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 sunshine settles on its head.
Well had the boding tremblers learnd to trace The days disasters in his morning face; Full well they laughd with counterfeited glee At all his jokes, for many a joke had he; Full well the busy whisper circling round Conveyd the dismal tidings when he frownd. Yet was he kind, or if severe in aught, The love he bore to learning was in fault; The village all declard how much he knew, T was certain he could write and cipher too.
In arguing too, the parson ownd his skill, For een though vanquishd he could argue still; While words of learned length and thundering sound Amazd the gazing rustics rangd around; And still they gazd, and still the wonder grew That one small head could carry all he knew.
The whitewashd wall, the nicely sanded floor, The varnishd clock that clickd behind the door; The chest, contrivd a double debt to pay, A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day.2