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And such as my best judgment could select
At this the Solitary shrunk
Yet, by the good Knight's leave, the two estates Are graced with some resemblance. Errant those,
Exiles and wanderers—and the like are these; Who, with their burthen, traverse hill and dale, Carrying relief for nature's simple wants.
- What though no higher recompense be sought Than honest maintenance, by irksome toil Full oft procured, yet may they claim respect, Among the intelligent, for what this course Enables them to be and to perform. Their tardy steps give leisure to observe, While solitude permits the mind to feel ; Instructs, and prompts her to supply defects By the division of her inward self For grateful converse : and to these poor men Nature (I but repeat your favourite boast) Is bountiful-go wheresoe'er they may ; Kind nature's various wealth is all their own. Versed in the characters of men ; and bound, By ties of daily interest, to maintain Conciliatory manners and smooth speech ; Such have been, and still are in their degree, Examples efficacious to refine Rude intercourse ; apt agents to expel, By importation of unlooked for arts, Barbarian torpor, and blind prejudice ; Raising, through just gradation, savage life To rustic, and the rustic to urbane.
-Within their moving magazines is lodged Power that comes forth to quicken and exalt Affections seated in the mother's breast,
And in the lover's fancy; and to feed
“Happy," rejoined the Wanderer, " they who gain A panegyric from your generous tongue ! But, if to these Wayfarers once pertained Aught of romantic interest, it is gone. Their purer service, in this realm at least, Is past foç ever.–An inventive Age Has wrought, if not with speed of magic, yet To most strange issues. I have lived to mark A new and unforeseen creation rise From out the labours of a peaceful Land Wielding her potent enginery to frame And to produce, with appetite as keen As that of war, which rests not night or day, Industrious to destroy! With fruitless pains Might one like me now visit many a tract Which, in his youth, he trod, and trod again, A lone pedestrian with a scanty freight, Wished-for, or welcome, wheresoe'er he cameAmong the tenantry of thorpe and vill; Or straggling burgh, of ancient charter proud, And dignified by battlements and towers
Of some stern castle, mouldering on the brow
Meanwhile, at social Industry's command, How quick, how vast an increase! From the germ Of some poor hamlet, rapidly produced Here a huge town, continuous and compact, Hiding the face of earth for leagues and there, Where not a habitation stood before, A bodes of men irregularly massed Like trees in forests, spread through spacious tracts, O'er which the smoke of unremitting fires Hangs permanent, and plentiful as wreaths Of vapour glittering in the morning sun. And, wheresoe'er the traveller turns his steps, He sees the barren wilderness erased, Or disappearing; triumph that proclaims
How much the mild Directress of the plough
And yet, О happy Pastor of a flock