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Far different these from every former scene,
The cooling brook, the grassy vested green,
The breezy covert of the warbling grove,
That only sheltered thefts of harmless love.

Good Heaven! what sorrows gloom'd that parting day, That called them from their native walks away; When the poor exiles, every pleasure past, Hung round their bowers, and fondly looked their last, And took a long farewel, and wished in vain For seats like these heyond the western main ; And shuddering still to face the distant deep, Returned and wept, and still returned to weep. The good old fire, the first prepared to go To new found worlds, and wept for others woe. But for himself, in conscious virtue brave, He only wished for worlds beyond the grave. His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears, The fond companion of his helpless years, Silent went next, neglectful of her charms, And left a lover's for a father's arms.

THE DESERTED VILLAGE.

21

With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes,
And bleft the cot where every pleasure rose;
And kist her thoughtless babes with many a tear,
And claspt them close, in sorrow doubly dear;
Whilst her fond husband ftrove to lend relief,
In all the silent manliness of grief.

O luxury! thou curft by Heaven's decree,
How ill exchanged are things like these for thee !
How do thy potions, with insidious joy,
Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy !
Kingdoms, by thee, to sickly greatness grown,
Boast of a florid vigour not their own ;
At every draught more large and large they grow,
A bloated mass of rank unweildy woe;
Till sapped their strength, and every part unsound,
Down, down they fink, and spread a ruin round.

Even now the devastation is begun,
And half the business of destruction done;

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Even now, methinks, as pondering here I stand,
I see the rural virtues leave the land:
Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the fail,
That idly waiting flaps with every gale,
Downward they move, a melancholy band,
Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand.
Contented toil, and hospitable care,
And kind connubial tenderness, are there;
And piety, with wishes placed above, -
And steady loyalty, and faithful love :
And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid,
Still first to fly where sensual joys invade ;
Unfit in these degenerate times of shame,
To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame;
Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried,
My shame in crowds, my solitary pride ;
Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe,
That found'st me poor at firit, and keep'ít me fo;
Thou guide by which the nobler arts excel,
Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well.

Farewell,

THE DESERTED VILLAGE.

Farewell, and O where'er thy voice be tried,
On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca’s fide,
Whether where equinoctial fervours glow,
Or winter wraps the polar world in snow,
Still let thy voice prevailing over time,
Redress the rigours of the inclement clime;
Aid flighted truth with my persuasive strain,
Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain;
Teach him, that states of native strength poffeft,
Tho' very poor, may still be very blest;
That trade’s proud empire haftes to swift decay,
As ocean sweeps the laboured mole a way;
While self-dependent power can time defy,
As rocks resist the billows and the sky.

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