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And e'en thofe hills that round his manfion rife,
Enhance the blifs his feanty fund fupplies.
Dear is that thed to which his foul conforms,
And dear that hill which lifts him to the ftorms;
And as a child, when fearing founds moleft,
Clings clofe and clofer to the mother's breaft;
So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar,
But bind him to his native mountains more.
Such are the charms to barren ftates aflign'd:
Their wants but few, their wishes all contin'd.
Yet let them only fhare the praises due;
If few their wants, their pleasures are but few:
For ev'ry want that ftimulates the breaft
Becomes a fource of pleasure when redrefs'd.
Whence from fuch lands each pleafing fcience flies,
That firft excites defire, and then fupplies;
Unknown to them, when fenfual pleafures cloy,
To fill the languid paufe with finer joy;
Unknown those pow'rs that raise the foul to flame, |
Catch ev'ry nerve, and vibrate through the frame.
Their level life is but a mould'ring fire,
Unquench'd by want, unfann'd by strong defire;
Unfit for raptures; or, if raptures cheer
On fome high feftival of once a year,
In wild excefs the vulgar breast takes fire,
Till buried in debauch the blifs expire.

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But not their joys alone thus coarsely flow; Their morals, like their pleasures, are but low: For, as refinement ftops, from fire to fon, Unalter'd, unimprov'd, the manners run; And love's and friendship's finely-pointed dart Falls blunted from each indurated heart. Some fterner virtues o'er the mountain's breaft May fit, like falcons cow'ring on the neft; But all the gentler morals, such as play Thro'life's more cultur'dwalks,and charm theway; Thefe, far difpers'd, on timorous pinions fly, To fport and flutter in a kinder fky.

To kinder skies, where gentler manners reign, I turn-and France difplays her bright domain. Gay fprightly land of mirth and focial eafe, Pleas'd with thyfelf, whom all the world can How often have I led thy fportive choir, [please, With tunclefs pipe, befide the murm'ring Loire! Where fhading clms along the margin grew, And, freshen'd from the wave, the zephyr flew; And haply, tho' my harth touch fault ring still, But mock'd all tune, and marr'd the dancer's skill, Yet would the village praife my wondrous pow'r, And dance, forgetful of the noon-tide hour! Alike all ages: dames of ancient days Have led their children thro' the mirthful maze; And the gay grandfire, fkill'd in geftic lore, Has frifk'd beneath the burden of threefcore. So blefs'd a life thefe thoughtlefs realms difplay, Thus idly bufy rolls their world away: Theirs are thofe arts that mind to mind endear, For honour forms the focial temper here. Honour, that praife which real merit gains, Or e'en imaginary worth obtains,

Here paffes current; paid from hand to hand, It fhifts in fplendid traffic round the land: From courts to camps, to cottages, it strays, And all are taught an avarice of praife;

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They please, are pleas'd, they give to get efteemi
Till, feeming blefs'd, they grow to what they fecm.
But while this fofter art their blifs fupplies,
It gives their follies alfo room to rife;
For praife too dearly lov'd, or warmly fought,
Enfeebles all internal ftrength of thought;
And the weak foul, within itself unblets'd,
Leans for all pleasure on another's breast.
Hence oftentation here, with tawdry art,
Pants for the vulgar praife which fools impart :
Here vanity affumes her pert grimace,
And trims her robes of frize with copper-lace,
Here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer,
To boaft one fplendid banquet once a year;
The mind still turns where thifting fathion draws
Nor weighs the folid worth of felf-applause.
To men of other minds my fancy flies,
Embofom'd in the deep where Holland lies.
Methinks her patient fons before me stand,
Where the broad occan leans against the land;
And, fedulous to ftop the coming tide,
Lift the tall rampire's artificial pride.
Onward methinks, and diligently flow,
The firm connected bulwark feems to grow;
Spreads its long arms amidst the wat'ry roar,
Scoops out an empire, and ufurps the thore;
While the pent ocean, rifing o'er the pile,
Sees an amphibious world beneath him fimile;
The flow canal, the yellow-bloffom'd vale,
The willow-tufted bank, the gliding fail,
The crowded mart, the cultivated plain,
A new creation refcued from his reign.

Thus, while around the wave-fubjected foil
Impels the native to repeated toil,
Industrious habits in each bofom reign,
And induftry begets a love of gain.
Hence all the good from opulence that springs,
With all thofe ills fuperfluous treasure brings,
Are here display'd. Their much-lov'd wealth im-
Convenience, plenty, elegance, and arts; [parts
But, view them clofer, craft and fraud appear;
E'en liberty itfelf is barter'd here!
At gold's fuperior charms all freedom flies;
The needy fell it, and the rich man buys;
A land of tyrants, and a den of flaves,
Here wretches feck difhonourable graves,
And calmly bent, to fervitude conform,
Dull as their lakes that flumber in the storm.

Heavens how unlike their Belgic fires of old! Rough, poor, content, ungovernably bold; War in each breaft, and freedom on each brow; How much unlike the fons of Britain now!

Fir'd at the found, my Genius fpreads her wing, And flies where Britain courts the western fpring; Where lawns extend that fcorn Arcadian pride, And brighter streams than fam'd Hydafpes glide: There all around the gentleft breezes ftray, There gentle mufic melts on ev'ry spray; Creation's mildeft charms are there combin'd; Extremes are only in the mafter's mind! Stern o'er each bofom Reafon holds her state, With daring aims irregularly great: Pride in their port, defiance in their eye, I fee the lords of human-kind pass by;

Intent on high defigns, a thoughtful band,
By forms unfashion'd fresh from nature's hand;
Fierce in their native hardiness of foul,
True to imagin'd right, above controul;
While e'en the peafant boafts these rights to fcan,
And learns to venerate himfelf as man. [here,
Thine, Freedom, thine the bleflings pictur'd
Thine are thofe charms that dazzle and endear;
Too blefs'd indeed were fuch without alloy,
But fofter'd e'en by Freedom ills annoy.
That independence Britons prize too high,
Keeps man from man, and breaks the focial tie;
The felf-dependent lordlings ftand alone;
All claims that bind and fweeten life unknown;
Here, by the bonds of Nature fecbly held,
Minds combat minds, repelling and repell'd.
Ferments arife, imprifon'd factions roar,
Reprefs'd ambition ftruggles round her shore;
Till, over-wrought, the general fyftem feels
Its motions ftop, or phrenzy fire the wheels.

Nor this the worft. As Nature's ties decay,
As duty, love, and honour fail to fway,
Fictitious bonds, the bonds of wealth and law,
Still gather ftrength, and force unwilling awe.
Hence all obedience bows to thefe alone,
And talent finks, and merit weeps unknown;
Till time may come, when, ftripp'd of all her
charms,

The land of scholars, and the nurfe of arms,
Where noble stems tranfmit the patriot flame,
Where kings have toil'd, and poets wrote for fame,
One fink of level avarice fhall lie,

And scholars, foldiers, kings, unhonour'd die.
Yet think not, thus when Freedom's ills I ftate,
I mean to flatter kings, or court the great:
Ye powers of truth, that bid my foul afpire,
Far from my bofom drive the low defire!
And thou, fair Freedom, taught alike to feel
The rabble's rage, and tyrant's angry steel;
Thou tranfitory flower, alike undone
By proud Contempt, or Favour's foft'ring fun,
Still may thy blooms the changeful clime endure,
I only would reprefs them to fecure :
For just experience tells, in ev'ry foil,
That thofe who think muft govern thofe who toil;
And all that Freedom's higheft aims can reach,
Is but to lay proportion'd loads on each.
Hence, fhould one order difproportion'd grow,
Its double weight muft ruin all below.

O, then, how blind to all that truth requires,
Who think it freedom when a part aspires !
Calm is my foul, nor apt to rife in arms,
Except when faft-approaching danger warms:
But when contending chiefs blockade the throne,
Contracting regal power to stretch their own;
When I behold a factious band agree

To call it freedom when themfelves are free;
Each wanton judge new penal ftatutes draw,
Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law;
The wealth of climes, where favage nations roam,
Pillag'd from flaves, to purchase slaves at home;
Fear, pity, juftice, indignation ftart,

Tear off referve, and bare my fwelling heart;
Till, half a patriot, half a coward grown,
Ify from petty tyrants to the throne.

Yes, brother, curfe with me that baleful hour, When firft ambition ftruck at regal pow'r; And thus polluting honour in its fource, Gave wealth to fway the mind with double force, Have we not feen, round Britain's peopled fhore, Her ufeful fons exchang'd for ufelefs ore; Seen all her triumphs but deftruction haste, Like flaring tapers, bright'ning as they wafte Seen Opulence, her grandeur to maintain, Lead ftern Depopulation in her train, And over fields, where scatter'd hamlets role In barren, folitary pomp repofe? Have we not feen, at Pleafure's lordly call, The fmiling long-frequented village fall? Beheld the dutcous fon, the fire decay'd, The modeft matron, and the blufhing maid, Forc'd from their homes, a melancholy train, To traverse climes beyond the weftern main; Where wild Ofwego fpreads her fwamps around, And Niagara ftuns with thund'ring found? E'en now, perhaps, as there fome pilgrim ftravs Thro' tangled forefts, and thro' dang 'rous ways; Where beafts with man divided empire claim, And the brown Indian marks with murd'rous aim; There, while above the giddy tempest flies,、 And all around diftrefsful yells arife, The penfive exile, bending with his woe, To ftop too fearful, and too faint to go, Cafts a long look where England's glories fhine, And bids his bofom fympathize with mine.

Vain, very vain, my weary fearch to find That blifs which only centres in the mind! Why have I ftray'd from pleasure and repofe, To feek a good each government bestows? In ev'ry government, though terrors reign, Though tyrant kings or tyrant laws reftrain, How finall, of all that human hearts endure, That part which laws or kings can cause or cure! Still to ourselves in ev'ry place confign'd, Our own felicity we make or find: With fecret courfe, which no loud ftorms annoy Glides the smooth current of domestic joy. The lifted ax, the agonizing wheel,

Luke's iron crown, and Damien's bed of steel, To men remote from pow'r but rarely known, Leave reafon, faith, and confcience, all our own.

§ 2.

A Paftoral. In Four Parts. POPE. To Sir William Trumbal. PASTORAL I. SPRING.

FIRST in thefe fields I try the fylvan ftrains,

Nor blush to fport on Windfor's blissful plains: Fair Thames, flow gently from thy facred fpring, While on thy banks Sicilian Mufes fing; Let vernal airs through trembling offers play, And Albion's cliffs refound the rural lay.

You that, too wife for pride, too good for pow'r, Enjoy the glory to be great no more, And carrying with you all the world can boaft, To all the world illuftriously are loft! O let my Mufe her flender reed infpire, Till in your native fhades you tune the lyre: So when the Nightingale to reft removes, The thrush may chant to the forsaken groves ;

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DAPHNIS.

Nay, tell me firft, in what more happy fields
The Thistle fprings, to which the Lily yields:
And then a nobler prize I will refign;
For Sylvia, charming Sylvia, fhall be thine.

DAMON.

Geafe to contend; for, Daphnis, I decree
The bowl to Strephon, and the lamb to thee:
Bleft Swains, whofe Nymphs in every grace excel;
Bleft Nymphs, whofe Swains thofe graces fing fo

well!

Now rife, and hafte to yonder woodbine bow'rs,
A foft retreat from fudden vernal show'rs;
The turf with rural dainties fhall be crown'd*,
While op'ning blooms diffuse their sweets around.
For, fee! the gath'ring flocks to fhelter tend,
And from the Pleiads fruitful fhow'rs defcend.

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A Shepherd's boy (he feeks no better name)†
Led forth his flocks along the filver Thame,
Where dancing fun-beams on the waters play'd,
And verdant alders form'd a quiv'ring flade.
Soft as he mourn'd, the ftreams forgot to flow,
The flocks around a dumb compaffion fhow,
The Naïads wept in ev'ry wat'ry bow'r,
And Jove confented in a filent show'r.

Accept, O Garth, the Mufe's early lays,
That adds this wreath of ivy to thy bays;
Hear what from Love unpractis'd hearts endure,
From Love, the fole difeafe thou canst not cure.
Ye fhady beeches, and ye cooling ftreams,
Defence from Phoebus', not from Cupid's beams,
Το you I mourn, nor to the deaf I fing;
The woods fhall anfwer, and their echo ring.
The hills and rocks attend my doleful lay-
Why art thou prouder and more hard than they?
The bleating fheep with my complaints agree;
They parch'd with heat, and I inflam'd by thee.
The fultry Sirius burns the thirty plains,"
While in thy heart eternal winter reigns.

Where ftray ye, Mufes, in what lawn or grove,
While your Alexis pines in hopeless love?
In thofe fair fields where facred Ifis glides,
Or elfe where Cam his winding vales divides?
As in the cryftal fpring I view my face §,
Fresh rifing blushes paint the wat'ry glafs;
But fince thofe graces pleafe thy eyes no more,
I fhun the fountains which I fought before.
Once I was fkill'd in ev'ry herb that grew,
And ev'ry plant that drinks the morning dew

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Ah, wretched fhepherd, what avails thy art,
To cure thy lambs, but not to heal thy heart!
Let other fwains attend the rural care,
Feed fairer flocks, or richer fleeces sheer:
But nigh yon mountain let me tune my lays,
Embrace my Love, and bind my brows with bays.
That flute is mine which Colin's tuneful breath
Infpir'd when living, and bequeath'd in death:
He faid-Alexis, take this pipe, the fame
That taught the groves my Rofalinda's name:
But now the reeds fhall hang on yonder tree,
For ever filent, fince despis'd by thee.
Oh! were I made by fome transforming pow'r
The captive bird that fings within thy bow'r!
Then might my voice thy lift'ning cars employ,
And I thofe kiffes he receives enjoy.

And yet my numbers please the rural throng,
Rough Satyrs dance, and Pan applauds the fong:
The Nymphs, forfaking ev'ry cave and fpring,
Their early fruit and milk-white turtles bring:
Each am'rous nymph prefers her gifts in vain,
On you their gifts are all beftow'd again.
For you the fwains the faircft flow'rs defign,
And in one garland all their beauties join:
Accept the wreath which you deferve alone,
In whom all beautics are compris'd in one.

See what delights in fylvan fcenes appear!
Defcending gods have found Elyfium here.
In woods bright Venus with Adonis ftray'd,
And chafte Diana haunts the foreft-fhade.

Come, lovely nymph, and blefs the filent hours,
When fwains from theering feek their nightly
When weary reapers quit the fultry field, [bow'rs;
And crown'd with corn their thanks to Ceres yield.
This harmless grove no lurking viper hides,
But in my breaft the ferpent Love abides.
Here bees from bloffoms fip the rofy dew,
But your Alexis knows no sweets but you.
Oh deign to vifit our forfaken feats,

The molly fountains, and the green retreats!
Where'er you walk, cool gales fhall fan the glade,
Trees, where you fit, fhall crowd into a fhade:
Where'er you tread, the blushing flow'rs fhall
rife,

And all things flourish where you turn your eyes.
Oh how I long with you to pafs my days,
Invoke the Mules, and refound your praife!
Your praife the birds shall chant in ev'ry grove,
And winds fhall waft it to the pow'rs above.
But would you fing, and rival Orpheus' strain,
The wond'ring forests soon should dance again,
The moving mountains hear the pow'rful call,
; And headlong ftreams hang lift'ning in their fall!

VARIATIONS.

The turf with country dainties fhall be spread,
And trees with twining branches fhade your head.
A faithful fwain, whom Love had taught to fing,
Bewail'd his fate befide a filver fpring:
Where gentle Thames his winding waters leads
Thro' verdant forefts, and thro' flow'ry meads.
Originally thus:

There to the winds he plain'd his hapless love,
And Amaryllis fill'd the vocal grove.

Oft in the crystal fpring I caft a view,
And equall'd Hylas, if the glafs be true;
But fince thofe graces meet my eyes no more,
I thun, &c.

Your praife the tuneful birds to heaven fhall bear
And lift'ning wolves grow milder as they hear.

But

But fee, the fhepherds fhun the noon-day heat,
The lowing herds to murm'ring brooks retreat;
To clofer fhades the panting flocks remove;
Ye gods! and is there no relief for Love?
But foon the fun with milder rays defcends
To the cool ocean, where his journey ends:
On me Love's fiercer flames for ever prey
By night he scorches, as he burns by day.

PASTORAL III. AUTUM N.
Addreffed to Mr. Wycherley.

BENEATH the fhade a spreading beech difplays
Hylas and Egon fung their rural lays:
This mourn'd a faithless, that an absent Love;
And Delia's name and Doris' fill'd the grove.
Ye Mantuan nymphs, your facred fuccour bring;
Hylas and Egon's rural lays I fing.
Thou, whom the Nine with Plautus' wit infpire,
The art of Terence, and Menander's fire;
Whofe fenfe inftructs us, and whofe humour
charms,
[warms!
Whole judgment fways us, and whofe fpirit
Oh, fkill'd in nature! fee the hearts of fwains,
Their artless paffions, and their tender pains.
Now fetting Phoebus fhone ferenely bright,
And fleecy clouds were streak'd with purple light;
When tuneful Hylas with melodious moan
Taught rocks to weep, and made the mountains

groan.

Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs away! To Delia's ear the tender notes convey. As fome fad Turtle his loft love deplores, And with deep murmurs fills the founding fhores; Thus, far from Delia, to the winds I mourn, Alike unheard, unpitied, and forlorn.

Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs along! For her, the feather'd choirs neglect their long; For her, the limes their pleafing fhades deny; For her, the lilies hang their heads and die. Ye flow'rs that droop, forfaken by the spring; Ye birds that, left by fummer, ceafe to fing; Ye trees that fade when autumn heats remove, Say, is not abfence death to those who love?

Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs away! Curs'd be the fields that caufe my Delia's stay; Fade ev'ry bloffom, wither ev'ry tree, Die ev'ry flow'r, and perifh all but she. What have I faid? where'er my Delia flies, Let fpring attend, and fudden flow'rs arife; Let op'ning rofes knotted oaks adorn, And liquid amber drop from ev'ry thorn.

Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs along! The birds fhall ceafe to tune their ev'ning fong, The winds to breathe, the waving woods to move, And ftreams to murmur, ere I cease to love. Not bubbling fountains to the thirsty fwain, Not balmy fleep to lab'rers faint with pain, Not fhow'rs to larks, or funfhine to the bee, Are half fo charming as thy fight to me.

Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs away! Come, Delia, come; ah, why this long delay?

Thro' rocks and caves the name of Delia founds.
Delia, each cave and echoing rock rebounds.
Ye pow'rs, what pleafing frenzy foothes my mind!
Do lovers dream, or is my Delia kind?
She comes, my Delia comes! Now cease, my lay;
And ceafe, ye gales, to bear my fighs away!

Next Egon fung,while Windfor groves admir'd;
Rehearfe, ye Mutes, what yourfelves infpir'd.
Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful strain !
Of perjur'd Doris, dying I complain:
Here where the mountains, lefs'ning as they rife,
Lofe the low vales, and fteal into the fkies;
While lab'ring oxen, spent with toil and heat,
In their loofe traces from the field retreat;
While curling fmokes from village-tops are feen,
And the fleet thades glide o'er the dufky green.

Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful lay! Beneath yon poplar oft we pafs'd the day: Oft on the rind I carv'd her am'rous vows, While fhe with garlands hung the bending boughs. The garlands fade, the vows are worn away; So dies her love, and fo my hopes decay.

Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful strain! Now bright Arcturus glads the teeming grain, Now golden fruits on loaded branches thine, And grateful clufters fwell with floods of wine; Now blushing berries paint the yellow grove; Juft gods! fhall all things yield returns but love?

Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful lay! The fhepherds cry, "Thy flocks are left a prey." Ah! what avails it me the flocks to keep, Who loft my heart while I preferv'd my sheep'. Pan came, and afk'd what magic caus'd my fmart Or what ill eyes malignant glances dart? What cyes but hers, alas have pow'r to move? And is there magic but what dwells in love?

Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful strains! I'll fly from thepherds, flocks, and flow'ry plains. From thepherds, flocks, and plains, I may remove, Forfake mankind, and all the world-but Love! I know thee, Love! on foreign mountains bred, Wolves gave thee fuck, and favage tigers fed: Thou wert from Etna's burning entrails torn, Got by fierce whirlwinds, and in thunder born!

Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful lay!
Farewel, ye woods adieu, the light of day!
One leap from yonder cliff fhall end my pains:
No more, ye hills, no more refound my ftrains!
Thus fung the fhepherds till th' approach of night,
The fkies yet blufhing with departing light;
When falling dews with fpangles deck'd the glade,"
And the low fun had lengthen'd ev'ry shade.

PASTORAL IV. WINTER.
To the Memory of Mrs. Tempest.

LYCIDAS.

THYRSIS, the mufic of that murm'ring fpring Is not fo mournful as the ftrains you fing; Nor rivers winding thro' the vales below So fweetly warble, or fo fmoothly flow..

VARIATION.

* Me love inflames, nor will his fires allay.

Now

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