ILLUSTRATIONS

OF THE

OUTLINE OF A SERMON.

V 1812, I submitted a Poem entitled "The Deserted-Village-School," to the inspection of my friend Sir Walter Scott, who highly approved it as a Porm, and gave the MS. in charge to the Ballantines who printed and published it. Tho' anonymous, all the copies were soon disposed of.-As it falls in with the subject of my Sermon, I shall here reprint it, with some additional annotations.

THE

DESERTED VILLAGE-SCHOOL.

LIGHT o'er the green, and 'midst that woody dell
Where tiptoe joyance whilom tripp'd so fair,
Here, where the crosslet crowns its sainted well,

What means this damp, to chill the sullen air.— Where, loose from school, the tribe without a care, Sought the broad shade beneath their arching tree, Or frolick'd,. heedless of the noon-tide glare ?

Alas! no more shall pour, in gamesome glee,
From yon' gray cottage porch, the b.boming progeny!

That aged oak still spreads its giant arms;

Round its huge trunk still gleams the rustic seat :
Yet where, dear village! where thy wonted charms?
Ah! shall I see no more, from Sirius' heat
Where its brown umbrage lent a cool retreat,
Blithe, to and fro the fairy circles run?

And never shall again my bosom beat

To mark, when now their daily tasks are done,
The little sportive rings dance down the evening sun?

Foredoom'd to ruin, those deserted walls

Shall snoring owls and flitting bats profane? On the dim lattice, where a radiance falls,

I see dank ivy muffle every pane.

To me, how pert the sparrow's matin strain !

How cold, tho' where he twitters, crimson streak
The thatch! But sweet, thro' gloomy pattering rain,
The redbreast shall anon my sorrow speak,
Responsive to my sighs at eve or morning break.

Ah, whither, in a store of knowlege rich,

Ah, whither exiled that far-dreaded DAME,
Whose learning stamped the credit of a witch
(Such is its fate too oft) on honest fame?
Where now that rod which, with unerring aim,
Would idler strait in distant corner smite-

Those ruthless twigs announcing sin and shame,
Which kindling ire would sway with tenfold might,

When little struggling bums were brought alas ! to light?

High spectacled her reverential nose,

When late I peep'd amidst her pigmy throng, Small thought had she, in sooth, of gathering woes, But humin'd, as in the days when life was young,

In merry mood, a stave of Israel's song: Then sudden, startled at the sight of me,

She threw a quickening glance her imps among, And ranged the ready class in due degree,

Proud that the Parson's self her sovereign power should see!

Where now that wheel she turn'd so swift around,

If her snug porch the summer sun-beam warm'd? Where her trim beds, her thyme, her parsley-ground, Her elder, clownish warts away that charm'd;

Her hives, that 'mid the luscious woodbine swarm'd, And, for the curate the pure virgin comb?

Alas! shall gentle pity, unalarm'd,

Be told a parish work-house is her home,

Nor haste with lenient balms to mitigate her doom?

There, too, the moss of solitude o'erwhelms

That roof fast mouldering in the mournful dale Where the gate swings between two sister elms, Forsaken, the rude sport of every gale;

Where, quivering on their poles, the hop-blooms pale All to the desart air their odeur breathe!

Thro' twilight, shall no more my fancy hail

The savoury pot-herb, 'midst the blaze beneath,

Whence rose the supper smoke, in many a cheerful wreath?

There lived our good old MASTER, to the muse
So dear; his virtues of no vulgar price!
I own, contracted were his cottage-views:
Yet only shall fastidiousness too nice
Scoff at his sees and saws, as prejudice.
If he had any fault 'twas stubborn pride;
Which, spurning innovation as a vice,
Stuck to the system by his fathers tried :-
It was a fault, methinks, to merit much allied.

Grave was his port ; and, as his cane he grasp'd,
At his approach the villagers would flee;
Girls in their teens, and those by Hymen clasp'd

And (thrill'd, as if from thraldom scarcely free,
All fancied in his face" the Rule-of-Three!"
For deep the furrows of his beetling brow
Arithmetic with age had traced, perdie

And, sure, of science he had full enow

For anvil, awl, or axe, or clod-compelling plough.

AH me!-that fashion (who her votaries whirls,
With wild caprice, in many a giddy round,}
Should stoop so low to little lads and girls,

And, ancient order eager to confound,

To curious eyes shew Learning's level ground,»

But

* One of the first modern innovations seems to have been, the attempt to smooth the rugged paths of literature learning, easily acquired, is soon lost. "Hand facilem esse viam voluit."-VIRG. The acquisition of learning de