The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, were won. Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe; 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 his last faltering accents whisper'd praise. E'en children followed with endearing wile, And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's smile. His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest, Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares distrest: To them his heart, his love,his griefs were given, But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, Tho' round its brest the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head. Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way With blossom'd furze unprofitably gay, There, in his noisy mansion, 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 e'en the story ran that he could guage: For e'en though vanquish'd, he could argue still; While words of learned length and thund'ring sound Amaz'd the gazing rustics rang'd around, And still they gaz'd, and still the wonder grew, That one mall 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 sign-post caught the passing eye, Low lies that house where nut brown draughts inspired, Where grey-beard mirth, and smiling toil re tir'd, Where village statesmen talk'd with looks profound, And news much older than their ale went round. The parlour splendors of that festive place; Rang'd o'er the chimney, glisten'd in a row. No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen who survey The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, 'Tis yours to judge how wide the limits stand Between a splendid and a happy land. Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore, And shouting folly hails them from her shore ; Hoards, e'en 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 supplied ; Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds; Space for his horses, equipage and hounds: The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth, Has robb'd the neighbouring fields of half their growth, His seat, where solitary sports are seen, Indignant spurns the cottage from the green; As some fair female, unadorn'd and plain, Secure to please while youth confirms her reign, Slights every borrow'd charm that dress sup plies, Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes; But when those charms are past, for ha are frail, arms When time advances, and when lovers fail, |