Classic Poem

Yes, happy master of that small domain,
Thine was the honest blessing of the swain,
With thy big praise the stranger's breast would glow,
Still doubly dear to every child of woe,
Yes, thou would'st smile, unselfishly o'erjoy'd,
To view the peasant in thy field employ'd,
From thence procuring, (there no need to steal,)
For his weak tribe the comfortable meal;
Delightful toil! while the slow load he led
Of golden grain, a family he fed,
Then at hush'd eve, the chaste, connubial kiss,
Was his reward, and Love's domestic bliss,
Nor did he (oft in heav'n-ward sigh exprest,)
Forget the generous Donor of his rest,
Ev'n cradled infant, taught by nurturing dame,
Full well could lisp it's second Father's name.

Thus lives the GOOD MAN !—how a country sighs
With genuine anguish, when the GOOD MAN dies;
Musing, behold athwart yon black'ning mead,
In solemn march his funeral pomp proceed,
Pride and Protector of the mournful throng,
Sad burthen! see him slowly mov'd along;
Far off the long procession's dusky hue
Now ent'ring at the churchyard-gate, I view,
And, now, while it's new guest looks down from heav'n,
Falls the full tear, and dust to dust is giv'n,
From hearts his bounty eas'd, what sorrows rise!
That last shriek was his passport to the skies!

Kind, courteous Spirit , assably benign,
Round thy glad front serenest glories shine,
On everlasting archives are anneal'd,
These deeds thy virtuous diffidence conceal'd,
Nor, shall thy gen'rous mem'ry fade on earth,
Theme of the summer seat, and evening hearth,
Primrose and pansy, bath'd in pearly dew,
On thy green sod ethereal fingers strew,
And palmer Piety's ambrofial wreath
Entwines the desolating scythe of Death.

Ah! ye hard landlords, can no plea prevail,
To keep your tardy tenant from the jail,
Will you, for losses, he could not avert,
Unkindly wring the suffering parent's heart,
In tenfold woe the widow's portion steep,
And pluck it's morsel from the orphan's lip?
Ev'n now your surly slaves their victim seize,
Three pallid infants shrieking at his knees,
His skirt they grasp, they mount for the embrace,
And hope to read some comfort in his face.