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And, all his prospects brightning to the last, Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway, His heav'n commences ere the world be past. And fools, who came to scoff, remain'd to pray.
Sweet was the sound, when oft at ev'ning's close, The service past, around the pious man, Up yonder hill the village murmur rose ;
With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran : There, as I pass'd with careless steps and slow, Ev’n children follow'd, with endearing wile, The mingling notes came soften’d from below; And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's The swain responsive as the milk-maid sung, The sober herd that low'd to meet their young;
His ready sinile a parent's warmth exprest, The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool,
Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares distrest : The playful children just let loose from school : To them his heart, his love, his griefs, were giv'n, The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whisp'ring But all his serious thoughts had rest in Heav'n. wind,
As some tall cliff, that lifts its aweful form, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind; Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, These all in sweet confusion sought the shade,
Tho'round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, And fill'd each pause the nightingale had made. Eternal sunshine settles on its head. But now the sounds of population fail,
Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale,
With blossomn'd furze, unprofitably gay,
The village master taught his little school :
A man severe he was, and stern to view, That feebly bends beside the plashy spring ;
I knew him well, and every truant knew; She, wretched matron, forc'd in age, for bread, Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace To strip the brook with mantl cresses spread, The day's disasters in his morning face; To pick her wintry faggot from the thorn,
Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn : At all his jokes, for many a joke had he; She only left of all the harmless train,
Full well the busy whisper, circling round, The sad historian of the pensive plain.
Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd; Near yonder copse, where once the garden smild, Yet he was kind, or if severe in aught, And still where many a garden flow'r grows wild, The love he bore to learning was in fault; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village all declar'd how much he knew; The village preacher's modest mansion rose, 'T was certain he could write and cypher too ; A man he was to all the country dear,
Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, And passing rich with forty pounds a year ;
And ev'n the story ran that he could gauge. Remote from towns he ran his godly race, In arguing, too, the parson own'd his skill, Nor e'er had chang’d, nor wish'd to change his place; For ev'n though vanquish'd he could argue still ; Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for pow'r,
While words of learned length, and thund'ring By doctrines fashion’d to the varying hour ;
sound, Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize, Amaz'd the gazing rustics rang'd around; More bent to raise the wretched than to rise. And still they gaz'd, and still the wonder grew His house was known to all the vagrant train, That one small head should carry all he knew. He chid their wand'rings, but reliev'd their pain; But past is all his fame. The very spot, The long-remember'd beggar was his guest, Where many a time he triumph'd, is forgot. Whose beard descending swept his aged breast; Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high, The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye, Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd; Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay,
inspir'd, Sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away ;
Where grey-beard mirth and smiling toil retir’d, Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, Where village statesmen talk'd with looks profound, Shoulder'd his crutch, and show'd how fields were And news much older than their ale went round;
[glow, Imagination fondly stoops to trace Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learn'd to The parlour splendours of that festive place ; And quite forgot their vices in their woe;
The white-wash'd wall, the nicely sanded floor, Careless their merits or their faults to scan, The varnish'd clock that click'd behind the door ; His pity gave ere charity began.
The chest contriv'd a double debt to pay, Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, A' bed by night, a chest of drawers by day; And ev’n his failings lean'd to virtue's side; The pictures plac'd for ornament and use, But in his duty prompt, at ev'ry call,
The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose ; He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt, for all : The hearth, except when winter chill'd the day, And, as a hird each fond endearment tries
With aspen boughs, and Aowers, and fennel, To ternpt its new-fledg'd offspring to the skies,
Vain transitory splendours ! could not all
At church, with meek and unaffected grace, No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, His looks adorn'd the venerable place;
No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail ;
No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear, To see each joy the sons of pleasure know,
Here, while the courtier glitters in brocade,
display, Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, There the black gibbet glooms beside the way; These simple blessings of the lowly train ;
The dome where
pleasure holds her midnight reign, To me more dear, congenial to my heart,
Here, richly deck'd, admits the gorgeous train; One native charm, than all the gloss of art; Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square, Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play, The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare. The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway; Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy! Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind,
Sure these denote one universal joy ! [eyes Unenvy'd, unmolested, unconfin’d.
Are these thy serious thoughts? - Ab, turn thine But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, Where the poor houseless shiv’ring female lies : With all the freaks of wanton wealth array'd, She, once perhaps, in village plenty blest, In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain,
Has wept at tales of innocence distrest; The toiling pleasure sickens into pain ;
Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, And, e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy, Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn; The heart distrusting asks, if this be joy ?
Now lost to all; her friends, her virtue, fied, Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen, who survey. Near her betrayer's door she lays her head, The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, And, pinch'd with cold, and shrinking from the 'Tis yours to judge how wide the limits stand
show'r, Between a splendid and a happy land.
With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour, Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore, When idly first, ambitious of the town, And shouting Folly hails them from her shore ; She left her wheel and robes of country brown. Hoards e'en beyond the miser's wish abound, Do thine, sweet Auburn, thine, the loveliest train, And rich men flock from all the world around. Do thy fair tribes participate her pain ? Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name E'en now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led, That leaves our useful product still the same. At proud men's doors they ask a little bread! Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride Ah, no. To distant climes, a dreary scene, Takes up a space that many poor supply'd; Where half the convex world intrudes between, Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds, Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go, Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds; Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe. The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth Far diff'rent there from all that charm'd before, Has robb’d the neighb'ring fields of half their The various terrours of that horrid shore ; growth;
Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray, His seat, where solitary sports are seen,
And fiercely shed intolerable day; Indignant spurns the cottage from the green ;
Those matted woods where birds forget to sing, Around the world each needful product flies : But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling; For all the luxuries the world supplies :
Those pois’nous fields with rank luxuriance crown'd, While thus the land, adorn'd for pleasure all, Where the dark scorpion gathers death around: In barren splendour feebly waits the fall.
Where at each step the stranger fears to wake As some fair female, unadorn'd and plain, The rattling terrours of the vengeful snake; Secure to please while youth confirms her reign, Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey, Slights ev'ry borrow'd charm that dress supplies, And savage men more murd'rous still than thes; Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes; While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies, But when those charms are past, for charms are Mingling the ravag'd landscape with the skies, frail,
Far diff'rent these from ev'ry former scene, When time advances, and when lovers fail,
The cooling brook, the grassy-vested green, She then shines fortn, solicitous to bless,
The breezy covert of the warbling grove, In all the glaring impotence of dress :
That only shelter'd thefts of harmless love. Thus fares the land, by luxury betray'd,
Good Heav'n! what sorrows gloom'd that partIn nature's simplest charms at first array'd ;
ing day, But verging to decline, its splendours rise, That call'd them from their native walks away; Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise ;
When the poor exiles, ev'ry pleasure past, While, scourg'd by famine, from the smiling land Hung round the bow'rs, and fondly look'd their The mournful peasant leads his humble band;
last, And while he sinks, without one arm to save, And took a long farewell, and wish'd in vain The country blooms - a garden and a grave ! For seats like these beyond the western main ;
Where, then, ah! where shall poverty reside, And sludd'ring still to face the distant deep, To 'scape the pressure of contiguous pride ? Return'd and wept, and still return'd to weep. If to some common's fenceless limits stray'd, The good old sire the first prepar'd to go He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade, To new-found worlds, and wept for others' woe; Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide, But for himself, in conscious virtue brave, And e'en the bare-worn common is deny'd. He only wish'd for worlds beyond the grave.
If to the city sped - What waits him there? His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears, To see profusion that he must not share ;
The fond companion of his helpless years, To see ten thousand baneful arts combin'd
Silent went next, neglectful of her charms, To pamper Juxury, and thin mankind;
And left a lover's for ber father's arms
With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes,
“ Forbear, my son,” the hermit cries, And bless'd the cot where ev'ry pleasure rose;
“ To tempt the dang'rous gloom; And kiss'd her thoughtless babes with many a tear, For yonder faithless phantom flies And clasp'd them close, in sorrow doubly dear;
To lure thee to thy doom.
“ Here to the houseless child of want O Luxury! thou curs’d by heav'n's decree,
My door is open still ; How ill exchang'd are things like these for thee!
And though my portion is but scant, How do thy potions, with insidious joy,
I give it with good will.
“ Then turn to-night, and freely share Boast of a florid vigour not their own :
Whate'er my cell bestows;
My blessing and repose.
To slaughter I condemn : And half the bus'ness of destruction done ;
Taught by that Pow'r that pities me, E'en now, methinks, as pond'ring here I stand,
I learn to pity them : I see the rural virtues leave the land. Down where yon anch'ring vessel spreads the sail, “ But from the mountain's grassy side That idly waiting flaps with ev'ry gale,
A guiltless feast I bring ; Downward they move, a melancholy band,
A scrip with herbs and fruits supply'd, Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand.
And water from the spring.
“ Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego; And piety with wishes placed above,
All earth-born cares are wrong: And steady loyalty, and faithful love.
Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long."
Soft as the dew from Heav'n descends, To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame,
His gentle accents fell ; Dear charming nymph, neglected and decry'd,
The modest stranger lowly bends,
And follows to the cell.
Far in a wilderness obscure
The lonely mansion lay; Thou nurse of ev'ry virtue, fare thee well ;
A refuge to the neighbouring poor,
And strangers led astray.
No stores beneath its humble thatch
Requir'd a master's care ; Still let thy voice, prevailing over time,
The wicket, op'ning with a latch,
Receiv'd the harmless pair.
And now when busy crowds retire
To take their ev'ning rest, Though very poor, may still be very blest;
The hermit trimm'd his little fire,
And cheer'd his pensive guest :
And spread his vegetable store,
And gaily prest, and smil'd;
The ling'ring hours beguilid.
Around in sympathetic mirth
Its tricks the kitten tries;
The crackling faggot lies.
“ Turn, gentle hermit of the dale,
And guide my lonely way,
With hospitable ray.
With fainting steps and slow;
Seem length’ning as I go."
But nothing could a charm impart
To soothe the stranger's woe;
And tears began to flow.
With answ'ring care opprest :
“ The sorrows of thy breast ?
“ From better habitations spurnid,
“ The blossom op'ning to the day, Reluctant dost thou rove;
The dews of Heav'n refin'd, Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd,
Could nought of purity display Or unregarded love?
To emulate his mind. “ Alas! the joys that fortune brings
“ The dew, the blossoms of the tree, Are trisling, and decay;
With charms inconstant shine; And those who prize the paltry things,
Their charms were his; but, woe to me, More trifling things than they.
Th' inconstancy was mine! “ And what is friendship but a name,
“ For still I try'd each fickle art, A charm that lulls to sleep;
Importunate and vain; A shade that follows wealth or fame,
And while his passion touch'd my heart, And leaves the wretch to weep?
I triumph'd in his pain. “ And love is still an emptier sound,
“ Till, quite dejected with my scorn, The modern fair-one's jest :
He left me to my pride; On Earth unseen, or only found
And sought a solitude forlorn To warm the turtle's nest.
In secret, where he dy'd. “ For shame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush,
“ But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, And spurn the sex," he said:
And well my life shall pay; But while he spoke, a rising blush
I'll seek the solitude he sought, His love-lorn guest betray'd.
And stretch me where he lay. Surpris'd he sees new beauties rise,
“ And there forlorn, despairing, bid, Swift mantling to the view;
I'll lay me down and die; Like colours o'er the morning skies,
’T was so for me that Edwin did, As bright, as transient too.
And so for him will I.” The bashful look, the rising breast,
“ Forbid it, Heav'n!" the hermit cryich Alternate spread alarms :
And clasp'd her to his breast; The lovely stranger stands confest,
The wond'ring fair-one turn'd to chide, A maid in all her charms.
'T was Edwin's self that prest.
« To win me from his tender arms
Unnumber'd suitors came,
And felt, or feign'd a flame.
With richest proffers strove; Among the rest young Edwin bow'd,
But never talk'd of love,
“ In humble, simplest habit clad,
No wealth or pow'r had he ; Wisdom and worth were all he had,
But these were all to me.
Or old, when Scarron his companions invited,
best dish : Our deant shall be ven’son, just fresh from the plains; Our Burket shall be tongue, with the garnish of
brains; * The master of St. James's coffee-house, where the Doctor, and the friends he has characterised in this Poem, occasionally dined. # Dr. Barnard, Dean of Derry, in Ireland.
Mr. Edmund Burke.
“ And when, beside me in the dale,
He carol'd lays of love,
And music to the grove.
Our Will * shall be wild fowl, of excellent flavour ; | Still aiming at honour, yet fearing to room,
Would you ask for his merits ? alas ! he had none; Our Cumberland's † sweet-bread its place shall What was good was spontaneous, his faults were his obtain;
(sigh at ; And Douglas is pudding, substantial and plain : Here lies honest Richard, whose fate I must Our Garrick's || a sallad; for in him we see Alas! that such frolic should now be so quiet : Oil, vinegar, sugar, and saltness agree :
What spirits were his ! what wit and what whim, To make out the dinner, full certain I am Now breaking a jest, and now breaking a limb! That Ridge ( is anchovy, and Reynolds ** is lamb; Now wrangling and grumbling to keep up the ball ! That Hickey's tt a capon; and, by the same rule, Now teasing and vexing, yet laughing at all! Magnanimous Goldsmith, a gooseberry fool. In short, so provoking a devil was Dick, At a dinner so various, at such a repast,
That we wish'd him full ten times a day at old Nick; Who'd not be a glutton, and stick to the last ? But, missing his mirth and agreeable vein, Here, waiter, more wine, let me sit while I'm able, As often we wish'd to have Dick back again. Till all my companions sink under the table; Here Cumberland lies, having acted his parts, Then, with chaos and blunders encircling my head, The Terence of England, the mender of hearts; Let me ponder, and tell what I think of the dead. A flatt'ring painter, who made it his care
Here lies the good dean, re-united to earth, To draw men as they ought to be, not as they are. Who mix'd reason with pleasure, and wisdom with His gallants are all faultless, his women divine, mirth;
And Comedy wonders at being so fine : If he had any faults, he has left us in doubt, Like a tragedy queen he has dizen'd her out, At least in six weeks I could not find them out; Or rather like Tragedy giving a rout. Yet some have declar'd, and it can't be denied 'em, His fools have their follies so lost in a crowd That sly-boots was cursedly cunning to hide 'em. Of virtues and feelings, that folly grows proud; Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was And coxcombs, alike in their failings, alone, such,
Adopting his portraits, are pleas'd with their own. We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much; Say, where has our poet this malady caught? Who, born for the universe, narrow'd his mind, Or wherefore his characters thus without fault? And to party gave up what was meant for mankind; Say, was it that vainly directing his view Though fraught with all learning, yet straining his To find out men’s virtues, and finding them few, throat
Quite sick of pursuing each troublesome elf, To persuade Tommy Townshend ft to lend him a He grew lazy at last, and drew from himself ? vote;
Here Douglas retires from his toils to relax, Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on re- The scourge of impostors, the terror of quacks : fining,
Come, all ye quack bards, and ye quacking divines, And thought of convincing, while they thought of Come, and dance on the spot where your tyrant redining;
clines: Though equal to all things, for all things unfit; When satire and censure encircled his throne ; Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit; I fear'd for your safety, I fear'd for my own : For a patriot too cool; for a drudge disobedient; But now he is gone, and we want a detector, And too fond of the right to pursue the expedient. Our Dodds + shall be pious, our Kenricks # shall In short, 't was his fate, unemploy'd, or in place,
Macpherson & write bombast, and call it a style ; To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor. Our Townshend make speeches, and I shall compile; Here lies honest William, whose heart was a New Lauders and Bowers the Tweed shall cross mint,
over, While the owner ne'er knew half the good that was No countryman living their tricks to discover; in 't;
Detection her taper shall quench to a spark, The pupil of impulse, it forc'd him along, And Scotchman meet Scotchman, and cheat in the His conduct still right, with his argument wrong ;
Here lies David Garrick, describe him who can, • Mr. William Burke, Secretary to General Con. An abridgement of all that was pleasant in man: way, and Member for Bedwin.
As an actor, confest without rival to shine ; † Mr. Richard Burke, Collector of Grenada. As a wit, if not first, in the very first line !
Mr. Richard Cumberland, author of the West Yet, with talents like these, and an excellent heart, Indian, Fashionable Lover, The Brothers, and The man had his failings- a dupe to his art. other dramatic pieces.
$ Dr. Douglas, Bishop of Salisbury, who no Mr. Richard Burke. This gentleman having less distinguished himself as a citizen of the world, slightly fractured one of his arms and legs, at difthan a sound critic, in detecting several literary ferent times, the Doctor has rallied him on those mistakes (or rather forgeries) of his countrymen ; accidents, as a kind of retributive justice for breakparticularly Lauderon Milton, and Bower's ing his jests upon other people. History of the Popes.
+ The Rev. Dr. Dodd. | David Garrick, Esq.
Dr. Kenrick, who read lectures at the Devil i Counsellor John Ridge, a gentleman belong- Tavern, under the title of The School of Shaking to the Irish bar.
speare. ** Sir Joshua Reynolds.
$ James Macpherson, Esq. who, from the mere # An eminent attorney.
force of his style, wrote down the first poet of all # Mr. T. Townshend, Member for Whitchurch. antiquity.