THE DESERTED VILLAGE.
For him no wretches, born to work and weep,
Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep;
No furly porter ftands in guilty ftate
To fpurn imploring famine from his gate,
But on he moves to meet his latter end,
Angels around befriending virtue's friend;
Sinks to the grave with unperceived decay,
While refignation gently flopes the way;
And all his profpects brightening to the last,
His Heaven commences ere the world be past!
Sweet was the found when oft at evening's close,
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose;
There as I past with careless steps and flow,
The mingling notes came foftened from below;
The swain refponfive as the milk-maid fung,
The fober herd that lowed to meet their young;
The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool,
The playful children just let loose from school;
The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whispering wind,
And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind,
These all in foft confufion fought the shade,
And filled each pause the nightingale had made.
But now the founds of population fail,
No chearful murmurs fluctuate in the gale,
No busy steps the grafs-grown foot-way tread,
But all the bloomy flush of life is fled.
All but yon widowed, folitary thing
That feebly bends beside the plashy spring;
She, wretched matron, forced, in age, for bread,
To strip the brook with mantling creffes fpread,
To pick her wintry faggot from the thorn,
To feek her nightly fhed, and weep till morn;
She only left of all the harmless train,
The fad historian of the penfive plain.
Near yonder copfe, where once the garden fmil'd, And still where many a garden flower grows wild; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose.
A man he was, to all the country dear,
And paffing rich with forty pounds a year;
Remote from towns he ran his godly race,
Nor ere had changed, nor wish'd to change his place;
Unskilful he to fawn, or feek for power,
By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour;
Far other aims his heart had learned to prize,
More bent to raise the wretched than to rife.
His house was known to all the vagrant train,
He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain;
The long remembered beggar was his guest,
Whose beard defcending swept his aged breast;
The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud,
Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed;
The broken foldier, kindly bade to stay,
Sate by his fire, and talked the night away;
Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of forrow done,
Shouldered his crutch, and fhewed how fields were won.
Pleafed with his guests, the good man learned to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe;
Careless their merits, or their faults to scan,
His pity gave ere charity began.
Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride,
And even his failings leaned to Virtue's fide;
But in his duty prompt at every call,
He watched and wept, he prayed and felt, for all.
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries,
To tempt its new fledged offspring to the skies ;
He tried each art, reproved each dull delay,
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.
Befide the bed where parting life was layed,
And forrow, guilt, and pain, by turns difmayed,
The reverend champion ftood. At his control,
Despair and anguish fled the ftruggling foul;
Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise,
And his last faultering accents whispered praise.
At church, with meek and unaffected grace,
His looks adorned the venerable place;
Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway,
And fools, who came to fcoff, remained to pray.
The service past, around the pious man,
With ready zeal each honeft ruftic ran;
Even children followed with endearing wile,
And plucked his gown, to fhare the good man's fmile.
His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest,
Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distrest ;
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given,
But all his serious thoughts had rest in Heaven.
As fome tall cliff that lifts its awful form
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the ftorm,
Tho' round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal funshine settles on its head.
Befide yon ftraggling fence that skirts the way,
With bloffomed furze unprofitably gay,
There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule,
The village mafter taught his little school;
A man severe he was, and ftern to view,
I knew him well, and every truant knew;
Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace
The day's disasters in his morning face;
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