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And still, as each repeated pleasure tir'd,
Succeeding sports the m rtbful band inspir'd.
The dancing pair that simply sought renown,
By holling out to tire each other down ;
The swaiu mistrustless of his smutted face,
While secret laughter titter'd round the place ;
The bashful virgin's side-loog looks of love;
The matron's glance that would those looks re-

prove ;
These were thy charms, sweet village ! sports

like these, With sweet succession, taught ev'ı toil to please; These round thy bowers their cheerful influ

ence shed, These were thy charms but all these charms

are fled.
Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn,
Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms with

Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen,
And Desolation saddeps all thy green :
One only master grasps the whole domain,
And balf a tillage stints thy smiling plain;
No more thy glassy brook reflects the day,
But, choak'd with sedges, works its weedy way;
Along thy glades, a solitary guest,

The hollow-sounding bittero guards its Dest;
Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies,
And tires their echoes with unvaried cries ;
Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all,
And the long grass o'ertops the mould'ring wall,
And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand-



Far, far away thy children leave the land.

Ill fares the land, to hast’niog ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates, and med decay. Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade ; A breath can make them, as a breath has made : But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, When once destroy'd, can never be supplied.

A time there was, ere England's griefs began, When every rood of grouod maintaiu'd its man ; For bim light Labor spread her wholsome store, Just gave what life requir’d, but gave no more : His best companions, innocence and health; And bis best riches, igoorance of wealth.

But times are alter'd; trade's upfeeling train Usurp the land, and dispossess the swain ; Along the lawn, where sca'ter'd hamlets rose, Uowieldy wealth and cumb’rous pomp repose ; And every want to luxury allied, And every pang that folly pays to pride. Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, Those calm desires that ask'd but little room, s'hose healthful sports that grac'd the peaceful

scene, Lir'd in each look, and brighten'd all the green ; These, far departing, seek a kinder shore, And rural mirth and manners are no more.

Sweet Auburn, parent of the blissful hour, Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's pow Here, as I take my solitary rouods, Amidst thy tangling walks, and ruin'd grounds, And, many a year elaps'd return to view Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew,

Remembrance wakes with all her busy traio,
Swells at my breast, and turns the past to paio.
In all my wand'rinys through this world of

In all my griefs--and God has giv'o my share
I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown,
Amidst these hurr.ble bowers to lay me dowo;
To husband out life's taper at the close,
Aud keep the flame from wasting by repose :
I still had hopes, for pride attends us still,
Amidst the swains to show my book-learn’d skill;
Around my fire an evening group to draw,
And tell of all I felt, and all I saw :
And, as a hare whom hounds and horns pursue,
Pants to the place from whence at first she flew,
I still had hopes, my long vexatious past,
Here to return-and die at home at last.
O blest retirement, friend to life's decline,
Retreat from cares, that never must be mine,
How blest is he who crowns, in shades like these,
A youth of labor with an age of ease;
Who quits a world where strong temptations try,
And, since, 'is hard to combat, learns to fly!
For him no wretches, born to work and weep,
Explore the mine, or tempt the dang'rous deep;
No surly porter stands in guilty state,
To spurn imploring famive from the gate;
But on be moves to meet his latter end,
Angels around befriending virtue's friend ;
Sinks to the grave with upperceiv'd decay,
While resignation geotly slopes the way ;
And, all his prospects bright'ning to the last,

His heaven commences ere the world be past. Sweet was the sound, when oft, at ev’aing's

close, Up youder bill the village murmur rose; There, as I pass'd with careless steps and slow, The mingling notes came soften'd from below; The swain responsive as the milk-maid sung, The sober herd that low'd to meet their young, The voisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, The playful children just let loose from school, The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whisp'ring

And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind i
These all in sweet confusion sought the shade,
And fill'd each pause the nightingale had made.
But now the sounds of population fail,
No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale,
No busy steps the grass-grown


But all the blooming flush of life is fled ;
All but yon widow'd, solitary thing,
That feebly bends beside the plashy spring;
She, wretched matron, forc'd in age, for bread,
To strip the.brook with mantling cresses spread,
To pick her wintry faggot from the thorn,
To seek her nightly shed, and weep

till moro ; She only left of all the harmless traio, The sad historian of the pensive plain. Near yonder copse, where once the garden

smild, Add still where many a garden flower grow?

wild ;


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There, where a few torn shrubs the place dis

close, 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 bis godly race, Nor ere had chang'd, nor wish'd to change, his

place; Upskilful he to fawn, or seek for power By doctripes fashion's to the varying hour; Far other aims his heart had learu'd io prize, More beot to raise the wretched than to rise. His house was koown to all the vagrant train, He chid their wand'rines, but reliev'd their pain: The long remember'd beggar was his guiest, Whose beard descending swept bis aged breast; The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, Claim'd kindred there, and had bis claims allow'd; The broken soldier, kindly bid to stay, Sat by his fire, and talk'il the night away; Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done, Shoulder'd his crutch, and show'd how fields

were won.

Pleas'd with bis guests, the good man learn'd to

And quite forget their vices in their woe;
Careless their merits or their iaulis to scau,
His pity gave ere charity began.

Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride,
And even his failings lean’d to virtue's side ;
But in his duty prompt at every call,
He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt, for all.

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