Page:The Leadbeater Papers (1862) Vol 1.djvu/38
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24
THE ANNALS OF BALITORE.
[1766.
Learning's the growth of Ballitore;
With caution ope that close-shut door.
High in an antique chair of state
The village mistress keeps her seat;
Her little subjects standing by
Their horn-books and their samplers ply,
Watching with fear her awful nod,
And trembling at the lifted rod.
These piers were once the Burrow-gate;
(Beneath each pier is placed a seat
From whence the never-wearied eye
As far as Fuller's Court can spy;
The trees so green, the houses white
With mingled beauties charm the sight.)
The old, the gay, the grave, the young
Here to the village forum throng:
Here ragged politicians muse,
And tell the listening crowd the news.
On the new bridge, fast by, we stay,
And the Retreat's loved walls survey.
Before the door, a grateful view,
A verdant carpet nature threw,
With thousand colours gaily dyed,
All bright in summer's rosy pride:
Here the diseaséd poor repair
To tell my pitying aunt their care;
She hastens to relieve their woes,
Bids Famine feed, and Pain repose.
The road hence from our village leads,
Which trees adorn with bending heads;
So thick the twisting branches blend,
They hide the hill we must ascend.
So when the present bliss we know
We look not at the future woe.
With caution ope that close-shut door.
High in an antique chair of state
The village mistress keeps her seat;
Her little subjects standing by
Their horn-books and their samplers ply,
Watching with fear her awful nod,
And trembling at the lifted rod.
These piers were once the Burrow-gate;
(Beneath each pier is placed a seat
From whence the never-wearied eye
As far as Fuller's Court can spy;
The trees so green, the houses white
With mingled beauties charm the sight.)
The old, the gay, the grave, the young
Here to the village forum throng:
Here ragged politicians muse,
And tell the listening crowd the news.
On the new bridge, fast by, we stay,
And the Retreat's loved walls survey.
Before the door, a grateful view,
A verdant carpet nature threw,
With thousand colours gaily dyed,
All bright in summer's rosy pride:
Here the diseaséd poor repair
To tell my pitying aunt their care;
She hastens to relieve their woes,
Bids Famine feed, and Pain repose.
The road hence from our village leads,
Which trees adorn with bending heads;
So thick the twisting branches blend,
They hide the hill we must ascend.
So when the present bliss we know
We look not at the future woe.