How often have I paused on every charm ;-
The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm,
The never-failing brook, the busy mill,
The decent church that topped the neighbouring
hill;
The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,
For talking age and whispering lovers made!
How often have I blessed the coming day,
When toil, remitting, lent its turn to play;
And all the village train,* from labour free,
Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree;
While many a pastime circled in the shade,
The young contending,* as the old surveyed;
And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground,
And sleights of art and feats of strength went
round;
And still, as each repeated pleasure tired,
Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired :
The dancing pair, that simply sought renown
By holding out to tire each other down;
The swain, mistrustless* of his smutted face,
While secret laughter tittered round the place;
The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love;
The matron's glance that would those looks re- 30
These were thy charms, sweet village! sports like
With sweet succession, taught e'en toil to please. Sweet was the sound, when oft, at evening's close,
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose ;
There as I passed, with careless steps and slow,
The mingling notes came softened from below:-
The swain, responsive as the milk-maid sung;
The sober herd, that lowed to meet their young;
The noisy geese, that gabbled o'er the pool;
The playful children, just let loose from school; 40
The watch-dog's voice, that bayed* the whispering
And the loud laugh, that spoke the vacant
These all, in sweet confusion, sought the shade,
And filled each pause the nightingale had made.
Near yonder copse,* where once the garden smiled, 45
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,
50 And passing * rich with forty pounds a year;
Remote from towns he ran his godly race,
Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his
place.
Unskilful he to fawn,* or seek for power,
By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour;
For other aims his heart had learned to prize,
More bent * to raise the wretched, than to rise.
His house was known to all the vagrant * train;
He chid their wanderings, but relieved their
pain.
The long-remembered beggar was his guest,
60 Whose beard descending swept his aged breast;
The ruined spendthrift,* now no longer proud,
Claimed kindred there, and had his claim allowed;
The broken soldier,* kindly bade to stay,
Sat by his fire and talked the night away,
65 Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done,
Shouldered his crutch, and showed * how fields
were won!
Showed,
through a mimic
charge to show
Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to how battles were
glow,*
And quite forgot their vices, in their woe;
Careless their merits or their faults to scan,*
70 His pity gave, ere charity began.
Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride,
And even his failings leaned to virtue's side ;
But, in his duty prompt at every call,
Glow, to grow
warm with kindly interest.
Scan, to examine carefully.
Prompt, always ready when asked
He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all: to help the poor.
75 And, as a bird each fond endearment tries
To tempt her new-fledged offspring to the skies,
He tried each art, reproved each dull delay,
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.
Beside the bed where parting life was laid,
80 And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismayed,
The reverend champion stood. At his control,
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul;
Comfort came down* the trembling wretch to
raise,
And his last faltering 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 scoff,* remained to pray.
The service past, around the pious man,
90 With ready zeal, each honest rustic* ran;
Reverend, deserv-
ing respect.
Came down, grace
of repentance
came from
heaven.
Double sway, this means that he practised what he preached.
Scoff, to jeer, to make game of. Rustic, a country
Yon, yonder. Straggling, irregular, not cut evenly.
Furze, a prickly evergreen plant, with yellow flowers.
beforehand what was to happen. Counterfeited, pretended.
Even children followed with endearing wile,
And plucked his gown, to share the good man's
smile :
His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed,
Their welfare pleased him, and their cares dis-
tressed;
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, 95
But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven :
As some tall cliff,* that lifts its awful form,
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are
spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head.
Beside yon* straggling* fence that skirts the
With blossomed furze * unprofitably gay,
There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule,
The village master taught his little school.
A man severe he was, and stern to view;
I knew him well, and every truant knew ;
Boding, knowing Well had the boding* tremblers learned to trace
The day's disasters in his morning face:
Full well they laughed with counterfeited* glee
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he :
Full well the busy whisper, circling round,
&c., Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned.
Yet he was kind, or if severe in aught,
The love he bore to learning was in fault;
The village all declared how much he knew—
'Twas certain he could write, and cipher too;
Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage,*
And e'en the story ran that he could gauge.*
In arguing, too, the parson owned his skill,
Conveyed,
the bad news was
whispered from
one to another.
Presage, to calcu
late beforehand. Gauge, to meaof any vessel. Vanquished, defeated.
sure the contents
They gazed, &c., they
the more
heard, the more they wondered.
For e'en though vanquished,* he could argue still; 120 While words of learned length and thundering sound
Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around:
And still they gazed,* and still the wonder grew
That one small head should carry all he knew.
But past is all his fame. The very spot
Where many a time he triumphed is forgot.
YOUTH AND AGE.-Coleridge.
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE (1772-1834) was the son of a Devonshire clergyman, and was educated at Christ's Hospital and Cambridge. He was strongly influenced in his poetry by his philosophical studies, and had an intellect of extraordinary range. Chief poems: Genevieve, The Ancient Mariner, Christabel, and Odes.
YOUTH, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying,
Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee—
Both were mine! Life went a Maying,
With Nature, Hope, and Poesy,
When I was young!
When I was young-Ah, woful When !
Ah! for the change 'twixt Now and Then!
This breathing house* not built with hands,
This body that does me grievous wrong,
O'er airy cliffs and glittering sands,
How lightly then it flashed along :—
Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore,*
On winding lakes and rivers wide,
That ask no aid of sail or oar,
15 That fear no spite of wind or tide!
Nought cared this body for wind or weather,
When Youth and I lived in't together.
Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like;
Friendship is a sheltering tree;
Oh the joys, that came down shower-like,
Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty,
Ere I was old? Ah, woful Ere, Which tells me, Youth's no longer here ! 25 O Youth! for years so many and sweet, "Tis known that thou and I were one, I'll think it but a fond conceit
It cannot be, that thou art gone!
Thy vesper-bell* hath not yet tolled,
30 And thou wert aye* a masker * bold!
What strange disguise hast thou put on,
To make believe, that thou art gone?
I see these locks in silvery slips,
This drooping gait,* this altered size :
35 But springtide blossoms on thy lips,
And tears take sunshine from thine eyes!
Life is but thought: so think I will
That Youth and I are housemates still.
Dewdrops are the gems of morning,
But the tears of mournful eve!
Where no hope is, life's a warning,
That only serves to make us grieve,
That only serves to make us grieve
With oft and tedious * taking-leave,
Like some poor nigh-related guest,
Dismist, sent away. That may not rudely be dismist.
Yet hath outstayed his welcome while,
And tells the jest without the smile.
EDGAR ALLAN POE (1811-1849) was an American poet, and possessed of considerable originality. He was the son of a strolling player, on whose death he was adopted by Mr. Allan, a rich merchant. He died from the effects of intemperance and dissipation.
HEAR the sledges * with the bells*
Silver bells!
The bells, when heard What a world of merriment * their melody foretells!
in the frosty air,
have a merry tinkling
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars that over-sprinkle
All the heavens seem to twinkle
With a crystalline * delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,*
peculiar to the lan- To the tintinnabulation * that so musically wells
Harmony, musical concord.
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells,
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
Hear the mellow wedding bells,
What a world of happiness their harmony * foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten golden notes,
And all in tune,
What a liquid ditty * floats
Gloats, to stare with To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats *
eagerness.
Euphony, pleasant
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
Voluminously, copi- What a gush of euphony* voluminously* wells!
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