The Village Life

nt brows, Down in the village graveyard there, Xo stone above his ridgy "lair." Old and alone, without the prop Of wife or child, he tottered down . Into the grave, and ended so, A lonely not uncheerful life, A life of labour crowned with hope. A teacher, once of some renown In half a dozen parishes; A humble servant of the state, He taught the " R's" with care and pains To dullish youths, and when he found, A lad of more capacious brains, And quick of wit, with morals sound, His joy was pure, his zeal was great. Most lovingly he drew him on, Tli rough reading, writing and the slate ; Through weary "use and wont," until He saw him safely on the hill Of higher learning, digging deep In Caesar's Commentaries; or Exploring Virgil's sybil leaves, That safe in precious music keep Till latest suns shall dawn upon The latest race of thinking men, That older, ripened world of thought; From which our ranker world has grown ; Or learning the light-hearted song Of the gay Roman; or among The deeper-thinking bards of Greece, Her sophists and philosophers, In culture that was only hers, Seeking the great tongue's rich increase. And many a youth the teacher passed, Fired with the love of classic lore, From toilsome plough-tails, from the " last," From tailor's board, from planing bench, And many menial labours more, On to high honours and degrees At famous Universities. And when the summer days returned And brought...