Merit's a mark, at which disgrace is thrown,
And every injur'd virtue is his own.

140

145

Such their own pangs with patience here endure,
Yet there weep wounds, they are denied to cure ;
Thus rich in poverty, thus humbly great,
And, though deprefs'd, fuperior to their fate.
Minions in power, and mifers, 'mid their store,
Are mean in greatness, and in plenty poor.
What's power, or wealth? Were they not form'd for aid,
A fpring for virtue, and from wrongs a shade?
In power we favage tyranny behold,

And wily avarice owns polluted gold.

150

From golden fands her pride could Libya raise,
Could fhe, who spreads no pasture, claim our praise?
Loath'd were her wealth, where rabid monsters breed;
Where ferpents, pamper'd on her venom, feed,
No fheltery trees invite the Wanderer's eye,
No fruits, no grain, no gums, her tracts supply;
On her vast wilds no lovely profpects run;
But all lies barren, though beneath the fun.

155

My Hermit thus. I know thy foul believes, "Tis hard vice triumphs, and that virtue grieves; 160 Yet oft affliction purifies the mind,

Kind benefits oft flow from means unkind.

Were the whole known, that we uncouth fuppofe,
Doubtless, would beauteous symmetry disclose.
The naked cliff, that fingly rough remains,
In prospect dignifies the fertile plains;
Lead-colour'd clouds, in fcattering fragments feen,
Shew, though in broken views, the blue ferene.

165

Severe

Severe diftreffes industry inspire;

170

Thus captives oft excelling arts acquire,
And boldly struggle through a state of shame,
To life, ease, plenty, liberty, and fame.
Sword-law has often Europe's balance gain'd,
And one red victory years of peace maintain'd.
We pass through want to wealth, through difinal strife,
To calm content, through death to endless life.
Libya thou nam'ft-Let Afric's waftes appear
Curft by those heats, that fructify the year;
Yet the fame funs her orange-groves befriend,
Where clustering globes in fhining rows depend. 180
Here when fierce beams o'er withering plants are roll'd,.
There the green fruit seems ripen'd into gold.
Ev'n fcenes that strike with terrible furprize,
Still prove a God, juft, merciful, and wife.

Sad wintery blafts, that strip the autumn, bring 185
The milder beauties of a flowery spring.

Ye fulphurous fires in jaggy lightnings break!
Ye thunders rattle, and ye nations shake!

Ye ftorms of riving flame the forest tear!

Deep crack the rocks! rent trees be whirl'd in air! 190
Reft at a stroke, fome ftately fane we'll mourn;
Her tombs wide-fhatter'd, and her dead up-torn ;
Were noxious fpirits not from caverns drawn,
Rack'd earth would foon in gulfs enormous yawn:
Then all were loft !-Or would we floating view 195
The baleful cloud, there would deftruction brew;
Plague, fever, frenzy, close-engendering lie,

Till these red ruptures clear the fullied sky.

Now

Now a field opens to enlarge my thought,
In parcel'd tracts to various ufes wrought.
Here hardening ripeness the first blooms behold,
There the laft bloffoms fpring-like pride unfold.
Here fwelling peas on leafy talks are seen,
Mix'd flowers of red and azure fhine between ;

200

210

Whose weaving beauties, heighten'd by the fun, 205
In colour'd lanes along the furrows run.
There the next produce of a genial shower,
The beans fresh-blossoms in a speckled flower;
Whofe morning dews, when to the fun refign'd,
With undulating sweets embalm the wind.
Now daify plats of clover fquare the plain,
And part the bearded from the beardless grain.
There fibrous flax with verdure binds the field,
Which on the loom shall art-fpun labours yield.
The mulberry, in fair fummer-green array'd,
Full in the midft ftarts up, a filky fhade.
For human tafte the rich-itain'd fruitage bleeds;
The leaf the filk-emitting reptile feeds.

215

220

As fwans their down, as flocks their fleeces leave,
Here worms for man their gloffy entrails weave.
Hence, to adorn the fair, in texture gay,
Sprigs, fruits, and flowers on figur'd vestments play:
But Induftry prepares them oft to please
The guilty pride of vain, luxuriant ease.
Now frequent, dufty gales offenfive blow,

And o'er my fight a tranfient blindness throw.
Windward we shift. Near down th' etherial steep,
The lamp of day hangs hovering o'er the deep.

225

Dun

Dun fhades, in rocky fhapes up æther roll'd,
Project long, fhaggy points, deep-ting'd with gold. 230
Others take faint th' unripen'd cherry's die,
And paint amusing landscapes on the eye.
Their blue-veil'd yellow, through a sky ferene,
In fwelling mixture forms a floating green.
Streak'd through white clouds a mild vermillion shines,
And the breeze freshens, as the heat declines.
Yon crooked, funny roads change rifing views
From brown, to fandy-red, and chalky hues.
One mingled fcene another quick fucceeds,
Men, chariots, teams, yok'd fteers, and prancing
fteeds,

240

Which climb, descend, and, as loud whips refound,
Stretch, fweat, and smoke along unequal ground.
On winding Thames, reflecting radiant beams,
When boats, fhips, barges mark the roughen'd ftreams,
This way, and that, they different points purfue; 245
So mix the motions, and fo fhifts the view,
While thus we throw around our gladden'd eyes,
The gifts of heaven in gay profusion rife;
Trees rich with gums, and fruits; with jewels rocks;
Plains with flowers, herbs, and plants, and beeves,

and flocks;

250

Mountains with mines; with oak, and cedar, woods;
Quarries with marble, and with fish the floods.
In darkening spots, mid fields of various dies,
Tilth new-manur'd, or naked fallow lies.

Near uplands fertile pride enclos'd display,
The green grafs yellowing into scentful hay,

255

And

And thick-fet hedges fence the full-ear'd corn,
And berries blacken on the virid thorn.

Mark in yon heath oppos'd the cultur'd scene,
Wild thyme, pale box, and firs of darker green. 260
The native ftrawberry red-ripening grows,

270

By nettles guarded, as by thorns the rose.
There nightingales in unprun'd copfes build,
In fhaggy furzes lies the hare conceal'd.
'Twixt ferns and thistles, unfown flowers amuse, 265.
And form a lucid chace of various hues;
Many half-grey with duft: confus'd they lie,
Scent the rich year, and lead the wandering eye.
Contemplative, we tread the flowery plain,
The Mufe preceding with her heavenly train.
When, lo! the mendicant, fo late behind,
Strange view! now journeying in our front we find !
And yet a view, more ftrange, our heed demands;
Touch'd by the Mufe's wand transform'd he stands.
O'er skin late wrinkled, instant beauty spreads; 275
The late-dimm'd eye, a vivid luftre sheds;
Hairs, once fo thin, now graceful locks decline;
And rags now chang'd, in regal vestments shine.
The Hermit thus. In him the BARD behold,
Once feen by midnight's lamp in winter's cold; 280
The BARD, whose want so multiplied his woes,
He funk a mortal, and a seraph rose.

See!-where those stately yew-trees darkling grow,
And, waving o'er yon graves, brown horrows throw,
Scornful he points-there, o'er his facred duft, 285
Arife the sculptur'd tomb, and labour'd bust,

Vain