Изображения страниц

mine together, we might recruit him again at once, and set him upon his legs

In a fortnight or three weeks, added my uncle Toby, smiling, he might march. He will never march, an't please your honor, in this world, said the Corporal. He will march, said my uncle Toby, rising up from the side of the bed with one shoe off. An't please your honor, said the Corporal, he will never march but to his grave. He shall march, cried my uncle Toby, marching the foot which had a shoe on, though without advancing an inch, he shall march to his regiment. He cannot stand it, said the Corporal. He shall be supported, said my uncle Toby. He'll drop at last, said the Corporal, and what will become of his boy? He shall not drop, said my uncle Toby, firmly. A well o'da do what we can for him, said Trim, maintaining his point, the poor soul will die. He shall not die, by Hn, cried my uncle Toby.

-The ACCUSING SPIRIT, which flew up to Heaven's chancery with the oath, blushed as he gave it in : and the RECORDING ANGEL, as he wrote it down, dropped a tear upon the word, and blotted it out forever.

-My uncle Toby went to his bureau, and put his purse into his pocket, and having ordered the Corporal to go early in the morning for a physician, he went to bed and fell asleep.

The sun looked bright the morning after, to every eye in the village but Le Fever's and his afflicted son's; the hand of death pressed heavy upon his eyelids, and hardly could the wheel at the cistern turn round its circle when my uncle Toby, who had got up an hour before his wonted time, entered the Lieutenant's room, and without preface or apology, sat himself down upon the chair upon the bed side, and independently of all modes and customs, opened the curtain, in the manner an old friend and brother officer would have done it, and asked him how he did-how he had rested in the night what was his complaint-where was his pain-and what he could do to help him? And without giving him time to answer any one of these inquiries, went on

and told him of the little plan which he had been concerting with the Corporal the night before for him.

-You shall go home directly, Le Fever, said my uncle Toby, to my house-and we'll send for a doctor to see what's the matter-and we'll have an apothecary and the Corporal shall be your nurse-and I'll be your servant, Le Fever.

There was a frankness in my uncle Toby-not the effect of familiarity, but the cause of it--which let you at once into his soul, and showed you the goodness of his nature; to this there was something in his looks, and voice, and manner, superadded, which eternally beckoned to the unfortunate to come and take shelter under him; so that before my uncle Toby had half finished the kind offers-he was making to the father, had the son insensibly pressed up close to his knees and had taken hold of the breast of his coat, and was pulling it towards him. The blood and spirit of Le Fever, which were waxing cold and slow within him, and were retreating to their last citadel, the heart rallied back-the film forsook his eyes for a moment, he looked up wishfully in my uncle Toby's face-then cast a look upon his boy.

Nature instantly ebb'd again—the film returned to its place the pulse fluttered, stopped-went on-throbbed -stopped again-moved-stopped-shall I go on?-No.


[ocr errors]

I-The Shepherd and the Philosopher.
EMOTE from cities, liv'd a swain,
Unvex'd with all the cares of gain.
His head was silver'd o'er with age,
And long experience made him sage;
In summer's heat and winter's cold,
He fed his flock and penn'd the fold;
His hours in cheerful labor flew,
Nor envy nor ambition knew
His wisdom and his honest fame,
Through all the country rais'd his name.
A deep philosopher, (whose rules
Of moral life were drawn from schools)
The shepherd's homely cottage sought;
And thus explor'd his reach of thought.
Whence is thy learning? Hath thy toil
O'er books consum'd the midnight oil?
Hast thou old Greece and Rome survey'd,
And the vast sense of Plato weigh'd?
Hath Socrates thy soul refin'd?
And hast thou fathom'd Tully's mind?
Or, like the wise Ulysses thrown,
By various fates, on realms unknown;
Hast thou through many cities stray'd,
Their customs, laws and manners weigh'd?
The shepherd modestly reply'd,

I ne'er the path of learning try'd ;
Nor have I roam'd in foreign parts,
To read mankind, their laws and arts;
For man is practis'd in disguise;
He cheats the most discerning eyes;
Who by that search shall wiser grow,
When we ourselves can never know?
The little knowledge I have gain'd,
Was all from simple nature drain'd ;
Hence my life's maxims took their rise,
Hence grew my settled hate to vice.
The daily labors of the bee,
Awake my soul to industry.
Who can observe the careful ant,
And not provide for future want?
My dog, (the truest of his kind)
With gratitude inflames my mind
I mark his true, his faithful way,
And in my service copy Tray.
In constancy and nuptial love,
I learn my duty from the dove.

The hen, who from the chilly air
With pious wing protects her care,
And every fowl that flies at large,
Instructs me in a parent's charge.
From nature, too, I take my rule
To shun contempt and ridicule.
I never with important air,
In conversation overbear:
Can grave and formal pass for wise,
When men the solemn owl despise ?
My tongue within my lips I rein,
For who talks much must talk in vain :
We from the woody torrent fly:
Who listens to the chattering pie?
Nor would I with felonious flight,
By stealth invade my neighbor's right:
Rapacious animals we hate;

Kites, hawks and wolves deserve their fate.

Do not we just abhorrence find

Against the toad and serpent kind?
But envy, calumny and spite,
Bear stronger venom in their bite;
Thus every object of creation
Can furnish hints for contemplation.
And, from the most minute and mean,
A virtuous mind can morals glean.

Thy fame is just, the sage replies:
Thy virtue proves thee truly wise.
Pride often guides the author's pen;
Books as affected are as men :
But he who studies nature's laws,
From certain truth his maxims draws;
And those, without our schools, suffice
To make men moral, good and wise.

II.-Ode to Leven Water.

On Leven's bank, while free to rove
And tune the rural pipe to love,
I envied not the happiest swain
That ever trod th' Arcadian plain.

Pure stream! in whose transparent wave
My youthful limbs I wont to lave;
No torrents stain thy limped source;
No rocks impede thy dimpling course,
That sweetly warbles o'er its bed,

With white, round, polish'd pebbles spread;
While, lightly pois'd, the scaly brood,
In myriads cleave thy chrystal flood;
The springing trout, in speckled pride ;
The salmon, monarch of the tide;
The ruthless pike, intent on war;
The silver eel, and mottled par.

[ocr errors]

Devolving from thy parent lake,
A charming maze thy waters make,
By bowers of birch and groves of pine,
And hedges flower'd with eglantine.
Still on thy banks, so gaily green,
May num'rous herds and flocks be seen:
And lasses, chanting o'er the pail;
And shepherds piping in the dale;
And ancient faith, that knows no guile;
And industry, embrown'd with toil;
And heart resolv'd and hands prepar'd,
The blessings they enjoy to guard.

III.-Ode from the 19th Psalm.

THE spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue etherial sky,
And spangled heavens, a shining frame,
Their great original proclaim.

Th' unwearied sun from day to day,
Does his Creator's power display;
And publishes to every land,

The work of an Almighty hand.

Soon as the evening shades prevail,
The moon takes up the wond'rous tale,
And nightly, to the list'ning earth,
Repeats the story of her birth;

Whilst all the stars that round her burn,
And all the planets in their turn,
Confirm the tidings as they roll,
And spread the truth from pole to pole.
What though, in solemn silence, all
Move round the dark terrestrial ball?
What though no real voice nor sound
Amid these radiant orbs be found?
In reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice,
Forever singing, as they shine,

"The hand that made us is divine."

IV.-Rural Charms.

SWEET Auburn! loveliest village of the plain ! Where health and plenty cheer'd the lab'ring swain;

Where smiling spring its earliest visits paid,

And parting summer's ling'ring blooms delay'd:
Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease!

Seats of my youth, when ev'ry sport could please!
How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green,
Where humble happiness endear'd each scene!
How often have I paus'd on every charm!
The shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm,

« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »