Classic Poem

In scenes paternal, not beheld through years,
Nor viewed till now but by a father's side,
Well might the tender tributary tears
From keen regrets of duteous fondness glide.
Its pastor to this human flock no more
Shall the long flight of future days restore;
Distant he droops — and that once gladdening eye
Now languid gleams, e'en when his friends are nigh.

Through this known walk, where weedy gravel lies
Rough and unsightly, by the long coarse grass
Of the once smooth and vivid green, with sighs
To the deserted rectory I pass;
Stray through the darkened chamber's naked bound,
Where childhood's earliest, liveliest bliss I found.
How changed since erst, the lightsome walls beneath,
The social joys did their warm comforts breathe!

Ere yet I go, who may return no more,
That sacred pile, mid yonder shadowy trees,
Let me revisit. — Ancient massy door,
Thou gratest hoarse! My vital spirits freeze,
Passing the vacant pulpit to the space
Where humble rails the decent altar grace;
And where my infant sister's ashes sleep,
Whose loss I left the childish sport to weep.

Now the low beams, with paper garlands hung
In memory of some village youth or maid,
Draw the soft tear from thrilled remembrance sprung;
How oft my childhood marked that tribute paid;
The gloves suspended by the garland's side,
White as its snowy flowers, with ribbands tied:
Dear village! long these wreaths funereal spread,
Simple memorials of thy early dead!

But O! thou blank and silent pulpit! thou
That with a father's precepts, just and bland,
Didst win my ear, as reason's strengthening glow
Showed their full value, now thou seem'st to stand
Before my sad, suffused and trembling gaze,
The dreariest relic of departed days;
Of eloquence paternal, nervous, clear,
Dim apparition thou! — and bitter is my tear.