Eclogue I. The Old Mansion-House.

STRANGER.             Old friend! why you seem bent on parish duty,             Breaking the highway stones,--and 'tis a task             Somewhat too hard methinks for age like yours.     OLD MAN.             Why yes! for one with such a weight of years             Upon his back. I've lived here, man and boy,             In this same parish, near the age of man             For I am hard upon threescore and ten.             I can remember sixty years ago             The beautifying of this mansion here             When my late Lady's father, the old Squire             Came to the estate.     STRANGER.                 Why then you have outlasted             All his improvements, for you see they're making             Great alterations here.     OLD MAN.                 Aye-great indeed!             And if my poor old Lady could rise up--             God rest her soul! 'twould grieve her to behold             The wicked work is here.     STRANGER.                  They've set about it             In right good earnest. All the front is gone,             Here's to be turf they tell me, and a road             Round to the door. There were some yew trees too             Stood in the court.     OLD MAN.                  Aye Master! fine old trees!             My grandfather could just remember back             When they were planted there. It was my task             To keep them trimm'd, and 'twas a pleasure to me!             All strait and smooth, and like a great green wall!             My poor old Lady many a time would come             And tell me where to shear, for she had played             In childhood under them, and 'twas her pride             To keep them in their beauty. Plague I say             On their new-fangled whimsies! we shall have             A modern shrubbery here stuck full of firs             And your pert poplar trees;--I could as soon             Have plough'd my father's grave as cut them down!     STRANGER.             But 'twill be lighter and more chearful now,             A fine smooth turf, and with a gravel road             Round for the carriage,--now it suits my taste.             I like a shrubbery too, it looks so fresh,             And then there's some variety about it.             In spring the lilac and the gueldres rose,             And the laburnum with its golden flowers             Waving in the wind. And when the autumn comes             The bright red berries of the mountain ash,             With firs enough in winter to look green,             And show that something lives. Sure this is better             Than a great hedge of yew that makes it look             All the year round like winter, and for ever             Dropping its poisonous leaves from the under boughs             So dry and bare!     OLD MAN.              Ah! so the new Squire thinks             And pretty work he makes of it! what 'tis             To have a stranger come to an old house!     STRANGER.             It seems you know him not?     OLD MAN.                 No Sir, not I.             They tell me he's expected daily now,             But in my Lady's time he never came             But once, for they were very distant kin.             If he had played about here when a child             In that fore court, and eat the yew-berries,             And sat in the porch threading the jessamine flowers,             That fell so thick, he had not had the heart             To mar all thus.     STRANGER.             Come--come! all a not wrong.             Those old dark windows--     OLD MAN.                 They're demolish'd too--             As if he could not see thro' casement glass!             The very red-breasts that so regular             Came to my Lady for her morning crumbs,             Won't know the window now!     STRANGER.                 Nay they were high             And then so darken'd up with jessamine,             Harbouring the vermine;--that was a fine tree             However. Did it not grow in and line             The porch?     OLD MAN.             All over it: it did one good             To pass within ten yards when 'twas in blossom.             There was a sweet-briar too that grew beside.             My Lady loved at evening to sit there             And knit; and her old dog lay at her feet             And slept in the sun; 'twas an old favourite dog             She did not love him less that he was old             And feeble, and he always had a place             By the fire-side, and when he died at last             She made me dig a grave in the garden for him.             Ah I she was good to all! a woful day             'Twas for the poor when to her grave she went!     STRANGER.             They lost a friend then?     OLD MAN.             You're a stranger here             Or would not ask that question. Were they sick?             She had rare cordial waters, and for herbs             She could have taught the Doctors. Then at winter             When weekly she distributed the bread             In the poor old porch, to see her and to hear             The blessings on her! and I warrant them             They were a blessing to her when her wealth             Had been no comfort else. At Christmas, Sir!             It would have warm'd your heart if you had seen             Her Christmas kitchen,--how the blazing fire             Made her fine pewter shine, and holly boughs             So chearful red,--and as for misseltoe,             The finest bough that grew in the country round             Was mark'd for Madam. Then her old ale went             So bountiful about! a Christmas cask,             And 'twas a noble one! God help me Sir!             But I shall never see such days again.     STRANGER.             Things may be better yet than you suppose             And you should hope the best.     OLD MAN.                  It don't look well             These alterations Sir! I'm an old man             And love the good old fashions; we don't find             Old bounty in new houses. They've destroyed             All that my Lady loved; her favourite walk             Grubb'd up, and they do say that the great row             Of elms behind the house, that meet a-top             They must fall too. Well! well! I did not think             To live to see all this, and 'tis perhaps             A comfort I shan't live to see it long.     STRANGER.             But sure all changes are not needs for the worse             My friend.     OLD MAN.             May-hap they mayn't Sir;--for all that             I like what I've been us'd to. I remember             All this from a child up, and now to lose it,             'Tis losing an old friend. There's nothing left             As 'twas;--I go abroad and only meet             With men whose fathers I remember boys;             The brook that used to run before my door             That's gone to the great pond; the trees I learnt             To climb are down; and I see nothing now             That tells me of old times, except the stones             In the church-yard. You are young Sir and I hope             Have many years in store,--but pray to God             You mayn't be left the last of all your friends.     STRANGER.             Well! well! you've one friend more than you're aware of.             If the Squire's taste don't suit with your's, I warrant             That's all you'll quarrel with: walk in and taste             His beer, old friend! and see if your old Lady             E'er broached a better cask. You did not know me,             But we're acquainted now. 'Twould not be easy             To make you like the outside; but within--             That is not changed my friend! you'll always find             The same old bounty and old welcome there.