Beguile their woes, and make the woods resound. Such health and gayety of heart enjoy
The houseless rovers of the sylvan world;
And, breathing wholesome air, and wand'ring much, Need other physic none to heal th' effects Of loathsome diet, penury, and cold.
Blest he, though undistinguish'd from the crowd By wealth or dignity, who dwells secure, Where man, by nature fierce, has laid aside His fierceness, having learnt, though slow to learn, The manners and the arts of civil life. His wants indeed are many; but supply Is obvious, plac'd within the easy reach Of temp'rate wishes and industrious hands. Here virtue thrives as in her proper soil; Not rude and surly, and beset with thorns, And terrible to sight, as when she springs (If e'er she spring spontaneous) in remote And barb'rous climes, where violence prevails, And strength is lord of all; but gentle, kind, By culture tam'd, by liberty refresh'd, And all her fruits by radient truth matur'd.
War and the chase engross the savage whole; War follow'd for revenge, or to supplant The envied tenants of some happier spot: The chase for sustenance, precarious trust! His hard condition with severe constraint Binds all his faculties, forbids all growth Of wisdom, proves a school, in which he learns Sly circumvention, unrelenting hate,
Mean self-attachment, and scarce aught beside. Thus fare the shiv'ring natives of the north, And thus the rangers of the western world, Where it advances far into the deep,
Tow'rds the antarctic. Ev'n the favour'd isles So lately found, although the constant sun Cheer all their seasons with a grateful smile, Can boast but little virtue; and inert Through plenty, lose in morals, what they gain In manners-victims of luxurious ease. These therefore I can pity, plac'd remote From all that science traces, art invents, Or inspiration teaches; and enclos'd In boundless oceans never to be pass'd By navigators uniform'd as they,
Or plough'd perhaps by British bark again: But far beyond the rest, and with most cause, Thee, gentle savage*! whom no love of thee Or thine, but curiosity perhaps,
Or else vainglory, prompted us to draw
Forth from thy native bow'rs, to show thee here With what superior skill we can abuse The gifts of Providence, and squander life. The dream is past; and thou hast found again Thy cocoas and bananas, palms and yams,
And homestall thatch'd with leaves. But hast thou found
Their former charms? And, having seen our state, Our palaces, our ladies, and our pomp
Of equipage, our gardens, and our sports, And heard our music; are thy simple friends, Thy simple fare, and all thy plain delights, As dear to thee as once? And have thy joys Lost nothing by comparison with ours? Rude as thou art, (for we return'd thee rude And ignorant, except of outward show) I cannot think thee yet so dull of heart
And spiritless, as never to regret
Sweets tasted here, and left as soon as known. Methinks I see thee straying on the beach, And asking of the surge that bathes thy foot, If ever it has wash'd our distant shore.
I see thee weep, and thine are honest tears, A patriot's for his country: thou art sad At thought of her forlorn and abject state, From which no pow'r of thine can raise her up. Thus Fancy paints thee, and, though apt to err, Perhaps errs little, when she paints thee thus. She tells me too, that duly ev'ry morn Thou climb'st the mountain top, with eager eye Exploring far and wide the wat'ry waste For sight of ship from England. Ev'ry speck Seen in the dim horizon turns thee pale With conflict of contending hopes and fears. But comes at last the dull and dusky eve, And sends thee to thy cabin, well-prepar'd, To dream all night of what the day denied. Alas! expect it not. We found no bait To tempt us in thy country. Doing good, Disinterested good, is not our trade.
We travel far, 'tis true, but not for nought;
And must be brib'd to compass Earth again By other hopes and richer fruits than yours.
But though true worth and virtue in the mild And genial soil of cultivated life
Thrive most, and may perhaps thrive only there, Yet not in cities oft: in proud, and gay, And gain-devoted cities. Thither flow, As to a common and most noisome sewer, The dregs and feculence of ev'ry land. In cities foul example on most minds
Begets it's likeness. Rank abundance breeds, In gross and pamper'd cities, sloth, and lust, And wantonness, and gluttonous excess. In cities vice is hidden with most ease,
Or seen with least reproach; and virtue, taught By frequent lapse, can hope no triumph there Beyond th' achievement of successful flight. I do confess them nurs'ries of the arts,
In which they flourish most; where, in the beams Of warm encouragement, and in the eye
Of public note, they reach their perfect size. Such London is, by taste and wealth proclaim'd The fairest capital of all the world,
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