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—Yet cause was none, whate'er regret might hang
On his own mind, to quarrel with the choice
Or the necessity that fixed him here;
Apart from old temptations, and constrained
To punctual labour in his sacred charge.
See him a constant Preacher to the Poor!
And visiting, though not with saintly zeal
Yet when need was with no reluctant will,
The sick in body, or distressed in mind;
And, by as salutary change, compelled,
Month after month, in that obscure Abode
To rise from timely sleep, and meet the day
With no engagement, in his thoughts, more proud
Or splendid than his garden could afford,
His fields,—or mountains by the heath-cock ranged,
Or these wild brooks; from which he now returned
Contentedly, to take a temperate meal
At his own board, where sate his gentle Mate
And three fair Children, plentifully fed
Though simply, from their little household farm;
With acceptable treat of fish or fowl
By nature yielded to his practised hand,
To help the small but certain comings-in
