Classic Poem

Now tow'rds yon castle, whose tall turrets shake
On the smooth bosom of the shaded lake,
I turn; hoarse ravens croak in solemn state,
The frisking pointer meets me at the gate,
Crows the shrill cock, the turkey gobbles near,
All seem to indicate my welcome there.
Thro' the wide room the hasty servants run,
Here limps the nurse, there creeps the butler's son,
While, inly fir'd with military pride,
I count the shatter'd pikes on every side:
The pointless faulchion, thro' it's scabbard thrust,
The massy Bible, strew'd with reverend dust,
The sable chess-board, on the wainscot laid,
The pensive kitten, purring in the shade,
The dusky glass, half-glist'ning in the sun,
Hook'd o'er the antique hearth the rusty gun,
The sculptur'd desk, the pictures in a row,
The fox's tail, and fishing-net I know!

There once plump H OSPITALITY would sit,
Grey-bearded Health , plain Sense , and native W IT .
In the brown cup they wash'd all pride away,
And not one poor man round them but was gay,
By sober rules they spent their small estate,
Kept want aloof, nor wish'd a higher fate,
For, all that frugal nature claims below,
Nature's own hoards abundantly bestow,
When for superfluous treasure we intreat,
Sour in possession, tho' in prospect sweet,
Kindness, not cruelty, the wish denies,
So weak is erring man, and G OD so wise!
Their fields, their flocks, their harvest-heaps could give
Enough, to bid them and their children live.
All else beyond, to no profusion led,
But lent the wretch a supper and a bed.

Erewhile, the M ODEL of a M AN I knew,
Who made, ev'n then, my best encomium true,
Early, in this bad world's profuse career,
Himself profuse, he bought experience dear.
With still enough, 'twas all his last desire,
To line his couch, and light his country fire;
Back he return'd from the distracting din
Of pageant villainy, and painted sin,
Convinced, (the keen conviction cost a tear,)
That humbler merit had no business there;
With cordial glee the hoary Sires attend,
With sparkling eyes they meet their good, old friend,
In foaming tankards frequent healths go down,
And all inquire, how he escap'd the T OWN ?

'Twere well would many a titled heir who longs
For olive arbours and Italian songs,
Trace the same sapient track, no longer roam,
But lcarn to propagate his wealth at home,
Hence, might the sturdy arm which help'd to raise
That wealth, attain it's profit, and it's praise.

Just by the pathway rose his neat abode,
As if to wooe the trav'ler from the road;
Before, a chrystal vein of water stood,
Behind, 'twas shadow'd by a waving wood;
The green-ey'd duck that waddled in the yard,
The gritting wheel that on the pavement jarr'd,
The flail, with sudden dash that stunn'd the ear,
The plaint, that gurgled from the dove-house near,
The playful curs that would each other chase,
All lent the whitewash'd dome a pastoral grace,
And all, by spleen-sick Fashion unconfin'd,
Were but the copious comment of his mind.