By thousands, tumble from their honeyed domes,
Convolv'd, and agonizing in the dust.
And was it then for this you roam'd the Spring,
Intent from flower to flower? for this you toil'd
Ceafelefs the burning Summer-heats away?
For this in Autumn fearch'd the blooming wafte,
Nor loft one funny gleam? for this fad fate?
O Man! tyrannic lord! how long, how long,
Shall proftrate Nature groan beneath your rage,
Awaiting renovation? When obliged,
Muft you destroy? Of their ambrofial food
Can you not borrow; and, in juft return,
Afford them shelter from the wintry winds;
Or, as the sharp year pinches, with their own
Again regale them on fome fmiling day?
See where the ftony bottom of their town
Looks defolate, and wild; with here and there
A helpless number, who the ruin'd ftate
Survive, lamenting weak, caft out to death.
Thus a proud city, populous and rich,
Full of the works of peace, and high in joy,
At theatre or feaft, or funk in fleep,
(As late, Palermo, was thy fate,) is feiz'd
By fome dread earthquake, and convulfive hurl'd
Sheer from the black foundation, ftench-involv'd, Into a gulph of blue fulphureous flame.
Hence every harfher fight! for now the day, O'er heaven and earth diffus'd, grows warm, and high, Infinite fplendor! wide investing all.
How ftill the breeze! fave what the filmy threads
Of dew evaporate brushes from the plain.
How clear the cloudless sky! how deeply ting'd
With a peculiar blue! the ethereal arch
How fwell'd immenfe! amid whofe azure thron'd
The radiant fun how gay! how calm below
The gilded earth! the harvest-treasures all
Now gather'd in, beyond the rage of storms,
Sure to the fwain; the circling fence shut up;
And inftant Winter's utmost rage defy'd.
While, loose to feftive joy, the country round
Laughs with the loud fincerity of mirth,
Shook to the wind their cares. The toil-ftrung youth,
By the quick sense of mufic taught alone,
Leaps wildly graceful in the lively dance.
Her every charm abroad, the village-toaft,
Young, buxom, warm, in native beauty rich,
Darts not unmeaning looks; and, where her eye
Points an approving smile, with double force,
The cudgel rattles, and the wrestler twines.
Age too fhines out; and, garrulous, recounts
The feats of youth. Thus they rejoice; nor think That, with to-morrow's fun, their annual toil
Begins again the never-ceafing round.
Oh knew he but his happiness, of Men The happiest he! who far from public rage, Deep in the vale, with a choice few retir'd, Drinks the pure pleasures of the RURAL LIFE. What tho' the dome be wanting, whose proud gate, Each morning, vomits out the sneaking crowd Of flatterers false, and in their turn abus'd? Vile intercourfe! What tho' the glittering robe, Of every hue reflected light can give,
Or floating loose, or stiff with mazy gold,
The pride and gaze of fools! oppress him not?
What tho', from utmost land and fea purvey'd,
For him each rarer tributary life
Bleeds not, and his infatiate table heaps
With luxury, and death? What tho' his bowl
Flames not with coftly juice; nor funk in beds,
Oft of gay care, he toffes out the night,
Or melts the thoughtless hours in idle state?
What tho' he knows not those fantastic joys,
That ftill amufe the wanton, ftill deceive;
A face of pleasure, but a heart of pain;
Their hollow moments undelighted all?
Sure peace is his; a folid life, estranged
To disappointment, and fallacious hope:
Rich in content, in Nature's bounty rich,
In herbs and fruits; whatever greens the Spring,
When heaven defcends in fhowers; or bends the bough
When Summer reddens, and when Autumn beams;
Or in the wintry glebe whatever lies
Conceal'd, and fattens with the richest sap:
These are not wanting; nor the milky drove,
Luxuriant, fpread o'er all the lowing vale;
Nor bleating mountains; nor the chide of streams,
And hum of bees, inviting fleep fincere
Into the guiltless breast, beneath the shade,
Or thrown at large amid the fragrant hay;
Nor ought befides of prospect, grove, or song,
Dim grottoes, gleaming lakes, and fountain clear.
Here too dwells fimple truth; plain innocence;
Unfullied beauty; found unbroken youth,
Patient of labour, with a little pleas'd;
Health ever blooming; unambitious toil;
Calm contemplation, and poetic ease.
Let others brave the flood in queft of gain,
And beat, for joyless months, the gloomy wave.
Let fuch as deem it glory to destroy,
Rush into blood, the fack of cities feek;
Unpierc'd, exulting in the widow's wail,
The virgin's fhriek, and infant's trembling cry.
Let fome, far distant from their native foil,
Urg'd or by want or hardened avarice,
Find other lands beneath another fun.
Let this thro' cities work his eager way,
By legal outrage and establish'd guile,
The focial fenfe extinct; and that ferment
Mad into tumult the feditious herd,
Or melt them down to flavery. Let these
Infnare the wretched in the toils of law,
Fomenting difcord, and perplexing right,
An iron race! and those of fairer front,
But equal inhumanity, in courts,
Delufive pomp, and dark cabals, delight;
Wreathe the deep bow, diffuse the lying smile,
And tread the weary labyrinth of ftate.
While he, from all the ftormy paffions free
That reftlefs Men involve, hears, and but hears,
At distance safe, the human tempest roar,
Wrapt close in conscious peace. The fall of kings,
The rage of nations, and the crush of ftates,
Move not the Man, who, from the world escap'd,
In ftill retreats, and flowery folitudes,
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