Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing Square,
The rattling chariots clash! the torches glare!
Sure, scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy!
Sure, these denote one universal Joy!

Are these thy serious thoughts? Ah! turn thine eyes
Where the poor houseless, shivering female lies.
She once, perhaps, in village plenty blessed,
Has wept at Tales of innocence distressed;
Her modest looks the cottage might adorn,
Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn.
Now, lost to all! her friends, her virtue, fled!
Near her betrayer's door she lays her head;
And, pinched with cold, and shrinking from the shower,
With heavy heart, deplores that luckless hour,
When idly first, ambitious of the Town,

She left her Wheel and robes of country brown.

Do thine, sweet Auburn! thine, the loveliest Train! Do thy fair tribes participate her pain?

Even now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led,
At proud men's doors they ask a little bread!

Ah! no! To distant 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 different there from all that charmed before,
The various terrors of that horrid shore:

Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray,
And fiercely shed intolerable day;

Those matted woods where birds forget to sing,
But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling;

Those pois'nous fields with rank luxuriance crowned,
Where the dark scorpion gathers death around;
Where, at each step, the stranger fears to wake
The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake;
Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey,
And savage men, more murderous still than they
While oft, in whirls, the mad tornado flies,
Mingling the ravaged landscape with the skies.
Far diff'rent 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 gloomed that parting day,
That called them from their native walks away!
When the poor exiles, every pleasure past,

Hung round the bowers, and fondly looked their last;
And took a long farewell, and wished in vain
For seats like these beyond the western Main;
And shuddering still to face the distant deep,
Returned and wept, and still returned to weep.

The good old Sire, 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.

With louder plaints, the Mother spoke her woes, And blessed the cot where every pleasure rose; And kissed her thoughtless babes with many a tear, And clasped them close, in sorrow doubly dear: Whilst her fond Husband strove to lend relief In all the silent manliness of grief.

O, Luxury! thou curst 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 unwieldy Woe,

Till, sapped their strength, and every part unsound, Down, down, they sink; and spread a ruin round!

Even now, the devastation is begun;

And half the business of destruction, done!

Even now, methinks, as pond'ring here I stand, I see the Rural Virtues leave the land!

Down where yon anch'ring vessel spreads the sail,
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 degen'rate 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 first, and keep'st me so! 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 Torrio's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side, 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 slighted Truth, with thy persuasive strain! Teach erring Man to spurn the rage of gain! Teach him that States, of native strength possessed, Though very poor, may still be very blessed! [That Trade's proud Empire hastes to swift decay, As ocean sweeps the laboured mole away; While self-dependent power can time defy, As rocks resist the billows and the sky!]

RETALIATION,

INCLUDING

EPITAPHS ON THE MOST DISTINGUISHED WITS

4

OF THIS METROPOLIS.

Of old, when SCARRON1 his companions invited, Each guest brought his dish, and the feast was united: If our landlord2 supplies us with beef and with fish, Let each guest bring himself, and he brings the best dish! Our Dean3 shall be venison, just fresh from the plains! Our BURKE shall be tongue, with a garnish of brains! Our WILL shall be wild-fowl of excellent flavour; And DICK®, with his pepper, shall heighten their savour! Our CUMBERLAND' 's sweet-bread, its place shall obtain; And DOUGLAS - is pudding substantial and plain! Our GARRICK' 's a salad; for in him we see Oil, vinegar, sugar, and saltness agree!

8.

To make out the dinner, full certain I am

That RIDGE 10 is anchovy; and REYNOLDS 11 is lamb! That HICKEY 12 's a capon; and, by the same rule, Magnanimous GOLDSMITH, a gooseberry fool!