There, where a few torn shrubs the place | He tried each art, reproved each dull disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. Remote from towns he ran his godly race, power By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour; Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize More skilled to raise the wretched than to rise. His house was known to all the vagrant train; He chid their wanderings, but relieved 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 claims allow'd; The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, Sate 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. Pleased 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 e'en his failings lean'd to Virtue's side; 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-fledged offspring to the skies, Where once the sign-post caught the pass- These simple blessings of the lowly train ; ing eye, To me more dear, congenial to my heart, Low lies that house where nut-brown One native charm than all the gloss of art. Spontaneous joys, where Nature has its play, draughts inspired, Where gray-beard mirth and smiling toil retired, Where village statesmen talk'd with looks profound, The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway; Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, And news much older than their ale went Unenvied, unmolested, unconfined; And, e'en while fashion's brightest arts de- | But when those charms are past-for To 'scape the pressure of contiguous pride? If to some common's fenceless limits stray'd, He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade, Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide, And even the bare-worn common is denied. If to the city sped, what waits him there? To pamper luxury, and thin mankind; Extorted from his fellow-creatures' woe. Here while the courtier glitters in brocade, trade; Here while the proud their long-drawn pomps display, There the black gibbet glooms beside the way. As some fair female, unadorn'd and The dome where Pleasure holds her midplain, night reign, Secure to please while youth confirms her Here, richly deck'd, admits the gorgeous reign, Slights every borrow'd charm that dress Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing supplies, train; square Nor shares with art the triumph of her The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare. eyes; Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy! Sure these denote one universal joy! Are these thy serious thoughts? Ah! turn thine eyes Where at each step the stranger fears to wake The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake: Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey, Where the poor, houseless, shivering fe- And savage men more murderous still male lies; She once, perhaps, in village plenty blest, than they; While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies, Mingling the ravaged landscape with the skies. scene Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the Far different these from every former thorn: Now lost to all-her friends, her virtue The cooling brook, the grassy-vested green, fledThe breezy covert of the warbling grove, Near her betrayer's door she lays her That only shelter'd thefts of harmless love. head, And, pinch'd with cold, and shrinking Good Heaven! what sorrows gloom'd that parting day from the shower, With heavy heart deplores that luckless That call'd them from their native walks And took a long farewell, and wish'd in vain For seats like these beyond the western main, And, shuddering still to face the distant deep, At proud men's doors they ask a little Return'd and wept, and still return'd to bread. weep! The good old sire the first prepared to go Ah, no! To distant climes, a dreary To new-found worlds, and wept for others' woe; scene, Where half the convex world intrudes be- But for himself, in conscious virtue brave, He only wish'd for worlds beyond the tween, Those matted woods where birds forget to And kiss'd her thoughtless babes with O Luxury! thou curst by Heaven's decree, | Still let thy voice, prevailing over time, How ill exchanged are things like these Redress the rigors of th' inclement clime; Aid slighted truth with thy persuasive for thee! How do thy potions, with insidious joy, Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy! Kingdoms by thee to sickly greatness grown Boast of a florid vigor not their own. At every draught more large and large they grow, A bloated mass of rank, unwieldy woe; Till, sapp'd their strength and every part unsound, Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round. Even now the devastation is begun, And half the business of destruction done; Even now, methinks, as pondering here I stand, I see the rural virtues leave the land. Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail That, idly waiting, flaps with every gale— Contented toil, and hospitable care, Still first to fly where sensual joys invade- strain, Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain; Teach him that states, of native strength possest, Though very poor, may still be very blest; That trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay, As ocean sweeps the labor'd mole away; While self-dependent power can time defy, As rocks resist the billows and the sky. OLIVER GOLDSMITH. I KNEW BY THE SMOKE THAT SO GRACEFULLY CURLED. I KNEW by the smoke that so gracefully curl'd Above the green elms, that a cottage was near, And I said, "If there's peace to be found in the world, A heart that is humble might hope for it here!" It was noon, and on flowers that languish'd around In silence reposed the voluptuous bee; Every leaf was at rest, and I heard not a sound But the woodpecker tapping the hollow beech tree. To catch the heart, or strike for honest And "Here in this lone little wood," I fame; Dear, charming nymph, neglected and decried, My shame in crowds, my solitary pride! Thou source of all my bliss and all my woeThat found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so; Thou guide, by which the nobler arts excel, Thou nurse of every virtue-fare thee well! Farewell!-and oh! where'er thy voice be tried, On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's sideWhether where equinoctial fervors glow, Or winter wraps the polar world in snow exclaim'd, "With a maid who was lovely to soul and to eye, Who would blush when I praised her, and weep if I blamed, How blest could I live, and how calm could I die! "By the shade of yon sumac, whose red berry dips In the gush of the fountain, how sweet to recline, And to know that I sigh'd upon innocent lips, Which had never been sigh'd on by any but mine!" THOMAS MOORE. |