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On luxury begot, e'er learn'd to crawl.

Whilst thus they pass the little eve of rest,

A friend perchance, long absent from their arms, Return'd-most dear !-adds to their small fireside;

And mixes in discourse, and oft partakes

The unprepared food, or scant spare bed;
Tho' not a couch where greatness cou'd repose;
Nor talk, from scandal free, that pride wou'd join.
Blame not the poor man's hospitable heart, -
The prodigality that keeps him poor;
If out of little, goodness saves a mite,
Which treasur'd, forms at last a trifling sum,
To purchase ease and comfort for a friend :
Often bare poverty's exclusive fault,
But never (let us hope) its only joy :-
Yet whatsoe'er the comforts which it yields,
And sure the practice proves them not a few,
Nor more I trust in number than in worth-
Still underneath the swain's sequester'd roof,
Where pamper'd vice, disdains to turn aside
The careless gaze, much less to turn and stay,-
Humanity! erects her sacred shrine,
Unstain'd with ostentatious incense foul:
Constant she trims her unexhausted lamp,
And sheds around her unassuming light;
Grateful to those who feel its cheering beam,
As is the glimmering glow-worm's tender ray,
(When all the heavenly orbs are shrouded up
In tenfold thickness, from the searching eye)

Sprinkling the green-sward or the pebbled path,
Which seldom fails to guide the timid step
Of poor bewilder'd wanderer-direct
To her half-open, hospitable door ;-
Where ever, to his unacknowledg'd wants,
If nothing better boasts his straiten'd store,
As to the inmate of his honest breast,
Lie his own comforts open to him still-
The crust, the crystal spring, the bed of straw.-
But whatsoe'er the occurrence of the hour,
Secure to rest he presently retires,
Fearless of thieves and fire-disasters dread!
Gainst whose abrupt, unseasonable calls,
In crowded cities, and the haunts of men,
Of all complexions, callings and degrees,
No human care or foresight well can guard;
But here intemperance flies the sober seat,
Nor is the stated hour of rest put off,
Unless to welcome the glad Harvest-home, -
He summon all his neighbours and his friends,
And trespass on thy stillness-and disturb
With joyous shouts of well contented minds,
The song of nightingale and hoot of owl;
Their wishes crown'd, their spacious granaries cram'd,
And their free hearts with stout October wet!-
Then will they add indeed to faded day
Some random number of thy borrow'd beams,
And well thy loan of lesser light employ,
Wedg'd as they sit in many a cheerful group

Close by the girls they love, whose willing hands
Tedded the with'ring grass, or bound the sheaves.-
Sometimes again, the WAKE of blithsome MAY,
And yellow AUTUMN her ripe handmaid fair,
In coaxing evening smiling on the suit,

Woos from their low-thatch'd cots the blithsome swains.
And the young virgins in their trim attire,
To the brown turf upon the upland lawn,
Where after vernal showers the vagrant sheep
Crop the sweet first fruits of the springing soil,-
Where near, the Parish Church, thro' clustring trees
Shews its neat front and lifts its simple spire;-
Or, far remov'd from man's tumultuous hum,
Where Gothic structures catch the traveller's gaze,
Arrest his steps and bid him bow with awe!
And where, by purblind Superstition sway'd,
The rude untutor'd villager believes,
On ALL-SAINTS EVE, the summon'd SOULS of all
Who in the hamlet, and the future year,
Must wholly quit, at FATE's imperious call,
Their crumbling cases of encumb'ring clay,
To the still porch, or hollow-sounding aisle,
Repair at Curfew-fearfully to trace,
As the pale moon-beam settles on the scroll,
The long-withheld, immutable decree l
Then in the solemn stillness of the time,
Hallow the scatter'd earth shall strew their bones!-
And when from time-shook tow'r, the heavy bell
Sounds slow, oh NIGHT! thy tedious wind-up hour,

Their revels terminate-or as some think,
The Shadows enter, and the rites begin.-
But whensoe'er they enter or depart,
If such a levee, Heaven at all allows,
Short the astonish'd council which they hold,
And brief the mystic business they perform!
"Amazement sure on every brow must sit!"
Most strange emotions mingle with surprise!
When the fond father's starting spirit sees
The faithful image of his darling child,
That moment blooming in unusual health,
Brush by his side, and fill the vacant niche-
When the fond lover doating on his fair,
And reck'ning much on extacies to come,
In the cold porch the colder greeting takes,
And sees, ere bridal sheets their limbs enfold,
The hurry'd shroud, the fatal Sisters weave.
But 'mong the number of sensations keen,
None gives perhaps a more provoking pang,
To any soul unsaddled with its clay,
(For surely others curious to enquire,
May pace the dark hours o'er the hollow aisle,
Nor see one object but in fancy's eye!)
Than that the thrice-entangled buxom dame
In wedlock's bands, (her spirit yet untam'd)
Feels-when she views her cross old brute appear;
(And often may this aukward meeting chance,)
Yet doubts if she shall prove that secret joy,
Tho' short the term-to see him go before;

D

But thanks to gracious Heav'n's indulgent plan,
If stories such as these indeed be true,
Whatever pranks our absent Spirits play;
Whate'er they glean from Fate's unfolded page,
Whatever close-cemented leaf they turn,
At their own peril of dark Doomsday's book,
From man's much grosser sense they still conceal,
Nor fret his earthly texture with a care,
That only to the purer soul belongs! -

If this old Legend modern swains believe;
If thoughts like these the jocund train prevent,
At twilight hour to gather on the slope,
Or such a breezy copse, invite them not,
Straight they repair in promenading bands
To the secluded velvet of the vale,
Whose dark-green sod some rural Fane surrounds,
Presenting with a most inviting grace,
A softer carpet for their springy feet;
Whilst fragrant odours of the with'ring grass
Cock'd in the field, or gather'd in the stack,
Sweet to the sense, impregn the fanning breezel
Delightful hours! when hands in social link,
And unreserved close, the figure form;
When the young hearts, all joyous, warm, and pure
In unison and love together beat,

Throb at one time, and jostle in the dance:-
The star of evening, Venus fair and bright,
With Goddess of that name, their smiles extend,

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