-Yet cause was none, whate'er regret might hang On his own mind, to quarrel with the choice Or the necessity that fixed him here; Apart from old temptations, and constrained To punctual labour in his sacred charge. See him a constant Preacher to the Poor! And visiting, though not with saintly zeal Yet when need was with no reluctant will, The sick in body, or distressed in mind; And, by as salutary change, compelled, Month after month, in that obscure Abode To rise from timely sleep, and meet the day With no engagement, in his thoughts, more proud Or splendid than his garden could afford,
His fields,—or mountains by the heath-cock ranged,
Or these wild brooks; from which he now returned
Contentedly, to take a temperate meal
At his own board, where sate his gentle Mate
And three fair Children, plentifully fed
Though simply, from their little household farm ;
With acceptable treat of fish or fowl
By nature yielded to his practised hand,
To help the small but certain comings-in
Of that spare Benefice. Yet not the less
Their's was a hospitable board, and their's
A charitable door. So days and years
Passed on ;—the inside of that rugged House
Was trimmed and brightened by the Matron's care,
And gradually enriched with things of price,
Which might be lacked for use or ornament.
What, though no soft and costly sofa there
Insidiously stretched out its lazy length,
And no vain mirror glittered on the walls,
Yet were the windows of the low Abode
By shutters weather-fended, which at once
Repelled the storm and deadened its loud roar.
There, snow-white curtains hung in decent folds
Tough moss, and long-enduring mountain-plants,
That creep along the ground with sinuous trail,
Were nicely braided, and composed a work
Like Indian mats, that with appropriate grace
Lay at the threshold and the inner doors.
And a fair carpet, woven of home-spun wool,
But tinctured daintily with florid hues,
For seemliness and warmth, on festive days, Covered the smooth blue slabs of mountain stone
With which the parlour-floor, in simplest guise
Of pastoral home-steads, had been long inlaid.
-These pleasing works the Housewife's skill produced:
Meanwhile, the unsedentary Master's hand
Was busier with his task, to rid, to plant,
To rear for food, for shelter, and delight ;
A thriving covert! And when wishes, formed
In youth, and sanctioned by the riper mind,
Restored me to my native Valley, here
To end my days; well pleased was I to see
The once-bare Cottage, on the mountain-side,
Screened from assault of every bitter blast;
While the dark shadows of the summer leaves
Danced in the breeze, upon its
mossy roof.
Time, which had thus afforded willing help
To beautify with Nature's fairest growth
This rustic Tenement, had gently shed,
Upon its Master's frame, a wintry grace;
The comeliness of unenfeebled age.
But how could I say, gently? for he still
Retained a flashing eye, a burning palm,
A stirring foot, and head which beat at nights
Upon its pillow with a thousand schemes.
Few likings had he dropped, few pleasures lost;
Generous and charitable, prompt to serve;
And still his harsher passions kept their hold,
Anger and indignation; still he loved
The sound of titled names, and talked in glee
Of long-past banquetings with high-born Friends:
Then, from those lulling fits of vain delight
Uproused by recollected injury, railed
At their false ways disdainfully,—and oft
In bitterness, and with a threatening eye
Of fire, incensed beneath its hoary brow.
-These transports, with staid looks of pure good will
And with soft smile, his Consort would reprove.
She, far behind him in the race of years,
Yet keeping her first mildness, was advanced
Far nearer, in the habit of her soul,
To that still region whither all are bound.
-Him might we liken to the setting Sun
As I have seen it, on some gusty day,
Struggling and bold, and shining from the west
With an inconstant and unmellowed light.
-She was a soft attendant Cloud, that hung
As if with wish to veil the restless orb;
From which it did itself imbibe a ray
Of pleasing lustre.-But no more of this;
I better love to sprinkle on the sod
Which now divides the Pair, or rather say
Which still unites them, praises, like heaven's dew, Without distinction falling upon both.
-Yoke-fellows were they long and well approved To endure and to perform.
Yet in a course of generous discipline,
Did this poor Churchman and his Consort rear
Their progeny.—Of three-sent forth to try
The paths of fortune in the open world,
One, not endowed with firmness to resist
The suit of pleasure, to his native Vale
Returned, and humbly tilled his Father's glebe.
-The youngest Daughter, too, in duty stayed
To lighten her declining Mother's care.
But, ere the bloom was passed away which health
Preserved to adorn a cheek no longer young,
Her heart, in course of nature, finding place
For new affections, to the holy state
Of wedlock they conducted her; but still
|