deep, Return'd and wept, and still return'd to

weep. The good old sire the first prepared to go To new-found worlds, and wept for others'

woe; But for himself, in conscious virtue brave, He only wish'd for worlds beyond the grave. His lovely daughter lovelier in her tears, The fond companion of his helpless years, Silent went next, neglectful of her charms, And left a lover's for her father's arms. With louder plaints the mother spoke her

woes, And bless'd the cot where ev'ry pleasure

rose; And kiss'd her thoughtless babes with many

a tear, And clasp'd them close, in sorrow doubly

dear; Whilst her fond husband strove to lend

relief In all the silent manliness of grief.

O Luxury! thou cursed by Heav'n's decree, How ill exchanged are things like these for

thee! How do thy potions, with insidious joy, Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy! Kingdoms by thee, to sickly greatness

grown, Boast of a florid vigour not their own : At ev'ry draught more large and large they

grow, A bloated mass of rank unwieldy woe;

Till sapp'd their strength, and ev'ry part

unsound, Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin

round. E'en now the devastation is begun, And half the bus' ness of destruction done; E'en now, methinks, as pond'ring here I

stand, I see the rural virtues leave the land. Down where yon anch’ring vessel spreads the

sail,
That idly waiting flaps with ev'ry gale,
Downward they move, a melancholy band,
Pass from the shore, and darken all the

strand.
Contented toil, and hospitable care,
And kind connubial tenderness, are there;
And piety with wishes placed above,
And steady loyalty, and faithful love.

And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid,
Still first to fly where sensual joys invade!
Unfit, in these degen’rate times of shame,
To catch the heart, or strike for honest

fame, Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried, My shame in crowds, my solitary pride ; Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe, That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st

me so; Thou guide, by which the nobler arts excel, Thou nurse of ev'ry virtue, fare thee well ; Farewell ! and O! where'er thy voice be

tried, On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side, Whether where equinoctial fervours glow, Or winter wraps the polar world in snow, Still let thy voice, prevailing over time, Redress the rigours of th' inclement clime; And slighted truth with thy persuasive strain, Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain ; Teach him that states, of native strength

possest, Though very poor, may still be very blest; That trade's proud empire hastes to swift

decay,
As ocean sweeps the labour'd mole away;
While self-dependent pow'r can time defy,
As rocks resist the billows and the sky.

Goldsmith.-Born 1728, Died 1774.

920.—THE HAUNCH OF VENISON. | Thanks, my Lord, for your venison, for finer or

fatter Never ranged in a forest, or smoked on a

platter; The haunch was a picture for painters to

study, The fat was so white, and the lean was so

ruddy :

Though my stomach was sharp, I could scarce “Some lords, my acquaintance, that settle help regretting

the nation, To spoil such a delicate picture by eating ; Are pleased to be kind ; but I hate ostentaI had thoughts, in my chambers to place it tion.” in view,

“If that be the case then," cried he, very To be shown to my friends as a piece of gay, virtu:

“I'm glad I have taken this house in my As in some Irish houses, where things are way. SO-80,

To-morrow you take a poor dinner with me; One gammon of bacon hangs up for a No words--I insist on't-precisely at three : show:

We'll have Johnson, and Burke ; all the wits But, for eating a rasher of what they take will be there; pride in,

My acquaintance is slight or I'd ask my Lord They'd as soon think of eating the pan it is Clare. fried in.

And, now that I think on't, as I am a sinner, But hold—let me pause-don't I hear you We wanted this venison to make out a pronounce,

dinner! This tale of the bacon a damnable bounce ; What say you—a pasty, it shall and it must, Well ! suppose it a bounce-sure a poet may And my wife, little Kitty, is famous for crust. try,

Here, porter-this venison with me to MileBy a bounce now and then, to get courage to end ; fly.

No stirring, I beg, my dear friend, my dear But, my lord, it's no bounce : I protest in friend!" my turn,

Thus snatching his hat, he brush'd off like It's a truth-and your lordship may ask Mr. the wind, Burn.

And the porter and eatables follow'd behind. To go on with my tale—as I gazed on the · Left alone to reflect, having emptied my haunch,

shelf, I thought of a friend that was trusty and | And “nobody with me at sea but myself," staunch,

Though I could not help thinking my gentleSo I cut it, and sent it to Reynolds undrest,

man hasty, To paint it, or eat it, just as he liked best. Yet Johnson, and Burke, and a good venison Of the neck and the breast I had next to dis pasty, pose;

Were things that I never disliked in my life, Twas a neck and a breast that might rival Though clogg'd with a coxcomb, and Kitty Monroe's :

his wife. But in parting with these I was puzzled So next day in due splendoar to make my again,

approach, With the how, and the who, and the where, | I drove to his door in my own hackney-coach. and the when.

When come to the place where we all were There's H-d, and C-y, and H-rth, and to dine, | HỮff,

(A chair-lumber'd closet just twelve feet by I think they love venison—I know they love nine), beef.

My friend bade me welcome, but struck me There's my countryman Higgins--03! let quite dumb, him alone

With tidings that Johnson and Burke would For making a blunder, or picking a bone.

not come; But bang it—to poets who seldom can eat, “For I knew it,” he cried, "both eternally Your very good mutton 's a very good treat;

fail, Such dainties to them their health it might The one with his speeches, and t'other with hurt,

Thrale ; It's like sending them ruffles, when wanting a But no matter, I'll warrant we'll make up the shirt.

party, While thus I debated, in reverie center'd, With two full as clever, and ten times as An acquaintance, a friend, as he call'd him. hearty. self, enter'd;

The one is a Scotchman, the other a Jew, An under-bred, fine-spoken fellow was he, They're both of them merry, and authors like And he smiled as he look'd at the venison and you ; me.

The one writes the Snarler, the other the “What have we got here ?—why, this is good Scourge; eating !

Some think he writes Cinna-he owns to Your own, I suppose or is it in waiting ?". Panurge." “ Why, whose should it be?” cried I with a While thus he described them by trade and flounce,

by dame, "I get these things often;" but that was a | They enter'd, and dinner was served as they bounce;

came.

At the top a fried liver and bacon were / You've got an odd something-a kind of dis. seen,

cerningAt the bottom was tripe in a swinging | A relish-a taste-sicken'd over by learning ; tureen;

At least, it's your temper, as very well At the sides there were spinage and pudding known, made hot;

That you think very slightly of all that's your In the middle a place where the pasty-was own : not.

So, perhaps, in your habits of thinking amiss, Now, my lord, as for tripe it's my utter You may make a mistake, and think slightly aversion,

of this. And your bacon I hate like a Turk or a Persian ;

Goldsmith.-Born 1728, Died 1774. So there I sat stuck, like a horse in a pound, While the bacon and liver went merrily

round: But what vex'd me most, was that d—'d

Scottish rogue, With his long-winded speeches, his smiles, 921.-ODE TO INDEPENDENCE.

and his brogue : And, “ Madam,” quoth he, “may this bit be

STROPHE. my poison, A prettier dinner I never set eyes on ; .

Thy spirit, Independence, let me share, Pray a slice of your liver, though may I be

Lord of the lion-heart and eagle-eye; curst,

Thy steps I follow, with my bosom bare, But I've eat of your tripe till I'm ready to

Nor heed the storm that howls along the burst.”

sky. “The tripe," quoth the Jew, with his cho.

Deep in the frozen regions of the north, colate cheek,

A goddess violated brought thee forth, “I could dine on this tripe seven days in a

Immortal Liberty, whose look sublime week:

Hath bleach'd the tyrant's cheek in every I like these here dinners so pretty and small; varying clime, But your friend there, the doctor, eats

What time the iron-hearted Gaul, nothing at all.”

With frantic superstition for his guide, “0—ho!" quoth my friend, "he'll come on

Arm’d with the dayger and the pall, in a trice,

The sons of Woden to the field defied : He's keeping a corner for something that's

The ruthless hag, by Weser's flood, nice :

In Heaven's name urged the infernal blow; There's a pasty”—“A pasty!” repeated the

And red the stream began to flow :

The vanquish'd were baptized with blood ! Jew; “I don't care if I keep a corner for't too.” “What the de'il, mon, a pasty!” re-echoed

ANTISTROPHE. the Scot;

The Saxon prince in horror fled, “Though splitting, I'll still keep a corner for

| From altars stain'd with human gore, that.”

And Liberty his routed legions led “ We'll all keep a corner," the lady cried out;

In safety to the bleak Norwegian shore. “We'll all keep a corner," was echoed about,

There in a cave asleep she lay, While thus we resolved, and the pasty

Lull’d by the hoarse-resounding main, delay'd,

When a bold savage pass'd that way, With looks that quite petrified enter'd the

Impellid by destiny, his name Disdain. maid: A visage so sad and so pale with affright,

Of ample front the portly chief appear'd:

The hunted bear supplied a shaggy vest; Waked Priam in drawing his curtains by

The drifted snow hung on his yellow beard, night.

And his broad shoulders braved the furious. But we quickly found out, for who could

blast. mistake her? That she came with some terrible news from

He stopt, he gazed, his bosom glow'd,

And deeply felt the impression of her charms : the baker:

He seized the advantage Fate allow'd, And so it fell out, for that negligent sloven

And straight compress'd her in his vigorous Had shut out the pasty on shutting his oven. Sad Philomel thus—but let similes dropAnd now that I think on't, the story may

STROPHE. stop. To be plain, my good lord, it's but labour The curlew scream'd, the tritons blew misplaced,

Their shells to celebrate the ravish'd rite; To send such good verses to one of your Old Time exulted as he flew : taste;

And Independence saw the light.

arms.

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