Page images

While fea-born gales their gelid wings expand,
To winnow fragrance round the fmiling land.
But fmall the blifs that fenfe alone beftows;
And sensual blifs is all the nation knows.
In florid beauty groves and fields appear,
Man feems the only growth that dwindles here.
Contrafted faults thro' all his manners reign:
Tho' poor, luxurious; tho' fubiniffive, vain;
Tho' grave, yet trifling; zealous, yet untrue;
And e'en in pennance planning fins anew.
All evils here contaminate the mind,
That opulence departed leaves behind;
For wealth was theirs, not far remov'd the date,
When commerce proudly flourish'd thro' the ftate:
At her command the palace learn'd to rife,
Again the long-fall'n column fought the skies;
The canvas glow'd beyond e'en Nature warm;
The pregnant quarry teem'd with human form;
Till, more unfieady than the fouthern gale,
Commerce on other fhores difplay'd her fail;
While nought remain'd of all that riches gave,
But towns unmann'd, and lords without a flave:
And late the nation found, with fruitlefs fkill,
Its former ftrength was but plethoric ill.

Yet ftill the lofs of wealth is here supply'd
By arts, the fplendid wrecks of former pride;
From these the feeble heart and long-fall'n mind
An eafy compenfation feem to find.

Here may be feen, in bloodlefs pomp array'd,
The pafteboard triumph and the cavalcade;
Procettions form'd for piety and love,
A miftrefs or a faint in ev'ry grove.
By fports like thefe are all their cares beguil'd;
The fports of children fatisfy the child :
Each nobler aim, reprefs'd by long controul,
Now finks at laft, or feebly mans the foul;
While low delights, fucceeding faft behind,
In happier meannefs occupy the mind:
As in thofe domes, where Cæfars once bore fway,
Defac'd by time, and tott'ring in decay,
There in the ruin, heedless of the dead,
The fhelter-feeking peafant builds his fhed;
And, wondering man could want the larger pile,
Exults, and owns his cottage with a simile.

My foul turn from them-turn we to furvey
Where rougher climes a nobler race difplay;
Where the bleak Swifs their ftormy manfion tread,
And force a churlifh foil for fcanty-bread :
No product here the barren hills afford,
But man and ftec!, the foldier and his fword.
No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array,
But winter ling'ring chills the lap of May;
No zephyr fondly fues the mountain's breast,
But meteors glare, and ftormy glooms inveft.

Yet ftill, c'en here Content can fpread a charm, Redrets the clime, and all its rage difarm. Tho' poor the peafant's hut, his feaft tho' small, He fees his little lot the lot of all; Sees no contiguous palace rear its head, "To fname the meannefs of his humble thed; No coftly lord the fumptuous banquet deal, To make him loath his vegetable meal; But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil, Each with contracting, lits him to the foil.

Cheerful at morn he wakes from short repose,
Breathes the keen air, and carols as he goes;
With patient angle trolls the finny deep,
Or drives his vent'rous ploughfhare to the steep;
Or feeks the den where fnow-tracks mark the way,
And drags the struggling favage into day.
At night returning, ev'ry labour fped,
He fits him down the monarch of a fhed;
Smiles by his cheerful fire, and round furveys
His childrens looks, that brighten at the blaze;
While his lov'd partner, boastful of her hoard,
Difplays her cleanly platter on the board :
And haply too fome pilgrim, thither led,
With many a tale repays the nightly bed.

Thus ev'ry good his native wilds impart,
Imprints the patriot paffion on his heart;
And e'en thofe ills that round his manfion rife,
Enhance the blifs his fcanty fund fupplies.
Dear is that fhed to which his foul conforms,
And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms;
And as a child, when fearing founds inoleft,
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 states affign'd: Their wants but few, their wifhes all confin'd. Yet let them only share 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 redreft. When from fuch lands each pleafing fcience flies, That first excites defire, and then fupplies; Unknown to them, when fenfual pleatures cloy, To fill the languid paufe with finer joy; Unknown thofe pow'rs that raife the foul to flame, Catch ev'ry nerve, and vibrate thro' 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 breaft takes fire, Till, bury'd in debauch, the blifs expire.

But not their joys alone thus coarsely flow; Their morals, like their pleafures, 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 Fall blunted from each indurated heart. Some fterner virtues o'er the mountain's breaft May fit, like falcons cowering on the neft; But all the gentler morals, fuch as play [way, Thro' life's more cultur'd walks, and charm the Thefe far difpers'd, on timorous pinions fly, To fport and flutter in a kinder sky.

To kinder fkies, where gentler manners reign, I turn-and France difplays her bright domain. Gay fprightly land of mirth and focial ease, Pleas'd with thy felf, whom all theworld can pleafe, How often have I led thy fportive choir, With tunclefs pipe, beide the murm'ring Loire! Where fhading elms along the margin grew, And, frefhen'd from the wave, the zephyr flew; And haply, tho' my harth touch falt'ring ftill, But mock'd all tune, and marr'd the dancer's fkill,

Yet would the villa e praise my wondrous pow'r, Heavens! how unlike their Belgic sires of old!
And dance, forgetful of the noon-tide hour! Rough, poor, content, ingovernably bold;
Alike all aces, Dames of ancient days

War in each breast, and freedom on cach brow;
Have led their children thro’the mirthful maze; How much unlike the fons of Britain now!
And the gay grandfire, skill'd in gestic lorc, Fir'd at the found, my Genius spreads her wing,
Has frisk'd beneath the burden of threescorc. And flics where Britain courts the western spring;

So blett a life these thoughtless realıns display, | Wherc lawns extenu that fcorn Arcadian pride, Thus idly busy rolls thcir world away: And brighter streams than fam'd Hydaspis glide. Theirs are those arts that mind to mind endear; There all around the gentlest breezes stray; For bonour forms the social temper here. There gentle music melts on ev'ry spray; Honour, that praisc which rcal merit gains, Creation's mildest charms are there combin'd; Or e'en inaginary worth obrains,

Extremes are only in the master's inind!
Here países current; paid from hand to hand, Stern o'er each bofom Rcafon holds her ftatc,
It shifts in fplendid traffic round the land : With daring aims irregularly great:
From courts to camps, t( cottages it strays; Pride in their port, defiance in thoir eye,
And all are taught an avarice of praise ; I see the lords of human-kind pass by ;

They please, are pleas'd, they give to get e teem, Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band,
Till, seeming bless’d, they grow to what they feem. By forms unfashion'd fresh from Nature's hand;

But while this fofter art their bliss supplies, Fierce in their native hardiness of foul,
It gives their follics also room to rise ;

True to imagin'd right, above controul, For praisc too dearly lov’d, or warmly fought, Whilce'en the peasant boasts these rights to scan, Enfeebles all internal strength of thought ; And learns to venerate himself as man. And the weak foul, within itself vnbleft,

Thine, Freedom, thine the blessings pictur'd Leans for all pleasure on another's breaft.

here ; Hence oftenation here, with tawdry art,

Thine are those charms that dazzle and endear; Pants for the vulgar praise which fools impart : Too bless'd indeed were fuch without alloy, Here vanity assumes her pert grimace,

But fofter'd e'un by Freedom ills annoy; And trims her robes of frize with copper lace; That independance Britons prize too high, Here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer, Kecps man from man, and breaks the social tie; To boati one fplendid banquet once a year; The felf-dependant lordlings stand alone; The mind fill turns where thifting fashion draws, All claims that bind and fiveeten life unknown; Nor weighs the folid worth of felf-applaute. Here, by the bonds of Nature feebly held,

To men of other minds my fancy fies, Minds combat minds, repelling and repell’d. Einbofom'd in the deep where Holland lies. Ferments arife, imprison'd factions roar, Mcthinks her piztient fons before me stand, Repress’d ambition struggles round her shore, Where the broad ocean leans againtt the land; Till, over-wrought, the general system feels And, fedulous to stop the coming tide,

Its motions stop, or phirnzy fire the wheels. Lift the tall rampire's artificial pride.

Nor this the worst. As Nature's ties decay, Onward mcthinks, and diligently flow, As duty, love, and honour fail to fway, The firm connected bulwark seems to grow; Fictitious bonds, the bonds of wealth and law, Spreads its long arms amidst the wat’ry roar, Still gather strength, and force unwilling awe. Scoops out an cinpiic, and usurps the shore, Henco all obedience bowys to those alone, While thic pent occan, rising o'er the pile, And talent sinks, and merit weeps

unknown; Secs an amphibious world bencati him fimile; Till time may come, when, stripp'd of all her The flow canal, the yellow-blossom'd vale,

charms, The willow-tufted bank, the gliding fail, The land of scholars and the nurse of arms, The crowded inart, the cultivated plain, Where noble stems transinit the patriot fame, A new creation, rescu'd from his reign.

Where kings have toil'd, and poets wrote for fame, Thus, while around the wave-subjected soil One link of level avarice Thall lie, Impels the native to repeated toil,

And scholars, soldiers, kings, unhonour'd die. Industrious babits in cach bofom reign,

Yet think not, thus when Freedom's ills I state, And industry begets a love of gain.

I mean to flatter kings, or court the great : Hence all the good from opulence that springs, Ye pow'rs of truth, that bid my soul aspire, With all those ills superfluous treasure brings, Far from my bosom drive the low desire ! Are here dilplay’d. Thcir much-lov'd wealth im. And thou, fair Freedom, taught alike to feel Convenience, plenty, elegance, and arts ; [parts The rabble's rage, and tyrant's angry ftcel; But view them clofer, craft and fraud appear; Thou transitory flower, alike undone E'en liberty itself is barter'd here!

By proud Contempt, or Favour's foft'ring fun, At gold's fupcrior charms all freedom flics; Still may thy blooms the changeful clime endura, The needy fell it, and the rich man buys; I only would repress them to secure : A land of trrants, and a den of flaves!

For just experience tells, in ev'ry foil, Here wretches seck dihonourable graves, That thosc who think mult govern those that toil; And calmly bent, in fervitude conform; And all that Freedom's highest aims can reach, Dull as their lakes that suinber in the storm. Is but to lay proportion'd loads on cach.



Hence, fhould one order difproportion'd grow,
Its double weight must ruin all below.

O, then, how blind to all that truth requires,
Who think it freedom when a part afpires!
Calm is my foul, nor apt to rife in arms,
Except when faft-approaching danger warms:
But when contending chiefs blocade 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 statutes draw,
Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law;
The wealth of climes, where favage nations roain,
Pillag'd from flaves, to purchase flaves at home;
Fear, pity, juftice, indignation start,
Tear off referve, and bare my fwelling heart;
Till, half a patriot, half a coward grown,
I fly from petty tyrants to the throne.

Yes, brother, curfe me with that baleful hour,
When firft ambition ftruck at regal power;
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 ufefu! 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 fcatter'd hamlets rose,
In barren, folitary pomp repofe?
Have we not feen, at Pleafure's lordly call,
The fimiling long-frequented village fall?
Beheld the duteous fon, the fire decay'd,
The modeft matron, and the blufhing maid,
Forc'd from their homes, a melancholy train,
To traverfe climes beyond the weftern main;
Where wild Ofwego fpreads her swamps around,
And Niagara ftuns with thund'ring found!
HE'en now, perhaps, as there fome pilgrim ftrays
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 tempeft flics,
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 nine.

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 cach government beftows?
In ev'ry government, tho' terrors reign,
Tho' tyrant kings, or tyrant laws restrain,
How fmall, of all that human hearts endure,
That part which laws or kings can caufe or cure!
Still to ourfelves in ev'ry place confign'd,
Our own felicity we make or find:
With fecret course, which no loud ftorms
Glides the fimooth current of domestic joy.
The lifted ax, the agonizing wheel,
Luke's iron crown, and Damien's bed of steel,
To men remote from power but rarely known,
Leave reason, faith, and confcience, all our own,


§ 21. The Deferted Village. GOLDSMITH.

SWEET Auburn! lovelieft village of the plain, Where health and plenty cheer'd the labouring fwain;

Where finiling fpring its earliest visit paid,
And parting fummer's ling'ring blooms delay'd.
Dear lovely bow'rs of innocence and cafe,
Seats of my youth, when ev'ry fport could pleafe,
How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green,
Where humble happiness endear'd each scene!
How often have I paus'd on ev'ry charm,
The fhelter'd cot, the cultivated farm,
The never-failing brook, the bufy mill,
The decent church, that topt the neighb'ring hill,
The hawthorn bufh, with feats beneath the thade,
For talking age and whifp'ring lovers made!
How often have I bleft the coming day,
When toil remitting lent its turn to play,
And all the village train from labour free,
Led up their sports beneath the fpreading tree,
While many a paftime circle in the fhade,
The young contending as the old furvey'd;
And many a gambol frolic'd o'er the ground,
And fleights of art and feats of strength went


And still as cach repeated pleasure tir'd,
Succeeding fports the mirthful band inspir'd;
The dancing pair that fimply fought renown,
By holding out to tire each other down,
The fwain miftruftlefs of his fimutted face,
While fecret laughter titter'd round the place;
The bafhful virgin's fide long looks of love,
The matron's glance that would those looks re-

prove, [thefe These were thy charms, fweet village! fports like With sweet fucceffion, taught c'en toil to pleafe; Thefe round thy bow'rs their cheerful influence thed, [are fled. Thefe were thy charms-But all these charms Sweet fmiling village, lovelieft of the lawn, Thy fports are fled, and all thy charms with


Amidft thy bow'rs the Tyrant's hand is feen,
And defolation faddens all thy green :
One only mafter grafps the whole domain,
And half a tillage ftints thy finiling plain;
No more thy glaffy brook reflects the day,
But choak'd with fedges, works its weedy way;
Along thy glades, a folitary gueft,

The hollow founding bittern guards its neft;
Amidst thy defart walks the lapwing flies,
And tires their echoes with unvary'd cries.
Sunk are thy bow'rs in fhapelefs ruin all,
And the long grafs o'ertops the mould'ring wall.
And, trembling, fhrinking from the fpoiler's

Far, far away thy children leave the land.

Ill fares the land, to haft'ning ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates and men decay: Princes and Lords may flourish, or may fade; A breath can make them, as a breath has made: But a bold peafantry, their country's pride, When once destroy'd, can never be supply'd.

A time there was, ere Engla!ld's griefs began, | The noisy gecse that gabhl'd o'er the pool,
When every rood of ground maintain'dits inan; The playful children just let loose from school,
For hiin light labour Ipread her wholesome store; The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whispring
Juli garć what life requir’d, but gave no more : wind,
His best companions, innocence and health ; And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind;
And his bett riches, ignorance of wealth. There all in licet confusion sought the Thade,

But times are alter'd: trade's unfccling train And Gill'd caclı pause the nightingale had made.
Usurp the land, and dispofTefs the swain ; But now the sounds of population fail,
Along the lawn, where scatter'd hamlets rose, No cheerful murinurs fluctuate in the gale,
Unwieldy wealth and cumb'rous pomp lepole; No buly ftips the grass-grown foot-way tread,
And ev'ry want to luxury ally'd,

Bui all the bloomy Aull of life is Acd ! And ev'ry pang that folly pays to pride. All but yon widow'd, tolitary thing, Thele gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, That feebly bends belide the plathy Spring; Thosc calin defires that alk'd but little room, She, wretched matron, forc'd, in age, for bread, Tlicle healthful sports that grac'd the peaceful To strip the brook with mantling creffes spread, fccne,

To pick her wintry faggot from the thorn, Liv'd in cach look, and brighten'd all the green; To leck her nightly thed, and weep till morn; Thesc, far departing, teck a kinder Thore; She only left, of all the harmless train, And rural mirth and manners are no more. The fad historian of the pensive plain.

Sweet Auburn! parent of the blissful hour, Near yonder cople, where once the garden Thy glades forlorn confefs the tyrant's pow'r.

smil'd, Here, as I take my folitary rounds,

And still where many a garden-Aower growswild, Amidst thy tangling walks and ruin'd grounds, There, where a few torn thrubs the place disclose, And many a year claps'd, return to view The village preacher's modeli mantion rote. Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, A man he was to all the country dear, Remenbrance wakes with all her busy train, And passing rich, with forty pounds a year! Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain. Remote from towns, he ran his godly race,

In all my wand'rings, round this world of care, Nor ere had chang’d, nor willi'd to change his In all my griefs--and God has giv'n my share— Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for pow'r, [place; I ftill had hopes, my latett hours to crown, By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour; Amidst thefe humble bow'rs to lay inc down : Fár other aims his heart had learn'd to prize; To husband out life's taper ai the close,

More bent to raise the wretched than to rife. And keep the flame from watting by repose : His house was known to all the vagrant train; 1 mil had hopes, for pride attends us ftill, He chid their wand'rings,but reliev'd their pain. Amidti the livains to thew my book-Icarn’d skill; The long-remember'd beggar was his guest, Around my fire an ev'niny group to draw, Whose beard, descending, livept his aged brcast; And tell of all I felt, and all I law;

The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, And, as an hare, whom hounds and hors pursuc, Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd; Pants to the place from whence at firtt he few, The broken foldier, kindly bade to stay, I still had hopes, my long vexations past, Sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away ; Here to return —and die at home at laft. W'epi o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done,

O bleti retirement, friend to life's decline, Shoulder'd his crutch, and thew'd how fields Retrcats from care, that never must be mine,

[glow, How blett is he who crowns, in shades like these, Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learn’d to A youth of labour with an age of eafc! And quite forget their vices in their woe; Who quits a world where firong temptationstry, Careless their merits or their faults to scan, And, fince 'is hard to coinbat, learns to fly! His pity gave cre charity began. For him no wretches, born to work and weer, Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, Explore the mine, or tempt the dang’rous deup; And cr’n his failings lean’d to Virtue's líde; No surly porter fands in guilty ftatc,

But in his duty prompt at ev'ry call, To ipurn imploring fainine from the gate ; He watch'd and wept, he pray'd, and felt for all. But on he moves to meet his latter end,

And, as a bird each fond endcarment tries, Angels around befriendin, virtue's friend; To tcmpt her new-fledg’d offspring to the skics, Siaks to the grase with unperceiv'il decay, He try'd each art, reprov'd each dull delay, While rclignation gently slopes the way: Allur'd to brighter worlds, and led the way. And, all his proipeċts brighi'ning to thc last, Belide the bed, where parting iifc was laid, His heav'n commences crc the world be patt! And furrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dilinay'd, Sivce: was the found, when oft, at ev’ning's The rev'rend champion stood. At his controul close,

Despair and anguith Had the itruggling soul; Up yonder hiil the village murmur rose; Comfort came down, the trenbling wretch to There, as I past, with carluis fteps and flow,

raise, The mingling notes came foften'd from below; And his lait fault'ring accents whisper'd praise. The swain reiponlive as the nilk-maid fung, At church, with meek and unaffected grace, The fober herd that low'd to meet their young; His looks adoru'd the venerabic place;


Were won.

Fruth from his lips prevail'd with double fway, | Obfcure it finks, nor fhall it more impart

And fools who came to fcoff, remain'd to pray.
The fervice past, around the pious man,
With ready zeal, each honest ruftic ran;
Ev'n children follow'd with endearing wile,
And pluck'd his gown, to fhare the good man's

His ready fimile a parent's warmth expreft;
Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cars diftreft;
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were giv'n;
3ut all his ferious thoughts had reft in heaven.
As fome tall cliff that lift its awful form, [ftorm,
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the
Though round its breaft the rolling clouds are
Eternal funfhine fettles on its head. [fpread,
Befide yon ftraggling fence that skirt the way,
With bloffom furze unprofitably gay,
There in his noify manfion skill'd to rule,
The village-mafter taught his little school:
A man fevere he was, and ftern to view;
I knew him well, and ev'ry truant knew;
Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace
The day's difafters in his morning face;
Full well they laugh'd, with counterfeited glee,
At all his jokes; for many a joke had he;
Full well the busy whisper, circling round,
Convey'd the difmal tidings when he frown'd;
Yet he was kind, or if fevere in aught,
The love he bere to learning was in fault.
The village all declar'd how much he knew;
Twas certain he could write and cypher too;
Lands he could measure, terms and tides prefage,
And ev'n the story ran that he could gauge:
In arguing too, the parfon own'd his skill;

For ev'n tho' vanquish'd, he could argue ftill;
While words of learned length, and thund'ring

Amaz'd the gazing rustics rang'd around.
And ftill they gaz'd, and still the wonder grew,
That one finall head could carry all he knew.
But paft is all his fame. The very ipot,
Where many a time he triumph'd, is forgot.
Near yonder thorn that lifts its head on high,
Where once the fign-poft caught the paffing eye,
Low lies that houfe where nut-brown draughts

Where grey-beard mirth and finiling toil retir'd;
Where village ftatefinen talk'd with looks pro-

[ocr errors]

And news much older than their ale went round.
Imagination fondly ftoops to trace
The parlour fplendors of that feftive place;
The white-wash'd wall, the nicely fanded floor;
The varnish'd clock that click'd behind the door;
The cheft, contriv'd a double debt to pay,
A bed by night, a cheft of draw'rs by day;
The pictures plac'd for ornament and ufe;
The twelve good rules, the royal game of goofe;
The hearth, except when winter chill'd the day,
With afpin bows, and flowers, and fennel gay;
While broken tea-cups, wifely kept for fhow,
Rang'd o'er the chimney, gliften'd in a row.

Vain tranfitory fplendour! could not all
Reprieve the tott'ring manfion from its fall!

An hour's importance to the poor man's heart;
Thither no more the peasant shall repair
To fweet oblivion of his daily care;

No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale,
No more the wood-man's ballad fhall prevail;
No more the faith his dusky brow shall clear,
Relax his pond'rous ftrength, and lean to hear;
The hoft himself no longer fhall be found
Careful to see the mantling blifs go round;
Nor the coy maid, half-willing to be preft,
Shall kifs the cup to pafs it to the reft.

Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain,
Thefe fimple bleffings of the lowly train
To me more dear, congenial to my heart,
One native charm, than all the gloss of art;
Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play,
The foul adopts, and owns their first-born sway;
Light they frolic o'er the vacant mind,
Unenvy'd, unmolested, unconfin'd:
But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade,
With all the freaks of wanton wealth array'd,
In thefe, ere triflers half their with obtain,
The toiling pleasure fickens into pain;
And, ev'n while fathion's brighteft arts decoy,
The heart, diftrufting, afks if this be joy?

[ocr errors]

Ye friends to truth, ye ftatefmen who furvey
The rich man's joys encreafe, the poor's decay,
'Tis yours to judge how wide the limits ftand'
Between a fplendid and a happy land.
Proud fwells the tide with loads of freighted ore,
And fhouting Folly hails them from her fhore;
Hoards, ev'n beyond the mifer's with, abound;
And rich men flock from all the world around;
Yet count our gains: This wealth is but a name
That leaves our ufeful product ftill the fame.
Not fo the lofs. The man of wealth and pride
Takes up a space that many poor supply'd;
Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds;
Space for his horfes, equipage, and hounds;
The robe that wraps his limbs in filkén floth,
Has robb'd the neighb'ring fields of half their
His feat, where folitary fports are feen, [growth;
Indignant fpurns the cottage from the green;
Around the world each needful product flies,
For all the luxuries the world fupplies.
While thus the land adorn'd for pleasure all,
In barren fplendour feebly waits the fall.

As fome fair female, unadorn'd and plain,
Secure to pleafe while youth confirms her reign,
Slights ev'ry borrow'd charm that drefs fupplics,
Nor fhares with art the triumph of her eyes;
But when thofe charms are past, for charms are
When time advances, and when lovers fail,[frail,
She then fhines forth, folicitous to blefs,
In all the glaring impotence of drefs.
Thus fares the land, by luxury betray'd,
In nature's fimpleft charms at firft array'd, .
But verging to decline, its fplendours rife,
Its viftas ftrike, its palaces furprife;
While, fcourg'd by famine from the fmiling land,
The mournful peafant leads his humble band;
And while he finks, without one arm to fave,
The country bloons-a garden and a grave.


« PreviousContinue »