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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 tempt its new-fledg’d offspring to the skies ; He tried each art, reprov'd each dull delay, Allur'd to brighter worlds, and led the way.

Beside the bed where parting life was laid, And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismay'd; The rev'rend champion stood. At his controul, Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul; 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 scoff, remain'd to pray. The service past, around the pious man, With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran ; Even children follow'd with endearing wile, And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's smile. VOL, I,



His ready smile 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 serious thoughts had ret in heaven.
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 fettles on its head.

Beside yon ftraggling fence that fkirts the way, With bloffom'd furze unprofitably gay, There, in his noify manfion, 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 cypher too; Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, And even the story ran that he could guage : In arguing too, the parson own'd his skill, For even though vanquish'd, he could argue ftill;

While words of learned length, and thund'ring sound,
Amaz'd the gazing ruftics rang'd around,
And still they gaz'd, and still the wonder grew,
That one small head could carry all he knew.

But past 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 pafling eye, Low lies that house whére nut-brown draughtsinspir'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 stoops to trace The parlour splendors of that feftive place; The white-wath'd wall, the nicely fanded floor, The varnish'd clock that click'd behind the door ; The cheft contriv'd a double debt to pay, A bed by nights a chest of drawers by day; The pictures plac'd for ornament and use, The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose ; The hearth, except when winter chill'd the day, With aspin boughs, and flowers and fennel gay, While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for shew, Rang'd o'er the chimney, glitten'd in a row.

Vain tranfitory splendors! could not all
Reprieve the tott'ring manfion from it's fall!
Obscure it finks, nor shall it more impart
An hour's importance to the poor man's heart;


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Thither no more the peasant shall repair,
To sweet oblivion of his daily care ;
No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale,
No more the wood-man's ballad fall prevail ;
No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear,
Relax his pond'rous strength, and lean to hear;
The host himself no longer shall be found
Careful to see the mantling bliss go round;
Nor the coy maid, half willing to be prest,
Shall kiss the cup to país it to the rest.

Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, These simple bieflings of the lowly train, To me more dear, congenial to my heart, One native charm, than all the gloss of art, Spontaneous joys, where Nature has its play, The foul adopts, and owns their first-born sway : Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, Unenvy'd, anmolested, unconfin'd. But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, With all the freaks of wanton wealth array'd, In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain, The toiling pleasure fickens into pain; And, even while fashion's brightest arts decoy, The heart distrusting aks, if this be joy ?

Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen who survey The rich man's joys encrease, the poor's decay, ''Tis yours to judge, how wide the limits stand Between a splendid and an happy land.


Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore,
And shouting Folly hails them from her shore;
Hoards, even 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 supply'd ;
Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds,
Space for his horses, equipage and hounds ;
The robe that wraps his limbs in filken floth,
Has robb’d the neighbouringfields of half their growth,
His seat, where folitary sports are seen,
Indignant spurns the cottage from the green ;
Around the world each needfut product flies,
For all the luxuries the world supplies.
While thus the land adorn’d for pleasure, all
In barren splendor feebly waits the fall.

As some fair female unadorn'd and plain, Secure to please while youth confirms her reign, Slights every borrow'd charm that dress supplies, Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes; But when those charms are past, for charms are frail, When time advances, and when lovers fail, She then shines forth, solicitous to bless, In all the glaring impotence of dress. Thus fares the land, by luxury betray'd, In nature's simplest charms at firit array'd,


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