And all the village train, from labour free, With sweet succession, taught e'en toil to please; Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn, Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn; Amidst thy bow'rs the tyrant's hand is seen, One only master grasps the whole domain, The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest; Ill fares the land, to hast'ning ills a prey, A time there was, ere England's griefs began, When ev'ry rood of ground maintain'd its man; For him light labour spread her wholesome store, But times are alter'd; trade's unfeeling train Usurp the land, and dispossess the swain; Along the lawn, where scatter'd hamlets rose, Unwieldy wealth and cumb'rous pomp repose; And ev'ry want to luxury ally'd, And ev'ry pang that folly pays to pride. Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, Sweet AUBURN! parent of the blissful hour, Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, |