To Nature's book, he ftudiously applies; And oft, confulted by the anxious swain, And fhews the figns of fure impending rain; The various phases of the moon he knows, Returning late at eve, from wake or fair, And of the northern lights the cause explains; Recounts what comets have appear'd of old, Portending dearth, or war, and mis'ries manifold. Around his bending fhoulders, graceful flow, And fimple neatness in his mien appears; A goodly fight, I wot, it were to view The decent Parish Clerk on Sabbath-day, Seated, beneath the Curate, in his pew, Or kneeling down with lifted hands to pray ; And ever and anon, with close of pray'r, He anfwereth-Amen! with fober folemn air. Such times as ancient fuit of black he wears, Which from the Curate's wardrobe did defcend: Love to his Clerk the pious Curate bears; Pities his wants, and wifheth to befriend: But what, alas! can flender fal'ry do, Encumber'd by a wife, and children not a few ? Through ev'ry feason of the changing year, His ftrict regard for Chriftian rites is feen; The holy church he decks with garlands fair, Or birchen boughs, or yew for ever green: On ev'ry pew a formal fprig is plac'd, And with a fpacious branch the pulpit's top is grac'd, To share the plenteous mirth-abounding feaft: Then when the mellow beer goes gaily round, When, fmit with mutual love, the youth and maid, And fee the rites perform'd with decency; He gives the bride, and joins their trembling hands, While with the Service-book the Curate gravely stands. Then while the merry bells the steeple shake, To notes of gladness, while the minstrels wake, And lads and laffes the rich bride-cake share ; O may the youthful bard a portion gain, To whom the rural fage its virtues did explain. "Joy to the wedded pair! health, length of days! At eve, the lovely condefcending bride, Will take the ring, which on her finger shines, And through the facred circlet nine times flide The fragrant gift, repeating mystic lines: (The myftic lines we may not here make known, Them shall the Muse reveal to virgins chaste alone.) The stocking thrown, as ancient rules require, Where close beneath thy head the charm muft lie; Rais'd by the pow'r of Love, in vifion gay, And foft approaching, with the mildest air, Alas, it flies! the morning fprings apace! O time, relentless! foe to every joy! How all declines beneath thy iron reign! Once could our Clerk, to sweetest melody, Attune the harp, and charm the lift'ning plain; Or with his mellow voice the pfalm could raise, And fill the echoing choir with notes of facred praise. (hands; But now, alas! his every power decays, His voice grows hoarfe, long toil has cramp'd his No more he fills the echoing choir with praise, No more to melody, the harp commands: Sadly he mourns the dulness of his ear, And when a mafter plays, he preffes close to hear. And learn'd his ftory with fincere delight; His youthful feats, with guiltiefs pride, he told; How light he leap'd, and O! how swift he run; At length, concluding with reflections deep :- "Beneath yon aged yew-tree's folemn shade, "Whose twifted roots above the greenfward-creep, "There, freed from toils, my pious father laid, "Enjoys a filent, unmolested fleep: "And there my only fon-with him I gave "All comfort of my age, untimely to the grave. "In that sweet earth, when Nature's debt is paid, "And leaving life, I leave its load of woes; "My neighbours kind, I trust, will fee me laid, "In humble hope of mercy, to repose : "Evil and few, the patriarch mourn'd his days, "Nor fhall a man presume to vindicate his ways." GRAY. ELEGY, Written in a Country Church Yard. THE curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds flowly o'er the lea, The moping owl does to the moon complain |