Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow,
And quite forgot their vices in their woe ;
Careless their merits, or their faults to scan,
His pity gave ere charity began..
Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride,
And even his failings lean'd to Virtue's fide;
But in his duty prompt at every call,
He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt for all;
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries,
To temp? its new-fledg'd offspring to the fkies;
He tried each art, reprov'd each dull delay,
Allur'd to brighter worlds, and led the way.
Befide the bed where parting life was laid, And forrow, guilt, and pain, by turns difmay'd, The rev'rend champion ftood. At his controul, Despair and anguish fled the struggling foul; Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, And his last fault'ring accents whisper'd praise.
At church, with meek and unaffected grace,
His looks adorn'd the venerable place;
Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway,
And fools, who came to fcoff, remain'd to pray.
The fervice paft, around the pious man,
With steady zeal, each honeft rustic ran;
Even children follow'd with endearing wile,
And pluck'd his gown, to fhare the good man's fmile,
His ready fimile a parent's warmth expreft,
Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares diftreft;
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given,
But all his ferious thoughts had reft in heaven.
As fome tall cliff that lifts its awful form,
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the ftorm,
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal funfhine fettles on its head.
Befide yon ftraggling fence that skirts the way, With bloffom'd furze unprofitably gay, There, in his noify manfion, fkill'd to rule, The village mafter taught his little school; A man severe he was, and ftern to view, I knew him well, and every truant knew ; Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace The day's difafters in his morning face; Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee At all his jokes, for many a joke had he ; Full well the bufy whisper circling round, Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd; Yet he was kind, or if severe in aught, The love he bore to learning was in fault; The village all declar'd how much he knew, 'Twas certain he could write, and cypher too; Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, And even the story ran that he could guage : In arguing too, the parfon own'd his skill, For even though vanquifh'd, he could
While words of learned length, and thund'ring found,
Amaz'd the gazing ruftics rang'd around,
And still they gaz'd, and still the wonder grew,
That one fmall head could carry all he knew.
But paft is all his fame.. The very spot
Where many a time he triumph'd, is forgot.
Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high,
Where once the fign-poft caught the paffing eye,
Low lies that house where nut-browndraughts infpir'd,
Where grey-beard mirth, and smiling toil retir'd,
Where village statesmen talk'd with looks profound,
And news much older than their ale went round.
Imagination fondly floops to trace
The parlour splendors of that feftive place;
The white-wash'd wall, the nicely fanded floor,
The varnith'd clock that click'd behind the door;
The cheft contriv'd a double debt to pay,
A bed by night, a cheft of drawers by day;
The pictures plac'd for ornament and ufe,
The twelve good rules, the royal game of goofe;
The hearth, except when winter chill'd the day,
With afpin boughs, and flowers and fennel gay,
While broken tea-cups, wifely kept for fhew,
Rang'd o'er the chimney, gliften'd in a row.
Vain tranfitory fplendors! could not all
Reprieve the tott'ring manfion from its fall!
Obfcure it finks, nor fhall it more impart
An hour's importance to the poor man's heart;
Thither no more the peasant fhall repair,
To fweet oblivion of his daily care;
No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale,
No more the wood-man's ballad fhall prevail;
No more the fmith his dufky brow fhall clear,
Relax his pond'rous ftrength, and lean to hear;
The hoft himself no longer fhall be found
Careful to fee the mantling blifs go round;
Nor the coy maid, half willing to be preft,
Shall kifs the cup to pass it to the rest.
Yes! let the rich deride, the proud difdain,
Thefe fimple bleffings of the lowly train,
To me more dear, congenial to my heart,
One native charm, than all the glofs of art;
Spontaneous joys, where Nature has its play,
The foul adopts, and owns their first-born fway;
Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind,
Unenvy'd, unmolested, unconfin’d.
But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade,
With all the freaks of wanton wealth array'd,
In thefe, ere triflers half their wish obtain,
The toiling pleasure fickens into pain;
And, even while fashion's brightest arts decoy,
The heart diftrufting afks, if this be joy?
Ye friends to truth, ye ftatesmen who furvey The rich man's joys encrease, the poor's decay, 'Tis your's to judge, how wide the limits stand Between a splendid and an happy land.
Proud fwells the tide with loads of freighted ore,
And fhouting Folly hails them from her shore;
Hoards, even beyond the mifer's with abound,
And rich men flock from all the world around.
Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name
That leaves our useful products ftill the fame.
Not fo the lofs. The man of wealth and pride,
Takes up a space that many poor supply'd;
Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds,
Space for his horfes, equipage and hounds;
The robe that wraps his limbs in filken floth,
Has robb'd the neighbouring fields of half theirgrowth,
His feat, where folitary fports are seen,
Indignant spurns the cottage from the green;
Around the world each needful product flies,
For all the luxuries the world fupplies.
While thus the land adorn'd for pleasure, all
In barren fplendor feebly waits the fall.
As fome fair female unadorn'd and plain,
Secure to please while youth confirms her reign,
Slights every borrow'd charm that dress fupplies,
Nor fhares with art the triumph of her eyes;
But when those charms are paft, for charms are frail,
When time advances, and when lovers fail,
She then shines forth, folicitous to blefs,
In all the glaring impotence of dress.
Thus fares the land, by luxury betray'd,
In nature's fimpleft charms at first array'd,
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