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Careless their merits or their faults to scan,
Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride,
Beside the bed where parting life was laid,
At church, with meck and unaffected grace, His looks adorn’d the venerable place ; Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway, And fools, who came to scoff, remain'd to pray. 'I'he service past, around the pious man, With ready zeal, each honest ruític ran ; Ev’n children follow d with endearing wile, And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's smile. His ready smile a parent's warmth expreft, Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares diftreft ; To them his heart, his love, his griefs were giv’n, But all his serious thoughts had rest in heav'o. As fome tail cliff that lifts its awful form, .' Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, Tho'round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine fettles on its head.
Beside yon ftraggling fence that skirts the way,
A man severe he was, and stern to view,
But past is all his fame. The very spot
The parlour splendors of that feftive place ;
The hearth, except when winter chill'd the day, With afpen boughs, and How'rs, and fennel gay,
, While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for shew, Rang'd o'er the chimney, gliften' in a row.
Vain transitory fplendor's ! could not all Reprieve the tott'ring mansion from its fall! Obscure it links, nor shall it more impart An hour's importance to the poor man's heart; Thither no more the peafánt shall repair, To sweet oblivion of his daily care ; No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail ; No more the fmith his dusky brow shall clear, Relax his pond'rous strength, and lean to'héar ; The host himself'no longer shall be found, Careful to see the mantling bliss go round; Nor the coy-maid, half willing to be prest, Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the reft.
Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain,
Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen who survey The rich man's joys encrease, the poor's decay, Tis your's to judge how wide the limits stand Between a splendid and a happy land.
Proud swells the tide with loads of frighted ore,
That leaves our useful product flill the fame.
As some fair female unadorn’d and plain, Secure to please while youth confirms her reign. Slights cv'ry borrow'd charm that dress fupplies, Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes: But when those charms are past, for charms are frail. When time advances, and when lovers fail, She then shines forth, solicitous to bless, In all the glaring impotence of dress. Thus fares the land, by luxury betray'd, In nature's simplest charms at first array'd, But verging to decline, its splendors rise, Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise; While scourg'd by famine from the smiling land, The mournful peasant leads his humble baud; And while he links, without one arm to save, The country blooms--a garden ; and a grave.
Where then, ah, where shall porerty reside, To 'scape the pressure of contagious pride?
If to some common's fenceless limits stray'd,
If to the city fped - What waits him there? To fee profusion that he must not share ; To see ten thousand baneful arts combin'd To pamper luxury, and thin mankind; To fee each joy the fons of pleasure know, Extorted from his fellow-creature's wo. Here while the courtier glitters in brocade, There the pale artist plies the fickly trade; Here, while the proud their long-drawn pomps display, There the black gibbet glooms beside the way. The dome where pleasure holds her midnight reign, Here, richly deckt, admits the gorgeous train ; Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square, -The rattling chariots clash the torches glare. Sure scenes like these no troubles ere annoy! Sure these denote one universal joy! Are these thy serious thoughts---Ah, turn thine eyes Where the poor houseless Thiv’ring female lies. She once, perhaps, in village plenty bleft, Has wept at tales of innocence distrett; Her modeft looks the cottage might adorn, Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn; Now lost to all: her friends, her virtue fled, Near her betrayer's door the lays her head, And, pinch'd with cold and shrinking from the show?r, With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour, When idly first, ambitious of the town, She left her wheel and robes of country brown.
Do thine sweet AUBURN, thine, the loveliest train, Do thy fair tribes participate her pain ? Ev'n now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led, At proud men's doors they alk a little bread!