ek ie ae Gust) 
_ [Aue. fs 
~ORIGI NAL POETRY. ea 
ae 
THE DESERTED PARSONAGE. 
BY J. LYNCH, Esq. 
MM ARK* where yon steeple rears its simple 
Spire, 
Where all che village train, with awe.. retire, 
To litt cheir grateful orisous on high, 
To him, whose awiul mandate rul:s the sky. 
I love to see the jong procession glive 
Across the meaa, or up the greén-hill’s side, 
To that plain edifice, whose folding-door 
Expands admissible to rich and poor + 
The house of HIM, who ho distinction knows, 
But that which Vir.ue’s sacred pow’r be- 
stows. 
Behind} the church a toct’ring mansion bends, 
Whose mould’ring wall a sudden lapse por- 
tends 5 
Rank weeds enclose its entrance; and each 
stone 
Is with excrescent damps and moss o’ergrown: 
dts garden waste, its lawn o’er-run with briar 5 
Its once pellucid fount, a bed of mire. 
There desolation reigns—no human sound 
The long- deserted lonely rooms resound : 
No guest, with champing steed and hasty 
hoof, 
Approaches now the hospitable roof; 
That rifted roof; wide opening to the sky; 
Totters at every blast that blusters by. 
Alas! the Parsonage !— 
Methinks | hear some hoary swain exciaim, 
<< A time there was, when aaa mould’ring 
dome 
Was Peace and Charity’s selected home. 
How cheeriul to the eye its front arose! 
There crept the Woodbine, and here bloom’d 
the Rose. i 
Theredroop’d the virgin Lily’s pensive head ; 
And here Carnations glow’d with streaky red. 
There stood of ancient Elms a stately row, 
Now by the unrelenting axe laid low: 
And here, as gently slop’d the smiling lawn, 
Started at ev’ry breeze, the trembling Fawn. 
Methinks; ev’n now, in yon sequester’d way, . 
Where hazel clumps exclude the noon-tide 
12¥' 
Our lost lamented past’ral friend I view, 
’ Ais wont, some pious reverie pursue. 
O! what a man was he?—-what charms of 
sense : 
Could round such tranquil happiness dis- 
pense. 
Each sun, that on his works delighted shone, 
Saw him neglect, for others” ease, his own: 
Each lib’ral sentiment that warm’d his breast, 
A friend in ev’ry human ferm confest; 
No narrow selfish prejudice confin’d, ~ 
His noble. free, disinterested mind. 
* From Poems about to be published. 
+ The Author has seen a Parsonage-house 
in tea 3a which answered this deserip- 
tions 
bs 
‘Alas! the shame”— © 
ty While yonder dome, slow mould’ring hh, 
To ev’ry sect alike his bounty flow'd 3 
His love jor ali mankind unceasing glow’d ¢, 
For as the sus #tagemal warmth/impartays 
Alixe to »arcen and to is tile parts, 
Sv would be dedicate to ail his are, 
And portior o his love to all a share: 
Grged, without pride 5 3 and learn’d, without 
conceit 5 
Skili’a to check riot, or suppress” debate 5 
No match declar’d—no contract was begun, 
Nor mother gave her maid; nor sire his son 3 i 
Vill first their past’, "ral Friend the choice ap- 4 
prov’d ; 
His sanction was the prize for those that 
lov’d. ae j 
Beneath his care dark MVielakeholy smil’d, | 
By soothing arguments of woe beguil’d: 
Despair grew bey and mo. § s rankling 
dart 
Was blunted by bie soft deeswaaime art. 
The wretch by petsecuting Conscience stung — 
Drank Peace and Hope from. his enliv’ning 
tongue ; . 
That tongue whose harmonizing sounds would 
flow i 
A magic talisman Ps ev'ry woe, 
/ ey 
Alas! one fatal eve, by duty Jed,. shihe 
He sought with godly zeal the few" fith bed | 
Of fell disease—he sought to cheer the hour 
Of harpy Death’s inevitable pow’; 
But can my falt’ring: voice our mis’ty tell? > 
A victim to his gen’rous pains he fell ; 
He fell (but rests in ev'ry heart inurn’d) ie 
Wet with the-tears of all; been and ny 
raourn’d | j mo 
Ah! sad reverse——<2 strivling of the paws 
Now holds the vicarage, but lives in towns 
Ia scenes of gzy volupt’ousness he strays, 
And spends in sevelry both nights and days. 
a 
Methinks 1 hear the swain—his seepdriva é 
dust, i 
Admits each pelting show’r and vagrant gust. nf? 
sigh ! 4 
YT mark the rising sorrow ep his eye y 0 ) 
And as I bid tarewell, and turn-tlie vale, 
Reflection ponders on his mournful tale. J 
eR ny 
$ me ¢ a 
LINES TO THE MEMORY OF HENRY j 
d 
KIRKE WHITE, LATE OF ST. JORN’s 
COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. i 
ND is his happy spirit fled? 9 
Is Henry number’d with the dead cee a 
How weeps the Muse!!! her harp ee q 
Upon the willows she has hung. i 
Who can forbear to shed a tear, ae. . 
Over the graveof ole sodear? = 
Illustrious Bard ! I pray thee, say, ‘ 4 
What Muse attun’d thy welt are ty? pee 
Did in thy ardent bosom glow, 
And in mellifiluous numbers oy 7 ¥ dd 
ae & 
