To fee ten thousand baneful arts combin'd
To pamper luxury, and thin mankind;
To fee each joy the fons of pleasure know,
Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe.
Here, while the courtier glitters in brocade,
There the pale artist plies the fickly trade;
Here, while the proud their long-drawn pomps display,
There the black gibbet glooms befide the way.
The dome where pleasure holds her midnight reign,
Here, richly deckt, admits the gorgeous train;
Tumultuous grandeur crouds the blazing square,
The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare.
Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy!
Sure these denote one univerfal joy!
"Are these thy ferious thoughts ?-Ah, turn thine eyes Where the poor houseless shiv'ring female lies.
She, once, perhaps, in village plenty bleft,
Has wept at tales of innocence diftrefs'd;
Her modeft looks the cottage might adorn,
Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn;
Now loft to all, her friends, her virtue fled,
Near her betrayer's doors she lays her head,
And, pinch'd with cold, and shrinking from the show'r With heavy heart deplores the luckless hour,
When idly first, ambitious of the town,
She left her wheel, and robes of country brown.
Do thine, fweet Auburn, thine, the loveliest train, Do thy fair tribes participate her pain?
E'en now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led,
At proud mens doors they ask a little bread!
Aш, no. To diftant climes, a dreary scene,
Where half the convex world intrudes between,
Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go,
Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe.
Far diff'rent there from all that charm'd before,
The various terrors of that horrid shore;
Those blazing funs that dart a downward ray,
And fiercely shed intolerable day;
Those matted woods where birds forget to sing,
But filent bats in drowsy clusters cling;
Those poif'nous fields with rank luxuriance crown'd,
Where the dark scorpion gathers death around;
Where at each step the stranger fears to wake
The rattling terrors of the vengeful fnake,
Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey,
And, favage men more murd'rous ftill than they;
While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies,
Mingling the ravag'd landscape with the skies,
Far diff'rent these from ev'ry former scene,
The cooling brook, the grassy-vested green,
The breezy covert of the warbling grove,
That only shelter'd thefts of harmless love.
GOOD Heav'n! what forrows gloom'd that parting day,
That call'd them from their native walks away;
When the poor exiles, ev'ry pleasure past,
Hung round the bow'rs, and fondly look'd their last,
And took a long farewell, and wish'd in vain
For feats like these beyond the western main;
And shudd'ring ftill to face the diftant deep,
Return'd and wept, and still return'd to weep.
The good old fire, the firft prepar'd to go
To new-found worlds, and wept for other's woe;
But for himself, in conscious virtue brave,
He only wish'd for worlds beyond the grave.
His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears,
The fond companion of his hapless years,
Silent went next, neglectful of her charms,
And left her lovers for her fathers arms.
With louder plaints, the mother spoke her woes,
And bleft the cot where ev'ry pleasure rose;
And kift her thoughtless babes with many a tear,
And clafpt them clofe, in forrow doubly dear;
Whilft the fond husband ftrove to lend relief
In all the filent manliness of grief.
O, luxury! thou curft by heav'n's decree,
How ill exchang'd are things like these for thee!
How do thy potions with infidious joy,
Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy!
Kingdoms by thee, to fickly greatnefs grown,
Boaft of a florid vigour not their own.
At ev'ry draught more large and large they grow,
A bloated mafs of rank unwieldy woe;
Till sapp'd their ftrength, and ev'ry part unfound,
Down, down they fink, and spread a ruin round.
E'EN now the devaftation is begun,
And half the bus'nefs of diftruction done;
E'en now, methinks, as pond'ring here I stand,
I fee the rural virtues leave the land.
Down where yon anch'ring veffel fpreads 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 hofpitable care,
And kind connubial tenderness, are there;
And piety with wishes plac'd above,
And steady loyalty, and faithful love.
And thou sweet poetry, thou loveliest maid,
Still firft to fly where fenfual joys invade;
Unfit in these degen'rate times of shame
To catch the heart, or strive for honest fame;
Dear charming nymph, neglected and decry'd,
My shame in crouds, my folitary pride,
Thou fource of all my blifs, and all my woe,
That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so;
Thou guide, by which the nobler arts excel,
Thou source of ev'ry virtue, fare thee well;
Farewell, and O! where'er thy voice be try'd,
On Tornio'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,
Redress the rigours of th'inclement clime;
Aid flighted truth, with thy persuasive strain;
Teach erring man to fpurn the rage of gain;
Teach him, that states of native ftrength poffeft,
Though very poor, may still be very bleft;
That trade's proud empire haftes to swift decay,
As ocean fweeps the labour'd mole away;
While felf-dependent pow'r can time defy,
As rocks refift the billows and the sky.
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