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Careless their merits or their faults to scan,
His pity gave ere charity began.

Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride,
And ev❜n his failings lean'd to virtue's side ;
But in his duty prompt at ev'ry 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 fledg'd offspring to the skies;
He tried each art, reprov'd each dull delay,
Allur'd to brighter worlds, and led the way.

Befide the bed where parting life was laid,
And forrow, guilt, and pain, by turns difmay'd,
The rev'rend champion flood.
At his control,
Despair and anguish fled the struggling foul;
Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise,
And his laft fault'ring accents whifper'd praise.

At church, with meek and unaffected grace,
His looks adorn'd the venerable place;
Truth from his lips prevail'd with double fway,
And fools, who came to fcoff, remain'd to pray.
'I'he service past, around the pious man,
With ready zeal, each honest rustic ran ;
Ev'n children follow'd with endearing wile,

And pluck'd his gown, to fhare the good man's fmile.
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 ferious thoughts had rest in heav'n.
As fome tail cliff that lifts its awful form,

Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the ftorm,
Tho' round its breaft the rolling clouds are fpread,
Eternal funshine fettles on its head.

Befide yon ftraggling fence that skirts the way,
With bloffom'd furze unprofitably gay,
There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule,
The village mafter taught his little school:

A man severe he was, and ftern to view,
I knew him well, and ev'ry truant knew ;
Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace.
The day's difafters 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 bufy whifper circling round,
Convey'd the difmal tidings when he frown'd;
Yet he was kind, or if severe in aught,
The love he bore to learning was his 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 prefage,
And ev'n the ftory ran that he could guage:
In arguing too, the parfon own'd his skill,
For e'en tho' vanquish'd, he could argue fill;
While words of learned length, and thund'ring found
Amaz'd the gazing ruftics rang'd around,
And ftill they gaz'd, and fill the wonder grew,
That one small head could carry all he knew.

But paft 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 fign-poft caught the paffing eye,
Low lies that houfe where nut-brown draughts infpir'd,
Where grey-beard mirth and smiling toil retir'd,
Where village ftatefmen talk'd with looks profound,
And news much older than their ale went round.
Imagination fondly ftoops to trace,

The parlour fplendors of that feftive place;
The white-wafh'd wall, the nicely-fanded floor,
The varnish'd clock that clink'd behind the door;
The cheft contriv'd a double debt to pay,
A bed by night, a cheft of draw'rs by day;
The pictures plac'd for ornament and ufe,
The twelve good rules, the royal game of goofe;

The hearth, except when winter chill'd the day, With afpen boughs, and flow'rs, and fennel gay, While broken tea-cups, wifely kept for fhew, Rang'd o'er the chimney, gliften' in a row.

Vain tranfitory fplendors! could not all
Reprieve the tott'ring manfion from its fall!
Obfcure it finks, nor fhall it more impart
An hour's importance to the poor man's heart;
Thither no more the peafánt fhall repair,
To fweet oblivion of his daily care;

No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale,
No more the woodman's ballad fhall prevail;
No more the fmith his dufky brow fhall clear,
Relax his pond'rous ftrength, and lean to hear;
The hoft himself no longer fhall be found,
Careful to fee the mantling blifs go round;
Nor the coy-maid, half willing to be prest,
Shall kifs the cup to pass it to the reft.

Yes! let the rich deride, the proud difdain,
Thefe fimple bleffings of the lowly train,
To me more dear, congenial to my heart,
One native charm, than all the glofs of art;
Spontaneous joys, where Nature has its play,
The foul adopts and owns their first-born sway ;
Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind,
Unenvy'd, unmolested, unconfin'd,

But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade,
With all the freaks of wanton wealth array'd,
In thefe, ere trifler's half their with obtain,
The toiling pleasure fiekens into pain ;
And ev'n while fashion's brightest arts decoy,
The heart diftrufting afks if this be joy.

Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen who furvey The rich man's joys encrease, the poor's decay, Tis your's to judge how wide the limits stand Between a fplendid and a happy land.

Proud fwells the tide with loads of frighted ore,
And fhouting folly hails them from the fhore:
Hoards, ev'n beyond the mifer'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 product fill the fame..
Not fo the lofs. The man of wealth and pride,
Takes up a space that many poor supply`d;
Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds,
Space for his horfes, equipage and hounds;
The robe that wraps his limbs in filken floth,
Has robb'd the neighb'ring fields of half their growth,
His feat where folitary fports are feen,
Indignant fpurns the cottage from the green;
Around the world cach needful product flies,
For all the luxuries the world fupplies.
While thus the land adorn'd for pleasure all
In barren fplendor feebly waits the fall.

As fome fair female unadorn'd and plain, Secure to please while youth confirms her reign. Slights ev'ry borrow'd charm that drefs fupplies, Nor fhares with art the triumph of her eyes: But when thofe charms are paft, for charms are frail. When time advances, and when lovers fail, She then shines forth, folicitous to blefs, In all the glaring impotence of drefs. Thus fares the land, by luxury betray'd, In nature's fimpleft charms at firft array'd, But verging to decline, its fplendors rife, Its viftas ftrike, its palaces furprise; While fcourg'd by famine from the fmiling land, The mournful peafant leads his humble band; And while he finks, without one arm to fave, The country blooms-a garden; and a grave.

Where then, ah, where fhall poverty refide, To 'fcape the preffure of contagious pride?

If to fome common's fenceless limits ftray'd,
He drives his flock to pick the feanty blade,
Those fencelefs fields the fons of wealth divide,
And ev'n the bare-worn common is deny'd.

If to the city fped-What waits him there?
To fee profufion that he must not fhare;
To fee 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 difplay,
There the black gibbet glooms befide 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 clafh the torches glare.
Sure fcenes like these no troubles ere annoy !
Sure these denote one universal joy!

Are these thy ferious thoughts-Ah, turn thine eyes
Where the poor houseless shiv'ring female lies.
She once, perhaps, in village plenty bleft,
Has wept at tales of innocence diftreft;
Her modeft looks the cottage might adorn,
Sweet as the primrofe peeps beneath the thorn;
Now loft to all: her friends, her virtue fled,
Near her betrayer's door fhe lays her head,
And, pinch'd with cold and fhrinking from the fhow'r,
With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour,
When idly firft, ambitious of the town,

She left her wheel and robes of country brown.

Do thine fweet AUBURN, thine, the lovelieft train,
Do thy fair tribes participate her pain?
Ev'n now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led,
At proud men's doors they ask a little bread!

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