Carelefs 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 fide;
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 itood. At his control,
Defpair and anguish fled the struggling foul;
Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise,
And his laft fault'ring accents whisper'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. The fervice past, around the pious man, With ready zeal, each honeft rustic ran; Ev'n children follow'd with endearing wile, And pluck'd his gown, to fhare the good man's fmile. His ready finile a parent's warmth expreft, Their welfare pleas'd him, and their carès diftreft ; To them his heart, his love, his griefs were giv'n, But all his ferious thoughts had rest in heav'n. As fome tall 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 funthine fettles on its head.

Befide yon straggling fence that skirts the way,
With bloffom'd furze unprofitably gay,
There, in his noify manfion, fkill'd to rule,
The village mafter taught his little school :

A man fevere 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 fevere 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 meafure, terms and tides prefage,
And ev'n the story ran that he could guage:
In arguing too, the parfon own'd his skill,
For e'en tho' vanquish'd, he could argue ftill;
While words of learned length, and thund'ring found
Amaz'd the gazing ruftics rang'd around,

And ftill they gaz'd, and ftill the wonder grew,
That one fmall 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 fmiling toil retir'd,
Where village ftatefmen talk'd with looks profound,
And news much older than their ale went round.
Imagination fondly floops to trace,

The parlour fplendors of that feflive 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'd 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 peafant 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 shall prevail; No more the smith 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 preft, Shall kifs the cup to pafs it to the rest.

Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain,
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 wifh obtain,
The toiling pleafure fickens into pain;
And ev'n while fashion's brightest arts decoy,
The heart diftrufting afks it this be joy.

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

Proud fwells the tide with loads of frighted ore, And houting folly hails them from the shore : Hoards, ev'n beyond the mifer'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 ufeful product still the fame. Not fo the lofs. The man of wealth and pride, Takes up a fpace that many poor fupply'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 seen, 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 those charms are past, for charms are frail. When time advances, and when lovers fail, She then fhines 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 first array'd, But verging to decline, its fplendors rife, Its viftas ftrike, its palaces furprife; 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,
Thofe fencelefs fields the sons 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 share ; 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 artift 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 serious 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 shrinking from the show'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!