And all the village train, from labour free,
Led up their fports beneath the fpreading tree,
While many a paftime circled in the fhade,
The young contending as the old furvey'd;
And many a gambol frolic'd o'er the ground,
And flights of art and feats of ftrength went round.
And ftill as each repeated pleasure tir'd,
Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspir'd ;
The dancing pair that fimply fought renown,
By holding out to tire each other down;
The fwain miftruftlefs of his fmutted face,
While fecret laughter titter'd round the place;
The bafhful virgin's fide-long looks of love,
The matro.'s glance, that would thofe looks reprove,
These were thy charms, fweet village, fports like these,
With fweet fucceffion, taught ev'n toil to please;
These round thy bow'rs their cheerful influence shed,
These were thy charms-But all these charms are fled,
Sweet fmiling village, lovelieft of the lawn,
Thy fports are filed, and all thy charms withdrawn ;
Amidit thy bow'rs the tyrant's hand is seen,
And defolation faddens all thy green:
One only mafter grafps the whole domain,
And half a tillage ftints thy fmiling plain;
Nor more thy glaffy brook reflects the day,
But, choak'd with fedges, works its weedy way;
Along thy glades, a solitary guest,
The hollow founding bittern guards its neft;
Amidst thy defart walks the lapwing flies,
And tires their echoes with unvary'd cries.
Sunk are thy bow'rs in fhapeless roin all,
And the long grafs o'ertops the mould'ring wall,
And, trembling, fhrinking from the fpoiler's hand,
Far, far away thy children leave the land.
Ill fares the land, to haft'ning ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates, and men decay;
Princes and lords may flourif, or may fade
A breath can make them as a breath has made:
But a bold peafantry, their country's pride,
When once deftroy'd, can never be supply'd.
A time there was, ere England's grief began,.
When ev'ry rood of ground maintai'd its man;
For him light labour spread her wholesome store,
Juft gave what life requir'd, but gave no more:
His best companions, innocence and health,
And his beft riches, ignorance of wealth.
But time's are alter'd; trade's unfeeling train
Ufurp the land and difpoffefs the fwain;
Along the lawn. where fcatter'd hamlet's rofe,
Unweildy wealth, and cumb'rous pomp repofe,.
And ev'ry want to luxury ally'd,
And ev'ry pang that folly pays to pride.
Thefe gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom,
Thofe calm defires that afk'd but little room,
Thofe healthful fports that grac'd the peaceful feene,
Liv'd in each look, and brighten'd all the
Thefe, far departing, feck a kinder fhore,
And rural mirth and manners are no more.
Sweet AUBURN! parent of the blissful hour,
Thy glades forlorn confefs the tyrant's pow'ra
Here, as I take my folitary rounds,
Amidst thy tangling walks, and ruin'd grounds,
And, many a year elaps'd, return to view
Where once the cottage flood, the bawthorn
Remembrance wakes with all her busy train,
Swells at my breaft, and turns the pait to pain...
In all my wand'rings round this world of care,
In all my griefs and God has giv'n my fhare-
I ftill had hopes my latest hours to crown,
Amidst thefe bumble bow'rs to lay me down;
To husband out life's taper at the clofe,
And keep the flame from walling by repofe:
I ftill had hopes, for pride attends us ftill,
Amidst the fwains to hew my book-learn'd fkill,
Around my fire an evening group to draw,
And tell of all I felt and all I faw;
And, as an hare whom hounds and horns purfue,
Pants to the place from whence at firft fhe flew,
I ftill had hopes, my long vexations past,
Here to return-and die at home at laft.
O bleft retirement, friend to life's decline,
Retreats from care, that never must be mine,
How bleft is he who crowns in fhades like thefe,
A youth of labour with an age of ease ;
Who quits a world where ftrong temptations try,
And, fince 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly!
For him no wretches, born to work and weep,
Explore the mine, or tempt the dang'rous deep;
No furly porter ftands in guilty ftate,
To fpurn imploring famine from the gate;
But on he moves to meet his latter end,
Angels around befriending virtue's friend;
Sinks to the grave with unperceiv'd decay,
While refignation gently flopes the way;
And all his profpects bright'ning to the laft,
His Heav'n commences ere the world be past;
Sweet was the found, when oft at ev'ning's close,
Up yonder hill the village murmur rofe;
There, as I paft with careless steps and flow,
The mingling notes came foften d from below;
The fwain refponfive as the milk-maid fung,
The fober herd that low'd to meet their young;
The noify geefe that gabbled o'er the pool,
The playful children juft let loofe from school;
The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whifp'ring wind,
And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind:
Thefe all in fweet confufion fought the fhade,
Aud fill'd each paufe the nightingale had made.
For now the founds of population fail, met
No chearful murmurs fluctuate in the gale,
No bufy fteps the grafs-grown foot-way tread,
But all the bloomy flufh of life is fled.vol.
All but yon widow'd folitary thing, 'Hat ul
That feebly bends betides the plashy spring;
She, wretched matron, forc'd, in age, for bread,
To strip the brook with mantling creffes fpread,
To pick her wintry faggot from the thorn,
To feek her nightly fhed, and weep till morn,
She only left of all the harmless train,
The fad hiftorian of the penfive plain.
Near yonder copfe, where once the garden fmil'd And ftill where many a garden flow'r grows wild: There, where a few torn fhrubs the place difclofe, The village preacher's modeft mansion rofe. A man he was, to all the country dear, And paffing rich with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor ere had chang'd, nor wifh'd to change his place, Unfkilful he to fawn, or feek for pow'r, By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour; Far other aims his heart hath learn'd to prize, More bent to raise the wretched than to rife. His houfe was known to all the vagrant train, He chid their wand'rings. but reliev'd their pain, The long-remember'd beggar was his gueft, Whofe beard defcending fwept his aged breaft; The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd; The broken foldier, kindly bade to stay, Sate by his fire, and talk'd the night away; Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of forrow done, Shoulder'd his crutch, and fhew'd how fields were won. Pleas'd with his guefts, the good man learn'd to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their wo;
I ftill had hopes, for pride attends us ftill,
Amidst the fwains to hew my book-learn'd skill,
Around my fire an evening group to draw,
And tell of all I felt and all I faw;
And, as an hare whom hounds and horns pursue,
Pants to the place from whence at firft the flew,
I ftill had hopes, my long vexations paft,
Here to return-and die at home at last.
O bleft retirement, friend to life's decline,
Retreats from care, that never must be mine,
How bleft is he who crowns in fhades like thefe,
A youth of labour with an age of ease ;
Who quits a world where ftrong temptations try,
And, fince 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly!
For him no wretches, born to work and weep,
Explore the mine, or tempt the dang❜rous deep;
No furly porter ftands in guilty ftate,
To fpurn imploring famine from the gate;
But on he moves to meet his latter end,
Angels around befriending virtue's friend;
Sinks to the grave with unperceiv'd decay,
While refignation gently flopes the way ;
And all his profpects bright'ning to the laft,
His Heav'n commences ere the world be past ; +
Sweet was the found, when oft at ev'ning's clofe, Up yonder hill the village murmur rofe; There, as I paft with careless steps and flow, The mingling notes came foften d from below; The fwain refponfive as the milk-maid fung, The fober herd that low'd to meet their The noify geefe that gabbled o'er the pool, The playful children just let loose from school; The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whifp'ring wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind: Thefe all in fweet confufion fought the fhade, Aud fill'd each pause the nightingale had made.
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