Near yonder copse, where once the garden smil'd, Unpractis'd he to fawn, or seek for power, won. Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe: 7 Whose] 'Stay till my beard shall sweep mine aged breast.' Hall's Satires, p. 79, ed. Singer. 4 8 Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began. Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt for all; Beside the bed where parting life was laid, And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismay'd, The reverend champion stood. At his control, Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul; Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, And his last faltering accents whisper'd praise. At church, with meek and unaffected grace, 'His looks adorn'd the venerable place; 10 Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway, And fools, who came to scoff, remain'd to pray. 8 Want pass'd for merit, at her open door." Dryden's Elegies, ii. p. 180. Dryden's Good Parson, iii. 137. 9 His eyes diffused a venerable grace.' 10 Truth] For thou e'en sin didst in such words array, That some who came bad parts, went out good play.' Jasp. Mayne to the Mem. of B. Jonson. v. Nicholls' Col. Poems, i. p. 256. The service past, around the pious man, His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest, 11 As some] 'As some tall tower, or lofty mountain's brow Young's Night Thoughts, b. ii. 'Below you see, involv'd in guilt and strife, Bp. Warburton's Transl. from Claudian Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head. Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, With blossom'd furze unprofitably gay, There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule, The village master taught his little school. A man severe he was, and stern to view; I knew him well, and every 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 glee, 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 in fault. The village all declar'd how much he knew; 'Twas certain he could write, and cipher too; Lands he could measure, terms and tides pre sage, And even the story ran that he could gauge; For even though vanquish'd he could argue still; While words of learned length and thundering sound Amaz'd the gazing rustics rang'd around; 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 sign-post caught the passing eye, Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspir'd, Where gray-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 splendours of that festive place: A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day; Vain, transitory splendours! could not all No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, |