For here scarce known the sordid arts of trade,
They seek no gross mechanic's frigid aid:

Tho' mean the dwelling thus uncouthly rear'd,
'Tis still by kindly gratitude endear'd:

While each his neighbour aids with cordial smile,
To build, like lab'ring ants, the rustic pile.
The household stuff their simple wants demand,
Is fashion'd by th' ingenious owner's hand:
The knife, the axe, the auger, and the fire,
The only tools that aid th' inventive sire.
From courtly domes on marble columns borne,
Let not the artist view their works with scorn;
Till he another cot produce to view,
By means as simple, and with tools as few.

The wish'd Repast the weary inmates cheers,
And kindness now on every face appears;
Well pleas'd to meet in comfort, and display
The mix'd adventures of the various day.

What bounding deer and fluttering game they trac'd,
What hunter met them on the moory waste;

What straying cattle from th' adjacent strath,
They careful turn'd into the homeward path:
Or tell what rude and new-invented lay,

With soothing cadence lull'd their tedious day;
Th' unearthly voice, deep sounding thro' the wood,
Or vision wild of mournful solitude,

That brings the long-lost brother back again
From QUEBEC's gates, or sad CULLODEN'S plain:
By turns in wonder wrapt, or chill'd with fear,
Or sunk in woe, th' attentive audience hear;
And each impression which their words impart,
Sinks with deep interest on the artless heart :
Not all the magic cunning of the scene,
Though SIDDONS self in sorrow's pomp be seen,
Can wake emotions in the callous mind,
Vers'd in the crooked science of mankind,

So soft, so strong, so warm, as here are known,
Where modest NATURE works, and works alone,
The vivid portion of celestial fire

Which bids the energetic soul aspire,

Like the clear flames that light the frozen zone,
Blown by the fav'ring breath of heaven alone,
More brightly blazes, more intensely glows,

Than where slow art her languid aid bestows,

Now all the household with due reverence kneel,

While in emphatic phrase with fervent zeal,
The Parent Swain pours out his ardent pray'r,
For the dear objects of his tend'rest care;
Or else, by humble gratitude inspir'd,
His swelling heart with holy transport fir'd,
Presents his praise-an Evening Sacrifice,
Sincere and welcome to the approving skies,

;

Thus blessing heaven, and by each other blest,
They drown their toils in sweet oblivious rest.
When, on his eastern throne the Sun appears,
From Nature's mantle green to dry the tears,
With cheerful haste to meet his beams they rise,
And pay again their homage to the skies *
Then greet the hamlet Sage with due esteem,
Whose wise behest an oracle they deem:
Ev'n Nature's artless children thus we find,
A rude unconscious homage pay to mind.
Then, why at Fortune's vain distinctions low'r ?
Since Wisdom still in every state is Pow'r.
When Probity and Wisdom both combine,
'Tis indefeasible and right divine;

While all beneath the secret influence bow,
And wait suspended the decision slow.

Thus Grecian chiefs with mute attention heard, When hoary NESTOR Spoke, by all rever'd.

In every hamlet some experienc'd Sire,

Whose worth and wisdom all the rest admire, Known to each track where deer are wont to range,

And vers'd in every planetary change;

Why meteors glare, or wand'ring comets blaze,
And which propitious, which unlucky days;
Directs what time to yoke the mutual plough,
And when to feed the weakly flocks below;

* See note No. 7.

Or when the larger cattle forth to guide,
Where fresher herbage decks the mountain's side;
What dreadful judgments wait on broken vows,
How conscious guilt low'rs on the murderer's brows;
How voices whispering thro' the gloomy wood,
Or groaning caves, make known the man of blood:
How fields are blighted, or how cattle die,
To punish secret fraud, or perjury :

Or how red lightening scath'd the vassal's head,
Who show'd the way his outlaw'd chieftain fled;
He tells at large,-while every hearer's sense
Is ravish'd by his copious eloquence:
In each debate he gives the casting vote,
And his wise sayings all repeat by rote.
Much does each hamlet boast its sage's skill,

To draw the severing bounds 'twixt good and ill :
And much indeed his knowledge is extoll'd,

In local history, and tradition old.

Thus, though he holds pre-eminence, as fit,

The circle also boasts its Bard or Wit.

Some Genius, who by Nature taught to sing,
Responsive warbles to the trembling string:
Each theme, by turns, th' attentive audience warms,
The smile of beauty, or the clash of arms;

Or grottos, woods, and shaded vales are shown,
Description, such as THOMSON's self might own:
*See note No. 8.

Like him, the bard, without the aid of art,

Awakes the fine emotions of the heart:

Like him, can every

"tend'rness infuse,"

And teach to love the "humanizing muse:"

Or else some Youth, who smiles and wounds by turns, With all the poignant humour of a BURNS,

Bids sportive mirth and pleasantry abound,

And scatters ridicule's light darts around;

With the shrewd glance of quick inspection keen,
Detects the vain, the selfish, and the mean;
Drags vice and folly to the public eye,

And points them out to grinning obloquy :
Not even the worthy are from fear exempt,
Such is the general horror of contempt.

Besides th' ingenious Youth and sapient Sire,
One darling object all the rest admire :

Some blushing Maid, whose sweet, tho' simple charms, In many an artless bosom wake alarms;

Whom all the young with secret joy behold,

With looks of kind complacence all the old :
See, with dishevell'd locks she moves along,
The theme of many a wildly-warbl'd song:
And

many a quaint similitude is sought,

Through all the boundless wilderness of thought,
To paint the graces of th' excelling fair :
The glossy burnish of her shining hair,