Sweet Auburn! parent of the blissful hour, Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's power. Here, as I take my solitary rounds, Amidst thy tangling walks and ruin'd grounds, And, many a year elaps'd return to view Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grewRemembrance wakes with all her busy train, Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain. In all my wand'rings round this world of care, In all my griefs-and God has given my share I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown, I still had hopes, for pride attends us still, And tell of all I felt, and all I saw ; And, as an hare, whom hounds and horns pursue, O bless'd retirement, friend to life's decline, Retreats from care, that never must be mine? How blest is he who crowns, in shades like these, Who quits a world where strong temptations try— Sweet was the sound, when oft at evening's close Up yonder hill the village murmur rose. There, as I pass'd with careless steps and slow, MASON The swain responsive as the milk-maid sung, The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale, No busy steps the grass-grown footway tread, The sad historian of the pensive plain! Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wildThere, 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 passing rich with forty pounds a year. Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wish'd to change, his place; Unpractised he to fawn, or seek for power, By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour, Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prizeMore bent to raise the wretched than to rise. His house was known to all the vagrant train; He chid their wanderings, but reliev'd their pain: The long-remember'd beggar was his guest, Whose beard descending swept his aged breast; The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd; |