The Tale of Durand

WITHIN the placid Isle of France,
Scene once of taste and elegance,
(When Paris, from her regal bound,
Gave fashions to a world around)
DURAND resided, frugal swain,
And cultur'd his paternal plain;
With daily care he dress'd the land,
And earn'd his food from Nature's hand.
Contented with his humble state,
He envy'd not the rich or great.

Each morn he rose, with decent pride
His comfortable roof he eyed,
The garden's growth survey'd with care,
Admir'd each useful product there;
Now trac'd, with an enamour'd look,
The sweetly-winding, limpid brook;
Mark'd where his fertile meads extended,
By woods from eastern blasts defended;
Then on his grateful knees would fall,
And thank the bounteous LORD OF ALL.

In his plain heart much room had he
For well plac'd liberality;
Bounteous, not lavish of his pelf,
He lov'd his neighbour as himself;
But at distress or hunger's call,
He shew'd himself a friend to all.

With daily toil his ground he till'd,
With constant care each season fill'd;
From his own hand each eve he fed
The labour'd ox, and weary steed,
And with endearing touch, approv'd
The labours of the beast he lov'd.
JEAN shar'd the drudg'ry of the field,
MANON domestic duties fill'd,
Dear children of a dearer wife!
The gentle sweetners of his life.

To Matins and to Vespers true,
They paid their Maker homage due;
On Sabbath-days, with fervent mind,
The public worship constant join'd,
And, in the ev'ning sports, were seen
To join the dance upon the green.

Such was the custom, such the lore,
Parisians us'd in days of yore:
But decent pastimes now are done;
Rule, order, nay, religion gone;
The very name of Sabbath flown,
And Decads count their time alone.

But I digress—the good DURAND,
Rich in the tribute of his land,
(As all the neighb'ring farmers were,
Who dwell'd within that Province fair)
With honest pride rejoic'd to see
The produce of his industry.

One year (unwonted in that Isle)
Incessant rains oppress'd the soil,
The seed ev'n perish'd in its birth,
And Nature own'd a general dearth.

AVARE, with wealth and pride o'ergrown,
Who knew no interest but his own,
Who never sought the dreary shed,
Where Want reclin'd his aching head,
Who could rebuke, with ruthless low'r,
The famish'd stranger from his door,
Beheld the dearth with joyous look,
And thus the neighb'ring swains bespoke:

"Now is the time for us, my friends,
"To use our stores for wisest ends;
"'Tis our's the price to regulate,
"And fix it at the highest rate.
"Fools only such occasions lose,
"And Fortune's proffer'd means a buse;
"The thrifty are the truly wise,
"Who watch each change with wary eyes,
"Each distant means of gain discern,
And to their own advantage turn."

DURAND heard all, but homeward sped
With musing gait, and downcast head,
And at the closing hour of rest,
The great Creator thus address'd:

"Father of All, who know'st my heart,
"Search, and correct each sinful part!
"Ne'er may illegal thirst of gain,
"Or sordid craft my bosom stain!
"If e'er accumulated store
"Make me 'gainst Mis'ry close my door,
"For worthier beings, oh! reserve
"The blessings I should ill deserve!
"Of means to succour while possess'd,
"If rigour steel my callous breast,
"Let me the want I slight endure,
"And make me poorest of the poor!
"But now, while scarcity prevails,
"And Nature's wonted bounty fails,
"Ought I from treasur'd hoards refuse
"A mod'rate share for general use,
"Or added profit dare to grind
"From the afflictions of mankind?

"No—what thy bounty heap'd on me,
"To others I'll distribute free;
"And if I act as I profess,
"May'st thou the resolution bless!"

He spoke, and felt the dew of sleep
In soft repose his senses steep,
In blissful dreams he pass'd the night,
And cheerly hail'd returning light;
But cold and dreary look'd the ground,
A melancholy blank around:
Instead of Autumn's golden grain,
A barren Winter seem'd to reign.

DURAND beheld his neighbour-band
For small supplies make high demand,
Yet sanctimoniously he kept
The promise plighted ere he slept;
With scorn the profit he declin'd
Wrung "from the affliction of mankind."
At easy rates his grain he shar'd,
Nay, something to the needy spar'd;
Thus, in relieving others bless'd,
Smil'd, and enjoy'd unbroken rest.

But mark what miracles appear
To signalize th' ensuing year!
Let not the doubting, or the bold,
Deride the wonders I unfold,
For lips, that never knew deceit,
To me the story did repeat,
And made each heart with pleasure thrill,
In sweet discoursings, at Rose-Hill.

Th' ensuing Autumn saw the ground
In grain of ev'ry kind abound;
Each husbandman, with joy, beheld
The swelling product of his field;
But chief DURAND—before whose view
(Scarce crediting the vision true)
Each rising stem was seen to bear,
Replete with grain, a TRIPLE ear.
And none, save his prolific field,
So plenteous a display did yield.

The marvel quickly gather'd fame,
From distant quarters numbers came:
All gaz'd with wonder; some with spite;
Some with extravagant delight;
Tend'ring a gratulating hand
To the lov'd owner of the land.

DURAND, the merciful and good,
In silence breath'd his gratitude;—
AVARE, who mingled in the crowd,
Astounded stood;—then thus aloud:
"Oft have I dar'd, in accents rude,
"Deny th' existence of a GOD;
"Too oft absurdly dar'd advance
"That all is the effect of Chance;
"But wonders, such as here are shewn,
"Must spring from Pow'r Divine alone.