Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And even his failings leaned to Virtue's fide; He watch'd and wept, he prayed and felt, for all; To tempt its new fledged offspring to the skies; Befide the bed where parting life was layed, And forrow, guilt, and pain, by turns difmayed, The reverend champion stood. At his control, Despair and anguifh fled the ftruggling foul; Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, And his last faultering accents whispered praife. At church, with meek and unaffected grace, The The service paft, around the pious man, With fteady zeal each honeft rustic ran; Even children followed with endearing wile, And plucked his gown, to fhare the good man's fmile. Their welfare pleased him, and their cares diftreft; Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the ftorm, Befide yon ftraggling fence that skirts the way, I knew him well, and every truant knew; Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee For even tho' vanquished, he could argue ftill; And ftill they gazed, and ftill the wonder grew, But paft is all his fame. The very spot Where many a time he triumphed, is forgot. Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high, Where once the fign-poft caught the paffing eye. Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspired, Where village statesmen talked with looks profound, The parlour splendours of that festive place; Vain tranfitory fplendours! Could not all Reprieve the tottering 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 peasant shall repair No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, Careful to fee the mantling blifs ; go round Nor the coy maid, half willing to be preft, 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, Unenvied, unmolefted, unconfined: But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, With all the freaks of wanton wealth arrayed, |