Far different these from every former scene,
The cooling brook, the graffy vefted green,
The breezy covert of the warbling grove,
That only fheltered thefts of harmless love.
Good Heaven! what forrows gloom'd that parting day,
That called them from their native walks away;
When the poor exiles, every pleasure paft,
Hung round their bowers, and fondly looked their laft,
And took a long farewel, and wished in vain
For feats like these beyond the western main;
And shuddering still to face the distant deep,
Returned and wept, and ftill 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 confcious 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.
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 clafpt them close, in forrow doubly dear;
Whilft her fond hufband ftrove to lend relief,
In all the filent 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 infidious joy,
Diffuse their pleasures only to deftroy!
Kingdoms, by thee, to fickly greatness grown,
Boaft of a florid vigour not their own;
At every draught more large and large they grow,
A bloated mafs of rank unweildy woe;
Till fapped their ftrength, and every part unfound,
Down, down they fink, and spread a ruin round.
Even now the devastation is begun, And half the bufinefs of deftruction done;
Even now, methinks, as pondering here I stand,
I fee the rural virtues leave the land:
Down where yon anchoring veffel spreads the fail,
That idly waiting flaps with every gale,
Downward they move, a melancholy band,
Pafs from the fhore, and darken all the ftrand.
Contented toil, and hofpitable care,
And kind connubial tenderness, are there;
And piety, with wishes placed above, -
And fteady loyalty, and faithful love:
And thou, fweet Poetry, thou lovelieft maid,
Still first to fly where fenfual joys invade;
Unfit in these degenerate times of shame,
To catch the heart, or ftrike for honeft fame;
Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried,
My fhame in crowds, my folitary pride;
Thou fource of all my blifs, and all my woe,
That found'ft me poor at firft, and keep'ft me fo;
Thou guide by which the nobler arts excel,
Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well.
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 fnow,
Still let thy voice prevailing over time,
Redrefs the rigours of the inclement clime;
Aid flighted truth with my perfuafive strain,
Teach erring man to fpurn the rage of gain;
Teach him, that states of native ftrength poffeft,
Tho' very poor, may ftill be very bleft;
That trade's proud empire haftes to fwift decay,
As ocean fweeps the laboured mole a way;
While felf-dependent power can time defy,
As rocks refift the billows and the sky.
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