Serenely fair she was, as rising day,
And brighter than the sun's meridian ray:
Joy of all hearts, delight of ev'ry eye,
Nor grief, nor pain appear'd when she was by;
Her presence from the wretched banish'd care,
Dispers'd the swelling sigh and stopt the falling tear.
Long did the nymph her regal state maintain,
As long mankind were blest beneath her reign;
Till dire Ambition, hellish fiend! arose,
To plague the world, and banish man's repose:
A monster sprung from that rebellious crew,
Which mighty Jove's Phlegræan thunder slew.
Resolv'd to dispossess the royal fair,
On all her friends he threaten'd open war:
Fond of the novelty, vain, fickle man,
In crouds to his infernal standard ran;
And the weak maid, defenceless left alone,
T avoid his rage, was forc'd to quit the throne.
It chanc'd as wand'ring through the fields she stray'd,
Forsook of all, and destitute of aid,
Upon a rising mountain's flow'ry side,
A pleasant cottage, roof'd with turf, she spy'd:
Fast by a gloomy, venerable wood
Of shady planes, and ancient oaks it stood.
Around a various prospect charm'd the sight;
Here waving harvests clad the field with white;
Here a rough shaggy rock the clouds did pierce,
From which a torrent rush'd with rapid force;
Here mountain-woods diffus'd a dusky shade,
Here flocks and herds in flow'ry vallies play'd,
While o'er the matted grass the liquid crystal
stray'd.
In this sweet place there dwelt a chearful pair,
Tho' bent beneath the weight of many a year;
Who wisely flying publick noise and strife,
In this obscure retreat had pass'd their life;
The husband Industry was call'd, Frugality the
wife.
With tenderest friendship mutually blest,
No houshold jarrs had e'er disturb'd their rest.
A num'rous offspring grac'd their homely board,
That still with nature's simple gifts was stor❜d.
The father rural business only knew,
The sons the same delightful art pursue:
An only daughter, as a goddess fair,
Above the rest was the fond mother's care;
Plenty, the brightest nymph of all the plain,
Each heart's delight, ador'd by ev'ry swain.
Soon as Content this charming scene espy'd,
Joyful within herself the goddess cry'd;
This happy sight my drooping heart doth raise,
The gods, I hope, will grant me gentler days;
When with prosperity my life was blest,
In yonder house I've been a welcome guest;
There now, perhaps, I may protection find;
For royalty is banish'd from my mind:
I'll thither haste: How happy should I be,
If such a refuge were reserv'd for me!
Thus spoke the fair; and straight she bent her way
To the tall mountain, where the cottage lay:
Arriv'd, she makes her chang'd condition known;
Tells how the rebels drove her from the throne;
What painful, dreary wilds she'd wander'd o'er;
And shelter from the tyrant doth implore.
The faithful, aged pair at once were seiz'd With joy and grief, at once were pain'd and pleas'd: Grief for their banish'd Queen their hearts possest, And joy succeeded for their future guest;
And if you'll deign, bright goddess, here to dwell,
And with your presence grace our humble cell,
Whate'er the gods have giv'n with bounteous hand,
Our harvests, fields and flocks, our all command.
Meantime, Ambition on his rival's flight,
Sole lord of man attain'd his wish's height;
Of all dependance on his subjects eas'd,
He rag'd without a curb, and did whate'er he pleas'd;
As some wild flame driv'n on by furious winds
Wide spreads destruction, nor resistance finds;
So rush'd the fiend destructive o'er the plain,
Defac'd the labours of th' industrious swain;
Polluted ev'ry stream with human gore,
And scatter'd plagues and death from shore to shore.
Great Jove beheld it from th' Olympian tow'rs,
Where sate assembled all the heav'nly pow'rs;
Then with a nod that shook th' empyrean throne,
Thus the Saturnian thunderer begun :
You see, immortal inmates of the skies,
How this vile wretch almighty pow'r defies;
His daring crimes, the blood which he has spilt,
Demand a torment equal to his guilt:
Then, Cyprian goddess, let thy mighty boy
Swift to the tyrant's guilty palace fly;
There let him chuse his sharpest, hottest dart,
And with his former rival wound his heart.
And thou, my son, (the god to Hermes said)
Snatch up thy wand, and plume thy heels and head;
Dart thro' the yielding air with all thy force,
And down to Pluto's realms direct thy course;
There rouse Oblivion from her sable cave,
Where dull she sits by Lethe's sluggish wave;
Command her to secure the sacred bound,
Where lives Content retir'd; and all around
Diffuse the deepest glooms of Stygian night,
And screen the Virgin from the Tyrant's sight:
That the vain purpose of his life may try
Still to explore, what still eludes his eye.
He spoke; loud praises shake the bright abode,
And all applaud the justice of the God.
Or all the various lots around the ball,
Which Fate to man distributes, absolute;
Avert, ye Gods! that of the Muse's son,
Curs'd with dire poverty! poor hungry wretch!
What shall he do for life? he cannot work
With manual labour: Shall those sacred hands,
That brought the counsels of the Gods to light;
Shall that inspired tongue, which ev'ry Muse
Has touch'd divine, to charm the sons of men:
These hallow'd organs! these! be prostitute
To the vile service of some fool in pow'r,
All his behests submissive to perform,
Howe'er to him ingrateful? Oh! he scorns
Th' ignoble thought; with generous disdain,
More eligible deeming it to starve,
Like his fam'd ancestors renown'd in verse,
Than poorly bend to be another's slave,-
Than feed and fatten in obscurity.
These are his firm resolves, which fate nor time,
Nor poverty can shake. Exalted high
In garret vile he lives; with remnants hung
Of tapestry: But oh! precarious state
Of this vain transient world! all pow'rful time!
What dost thou not subdue? See what a chasm
Gapes wide, tremendous! see where Saul enrag'd,
High on his throne, encompass'd by his guards,
With levell'd spear, and arm extended sits,
Ready to pierce old Jesse's valiant son,
Spoil'd of his nose-around in tott'ring ranks,
On shelves pulverulent, majestick stands
His library; in ragged plight, and old;
Replete with many a load of criticism,
Elab'rate products of the midnight toil
Of Belgian brains; snatch'd from the deadly hande
Of murd❜rous grocer, or the careful wight,
Who vends the plant, that glads the happy shore
Of Indian Patomack; which citizens
In balmy fumes exhale, when, o'er a pot
Of sage-inspiring coffee, they dispose
Of kings and crowns, and settle Europe's fate..
Elsewhere the dome is fill'd with various heaps
Of old domestic lumber; that huge chair
Has seen six monarchs fill the British throne:
Here a broad massy table stands, o'erspread
With ink and pens, and scroll replete with rhyme:
Chests, stools, old rasors, fractur'd jars half full
Of muddy Zythum, sour and spiritless :
Fragments of verse, hose, sandals, utensils
Of various fashion, and of various use,
With friendly influence hide the sable floor.
This is the Bard's Museum, this the fane
To Phœbus sacred, and th' Aonian maids :
But oh! it stabs his heart, that niggard fate
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