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A calm of plenty! till the ruffled air

Falls from its poise, and gives the breeze to blow. 35
Rent is the fleecy mantle of the sky;

The clouds fly different; and the fudden fun
By fits effulgent gilds th' illumin'd field,
And black by fits the fhadows fweep along.
A gaily-checker'd heart-expanding view,
Far as the circling eye can shoot around,
Unbounded toffing in a flood of corn.

These are thy bleffings, Industry! rough power;
Whom labour still attends, and sweat, and pain;
Yet the kind fource of every gentle art,

And all the foft civility of life:

Raifer of human-kind! by Nature caft,
Naked, and helpless, out amid the woods
And wilds, to rude inclement elements;
With various feeds of art deep in the mind
Implanted, and profufely pour'd around
Materials infinite; but idle all.

Still unexerted, in th' unconscious breast,
Slept the lethargic powers; corruption still,
Voracious, fwallow'd what the liberal hand
Of bounty scatter'd o'er the favage year:
And still the fad barbarian, roving, mix'd
With beafts of prey; or for his acorn-meal
Fought the fierce tufky boar; a fhivering wretch !
Aghaft, and comfortless, when the bleak north,
With winter charg'd, let the mix'd tempest fly,
Hail, rain, and fnow, and bitter-breathing froft:
Then to the fhelter of the hut he fled;

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And

And the wild feafon, fordid, pin'd away.
For home he had not; home is the refort
Of love, of joy, of peace and plenty, where,
Supporting and fupported, polish'd friends,
And dear relations mingle into blifs.
But this the rugged favage never felt,
Ev'n defolate in crowds; and thus his days
Roll'd heavy, dark, and unenjoy'd along :
A waste of time! till Industry approach'd,
And rous'd him from his miferable floth:
His faculties unfolded; pointed out
Where lavish Nature the directing hand
Of Art demanded; fhew'd him how to raise
His feeble force by the mechanic powers,
To dig the mineral from the vaulted earth,
On what to turn the piercing rage of fire,
On what the torrent, and the gather'd blaft;
Gave the tall ancient foreft to his axe;

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Taught him to chip the wood, and hew the stone,
Till by degrees the finish'd fabric rofe;
Tore from his limbs the blood-polluted fur,
And wrapt them in the woolly veftment warm,
Or bright in gloffy filk, and flowing lawn;
With wholesome viands fill'd his table, pour'd
The generous glafs around, infpir'd to wake
The life-refining foul of decent wit:

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Nor ftop'd at barren bare neceffity;

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But, ftill advancing bolder, led him on

To pomp, to pleasure, elegance, and grace;

And, breathing high ambition through his foul,

Set

Set fcience, wisdom, glory, in his view,

And bade him be the Lord of all below.

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Then gathering men their natural powers combin'd,
And form'd a Publick; to the general good
Submitting, aiming, and conducting all.
For this the Patriot-Council met, the full,
The free, and fairly represented whole;
For this they plann'd the holy guardian laws,
Distinguish'd orders, animated arts,
And, with joint force Oppreffion chaining, fet
Imperial Justice at the helm; yet still
To them accountable; nor flavish dream'd

That toiling millions muft refign their weal,
And all the honey of their fearch, to such
As for themselves alone themselves have rais'd.
every form of cultivated life

Hence

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In order fet, protected, and infpir'd,
Into perfection wrought. Uniting all
Society grew numerous, high, polite,
And happy. Nurse of art! the city rear'd
In beauteous pride her tower-encircled head;
And, ftretching street on street, by thousands drew,
From twining woody haunts, or the tough yew
To bows ftrong-ftraining, her afpiring fons.
Then Commerce brought into the public walk
The bufy merchant; the big warehouse built;
Rais'd the strong crane; choak'd up the loaded street.
With foreign plenty; and thy ftream, O Thames,
Large, gentle, deep, majeftic, king of floods!
Chose for his grand refort. On either hand,

Like a long wintery foreft, groves of masts
Shot up their spires; the bellying sheet between
Poffefs'd the breezy void; the footy hulk

Steer'd fluggish on; the fplendid barge along
Row'd, regular, to harmony; around,

The boat, light-fkimming, ftretch'd its oary wings;
While deep the various voice of fervent toil

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From bank to bank increas'd; whence ribb'd with oak

To bear the British Thunder, black, and bold,

The roaring veffel rush'd into the main.

Then too the pillar'd dome, magnific, heav'd

Its ample roof; and Luxury within

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Pour'd out her glittering stores; the canvas smooth,

With glowing life protuberant, to the view

Embodied rofe; the statue feem'd to breathe,

And foften into flesh, beneath the touch
Of forming art, imagination-flush'd.
All is the gift of Industry; whate'er
Exalts, embellishes, and renders life
Delightful. Penfive Winter chear'd by him
Sits at the focial fire, and happy hears
Th' excluded tempeft idly rave along;

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His harden'd fingers deck the gaudy Spring;
Without him Summer were an arid waste;

Nor to th' Autumnal months could thus tranfmit
Thofe full, mature, immeasurable stores,

That, waving round, recall my wandering fong. 150
Soon as the morning trembles o'er the sky,
And, unperceiv'd, unfolds the fpreading day;

Before the ripen'd field the reapers ftand,

In fair array; each by the lafs he loves,
To bear the rougher part, and mitigate
By nameless gentle offices her toil.

At once they stoop and fwell the lufty fheaves;
While through their chearful band the rural talk,
The rural fcandal, and the rural jeft,

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Fly harmless, to deceive the tedious time,
And steal unfelt the fultry hours away.
Behind the master walks, builds-up the shocks;
And, confcious, glancing oft on every fide
His fated eye, feels his heart heave with joy.
The gleaners spread around, and here and there, 165
Spike after spike, their fcanty harvest pick.
Be not too narrow, husbandmen! but fling
From the full fheaf, with charitable stealth,
The liberal handful. Think, oh, grateful think!
How good the God of Harveft is to you;
Who pours abundance o'er your flowing fields;
While thefe unhappy partners of your kind
Wide-hover round you like the fowls of heaven,
And ask their humble dole. The various turns
Of fortune ponder; that your fons may want
What now, with hard reluctance, faint, ye give.
The lovely young Lavinia once had friends;
And Fortune fmil'd, deceitful, on her birth.
For, in her helpless years depriv❜d of all,
Of every stay, fave Innocence and Heaven,
She, with her widow'd mother, feeble, old,
And poor, liv'd in a cottage, far retir'd
Among the windings of a woody vale;

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