The silence and the warmth, enjoy'd within. p. 154.
In such a world; so thorny, and where none
Finds happiness unblighted; or if found,
Without some thistly sorrow at his side;
It seems the part of wisdom, and no sin
Against the law of love, to measure lots
With less distinguish'd than ourselves; that thus,
We may with patience, bear our mod❜rate ills,
And sympathise with others, suff'ring more.
Thy frame, robust and hardy, feels indeed
The piercing cold, but feels it unimpair'd.
The learned finger never need explore
Thy vig'rous pulse; and the unhealthful east,
That breathes the spleen, and searches ev'ry bone
Of the infirm, is wholesome air to thee.
Ah, treat them kindly! rude as thou appear'st,
Yet shew that thou hast mercy! which the great,
With needless hurry, whirl'd from place to place,
Humane as they would seem, not always shew. p. 136.
The frugal housewife trembles when she lights
Her scanty stock of brush-wood, blazing clear,
But dying soon, like all terrestrial joys.
Where penury is felt, the thought is chain'd,
And sweet colloquial pleasures are but few!
I praise you much, ye meek and patient pair,
For ye are worthy; choosing rather far
A dry, but independent crust, hard earn'd,
And eaten with a sigh, than to endure
The rugged frowns, and insolent rebuff's
Of knaves in office, partial in the work
Of distribution.
But be ye of good courage! time itself
Shall much befriend you.
The town has ting'd the country; and the stain
Appears a spot upon a vestal's robe,
The worse for what it soils
Lamented change! to which full many a cause
Invet'rate, hopeless of a cure, conspires."
The course of human things from good to ill,
From ill to worse, is fatal, never fails.
Perhaps, though by profession ghostly pure,
He too may have his vice, and sometimes prove
Less dainty than becomes his grave
Arms, through the vanity and brainless rage
Of those that bear them, in whatever cause,
Seem most at variance with all moral good,
And incompatible with serious thought.
Unapt to learn, and form'd of stubborn stuff,
He yet by slow degrees puts off himself,
Grows conscious of a change, and likes it well.
And his three years of heroship expir'd,
Returns indignant to the slighted plough.
He hates the field, in which no fife or drum'
Attends him; drives his cattle to a march ;
And sighs for the smart comrades he has left.
"Twere well if his éxterior change were all-
But with his clumsy port the wretch has lost
His ignorance and harmless manners too!
Man in society is like a flower
Blown in its native bed: 'tis there alone
His faculties expanded in full bloom,
Shine out; there only reach their proper use. p. 147.
But, slighted as it is, and by the great
Abandon'd, and which still more regret,
Infected with the manners and the modes
It knew at once, the country wins me still.
I never fram'd a wish, or form'd a plan,
That flatter'd me with hopes of earthly bliss,
But there I laid the scene.
My fancy, ere yet liberty of choice
Had found me, or the hope of being free.
My very dreams were rural.
Then Milton had indeed a poet's charms :
New to my taste, his Paradise surpass'd
The struggling efforts of my boyish tongue
To speak its excellence. I danc'd for joy.
I marvell❜d much, that at so ripe an age
As twice seven years, his beauties had then first
Engag'd my wonder: and admiring still,
And still admiring, with regret suppos'd
The joy half lost because not sooner found.
A breath of unadult'rate air,
The glimpse of a green pasture, how they cheer
The citizen, and brace his languid frame!
There the pitcher stands
A fragment, and the spoutless teapot there;
Sad witnesses how close-pent man regrets
The country, with what ardour he contrives
A
peep at nature, when he can no more.
Address himself who will to the pursuit
Of honours, or emoluments, or fame;
I shall not add myself to such a chase,
Thwart his attempts, or envy his success.
Some must be great. Great offices will have
Great talents. And God gives to ev'ry man
The virtue, temper, understanding, taste,
That lifts him into life; and lets him fall
Just in the niche he was ordain'd to fill.
To the deliv'rer of an injur'd land
He gives a tongue t' enlarge upon, a heart
To feel, and courage to redress her wrongs;
To monarchs, dignity; to judges, sense;
To artists, ingenuity and skill;
To me, an unambitious mind, content
In the low vale of life, that early felt
A wish for ease and leisure, and ere long
Found here that leisure and that ease I wish'd. p. 152.
Some have amus'd the dull, sad years of life
(Life spent in indolence, and therefore sad).
With schemes of monumental fame; and sought
By pyramids and mausolean pomp,
Short-liv'd themselves, t' immortalise their bones.
Some seek diversion in the tented field,
And make the sorrows of mankind their sport.
Are sown the sparks that kindle fiery war;
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