WHERE ends our chancel in a vaulted space, Sleep the departed Vicars of the place; Of most, all mention, memory, thought are past - But take a slight memorial of the last. To what famed college we our Yicar owe, To what fair county, let historians show: Few now remember when the mild young man, Ruddy and fair, his Sunday-task began; Few live to speak of that soft soothing look He cast around, as he prepared his book; It was a kind of supplicating smile, But nothing hopeless of applause the while; And when he finished, his corrected pride Felt the desert, and yet the praise denied. Thus he his race began, and to the end His constant care was, no man to offend; No haughty virtues stirr'd his peaceful mind; Nor urged the Priest to leave the Flock behind; He was his Master's Soldier, but not one To lead an army of his Martyrs on: Fear was his ruling passion; yet was Love, Of timid kind, once known his heart to move; It led his patient spirit where it paid Its languid offerings to a listening Maid: She, with her widow'd Mother, heard him speak, And sought awhile to find what he would seek: Smiling he came, he smiled when he withdrew, And paid the same attention to the two; Meeting and parting without joy or pain, He seem'd to come that he might go again. The wondering girl, no prude, but something nice, At length was chill'd by his unmelting ice; She found her tortoise held such sluggish pace, That she must turn and meet him in the chase: This not approving, she withdrew, till one Came who appear'd with livelier hope to run; Who sought a readier way the heart to move, Than by faint dalliance of unfixing love. Accuse me not that I approving paint Impatient Hope or Love without restraint; Or think the Passions, a tumultuous throng, Strong as they are, ungovernably strong: But is the laurel to the soldier due, Who, cautious, comes not into danger's view? What worth has Virtue by Desire untried, When Nature's self enlists on Duty's side? The married dame in vain assail'd the truth And guarded bosom of the Hebrew youth; But with the daughter of the Priest of On The love was lawful, and the guard was gone; But Joseph's fame had lessened in our view, Had he, refusing, fled the maiden too. Yet our good priest to Joseph's praise aspired, As once rejecting what his heart desired; "I am escaped," he said, when none pursued; When none attack'd him, "I am unsubdued;" "Oh pleasing pangs of love!" he sang again, Cold to the joy, and stranger to the pain. E'en in his age would he address the young, "I too have felt these fires, and they are strong;" But from the time he left his favourite maid, To ancient females his devoirs were paid: And still they miss him after Morning-prayer; Nor yet successor fills the Vicar's chair, Where kindred spirits in his praise agree, A happy few, as mild and cool as he; The easy followers in the female train, Led without love, and captives without chain. Ye Lilies male! think (as your tea you sip,