dress'd ; To pious James he then his prayer ad-Yet death of man proclaim these heavy chimes, Good-lack, quoth James, thy sorrows pierce For thrice they sound, with pausing space, my breast; three times. And, had I wealth, as have my brethren Go; of my sexton seek, Whose days are twain, Then the gay Niece the seeming pauper press'd: Turn, Nancy, turn, and view this form distress'd: Akin to thine is this declining frame, I hunger, fellow; prithee, give me food! Work, feed thyself, to thine own powers appeal, Nor whine out woes, thine own right-hand can heal: And while that hand is thine and thine a leg, Scorn of the proud or of the base to beg.Come, surly John, thy wealthy kinsman view, Old Roger said :-thy words are brave and true; Come, live with me: we'll vex those scoun drel-boys, And that prim shrew shall, envying, hear our joys.Tobacco's glorious fume all day we'll share, With beef and brandy kill all kinds of care; We'll beer and biscuit on our table heap, And rail at rascals, till we fall asleep.Such was their life: but when the woodman died, His grieving kin for Roger's smiles applied. In vain; he shut, with stern rebuke, the door, And dying, built a refuge for the poor; With this restriction: That no Cuff should share sped?— What! he, himself!—and is old Dibble dead? His eightieth year he reach'd, still undecay'd, And rectors five to one close vault convey'd : But he is gone; his care and skill I lose, Yet, while he spake, a sly and pleasant glance Th' expecting people view'd their slumbering priest: Who, dozing, died.—Our Parson Peele was next; I will not spare you, was his favourite text; Nor did he spare, but raised them many a pound; Ev'n me he mulct for my poor rood of ground; Yet cared he nought, but with a gibing speech, What should I do, quoth he, but what I preach? His piercing jokes (and he'd a plenteous store) Were daily offer'd both to rich and poor; He died as grave as any judge could die: ours. Then were there golden times the village round; In his abundance all appear'd t' abound; One meal, or shelter for one moment there. Liberal and rich, a plenteous board he spread, E'en cool Dissenters at his table fed; Who wish'd, and hoped,—and thought a man so kind A way to Heaven, though not their own. might find; To them, to all, he was polite and free, Kind to the poor, and, ah! most kind to My record ends: — But hark! e'en now I hear The bell of death, and know not whose to fear: Our farmers all and all our hinds were well; In no man's cottage danger seem'd to dwell: me: Gay days were these; but they were quickly past: When first he came, we found he could not last: A whoreson cough (and at the fall of leaf) Upset him quite-but what's the gain of grief? Then came the Author-Rector: his delight Courteous enough, but careless what he said, Careless was he of surplice, hood, and band,— Nor turn'd from gipsies, vagabonds, or fools; of questions, much he wrote, profound and dark,How spake the Serpent, and where stopp'd the Ark; From what far land the Queen of Sheba came; Who Salem's priest, and what his father's name; He made the Song of Songs its mysteries yield, And Revelations, to the world, reveal'd. And mark the tombs in our sepulchral ground, (Though dare I not of one man's hope to doubt) I'd join the party who repose without. He blush'd in meekness as a modest man, And gain'd attention ere his task began; When preaching, seldom ventured on reproof, But touch'd his neighbours tenderly enough. Him, in his youth, a clamorous sect assail'd, Advised and censured, flatter'd, and prevail'd. Then did he much his sober hearers vex, Above, below, on either side, he gazed, But launch'd outright and rose and sank again: At times he smiled in scorn, at times he wept, And such sad coil with words of vengeance kept, That our best sleepers started as they slept. Conviction comes like lightning, he would cry; In vain you seek it, and in vain you fly; "Tis like the rushing of the mighty wind, Unseen its progress, but its power you find; It strikes the child ere yet its reason wakes; His reason fled, the ancient sire it shakes; The proud, learn'd man, and him who loves to know How and from whence these gusts of grace will blow, It shuns, — but sinners in their way impedes, And sots and harlots visits in their deeds: Of faith and penance it supplies the place; Assures the vilest that they live by grace, And, without running, makes them win the Such was the doctrine our young prophet taught; And here conviction, there confusion wrought; When his thin cheek assumed a deadly hue, And all the rose to one small spot withdrew: They call'd it hectic; 'twas a fiery flush, More fix'd and deeper than the maiden-blush; His paler lips the pearly teeth disclosed, And lab'ring lungs the length'ning speech opposed. No more his span-girth shanks and quiv'ring thighs Upheld a body of the smaller size; Spite of my faith, all-saving faith, he cried, My alms-deeds all, and every deed I've done, Your faith's your prop, nor have you pass'd | Here, with an infant, joyful sponsors come, Then bear the new-made Christian to its home; such time In life's good-works as swell them to crime. a A few short years and we behold him stand, To ask a blessing, with his bride in hand: A few, still seeming shorter, and we hear His widow weeping at her husband's bier :Thus,as the months succeed, shall infants take Their names; thus parents shall the child forsake; Thus brides again and bridegrooms blithe shall kneel, By love or law compell'd their vows to seal, THE LIBRAR Y. WHEN the sad soul, by care and grief oppress'd, Looks round the world, but looks in vain for rest; When every object that appears in view, Sighs through the grove and murmurs in the stream; For when the soul is labouring in despair, seas, He dreads the tempest, but invokes the breeze; On the smooth mirror of the deep resides Those lenient cares, which, with our own combined, By mix'd sensations ease th' afflicted mind, And steal our grief away and leave their own behind; A lighter grief! which feeling hearts endure Without regret, nor e'en demand a cure. But what strange art, what magic can dispose The troubled mind to change its native woes? Or lead us willing from ourselves, to see Others more wretched, more undone than we? This books can do ;-nor this alone; they give New views to life, and teach us how to live; They soothe the grieved, the stubborn they chastise, Fools they admonish, and confirm the wise: Their aid they yield to all: they never shun The man of sorrow, nor the wretch undone: Unlike the hard, the selfish, and the proud, They fly not sullen from the suppliant crowd; Nor tell to various people various things, But show to subjects, what they show to kings. Come, Child of Care! to make thy soul serene; Approach the treasures of this tranquil scene; Survey the dome, and, as the doors unfold, The soul's best cure, in all her cares, behold! Where mental wealth the poor in thought may find, And mental physic the diseased in mind; See here the balms that passion's wounds Now bid thy soul man's busy scenes exclude, | Whether 'tis yours to lead the willing mind sound, Here all the living languages abound: To stamp a lasting image of the mind!— Beasts may convey, and tuneful birds may sing, Their mutual feelings, in the opening spring; But man alone has skill and power to send The heart's warm dictates to the distant friend: Or whether, led by science, ye retire, Or godlike wisdom teaches you to show Lo! all in silence, all in order stand, And mighty folios first, a lordly band; tain, 'Tis his alone to please, instruct, advise Because the hope is his, that bids him fly Night's soft repose, and sleep's mild power defy; That after-ages may repeat his praise, Shall all our labour, all our care repay. Nay, man's best efforts taste of man, and show The poor and troubled source from which they flow: Where most he triumphs, we his wants perceive, And for his weakness in his wisdom grieve. But though imperfect all, yet wisdom loves This seat serene,and virtue's self approves :Here come the grieved, a change of thought to find; The curious here, to feed a craving mind; Here the devout their peaceful temple choose; And here the poet meets his favouring muse. With awe around these silent walks I tread; These are the lasting mansions of the dead:The dead!—methinks a thousand tongues reply; These are the tombs of such as cannot die! Crown'd with eternal fame, they sit sublime, And laugh at all the little strife of time. Hail, then, immortals! ye who shine above, Fach, in his sphere, the literary Jove; And ye the common people of these skies, A humbler crowd of nameless deities ; And light octavos fill a spacious plain : In leagued assembly keep their cumbrous Are much admired, and are but little read: The commons next, a middle rank, are found; Professions fruitful pour their offspring round; Reasoners and wits are next their place allow'd, And last, of vulgar tribes a countless crowd. First, let us view the form, the size, the dress; For these the manners, nay the mind express; That weight of wood, with leathern coat o'erlaid; Those ample clasps, of solid metal made; The close-press'd leaves, unclosed for many an age; The dull red edging of the well-fill'd page; Nor one light sentence claims a transient smile. Hence, in these times, untouch'd the pages lie, By patient hope and length of days endear'd : ous race, Princes and kings received the pond'rous gift, | Not truths like these inspired that numer- fools, Rules e'en the wisest, and in learning rules; Safe in themselves the once-loved works remain ; Awaked to war the long-contending foes. And wars on faith prevented works of love; With wit disgusting and despised without; No readers now invade their still retreat, pen. Methinks I see, and sicken at the sight, Spirits of spleen from yonder pile alight; Spirits who prompted every damning page, With pontiff-pride and still-increasing rage: Lo! how they stretch their gloomy wings around, And lash with furious strokes the trembling ground! They pray, they fight, they murder, and they weep, Wolves in their vengeance, in their manners Too well they act the prophet's fatal part, Here all the rage of controversy ends, Against her foes Religion well defends If learn'd, their pride, if weak, their zeal Only to fight against its precepts more. names; |