'Forgive the sigh,' the rustic swain reply'd,
'These desert scenes my happier days recall;
Forgive the tears which down my cheeks yglide,
For when I view this spot, my tears will fall.
'Stranger!' said he, 'here late did Gratio dwell,
Hast thou not heard of good old Gratio's fame?
Through all our village he was known full well,
And even lisping infants spoke his name.
'Twice twenty years I serv'd him as his hind,
Twice twenty years for him I till'd the soil;
I lov'd my master, for I found him kind,
My task was easy, and I blest my toil.
'He seem'd not master, but an equal friend;
He join'd our labours in the field by day,
And when the evening bade our labours end,
He mingled freely in our rustic play.
'Ah! well I knew him from his mother's arms,
No youth so fair, so innocent, as he;
His spring of life was deck'd with spring's best charms,
His opening mind was like the blossom'd tree.
'His riper years with riper fruits were crown'd,
His mellow autumn blest with genial skies;
His age, like winter's frost-ymantled ground,
Where vigour still beneath the hoary surface lies.
'For wealth or pow'r he breath'd no prayer to heav'n,
Life's every blessing industry supplied;
To him health, peace, and competence, were giv'n,
And say, can virtue form a wish beside?
'This once-lov'd spot recalls full many a joy,
What cheer'd in youth old age will ne'er forget;
But still must doat on memory's fond employ,
And what it lov'd the most, the most regret.
'The spreading elm that shadows o'er the yard,
Its parted master to my view can call;
And every object claims a soft regard,
Since Gratio's memory sanctifies them all.
'The shady bower in yonder elmy meads,
The vocal thicket where the throstle sung,
The little gate that through the garden leads,
The fork now useless where the milk-pail hung.