NEAR yonder copse,
where once the garden smiled,
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, 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; Far 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, 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,Wept o"er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won. Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, And quite forgot their vices, in their woe;Careless their merits or their faults to scan, 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,He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all: And, as a bird each fond endearment triesTo 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,And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismayed, The reverend champion stood. At his control, Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul;Comfort came downthe 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,With ready zeal, each honest rustic ran; 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 distressed. To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given,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 storm;Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread. Eternal sunshine settles on its head.
- OLIVER GOLDSMITH
