"Each to Aleanor bound, and near in blood, But nearer in affection ;" taking with them daily walks through the lanes and fields, loving and examining all the wonderful works of nature. The poem is therefore for the most part descriptive, and it abounds in generous and virtuous sentiments; the DUTY of the village curate always predominates, and every ramble produces some reflections which encourage goodness, and exhibit, to discountenance, vice. Although far inferior in strength and delicacy to the master-spirit, whose disciple he avows himself, passages and even parts will be found in his poem which Cowper might have been proud to own: there is at times the same vigorous outbreak against immorality and injustice-the manly use of the weapon, satire, against vice-the same elevation of thought when looking through nature up to nature's God-the same accuracy in painting objects, dignified though familiar-and the same playful fancy setting off seriousness of purpose. If the Task had not been written, perhaps the Village Curate might never have been produced; but if it had preceded the work of the mightier genius, the claims of Hurdis to a chief place among the poets would have been more readily acknow ledged. The "Favourite Village" may be considered as a sequel to the "Village Curate;" and as with sequels generally, though of more even merit and more highly polished FROM THE FAVOURITE VILLAGE. THE sight of Winter's superb ocean left, Me pleases much the bustle of the port; The toil and clamour of the prosp'rous bark, Safe landing on the wharf with brisk dispatch Her sable cargo from the northern mine: The neater vessel her capacious lap Filling with grain, or (stowage ponderous) The mealy sack of the contiguous mill, Welcome supply to the far-distant camp, Or wind-bound fleet of war; the slothful barge Slug-like conveying from the sloop her deals, Another from the sloven brig her load Of nauseous grocery, abundant store For ev'ry village on the banks of Ouse. FROM THE VILLAGE CURATE. A TRUCE to thought, And come, Alcanor, Julia, Isabel, Eliza come, and let us o'er the fields, Across the down, or through the shelving wood, Of choice instruction, with her snowy bells, But silent and alone puts on her suit, Still shelter'd and secure. And so the storm, * * * * Away, we loiter. Without notice pass The sleepy crocus, and the staring daisy, The love-sick cowslip, which her head inclines A college youth who flashes for a day All gold; anon he doffs his gaudy suit, But he instructs me with a still discourse, And vacant must it be, by vacant heads Leave we them to mend, and mark The melancholy hyacinth, that weeps All night, and never lifts an eye all day. How gay this meadow!-like a gamesome boy New cloth'd, his locks fresh comb'd and powder'd, he All health and spirits. Scarce so many stars Shine in the azure canopy of heav'n, As king-cups here are scatter'd, interspers'd With silver daisies. See, the toiling hind With many a sturdy stroke cuts up at last The tough and sinewy furze. How hard he fought To fell the glory of the barren waste! For what more noble than the vernal furze With golden baskets hung? Approach it not, For ev'ry blossom has a troop of swords Of Fays and Fairies. Here they nightly meet, Or to the village chimes, or moody song His gallant train leads out, the while his torch His clarion sounds, the dance breaks off, the lights But mark with how peculiar grace yon wood, The merry vale between. How sweet the song * * in envy. * * I love to see the little goldfinch pluck The groundsel's feather'd seed, and twit and twit, And soon in bower of apple blossoms perch'd, Trim his gay suit, and pay us with a song. I would not hold him pris'ner for the world. |