POEMS REFERRING TO THE PERIOD OF OLD AGE. THE OLD CUMBERLAND BEGGAR. The class of Beggars to which the Old Man here described belongs will probably soon be extinct. It consisted of poor, and mostly! old and infirm persons, who confined themselves to a stated round in their neighbour. hood, and had certain fixed days, on which, at different houses, they regularly received alms, sometimes in money, but mostly in provisions. I SAW an aged Beggar in my walk; May thence remount at ease. The aged Man stone That overlays the pile; and, from a bag Not venturing yet to peck their destined meal, then He was so old, he seems not older now; So helpless in appearance that for him And careless hand his alms upon the ground, But stops, that he may safely lodge the coin Within the old Man's hat; nor quits him so, But still, when he has given his horse the rein, Watches the aged Beggar with a look Sidelong, and half-reverted. She who tends The toll-gate, when in summer at her door She turns her wheel, if on the road she sees The aged Beggar coming, quits her work, He travels on, a solitary Man; The nails of cart or chariot-wheel have left But deem not this Man useless.-States men! ye Who are so restless in your wisdom, ye pressed, So low as to be scorned without a sin; This old Man creeps, the villagers in him To acts of love; and habit does the work Some there are, minds In childhood, from this solitary Being, The easy man Yet further.Many, I believe, there are Who live a life of virtuous decency, Men who can hear the Decalogue and feel No self-reproach; who of the moral law Established in the land where they abide Are strict observers; and not negligent Duly as Friday comes, though pressed herself Sits by her fire, and builds her hope in heaven. Then let him pass, a blessing on his head! And while in that vast solitude to which The tide of things has borne him, he appears To breathe and live but for himself alone, Unblamed, uninjured, let him bear about The good which the benignant law of Heaven Has hung around him: and, while life is his, Still let him prompt the unlettered villagers To tender offices and pensive thoughts. -Then let him pass, a blessing on his head! And, long as he can wander, let him breathe Struggle with frosty air and winter snows; The freshness of the valleys; let his blood And let the chartered wind that sweeps the heath Beat his grey locks against his withered face. Let him be free of mountain solitudes; II. THE FARMER OF TILSBURY VALE. 'Tis not for the unfeeling, the falsely refined, In acts of love to those with whom they The squeamish in taste, and the narrow of dwell, mind, And the small critic wielding his delicate pen, That I sing of old Adam, the pride of old men. He dwells in the centre of London's wide Town; His staff is a sceptre-his grey hairs a crown; And his bright eyes look brighter, set off by the streak Of the unfaded rose that still blooms on his cheek. A Farmer he was; and his house far and near Was the boast of the country for excellent cheer: How oft have I heard in sweet Tilsbury Vale of the silver-rimmed horn whence he dealt his mild ale! Yet Adam was far as the farthest from ruin, His fields seemed to know what their Master was doing; And turnips, and corn-land, and meadow, and lea, All caught the infection-as generous as he. Yet Adam prized little the feast and the bowl,The fields better suited the ease of his soul: He strayed through the fields like an indolent wight, The quiet of nature was Adam's delight. For Adam was simple in thought; and the poor, Familiar with him, made an inn of his door: He gave them the best that he had; or, to say What less may mislead you, they took it away. Thus thirty smooth years did he thrive on his farm: The Genius of plenty preserved him from harm: At length, what to most is a season of sorrow, His means are run out,-he must beg, or must borrow. To the neighbours he went,-all were free with their money; For his hive had so long been replenished with honey That they dreamt not of dearth,-He continued his rounds, Knocked here and knocked there, pounds Twice as fast as before does his blood run about: You would say that each hair of his beard was alive, And his fingers are busy as bees in a hive. knows; But often his mind is compelled to demur, And you guess that the more then his body must stir. In the throng of the town like a stranger is he, Like one whose own country's far over the sea; And Nature, while through the great city he hies, Full ten times a day takes his heart by surprise. This gives him the fancy of one that is young, More of soul in his face than of words on his the hay; Up the Haymarket hill he oft whistles his way, Thrusts his hands in a waggon, and smells at He thinks of the fields he so often hath mown, And is happy as if the rich freight were his own. But chiefly to Smithfield he loves to repair,-If you pass by at morning, you'll meet with him there. The breath of the cows you may see him inhale, And his heart all the while is in Tilsbury Vale. Now farewell, old Adam! when low thou art laid, May one blade of grass spring up over thy head: And I hope that thy grave, wheresoever it be, Will hear the wind sigh through the leaves of a 1803. tree. THE SMALL CELANDINE. THERE is a Flower, the lesser Celandine, That shrinks, like many more, from cold and rain; And, the first moment that the sun may shine, Bright as the sun himself, 'tis out again! When hailstones have been falling, swarm on swarm, Or blasts the green field and the trees distrest, But lately, one rough day, this Flower I passed I stopped, and said with inly-muttered voice, "It doth not love the shower, nor seek the cold: This neither is its courage nor its choice, The sunshine may not cheer it, nor the dew; Stiff in its members, withered, changed of hue." And, in my spleen, I smiled that it was grey. To be a Prodigal's Favourite then, worse truth, A Miser's Pensioner-behold our lot! O Man, that from thy fair and shining youth Age might but take the things Youth needed not! Old Daniel his hand to the treasure will slide! And his Grandson's as busy at work by his side. Old Daniel begins; he stops short and his eye, Through the lost look of dotage, is cunning and sly: 'Tis a look which at this time is hardly his own, But tells a plain tale of the days that are flown. He once had a heart which was moved by the wires Of manifold pleasures and many desires: more Than treading a path trod by thousands before. 'Twas a path trod by thousands; but Daniel is one Who went something farther than others have gone, And now with old Daniel you see how it fares; You see to what end he has brought his grey hairs. The pair sally forth hand in hand: ere the sun Has peered o'er the beeches, their work is begun : And yet, into whatever sin they may fall. And each, in his turn, becomes leader or led; And, wherever they carry their plots and their wiles, Every face in the village is dimpled with smiles. Neither checked by the rich nor the needy they roam; For the grey-headed Sire has a daughter at home, Who will gladly repair all the damage that's done; And three, were it asked, would be rendered for one. I love thee, and love the sweet Boy at thy side: Old Man! whom so oft I with pity have eyed, Long yet may'st thou live! for a teacher we see That lifts up the veil of our nature in thee. 1800. V. ANIMAL TRANQUILLITY AND DECAY. THE little hedgerow birds, That peck along the road, regard him not. He travels on, and in his face, his step, His gait, is one expression: every limb, His look and bending figure, all bespeak A man who does not move with pain, but moves With thought.-He is insensibly subdued To settled quiet he is one by whom All effort seems forgotten; one to whom Long patience hath such mild composure given That patience now doth seem a thing of which He hath no need. He is by nature led To peace so perfect that the young behold With envy what the Old Man hardly feels. 1798. |