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A GENTLEMAN OF THE OLD SCHOOL.
E lived in that past Georgian day,
When men were less inclined to say
With toil their pleasure;
He held some land, and dwelt thereon,-
Reynolds has painted him,- -a face
The eyes are blue, the hair is drest
With buds brocaded.
He wears a brown old Brunswick coat,
A soft cravat ;-in all you note
An elder fashion,
A strangeness, which, to us who shine
He lived so long ago, you see!
He found it quite enough for him
He liked the well-wheel's creaking tongue,— He liked the thrush that stopped and sung,— He liked the drone of flies among
His netted peaches;
He liked to watch the sunlight fall
His were the times of Paint and Patch,
The sober doves that round his thatch
He liked their ruffling, puffed content,For him their drowsy wheelings meant More than a Mall of Beaux that bent, Or Belles that bridled.
Not that, in truth, when life began
But now his "fervent youth " had flown
Yet still he loved the chase, and held
But most his measured words of praise
His rustic diet.
Not that his "meditating" rose
He never troubled his repose
With fruitless prying;
But held, as law for high and low,
What God withholds no man can know,
We read-alas, how much we read!-
Our groaning tables;
His books-and they sufficed him—were
One more,-"The Bible." Not that he
It may be that he could not count
Once he had loved, but failed to wed,
And still when time had turned him gray, The earliest hawthorn buds in May Would find his lingering feet astray,
Where first he met her.
"In Calo Quies" heads the stone
On Leisure's grave,—now little known, A tangle of wild-rose has
So thick across it;
The "Benefactions" still declare
Lie softly, Leisure! Doubtless you,
Your easy breath, and slumbered through
But we, to whom our age allows
Scarce space to wipe our weary brows,
Look down upon your narrow house,
Old friend, and miss you!