'Twas fear of power, with some desire to rise,
But not enough to make him enemies ;
He ever aim'd to please; and to offend
Was ever cautious; for he sought a friend ;
Yet for the friendship never much would pay,
Content to bow, be silent, and obey,
And by a soothing suff"rance find his way.

Fiddling and fishing were his arts: at times
He alter'd sermons, and he aim'd at rhymes ;
And his fair friends, not yet intent on cards,
Oft he amused with riddles and charades.

Mild were his doctrines, and not one discourse But gain’d in softness what it lost in force : Kind his opinions; he would not receive An ill report, nor evil act believe; “ If true, 'twas wrong; but blemish great or small “ Have all mankind; yea, sinners are we all.”

If ever fretful thought disturb'd his breast, If aught of gloom that cheerful mind oppress’d, It sprang from innovation; it was then He spake of mischief made by restless men ; Not by new doctrines : never in his life Would he attend to controversial strife; For sects he cared not; “ They are not of us, “ Nor need we, brethren, their concerns discuss ; “ But 'tis the change, the schism at home I feel ; “ Ills few perceive, and none have skill to heal :

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“ Not at the altar our young brethren read

(Facing their flock) the decalogue and creed ; “ But at their duty, in their desks they stand, “ With naked surplice, lacking hood and band : “ Churches are now of holy song bereft, “ And half our ancient customs changed or left ; “ Few sprigs of ivy are at Christmas seen, “ Nor crimson berry tips the holly's green; 66 Mistaken choirs refuse the solemn strain “ Of ancient Sternhold, which from ours amain “ Comes flying forth from aile to aile about “ Sweet links of harmony and long drawn out.”

These were to him essentials; all things new
He deemd superfluous, useless, or untrue;
To all beside indifferent, easy, cold,
Here the fire kindled, and the wo was told.

Habit with him was all the test of truth, “ It must be right: I've done it from my youth.” Questions he answerd in as brief a way, “ It must be wrong—it was of yesterday.”

Though mild benevolence our priest possessid, "Twas but by wishes or by words express'd : Circles in water, as they wider flow, The less conspicuous in their progress grow; And when at last they touch upon the shore, Distinction ceases, and they're view'd no more.

His love, like that last circle, all embraced,
But with effect that never could be traced.

Now rests our Vicar. They who knew him best,
Proclaim his life t' have been entirely rest ;
Free from all evils which disturb his mind,
Whom studies vex and controversies blind.

The rich approved,—of them in awe he stood; The poor admired,—they all believed him good; The old and serious of his habits spoke; The frank and youthful loved his pleasant joke; Mothers approved a safe contented guest, And daughters one who back'd each small request : In him his flock found nothing to condemn; Him sectaries liked,-he never troubled them; No trifles fail'd his yielding mind to please, And all his passions sunk in early ease; Nor one so old has left this world of sin, More like the being that he enter'd in.

THE CURATE.

Ask you what lands our pastor tithes ?-Alas!
But few our acres, and but short our grass :
In some fat pastures of the rich, indeed,
May roll the single cow or favourite steed;

1

Who, stable-fed, is here for pleasure seen,
His sleek sides bathing in the dewy green:
But these, our hilly heath and common wide
Yield a slight portion for the parish-guide ;
No crops luxuriant in our borders stand,
For here we plough the ocean, not the land ;
Still reason wills that we our pastor pay,
And custom does it on a certain day:
Much is the duty, small the legal due,
And this with grateful minds we keep in view;
Each makes his off’ring, some by habit led,
Some by the thought, that all men must be fed ;
Duty and love, and piety and pride,
Have each their force, and for the priest provide.

Not thus our Curate, one whom all believe
Pious and just, and for whose fate they grieve;
All see him poor, but ev’n the vulgar know
He merits love, and their respect bestow.
A man so learn'd

you

shall but seldom see,
Nor one so honour'd, so aggrieved as he ;-
Not grieved by years alone; though his appear
Dark and more dark; severer on severe :
Not in his need,—and yet we all must grant
How painful ’tis for feeling age to want :
Nor in his body's sufferings; yet we know
Where time has plough’d, there misery loves to sow;

But in the wearied mind, that all in vain
Wars with distress, and struggles with its pain.

His father saw his powers-“ I'll give," quoth he,

My first-born learning ; 'twill a portion be:”
Unhappy gift! a portion for a son!
But all he had :-he learn'd, and was undone !

Better, apprenticed to an humble trade,
Had he the cassock for the priesthood made,
Or thrown the shuttle, or the saddle shaped,
And all these pangs of feeling souls escaped.

He once had hope—hope ardent, lively, light; His feelings pleasant, and his prospects bright: Eager of fame, he read, he thought, he wrote, Weigh'd the Greek page, and added note on note; At morn, at evening at his work was he, And dream'd what his Euripides would be.

Then care began ;-he loved, he wood, he wed; Hope cheer'd him still, and Hymen bless'd his bedA Curate's bed! then came the woful

years ;
The husband's terrors, and the father's tears ;
A wife grown feeble, mourning, pining, vex'd,
With wants and woes—by daily cares perplex’d;
No more a help, a smiling, soothing aid,
But boding, drooping, sickly, and afraid.

- A kind physician, and without a fee,
Gave his opinion-" Send her to the sea.”