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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 lide ;
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.

Beside the bed where parting life was laid,
And forrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismay'd,
The rev'rend champion stood. at his control,
Despair and anguilh fled the struggling foul ;
Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise,
And his last fault'ring accents whisper'd praise.

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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,
With blossom'd furze unprofitably gay,
There, in his noisy manfion, skill'd to rule,
The village matter taught his little school :

A man severe he was, and stern to view,
I knew him well, and ev'ry 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 gice,
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 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 presage,
And ev'n the story ran that he could guage :
In arguing too, the parson own’d his kill,
For e'en tho' vanquish'd, he could argue Nill;
While words of learned length, and thund'ring found
Amaz’d the gazing ruftics rang'd around,
And fill they gaz'd, and fill the wonder grew,
'That one small 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 fign-poft caught the passing eye,
Low lies that houle where nut-brown draughts inspir'd,
Where grey-beard mirth and smiling toil retir'd,
Where village statesmen talk'd with looks profound,
And news much older than their ale went round.
Imagination fondly stoops to trace,

The parlour splendors of that feftive place ;
The white-waih'd wall, the nicely-fanded floor,
The rarnih'd clock that clink'd behind the door ;
The chest contrix'd a double debt to pay,
A bed by night, a chest of draw'rs by day ;
The pictures plac'd for ornament and use,
The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose ;

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,
These fimple blessings of the lowly train,
To me more dear, congenial to my

One native charm, than all the glofs of art;
Spontaneous joys, where Nature has its play,
The soul adopts and owns their firit-born sway;
Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind,
Unenvy'd, unmoleftéd, unconfin'd,
But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade,
With all the freaks of wanton wealth array'd,
In these, ere trifler's half their wish obtain,
The toiling pleasure fiekens into pain ;
And ev’n while fashion's brighteft arts decoy,
The heart distrusting asks it this be joy.

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,
And fhouting folly hails them from the shore :
Hoards, ev'n beyond the miser's with 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 flill the fame.
Not so the loss. 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 horses, equipage and hounds ;
The robe that wraps his limbs in Glken sloth,
Has robb'd the neighb'ring fields of half their growth,
His seat where folitary sports are seen,
Indignant spurns the cottage from the green ;
Around the world each needful product flies,
For all the luxuries the world supplies.
While thus the land adorn'd for pleasure all
In barren splendor feebly waits the fall.

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,
He drives his flock to pick the fcanty blade,
Those fenceless 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 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!

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