Noble he was, contemning all things mean,
His truth unquestioned, and his soul serene :
Of no man's presence Isaac felt afraid;
At no man's question Isaac looked dismayed:
Shame knew him not, he dreaded no disgrace;
Truth, simple truth, was written in his face :
Yet while the serious thought his soul approved,
Cheerful he seemed, and gentleness he loved :
To bliss domestic he his heart resigned,
And, with the firmest, had the fondest mind :
Were others joyful, he looked smiling on,
And gave allowance where he needed none;
Good he refused with future ill to buy,
Nor knew the joy that caused reflection's sigh;
A friend to virtue, his unclouded breast
No envy stung, no jealousy distressed

(Bane of the poor! that wounds their weaker mind,
Who miss one comfort, that their neighbors find):
Yet far was he from stoic pride removed;
He felt with many, and he warmly loved :
I marked his action when his infant died,
And an old neighbor for offence was tried ;
The still tears, stealing down that furrowed cheek,
Spoke pity, plainer than the tongue can speak.

HIS LAUDABLE PRIDE.

If pride were his, 't was not their vulgar pride, Who, in their base contempt, the great deride; Nor pride in learning, though my clerk agreed, If fate should call him, Ashford might succeed; Nor pride in rustic skill, although he knew More skilful none, and skilled like him but few. But if that spirit in his soul had place, It was the jealous pride that shuns disgrace : A pride in honest fame, by virtue gained, In sturdy boys to virtuous labors trained; Pride in the power that guards his country's coast, And all that Englishmen enjoy and boast; Pride in a life that Slander's tongue defied; In fact, a noble passion, misnamed pride.

HIS RELIGION.

He had no party's rage, no sect'ry's whim ; Christian and countryman was all with him. True to his church he came ; no Sunday shower Kept him at home in that important hour; Nor his firm feet could one persuading sect By the new light to the new way direct; Mine now are faith and hope,' he said; 'adieu ! I fear to lose them in a way so new.'

In times severe, when many a sturdy swain Felt it his pride, his comfort, to complain, Isaac their wants would soothe, his own would hide, And feel in that his comfort and his pride.

HIS THOUGHTS IN THE ALMS-HOUSE.

At length he found, when seventy years were run, His strength departed, and his labor done; His honest fame he yet retained; no more ; His wife was buried, and his children poor; "T was then, a spark of say not discontent Struck on his mind, and thus he gave it vent:

'Kind are your laws ('t is not to be denied), That in yon house for ruined age provide, And just, as kind; when young, we give you all, And then for comforts in our weakness call. Why then this proud reluctance to be fed, To join your poor, and eat the parish bread? But yet I linger, loath with him to live, Who, while he feeds me, is as loath to give ; He who by contract all your paupers took, And gauges stomachs with an anxious look; On some old master I could well depend; See him with joy, and thank him as a friend; But ill on him who doles the day's supply, And counts our chances who at night may die : Yet help me, Heaven! to mourn my lot is vain ; Mine it is not to choose, but to sustain.'

HIS DEATH. HOW MISSED AT CHURCH.

Such were his thoughts, and so resigned he grew; Daily he placed the work-house in his view; But came not there, for sudden was his fate, He dropped expiring at his cottage gate.

I feel his absence in the hours of prayer, And view his seat, and sigh for Isaac there ; I see no more those white locks, thinly spread, Round the bald polish of that honored head; No more that awful glance on playful wight Compelled to kneel and tremble at the sight; To fold his fingers all in dread the while, Till Mister Ashford softened to a smile; No more that meek, that suppliant look in prayer, Nor that pure faith, that gave it force, are there : But he is blest, and I lament no more,

A wise good man, contented to be poor.

THE RAMBLER.

Then died a rambler; not the one who sails And trucks for female favors, beads, and nails; Not one who posts from place to place, of men And manners treating, with a flying pen : Not he who climbs for prospects Snowden's height, And chides the clouds, that intercept the sight; No curious shell, rare plant, or brilliant spar, Enticed our traveller from his home so far; But all the reason by himself assigned For so much rambling was a restless mind; As on, from place to place, without intent, Without reflection, Robin Dingley went.

HOW HE BECAME CRAZED.

Not thus by nature never man was found Less prone to wander from his parish bound; Claudian's old man, to whom all scenes were new, Save those where he and where his apples grew, Resembled Robin, who around would look, And his horizon for the earth's mistook.

To this poor swain a keen attorney came; 'I give thee joy, good fellow, on thy name! The rich old Dingley 's dead; - no child has he, Nor wife, nor will; his all is left for thee; To be his fortune's heir, thy claim is good; Thou hast the name, and we will prove the blood.'

The claim was made; 't was tried, it would not stand;
They proved the blood, but were refused the land.
Assured of wealth, this man of simple heart
To every friend had predisposed a part;
His wife had hopes indulged of various kind;
The three Miss Dingleys had their school assigned,
Masters were sought for what each Miss required,
And books were bought, and harpsichords were hired;
So high was hope the failure touched his brain,
And Robin never was himself again :
Yet he no wrath, no angry wish expressed,
But tried in vain to labor or to rest;

Then cast his bundle on his back, and went
He knew not whither, nor for what intent.

A POOR SAILOR.

Years fled; of Robin all remembrance past, When home he wandered in his rags at last : A sailor's jacket on his limbs was thrown, A sailor's story he had made his own; Had suffered battles, prisons, tempests, storms, Encountering death in all his ugliest forms; His cheeks were haggard, hollow was his eye, Where madness lurked, concealed in misery; Want and the ungentle world had taught a part, And prompted cunning to that simple heart: 'He now bethought him he would roam no more, But live at home and labor as before.'

Here clothed and fed, no sooner he began
To round and redden than away he ran :
His wife was dead, their children past his aid,
So unmolested from his home he strayed:
Six years elapsed, when, worn with want and pain,
Came Robin, wrapt in all his rags again :-
We chide, we pity; - placed among our poor,
He fed again, and was a man once more.

As when a gaunt and hungry fox is found,
Entrapped alive, in some rich hunter's ground,
Fed for the field, although each day's a feast,
Fatten you may, but never tame the beast;
An house protects him, savory meats sustain,
But loose his neck, and off he goes again :
So stole our vagrant from his warm retreat,
To rove a prowler, and be deemed a cheat.

HIS DEATH.

Hard was his fare: for him at length we saw In cart conveyed, and laid supine on straw: His feeble voice now spoke a sinking heart; His groans now told the motions of the cart: And thus he rose, but tried in vain to stand; Closed was his eye, and clenched his clammy hand; Life ebbed apace, and our best aid no more Could his weak sense or dying heart restore : But now he fell a victim to the snare That vile attorneys for the weak prepare; They who, when profit or resentment call, Heed not the groaning victim they enthrall.

THE MOTHER'S DEATH.

Then died lamented, in the strength of life, A valued mother and a faithful wife;

Called not away, when time had loosed each hold
On the fond heart, and each desire grew cold;
But when to all that knit us to our kind
She felt fast bound as charity can bind;
Not when the ills of age, its pain, its care,
The drooping spirit for its fate prepare;
And, each affection failing, leaves the heart
Loosed from life's charm, and willing to depart;
But all her ties the strong invader broke,
In all their strength, by one tremendous stroke!
Sudden and swift the eager pest came on,
And all was terror, till all hope was gone;
Was silent terror, where that hope grew weak,
Looked on the sick, and was ashamed to speak.

Slowly they bore, with solemn step, the dead;
When grief grew loud, and bitter tears were shed: —
My part began; a crowd drew near the place,
Awe in each eye, alarm in every face:

So sure the ill, and of so fierce a kind,
That fear with pity mingled in each mind;
Friends with the husband came their griefs to blend,
For Goodman Frankford was to all a friend.

GRIEF OF HER FAMILY. CHILDREN AT THE GRAVE.

The last-born boy they held above the bier : He knew not grief, but cries expressed his fear; Each different age and sex revealed its pain, In now a louder, now a lower strain ; While the meek father, listening to their tones, Swelled the full cadence of the grief by groans. The elder sister strove her pangs to hide, And soothing words to younger minds applied. "Be still, be patient,' oft she strove to say, But failed as oft, and weeping turned away. Curious and sad, upon the fresh-dug hill, The village lads stood melancholy still; And idle children, wandering to and fro, As nature guided, took the tone of woe.

THE DEAD MOTHER MISSED. USE OF SORROW.

Arrived at home, how then they gazed around, In every place where she no more was found! The seat at table she was wont to fill; The fireside chair, still set, but vacant still; The garden walks, a labor all her own; The lattice bower, with trailing shrubs o'ergrown ; The Sunday pew she filled with all her race; — Each place of hers was now a sacred place, That, while it called up sorrows in the eyes, Pierced the full heart, and forced them still to rise. O sacred Sorrow! by whom souls are tried, Sent not to punish mortals, but to guide; If thou art mine (and who shall proudly dare To tell his Maker he has had his share?), Still let me feel for what thy pangs are sent, And be my guide, and not my punishment!

THE MIDWIFE.

Of Leah Cousins next the name appears, With honors crowned, and blest with length of years, Save that she lived to feel, in life's decay, The pleasure die, the honors drop away:

DOCTOR GLIB BECOMES THE FASHION.

Fame (now his friend), Fear, Novelty, and Whim, And Fashion, sent the varying sex to him: From this contention in the village rose, And these the dame espoused, the doctor those; The wealthier part to him and science went, With luck and Leah the poor remained content. The matron sighed; for she was vexed at heart, With so much profit, so much fame, to part.

'So long successful in my art,' she cried, And this proud man, so young, and so untried!'

DR. GLIB'S PLEA.

'Nay, but,' he said, and dare you trust your The joy, the pride, the solace, of your lives, [wives, To one who acts and knows no reason why, But trusts, poor hag! to luck for an ally? Who, on experience, can her claims advance, And own the powers of Accident and Chance? A whining dame, who prays in danger's view (A proof she knows not what beside to do); What's her experience? in the time that's gone, Blundering she wrought, and still she blunders on : And what is Nature? One who acts in aid Of gossips half asleep, and half afraid; With such allies I scorn my fame to blend, — Skill is my luck, and Courage is my friend: No slave to nature, 't is my chief delight To win my way and act in her despite. Trust, then, my art, that, in itself complete, Needs no assistance, and fears no defeat.'

THE MIDWIFE'S PLEA.

Warmed by her well-spiced ale, and aiding pipe, The angry matron grew for contest ripe.

'Can you,' she said, ungrateful and unjust, Before experience ostentation trust? What is your hazard, foolish daughters, tell? If safe, you're certain; if secure, you're well : That I have luck, must friend and foe confess, And what's good judgment but a lucky guess? He boasts but what he can do:- will you run From me, your friend, who all he boasts have done? By proud and learned words his powers are known; By healthy boys and handsome girls, my own: Wives! fathers! children! by my help you live; Has this pale doctor more than life to give? No stunted cripple hops the village round; Your hands are active, and your heads are sound; My lads are all your fields and flocks require : My lasses all those sturdy lads admire : Can this proud leech, with all his boasted skill, Amend the soul or body, wit or will? Does he for courts the sons of farmers frame, Or make the daughter differ from the dame? Or, whom he brings into this world of woe, Prepares he them their part to undergo? If not, this stranger from your doors repel, And be content to be, and to be well.'

SHE IS SUPPLANTED, AND TAKES TO DRINK. She spake but, ah! with words too strong and

plain;

Her warmth offended, and her truth was vain :
The many left her, and the friendly few,
If never colder, yet they older grew;
Till, unemployed, she felt her spirits droop,
And took, insidious aid! the inspiring cup;
Grew poor and peevish as her powers decayed,
And propped the tottering frame with stronger aid;
Then died! I saw our careful swains convey
From this our changeful world the matron's clay,
Who to this world, at least, with equal care,
Brought them its changes, good and ill, to share.

'Is this a landman's love? be certain, then, We part forever!'-and they cried, Amen!

His words were truth's some forty summers fled, His brethren died; his kin supposed him dead : Three nephews these, one sprightly niece, and one Less near in blood; they called him Surly John. He worked in woods apart from all his kind; Fierce were his looks, and moody was his mind. For home the sailor now began to sigh:'The dogs are dead, and I'll return and die; When all I have, my gains in years of care, The younger Cuffs with kinder souls shall share ;

Yet hold! I'm rich; - with one consent they'll

say,

"You're welcome, uncle, as the flowers in May."
No; I'll disguise me, be in tatters dressed,
And best befriend the lads who treat me best.'
Now all his kindred, neither rich nor poor,
Kept the wolf Want some distance from the door.
In piteous plight he knocked at George's gate,
And begged for aid, as he described his state.
But stern was George:Let them who had thee
strong

Help thee to drag thy weakened frame along :
To us a stranger while your limbs would move;
From us depart, and try a stranger's love :-
Ha! dost thou murmur?'-for in Roger's throat
Was 'Rascal!' rising, with disdainful note.

To pious James he then his prayer addressed. 'Good lack,' quoth James, 'thy sorrows pierce my breast;

And had I wealth, as have my brethren twain,
One board should feed us, and one roof contain:
But plead I will thy cause, and I will pray :
And so, farewell! Heaven help thee on thy way!'
'Scoundrel!' said Roger (but apart), and told
His case to Peter; Peter too was cold :-

The rates are high; we have a-many poor;
But I will think he said, and shut the door.

Then the gay niece the seeming pauper pressed : Turn, Nancy, turn, and view this form distressed; Akin to thine is this declining frame, And this poor beggar claims an uncle's name.' 'Avaunt! begone!' the courteous maiden said, Thou vile impostor! Uncle Roger's dead; I hate thee, beast! thy look my spirit shocks; O! that I saw thee starving in the stocks! 'My gentle niece!' he said, and sought the wood. 'I hunger, fellow! prithee, give me food!'

'Give! am I rich? this hatchet take and try Thy proper strength, nor give those limbs the lie ; 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.'

HIS REVENGE.

'Come, Surly John, thy wealthy kinsman view,' Old Roger said; thy words are brave and true. Come, live with me; we 'll vex those scoundrel 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
One meal or shelter for one moment there.

THE SEXTON.

My record ends :- - but, hark! ev'n 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 seemed to dwell: Yet death of man proclaim these heavy chimes, For thrice they sound, with pausing space three 'Go, of my sexton seek whose days are sped.' [times. "What! he himself! - and is old Dibble dead?' His eightieth year he reached, still undecayed, And rectors five to one close vault conveyed: But he is gone; his care and skill I lose, And gain a mournful subject for my muse: His masters lost he'd oft in turn deplore, And kindly add, 'Heaven grant I lose no more!' Yet while he spake a sly and pleasant glance Appeared at variance with his complaisance : For, as he told their fate and varying worth, He archly looked, 'I yet may bear thee forth.'

PARSON ADDLE.

When first' (he so began) 'my trade I plied, Good master Addle was the parish guide; His clerk and sexton I beheld with fear, His stride majestic, and his frown severe ; A nobler pillar of the church he stood, Adorned with college gown and parish hood; Then, as he paced the hallowed aisles about, He filled the seven-fold surplice fairly out: But in his pulpit, wearied down with prayer, He sat, and seemed as in his study's chair; For while the anthem swelled, and when it ceased, The expecting people viewed their slumbering priest; Who, dozing, died.

PARSON PEELE.

Our parson Peele was next;
"I will not spare you," was his favorite text:
Nor did he spare, but raised them inany a pound;
Ev'n me he mulct for my poor rood of ground;
Yet cared he naught, 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 offered both to rich and poor;

His scorn, his love, in playful words he spoke ;
His pity, praise, and promise, were a joke:
But though so young, and blest with spirits high,
He died as grave as any judge could die :
The strong attack subdued his lively powers,
His was the grave, and Doctor Grandspear ours.

PARSON GRANDSPEAR.

How does my sexton? What! the times are hard;
Drive that stout pig and pen him in thy yard."
But most his reverence loved a mirthful jest:
"Thy coat is thin; why, man, thou'rt barely drest;
It's worn to the thread! but I have nappy beer;
Clap that within, and see how they will wear." [past:
'Gay days were these: but they were quickly
When first he came we found he could n't last :
An whoreson cough (and at the fall of leaf)
Upset him quite :- but what's the gain of grief?

THE BOOKISH PARSON.

Then came the Author Rector; his delight
Was all in books; to read them or to write :
Women and men he strove alike to shun,

And hurried homeward when his tasks were done ;
Courteous enough, but careless what he said,
For points of learning he reserved his head;
And when addressing either poor or rich,
He knew no better than his cassock which;
He, like an osier, was of pliant kind,
Erect by nature, but to bend inclined;
Not like a creeper falling to the ground,
Or meanly catching on the neighbors round;
Careless was he of surplice, hood, and band,
And kindly took them as they came to hand;
Nor, like the doctor, wore a world of hat,
As if he sought for dignity in that:
He talked, he gave, but not with cautious rules,
Nor turned from gypsies, vagabonds, or fools;
It was his nature, but they thought it whim,
And so our beaux and beauties turned from him:
Of questions much he wrote, profound and dark,-
How spake the serpent, and where stopped 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 revealed.
He sleeps i' the aisle; but not a stone records
His name or fame, his actions or his words :-
And truth, your reverence, when I look around,
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.

THE CAMBRIDGE PARSON.

'Next came a youth from Cambridge, and, in truth, He was a sober and a comely youth.

He blushed in meekness as a modest man,
And gained attention ere his task began:
When preaching, seldom ventured on reproof,
But touched his neighbors tenderly enough.

'Him, in his youth, a clamorous sect assailed,
Advised, and censured, flattered-and prevailed.
Then did he much his sober hearers vex,
Confound the simple, and the sad perplex;
To a new style his reverence rashly took;
Loud grew his voice, to threatening swelled his look;
Above, below, on either side he gazed,
Amazing all, and most himself amazed:
No more he read his preachments pure and plain,
But launched 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 learned man, and him who loves to know
How and from whence these gusts of
will blow,
grace
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 race."
'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 called it hectic; 't was a fiery flush,
More fixed and deeper than the maiden blush;
His paler lips the pearly teeth disclosed,
And laboring lungs the lengthening speech opposed.
No more his span-girth shanks and quivering thighs
Upheld a body of the smaller size;

But down he sank upon his dying bed,
And gloomy crotchets filled his wandering head.
"Spite of my faith, all-saving faith," he cried,
"I fear of worldly works the wicked pride;
Poor as I am, degraded, abject, blind,
The good I've wrought still rankles in my mind;
My alms-deeds all, and every deed I've done,
My moral rags defile me every one;

It should not be what say'st thou ? tell me, Ralph."
Quoth I, "Your reverence, I believe you 're safe;
Your faith 's your prop, nor have you passed such
In life's good works as swell them to a crime." [time
"If I of pardon for my sins were sure,
About my goodness I would rest secure."

'Such was his end; and mine approaches fast;
I've seen my best of preachers, and my last.'
He bowed, and archly smiled at what he said,
Civil, but sly, 'And is old Dibble dead?'

CONCLUSION OF THE REGISTER.

Yes! he is gone and we are going all;
Like flowers we wither, and like leaves we fall:
Here with an infant joyful sponsors come,
Then bear the new-made Christian to its home:
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, while parents them and us forsake ;
Thus brides again and bridegrooms blithe shall
kneel,

By love or law compelled their vows to seal,
Ere I again, or one like me, explore
These simple annals of the VILLAGE POOR.