Selections from Five English Poets Part 5

[49.] Forced from their homes. Many Englishmen came to America willingly. The poet fails to understand the adventurous spirit of the emigrant.

[50.] Oswego; Niagara. At this time the regions named were in the wilderness. Note the poet's p.r.o.nunciation of _Niagara_.

[51.] A good each government bestows. It would not be easy to mention the special good bestowed by certain governments; by that of Turkey, for instance.

[52.] Luke's iron crown. George Dosia, with his brother Luke, headed an unsuccessful revolt in Hungary in the sixteenth century.

George--not Luke--was put to death by means of a red-hot iron crown.

In the Middle Ages this punishment was sometimes employed in the case of persons who had attempted to seize the royal power.

[53.] Damiens' bed of steel. Robert Francois Damiens attempted to a.s.sa.s.sinate Louis XV in 1757. Before being put to death he was cruelly tortured, but the "bed of steel" was not used.

THE DESERTED VILLAGE

Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain; Where health and plenty cheered the laboring swain, Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed: Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, 5 Seats of my youth, when every sport could please, How often have I loitered o'er thy green, Where humble happiness endeared each scene!

How often have I paused on every charm, The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm, 10 The never-failing brook, the busy mill, The decent[1] church that topped the neighboring hill, The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, For talking age and whispering lovers made!

How often have I blessed the coming day, 15 When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labor free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree, While many a pastime circled in the shade, The young contending as the old surveyed; 20 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 25 By holding out to tire each other down; The swain mistrustless of his s.m.u.tted face, While secret laughter t.i.ttered round the place; The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love, The matron's glance that would those looks reprove, 30 These were thy charms, sweet village! sports like these, With sweet succession, taught even toil to please: These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed: These were thy charms--but all these charms are fled.

Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn,[2] 35 Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn; Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, And desolation saddens all thy green: One only master[3] grasps the whole domain, And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain. 40 No more thy gla.s.sy brook reflects the day, But, choked with sedges, works its weedy way; Along thy glades, a solitary guest, The hollow sounding bittern guards its nest; Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies, 45 And tires their echoes with unvaried cries; Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all, And the long gra.s.s o'ertops the mouldering wall; And trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand, Far, far away thy children leave the land. 50

Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth acc.u.mulates, and men decay:[4]

Princes and lords may nourish, or may fade; A breath can make them, as a breath has made:[5]

But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, 55 When once destroyed, can never be supplied.

A time there was, ere England's griefs began,[6]

When every rood of ground maintained its man; For him light labor spread her wholesome store, Just gave what life required, but gave no more: 60 His best companions, innocence and health; And his best riches, ignorance of wealth.

But times are altered; trade's unfeeling train Usurp the land and dispossess the swain; Along the lawn, where scattered hamlets rose, 65 Unwieldy wealth and c.u.mbrous pomp repose, And every want to opulence allied, And every pang that folly pays to pride.

These gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, Those calm desires that asked but little room, 70 Those healthful sports that graced the peaceful scene, Lived in each look, and brightened all the green; These, far departing, seek a kinder sh.o.r.e, And rural mirth and manners are no more.

Sweet Auburn! parent of the blissful hour, 75 Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's power.

Here, as I take my solitary rounds Amidst thy tangling walks and ruined grounds, And, many a year elapsed, return to view Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, 80 Remembrance wakes with all her busy train, Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain, In all my wanderings round this world of care, In all my griefs--and G.o.d has given my share-- I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown, 85 Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down; To husband out[7] life's taper at the close, And keep the flame from wasting by repose: I still had hopes, for pride attends us still, Amidst the swains to show my book-learned skill, 90 Around my fire an evening group to draw, And tell of all I felt, and all I saw; And, as an hare[8] whom hounds and horns pursue Pants to[9] the place from whence at first she flew, I still had hopes, my long vexations past, 95 Here to return--and die at home at last.

O blest retirement, friend to life's decline, Retreats from care, that never must be mine, How happy he who crowns in shades like these A youth of labor with an age of ease; 100 Who quits a world where strong temptations try, And, since 't is hard to combat, learns to fly!

For him no wretches, born to work and weep, Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep; No surly porter stands in guilty state,[3] 105 To spurn imploring famine from the gate; But on he moves to meet his latter end, Angels around befriending Virtue's friend; Bends to the grave with unperceived decay, While resignation gently slopes the way; 110 And, all his prospects brightening to the last, His heaven commences ere the world be past!

Sweet was the sound, when oft at evening's close Up, yonder hill the village murmur rose.

There, as I pa.s.sed with careless steps and slow, 115 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, 120 The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind;-- These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, And filled each pause the nightingale had made.

But now the sounds of population fail, 125 No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale, No busy steps the gra.s.s-grown foot-way tread, For all the bloomy flush of life is fled.

All but yon widowed, solitary thing, That feebly bends beside the plashy spring: 130 She, wretched matron, forced in age, for bread, To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread, To pick her wintry f.a.ggot from the thorn, To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn; She only left of all the harmless train, 135 The sad historian of the pensive plain.

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.[11] 140 A man he was to all the country dear, And pa.s.sing[12] rich with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns he ran his G.o.dly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change his place; Unpracticed he to fawn, or seek for power, 145 By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour;[13]

Far other aims his heart had learned to prize, More skilled to raise the wretched than to rise.

His house was known to all the vagrant train; He chid their wanderings but relieved their pain: 150 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 claims allowed; The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, 155 Sat by his fire, and talked the night away, Wept o'er his wounds or tales of sorrow done, Shouldered his crutch and shewed how fields were won, Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe; 160 Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began.[14]

Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings leaned to Virtue's side; But in his duty prompt at every call, 165 He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all; And, as a bird each fond endearment tries To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. 170

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;[15]

Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, 175 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. 180 The service past, around the pious man, With steady 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; 185 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,[16]

Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, 190 Tho' round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head.

Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, With blossomed furze unprofitably gay, There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule, 195 The village master taught his little school.

A man severe he was, and stern to view; I knew him well, and every truant knew: Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace The day's disasters in his morning face; 200 Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee At all his jokes, for many a joke had he; Full well the busy whisper circling round Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned.

Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aught, 205 The love he bore to learning was in fault; The village all declared how much he knew: 'Twas certain he could write, and cypher[17] too; Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage,[18]

And even the story ran that he could gauge:[19] 210 In arguing, too, the parson owned his skill, For, even though vanquished, he could argue still; While words of learned length and thundering sound Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around; And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew, 215 That one small head could carry all he knew.

But past is all his fame. The very spot Where many a time he triumphed is forgot.

Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high, Where once the sign-post caught the pa.s.sing eye, 220 Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspired, Where grey-beard mirth and smiling toil retired, Where village statesmen talked with looks profound, And news much older than their ale went round.

Imagination fondly stoops to trace 225 The parlor splendors of that festive place: The white-washed wall, the nicely sanded floor, The varnished clock that clicked behind the door; The chest contrived a double debt to pay, A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day; 230 The pictures placed for ornament and use, The twelve good rules,[20] the royal game of goose; The hearth, except when winter chilled the day, With aspen boughs and flowers and fennel gay; While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for shew, 235 Ranged o'er the chimney, glistened in a row.

Vain transitory splendors! could not all Reprieve the tottering mansion from its fall?

Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart An hour's importance to the poor man's heart. 240 Thither no more the peasant shall repair To sweet oblivion of his daily care; No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail; No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear, 245 Relax his ponderous strength, and lean to hear; The host himself no longer shall be found Careful to see the mantling bliss go round; Nor the coy maid, half willing to be pressed, Shall kiss the cup to pa.s.s it to the rest. 250

Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, These simple blessings of the lowly train; To me more dear, congenial to my heart, One native charm, than all the gloss of art; Spontaneous joys, where Nature has its play, 255 The soul adopts, and owns their firstborn sway; Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, Unenvied, unmolested, unconfined.

But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, With all the freaks of wanton wealth arrayed-- 260 In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain, The toiling pleasure sickens into pain; And, e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy, The heart distrusting asks if this be joy.

Ye friends to truth, ye statesman who survey 265 The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, 'T is yours to judge how wide the limits stand Between a splendid and an happy land.

Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore, And shouting Folly hails them from her sh.o.r.e; 270 h.o.a.rds e'en beyond the miser's wish abound,[21]

And rich men flock from all the world around.

Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name That leaves our useful products still the same.

Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride 275 Takes up a s.p.a.ce that many poor supplied; s.p.a.ce for his lake, his park's extended bounds, s.p.a.ce for his horses, equipage, and hounds: The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth Has robbed the neighboring fields of half their growth;[22] 280 His seat, where solitary sports are seen, Indignant spurns the cottage from the green: Around the world each needful product flies, For all the luxuries the world supplies; While thus the land adorned for pleasure all 285 In barren splendor feebly waits the fall.

As some fair female unadorned and plain, Secure to please while youth confirms her reign, Slights every borrowed charm that dress supplies, Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes; 290 But when those charms are past, for charms are frail, When time advances, and when lovers fail, She then shines forth, solicitous to bless, In all the glaring impotence of dress.

Thus fares the land by luxury betrayed: 295 In nature's simplest charms at first arrayed, But verging to decline, its splendors rise; Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise: While, scourged by famine from the smiling land, The mournful peasant leads his humble band, 300 And while he sinks, without one arm to save, The country blooms--a garden and a grave.

Where then, ah! where, shall poverty reside, To scape the pressure of contiguous pride?

If to some common's fenceless limits strayed 305 He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade, Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide, And even the bare-worn common is denied.

If to the city sped--what waits him there?

To see profusion that he must not share, 310 To see ten thousand baneful arts combined To pamper luxury, and thin mankind;[23]

To see those joys the sons of pleasure know Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe.

Here while the courtier glitters in brocade, 315 There the pale artist plies the sickly trade; Here while the proud their long-drawn pomps display, There the black gibbet glooms beside the way, The dome where pleasure holds her midnight reign Here, richly decked, admits the gorgeous train: 320 Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square, The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare.

Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy!

Sure these denote one universal joy!

Are these thy serious thoughts?--Ah, turn thine eyes 325 Where the poor houseless shivering female lies.

She once, perhaps, in village plenty blessed, Has wept at tales of innocence distressed; Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn: 330 Now lost to all; her friends, her virtue fled, Near her betrayer's door she lays her head, And, pinched with cold, and shrinking from the shower, With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour, When idly first, ambitious of the town, 335 She left her wheel and robes of country brown.

Do thine, sweet Auburn,--thine, the loveliest train,-- Do thy fair tribes partic.i.p.ate[24] her pain?

Even now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led, At proud men's doors they ask a little bread! 340

Ah, no! To distant climes, a dreary scene, Where half the convex world intrudes between, Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go, Where wild Altama[25] murmurs to their woe.