These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale The sad historian of the pensive plain. Near yonder copse, where once the garden smil'd, And still where many a garden flower grows wild, There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village-preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had chang'd,nor wish'd to change his place; Unpractis'd he to fawn, or seek for pow'r, By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour; Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize, More skill'd to raise the wretched than to rise. His house was known to all the vagrant train, He chid their wanderings, but reliev'd their pain; The long remember'd beggar was his guest, Whose beard descending swept his aged breast; The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, Claim'd kindred there, and had his claim allow'd; The broken soldier, kindly bid to stay, Sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away; Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done, Shoulder'd his crutch, and show'd how fields were won. Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow, Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt, for aи: Beside the bed where parting life was laid, At church, with meek and unaffected grace, His ready smile a parent's warmth express'd, As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head. Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way With blossom'd furze unprofitably gay, There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule, The village-master taught his little school: A man severe he was, and stern to view, I knew him well, and every truant knew ; Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace The day's disasters 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 busy 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 cipher too; Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, And ev❜n the story ran, that he could gauge: In arguing, too, the parson own'd his skill, For ev❜n though vanquish'd he could argue still; While words of learned length, and thundering sound, Amaz❜d the gazing rustics rang'd around; And still they gaz'd, and still the wonder grew Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high, Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye, Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspir'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. The parlour-splendours of that festive place; A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day; Vain transitory splendours! could not all Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, To me more dear, congenial to my heart, But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen, who survey The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, 'Tis yours to judge how wide the limits stand Between a splendid and a happy land. Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore, And shouting Folly hails them from her shore; Hoards ev'n beyond the miser's wish 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 still the same. Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride Takes up a space that many poor supplied; Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds, Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds; The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth Has robb'd the neighbouring fields of half their His seat, where solitary sports are seen, [growth; Indignant spurns the cottage from the green; Around the world each needful product flies, For all the luxuries the world supplies : While thus the land, adorn'd for pleasure all, In barren splendour feebly waits the fall. |