From thefe, the feeble heart and long-fall'n mind
An eafy compensation seem to find.

Here may be seen, in bloodless pomp array'd,
The pafteboard triumph and the cavalcade;
Proceffions form'd for piety and love-

A mistress or a faint in every grove.

By sports like thefe, are all their cares beguil'd—
The fports of children fatisfy the child:
Each nobler aim, repreft by long controul,
Now finks at laft, or feebly mans the foul;
While low delights, fucceeding fast behind,
In happier meannefs occupy the mind-

As in thofe domes, where Cæfars once bore fway,
Defac'd by time and tottering in decay,

There, in the ruin, heedlefs of the dead,
The shelter-feeking peafant builds his fhed,
And, wond'ring man could want the larger pile,
Exults, and owns his cottage with a smile.

My foul turn from them; turn we to furvey
Where rougher climes a nobler race display,
Where the bleak Swiss their stormy manfions tread,
And force a churlish foil for fcanty bread:
No product here the barren hills afford
But man and steel-the foldier and his fword;
No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array,
But winter, lingering, chills the lap of May;
No zephyr fondly fues the mountain's breast,
But meteors glare, and ftormy glooms inveft.
Yet ftill, ev'n here, content can spread a charm,
Redress the clime, and all its rage difarm.
Though poor the peasant's hut, his feasts though small,
He fees his little lot the lot of all;

Sees no contiguous palace rear its head,
To fhame the meannefs of his humble fhed;
No coftly lord the fumptuous banquet deal
To make him loath his vegetable meal:
But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil,
Each with contracting, fits him to the foil.
Cheerful, at morn, he wakes from short repose,
Breathes the keen air, and carols as he goes;
With patient angle trolls the finny deep,

Or drives his vent'rous ploughfhare to the steep;
Or feeks the den, where fnow-tracks mark the way,
And drags the ftruggling favage into day:
At night returning, every labour sped,
He fits him down, the monarch of a fhed,
Smiles by his cheerful fire, and round furveys
His children's looks, that brighten at the blaze-
While his lov'd partner, boastful of her hoard,
Difplays her cleanly platter on the board;
And haply, too, fome pilgrim thither led,
With many a tale repays the nightly bed.

Thus every good his native wilds impart,
Imprints the patriot paffion on his heart;
And ev'n thofe ills that round his mansion rise,
Enhance the blifs his fcanty fund fupplies:
Dear is that fhed to which his foul conforms,
And dear that hill which lifts him to the ftorms;
And, as a child, when fearing founds moleft,
Clings clofe and clofer to the mother's breast,
So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar,
But bind him to his native mountains more.

Such are the charms to barren ftates affign'dTheir wants but few, their wishes all confin'd.

Yet let them only share the praises due-
If few their wants, their pleasures are but few;
For every want that ftimulates the breaft,

Becomes a fource of pleasure, when redreft.
Whence, from fuch lands each pleasing science flies
That first excites defire, and then supplies;
Unknown to them, when fenfual pleasures cloy,
To fill the languid pause with finer joy;

Unknown those pow'rs that raise the foul to flame,
Catch every nerve, and vibrate through the frame:
Their level life is but a smould'ring fire,
Unquench'd by want, unfann'd by strong defire,
Unfit for raptures, or, if raptures cheer,
On fome high festival of once a-year,
In wild excess the vulgar breast takes fire,
Till, buried in debauch, the bliss expire.

But not their joys alone thus coarfely flow-
Their morals, like their pleasures, are but low;
For, as refinement ftops, from fire to fon,
Unalter'd, unimprov'd, the manners run,
And love's and friendship's finely pointed dart
Fall blunted from each indurated heart:
Some fterner virtues o'er the mountain's breast
May fit, like falcons cow'ring on the neft;
But all the gentler morals, fuch as play

Through life's more cultur'd walks, and charm the way,
Thefe, far difpers'd, on timorous pinions fly,
To fport and flutter in a kinder sky.

To kinder skies, where gentler manners reign,
I turn-and France difplays her bright domain:
Gay, fprightly land of mirth and social ease,
Pleas'd with thyfelf, whom all the world can please,

How often have I led thy fportive choir,

With tuneless pipe, beside the murmuring Loire?
Where fhading elms along the margin grew,

And, freshen'd from the wave, the zephyr flew;
And haply, though my harsh touch, falt'ring ftill,
But mock'd all tune, and marr'd the dancer's skill,
Yet would the village praise my wond'rous pow'r,
And dance, forgetful of the noon-tide hour:
Alike all ages-Dames of ancient days

Have led their children through the mirthful maze,
And the gay grandfire, fkill'd in gestic lore,
Has frifk'd beneath the burthen of fourfcore.

So bleft a life these thoughtless realms display-
Thus idly bufy rolls their world away;

Their's are those arts that mind to mind endear,
For honour forms the focial temper here-
Honour, that praise which real merit gains,
Or ev'n imaginary worth obtains,

Here paffes current-paid from hand to hand,
It shifts in fplendid traffic round the land;
From courts, to camps, to cottages it strays,
And all are taught an avarice of praise;
They please, are pleas'd-they give, to get esteem,
Till, feeming bleft, they grow to what they feem.
But while this fofter art their blifs fupplies,

It gives their follies alfo room to rise,

For praife too dearly lov'd or warmly fought,
Enfeebles all internal ftrength of thought;
And the weak foul, within itself unbleft,
Leans, for all pleasure, on another's breast;
Hence oftentation here, with tawdry art,
Pants for the vulgar praise which fools impart;

Here vanity affumes her pert grimace,

And trims her robes of frieze with copper lace;
Here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer,
To boaft one fplendid banquet once a-year-
The mind ftill turns where shifting fashion draws,
Nor weighs the folid worth of felf-applaufe.

To men of other minds my fancy flies,
Embosom'd in the deep, where Holland lies.
Methinks her patient fons before me stand,
Where the broad ocean leans against the land,
And, fedulous to ftop the coming tide,
Lift the tall rampire's artificial pride:
Onward, methinks, and diligently flow,
The firm connected bulwark feems to grow;
Spreads its long arms amidst the watery roar,
Scoops out an empire, and ufurps the shore:
While the pent ocean, rifing o'er the pile,
Sees an amphibious world beneath him smile-
The flow canal, the yellow-bloffom'd vale,
The willow-tufted bank, the gliding sail,
The crowded mart, the cultivated plain-
A new creation rescued from his reign.
Thus, while around the wave-fubjected foil
Impels the native to repeated toil,
Industrious habits in each bosom reign,

And induftry begets a love of gain.

Hence, all the good from opulence that springs,
With all those ills fuperfluous treasure brings,
Are here display'd. Their much lov'd wealth imparts
Convenience, plenty, elegance, and arts;
But view them clofer, craft and fraud appear,
Ev'n liberty itself is barter'd here!