Through his acquaintance with the ways of truth, In lucid order; so that, when his course

Is run, some faithful Eulogist may say,

He sought not praise, and praise did overlook
His unobtrusive merit; but his life,

Sweet to himself, was exercised in good
That shall survive his name and memory.

Acknowledgments of gratitude sincere Accompanied these musings ;- fervent thanks For my own peaceful lot and happy choice; A choice that from the passions of the world Withdrew, and fixed me in a still retreat, Sheltered, but not to social duties lost, Secluded, but not buried; and with song Cheering my days, and with industrious thought, With ever-welcome company of books, By virtuous friendship's soul-sustaining aid, And with the blessings of domestic love.

Thus occupied in mind I paced along,
Following the rugged road, by sledge or wheel
Worn in the moorland, till I overtook

My two Associates, in the morning sunshine
Halting together on a rocky knoll,

From which the road descended rapidly
To the green meadows of another Vale.

Here did our pensive Host put forth his hand
In sign of farewell. "Nay," the Old Man said,
"The fragrant Air its coolness still retains;
The Herds and Flocks are yet abroad to crop
The dewy grass; you cannot leave us now,
We must not part at this inviting hour."
He yielded, though reluctant; for his Mind
Instinctively disposed him to retire

To his own Covert; as a billow, heaved
Upon the beach, rolls back into the Sea.

So we descend; and winding round a rock
Attain a point that shewed the Valley - stretched
In length before us; and, not distant far,
Upon a rising ground a grey Church-tower,
Whose battlements were screened by tufted trees.
And, tow'rds a crystal Mere, that lay beyond
Among steep hills and woods embosomed, flowed
A copious Stream with boldly-winding course;
Here traceable, there hidden there again

To sight restored, and glittering in the Sun.
On the Stream's bank, and every where, appeared
Fair Dwellings, single, or in social knots;

Some scattered o'er the level, others perched
On the hill sides, a cheerful quiet scene,
Now in its morning purity arrayed.

"As, mid some happy Valley of the Alps," Said I, "once happy, ere tyrannic Power, Wantonly breaking in upon the Swiss, Destroyed their unoffending Commonwealth, A popular equality reigns here,

Save for one House of State beneath whose roof

A rural Lord might dwell."

"No feudal pomp," Replied our Friend, a Chronicler who stood Where'er he moved upon familiar ground, "Nor feudal power is there; but there abides, In his allotted Home, a genuine Priest, The Shepherd of his Flock; or, as a King Is stiled, when most affectionately praised, The Father of his People. Such is he; And rich and poor, and young and old, rejoice Under his spiritual sway. He hath vouchsafed To me some portion of a kind regard; And something also of his inner mind

Hath he imparted — but I speak of him

As he is known to all. The calm delights
Of unambitious piety he chose,

And learning's solid dignity; though born
Of knightly race, nor wanting powerful friends.
Hither, in prime of manhood, he withdrew
From academic bowers. He loved the spot,
Who does not love his native soil? he prized
The ancient rural character, composed

Of simple manners, feelings unsuppressed

And undisguised, and strong and serious thought;
A character reflected in himself,

With such embellishment as well beseems

His rank and sacred function. This deep vale
Winds far in reaches hidden from our eyes,
And one a turreted manorial Hall

Adorns, in which the good Man's Ancestors
Have dwelt through ages. Patrons of this Cure.
To them, and to his own judicious pains,

The Vicar's Dwelling, and the whole Domain,
Owes that presiding aspect which might well

Attract your notice; statelier than could else
Have been bestowed, through course of common chance,
On an unwealthy mountain Benefice."

This said, oft halting we pursued our way;
Nor reached the Village Church-yard till the sun,
Travelling at steadier pace than ours, had risen

Above the summits of the highest hills,
And round our path darted oppressive beams.

As chanced, the Portals of the sacred Pile Stood open, and we entered. On my frame, At such transition from the fervid air, A grateful coolness fell, that seemed to strike The heart, in concert with that temperate awe And natural reverence, which the Place inspired. Not raised in nice proportions was the Pile, But large and massy; for duration built; With pillars crowded, and the roof upheld By naked rafters intricately crossed,

a pair

Like leafless underboughs, mid some thick grove,
All withered by the depth of shade above.
Admonitory Texts inscribed the walls,
Each, in its ornamental scroll, enclosed,
Each also crowned with winged heads
Of rudely-painted Cherubim. The floor
Of nave and aisle, in unpretending guise,
Was occupied by oaken benches, ranged
In seemly rows; the chancel only shewed
Some inoffensive marks of earthly state
And vain distinction. A capacious pew
Of sculptured oak stood here, with drapery lined;