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Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
ODE TO DUTY. Srers Daughter of the Voice of God! Day! if that name throu love,
Fho art a Light to guide, a Rod
Thou who art victory and law
To humbler functions, awful Power!
Built at the foot of a huge hill, that they
soon be estinct. It consisted of poor, and, mooily; May thence remount at ease. The aged Man old and inform persons, who contined themselves to a stard rona 1
llad placed his staff across the broad smooth stone atheir neighbourbood, and bad certain fixed days, on which, at different bouses, they regularly received alms, sometimes in mo- That overlays the pile; and, from a bag sey, but mostly in provisions.
All white with tlour, the dole of village dames,
He drew his scraps and fragments, one by one; I saw an aged Beggar in my walk;
And scanned them with a fixed and serious look And he was seated, by the highway side,
Of idle coinputation. In the sun,
Divorced from good-a spirit and pulse of good,
Upon tlie second step of that small pile,
my childhood have I known; and then He was so old, he seems not older now; He travels on, a solitary Man, So helpless in appearance, 'tliat for him The sauntering Horseman-traveller does not throw With careless hand his alms upon the ground, But stops,--that he may safely lodge the coin Within the old Man's hat; nor quits bim 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 Beguar coming, quits her work, And lifts the latch for him that he may pass. The Post-boy, when his rattling wheels o'ertake The aged Begzar in the woody lane, Shouts to him from behind; and, if thus warned The old Man does not change his course, the Boy Turns with less noisy wheels to the road-side, And passes gently by-without a curse Upon his lips, or anger at his heart. He travels on, a solitary Man; His age ivas no companion. On the ground Dis eyes are turned, and, as he moves along, They move along the ground; and, evermore, Instead of common and habitual siginc Of fields with rural works, of hill and dale, And the blue sky, one little span of earth Is all his prospect. Thus, from day to day, Bow-bent, his eyes for ever on the ground, He plies his weary journey; seeing still, And seldom knowing that he sees, some straw, Some scattered Jeaf, or marks which, in one track, The nails of cart or chariol-wheel have left Impressed on the white road, -in the same line, At distance still the same. Poor Traveller! Hlis staff trails with him ; scarcely do his feet Disturb the summer dust; he is so still In look and motion, that the cottage curs, Ere he have passed the door, will turn away, Weary of barking at him. Boys and Girls, The vacant and the busy, Maids and Youthis, And Urchins newly breeched-all pass him by : Him even the slow.paced Waggon leaves behind.
But deem not this Man useless.Statesmen! ye Who are so restless in your wisdom, ye Who have a broom still ready in your hands To rid the world of nuisances; ye proud, Heart-swoln, while in your pride ye contemplate Your talents, power, and wisdom, deem him nos A burthen of the cartla! "T is Nature's law That none, the meapest of created things, Of forins created the most vile and brute, The dullest or most noxious, should exist
Yet further.--Many, I believe, there are Who live a life of virtuous decency, Men who can liear 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, In acts of love to those with whom they dwell, Their kindred, and the children of their blood. Praise be to such, and to their slumbers peace! -But of the poor man ask, the abject poor; Go, and demand of him, if there be bere In this cold abstinence from evil deeds, And these inevitable charities, Wherewith to satisfy the human soul ? No-Man is dear to Man; the poorest poor Long for some moments in a weary life When they can know and feel that they have been,
Themselves, the fathers and the dealers-out
A Farmer be was; and his house far and near
llow oft have I heard in sweet Tilsbury Vale That we have all of us one human heart.
Of the silver-rimmed horn whence he dealt his mild -Such pleasure is to one kind Being known,
ale ! My Neighbour, when with punctual care, each week Duly as Friday comes, though pressed herself
Yet Adam was far as the farthest from ruin, ly her own wants, she from her store of meal
His fields seemed to know what their Master was doing; Takes one unsparing handful for the scrip
And turnips, and coru-land, and meadow, and lea, of this old Mendicant, and, from her door
All caught the infection-as generous as he.
The fields better suited the ease of his Soul :
He strayed through the fields like an indolent Wight, And while in that vast solitude to which
The quiet of nature was Adam's delight.
For Adam was simple in thought, and the Poor,
Familiar with him, made an ion of his door :
them the best that he had ; or, to say Has hung around him : and, while life is liis,
What less may mislead you, they took it away.
Thus thirty smooth years did he thrive on his farm; -Then let him pass, a blessing on his head!
The Genius of plenty preserved him from harm : And, long as he can wander, let him breathe
At length, what to most is a season of sorrow, The freshoess of the valleys ; let his blood
flis means are run out,- he must beg, or must borrow. Strucgle with frosty air and winter snows; And let the chartered wiud that sweeps the heath Beat his grey locks against his withered face.
To the neighbours he went,-all were free with their Revereuce the hope whose vital anxiousness
money; Gives the last human interest to his heart.
For his hive had so long been replenished with honey,
That they dreamt not of dearth; He continued his May never House, misnamed of INDUSTRY, Make him a captive! for that pent-up din,
Knocked here—and knocked there, pounds still adding Those life-consuming sounds that clog the air, Be his the natural silence of old age!
to pounds. Let him be free of mountain solitudes; And have around him, whether heard or not,
Ile paid what he could with this ill-gotten pelf, The pleasant melody of woodland birds.
And something, it might be, reserved for himself : Few are his pleasures : if his eyes have now
Then, (what is too true,) without hinting a word, Been doomed so long to settle on the earth
Turned his back on the Country; and off like a Bird. That not without some effort they beliold The countenance of the horizontal sun,
You lift up your eyes !- but I guess that you frame Rising or setting, let the light at least
A judgment too harsh of the sin and the shame; Find a free entrance to their languid orbs.
lo him it was scarcely a business of art, And let bim, where and when he will, sit down
For this he did all in the ease of his heart.
To London—a sad emigration I ween-
With his grey hairs he went from the brook and the As in the cye of Nature he has lived,
green; So in the eye of Nature let him die!
And there, with small wealth but his legs and his hands,
As lonely he stood as a Crow on the sands.
All trades, as need was, did old Adam assume,-
Served as Stable-boy, Errand-boy, Porter, and Groom; And the small critic wielding his delicate pen,
But nature is gracious, necessity kind, That I sing of old Adam, the pride of old men. And, in spite of the shame that may lurk in his mind, He dwells in the centre of London's wide Town;
He seems ten birthdays younger, is green and is stout; Ilis staff is a sceptre-his grey hairs a crown;
Twice as fast as before does bis blood run about; Erect as a suollower he stands, and the streak
You would say that each hair of his beard was alive, Of the unfaded rose still enlivens his cheek.
And his fingers are busy as bees in a hive.
For he 's not like an Old Man that leisurely goes There fashioned that countenance, which, in spite of a about work that he knows, in a track that he knows; stain
But often his mind is compelled to demur, That his life hath received, to the last will remain. And you guess that the more then his body must stir.
In the throng of the Town like a Stranger is he,
To be a Prodigal's Favourite-then, worse truth,
This gives him the fancy of one that is young,
THE TWO THIEVES ;
OR, THE LAST STAGE OF AVARICE. And tears of fifteen will come into his eyes.
O now that the genius of Bewick were mine, What 's a tempest to him, or the dry parching heats ? And the skill which he learned on the banks of the Tube Yet he watches the clouds that pass over the streets;
Then the Muses might deal with me just as they chose, With a look of such earnestness oflen will stand, For I'd take my last leave both of verse and of prose. You might think he'd twelve Reapers at work in the
What feats would I work with my magical hand! Strand.
Book-learning and books should be banished the land: Where proud Covent-garden, in desolate hours
And, for hunger and thirst, and such troublesome calis, of snow and hoar-frost, spreads her fruit and her Every Ale-house should then have a feast on its walk flowers,
The Traveller would hang his wet clothes on a chair; Old Adam will smile at the pains that have made Poor Winter look fine in such strange masquerade.
Let them smoke, let them burn, not a straw would be
care! Mid coaches and chariots, a Waggon of straw,
For the Prodigal Son, Joseph's Dream and his Sheaves, Like a magnet, the heart of old Adam can draw;
Oh, what would they be to my tale of two Thieves ? With a thousand soft pictures his memory will teem, And his bearing is touched with the sounds of a dream. Uis Grandsire that age more than thirty times told;
The One, yet unbrecched, is not three birthdays old, Up the Haymarket hill he oft whistles his way,
There are ninely good seasons of fair and foul weather Thrusts his hands in the Waggon, and smells at the hay;
Between them, and both go a-stealing together. He thinks of the fields he so often hath mown,
With chips is the Carpenter strewing his floor? And is happy as if the rich freight were liis own.
Is a cart-load of turf at an old Woman's door ?
Old Daniel his hand to the treasure will slide!
Old Daniel begins, he stops short-and his eye,
Through the lost look of dotage, is cunning and sly. Now farewell, Old Adam! when low thou art laid,
'T is a look which at this time is hardly his own, May one blade of grass spring up over thy head;
But tells a plain tale of the days that are dowa. And I hope that thy grave, wheresoever it be,
Ile once had a licart which was moved by the wires Will hear the wind sigh through the leaves of a tree.
Of manifold pleasures and many desires :
And what if he cherished his purse! 'T was no more THE SMALL CELANDINE.
Thaa treading a path trod by thousands before. Taere is a Flower, the Lesser Celandine,
'T was a path trod by thousands; but Daniel is one That shrinks, like many more, from cold and rain ;
Who went something farther than others have gone, And, the first moment that the sun may shine,
And now with old Daniel you see how it fares; Bright as the sun itself, 't is out again!
You see to what end he has brought his grey hairs. When hailstones have been falling, swarm on swarm,
The pair sally forth hand in hand: ere the sun
And yet, into whatever sin they may fall,
This Child but half knows it, and that not at all. But lately, one rough day, this Flower I passed They hunt through the streets with deliberate tread, And recognized it, though an altered Form,
And each, in his turn, is both leader and led; Now standing forth an offering to the Blast,
And, wherever they carry their plots and their wiles, And buffeted at will by Rain and Storm.
Every face in the village is dimpled with smiles. I stopped, and said with inly-muttered voice,
Neither checked by the rich nor the needy they roam; It doch not love the shower, nor seek the cold: The grey-headed Sire has a daughter at home, This neither is its courage nor its choice,
Who will gladly repair all the damage that's done ; But its necessity in being old.
And three, were it asked, would be rendered for one. « The sunshine may not cheer it, nor the dew; Old Man! whom so oft I with pity have eyed, It cannot help itself in its decay;
I love thee, and love the sweet Boy at thy side : Stiff in its members, withered, changed of hue.» Long yet mayst thou live! for a teacher we see And, in my spleen, I smiled that it was grey.
That lifts up the veil of our nature in thee.
ANIMAL TRANQUILLITY AND DECAY.
Tag little hedge-row birds, That peck along the road, regard him not. He travels on, and in his face, his step, His fait, is one expression; every limb, llis look and bending figure, all bespeak
A man who does not move with pain, but moves
envy, what the Old Man hardly feels.
Epitaphs and Elegiac Poems.
TRANSLATED FROM CHIABRERA.
PERHAPS some needful service of the State
THERE never breathed a man who when his life
0 Tsou who movest onward with a inind Intent upon thy way, pause though in haste! 'T will be no fruitless moment.
I was born Within Savona's walls, of gentle blood. On Tiber's banks my youth was dedicate To sacred studies; and the Roman Shepherd Gave to my charge Urbino's numerous Flock. Mach did I watch, much laboured, nor had power To escape from many and strange indigoities; Was smitten by the great ones of the World, But did not fall; for virtue braves all shocks, C'pon herself resting immoveably. Me did a kindlier fortune then invite To serve the glorious Henry, King of France, And in his bands I saw a high reward Stretched out for my acceptance-but Death came. Now, Reader, learn from this my fate-how false, How freacberous to her promise is the World, And trust in God- to whose eternal doom Must bend the sceptred Potentates of Earth.
DESTINED to war from very infancy
Ivi vivea giorondo e i suoi pensieri
Erano tutti rose. The Traoslator had not skill to come nearer to bis original,