Sleep, whence thou shalt ne'er awake, Stranger, go, Heaven be thy guide, Robert Burns CXXV THE COUNTRY CLERGYMAN Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, Nor e'er had chang'd, nor wish'd to change his place; Unskilful he to fawn, or look for power, The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud, Claim'd kindred there, and had his wants allow'd: The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, Sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away; Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, Shoulder'd his crutch, and show'd how fields were won. Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learnt to glow, Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, At church, with meek and unaffected grace, With ready zeal each honest rustic ran; E'en children follow'd with endearing wile, And pluck'd his gown to share the good man's smile. L His ready smile a parent's warmth express'd; Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares distress'd: To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshines settles on its head. O. Goldsmith CXXVI WILLIAM OF WYKEHAM AND HIS WORKS In the days of our forefathers, the gallant days of old, When Cressy's wondrous tale in Europe's ears was told; When the brave and gentle Prince, with his heroic peers, Met France and all her knighthood in the vineyards of Poictiers; When captive kings on Edward's state right humbly did attend ; When England's chivalry began the gartered knee to bend ; Then in the foremost place, among the noblest of the land, Stood Wykeham, the great Bishop, upon the king's right hand. But when gracious Edward slept, and Richard wore the crown, Forth came good William Wykeham, and meekly knelt him down. Then out spake young King Richard: "What boon can Wykeham ask, Which can surpass his worth, or our bounty over task? For art thou not our Chancellor? and where in all the realm Is a wiser man or better, to guide the labouring helm ? And thou know'st the holy lore, and the mason's cunning skill: So speak the word, good Wykeham, for thou shalt have thy will." "I ask not wealth nor honour," the Bishop lowly said, "Too much of both thy grandsire's hand heaped on a poor monk's head: This world it is a weary load, it presses down my soul; Fain would I pay my vows, and to Heav'n restore the whole. Grant me that two fair Colleges, beneath thy charters sure, At Oxford and at Winchester, for ever may endure, Which Wykeham's hands shall raise upon the grassy sod, In the name of Blessed Mary, and for the love of God." The king he sealed the charters, and Wykeham traced the plan, And God, Who gave him wisdom, prospered the lowly man : So two fair Colleges arose, one in calm Oxford's glade, And one where Itchen sparkles beneath the planetree shade. There seventy true-born English boys he nourished year by year In the nurture of good learning, and in God's holy fear; And gave them steadfast laws, and bade them never move Without sweet sign of brotherhood and gentle links of love. They grew beside his pastoral throne, and kept his counsels sage, And the good man rejoiced to bear such fruit in his old age: He heard the pealing notes of praise, which morn and evening rung Forth from their vaulted chapel, by their clear voices sung; His eye beheld them two by two their comely order keep Along the Minster's sacred aisles, and up the beechcrowned steep; And, when he went to his reward, they shed the pious tear, And sang the hallowed requiem over his saintly bier. |