Now to the church behold the mourners come,
Sedately torpid and devoutly dumb;
The village children now their games suspend,
To see the bier that bears their ancient friend:
For he was one in all their idle sport,
And like a monarch ruled their little court;
The pliant bow he form'd, the flying ball,
The bat, the wicket, were his labours all;
Him now they follow to his grave, and stand,
Silent and sad, and gazing hand in hand;
While bending low, their eager eyes explore
The mingled relics of the parish poor.
The bell tolls late, the moping owl flies round,
Fear marks the flight and magnifies the sound;
The busy priest, detain'd by weightier care,
Defers his duty till the day of prayer;
And, waiting long, the crowd retire distrest,
To think a poor man's bones should lie unblest.



BOOK II--THE ARGUMENT.



There are found, amid the Evils of a laborious Life, some Views of
Tranquillity and Happiness--The Repose and Pleasure of a Summer
Sabbath: interrupted by Intoxication and Dispute--Village
Detraction--Complaints of the 'Squire--The Evening Riots--Justice--
Reasons for this unpleasant View of Rustic Life: the Effect it