Those blazing funs that dart a downward ray,
And fiercely fhed intolerable day;
Thofe matted woods where birds forget to fing,
But filent bats in drowfy clusters cling; 350
Those poisonous fields with rank luxuriance crowned,
Where the dark fcorpion gathers death around;
Where at each step the ftranger fears to wake
The rattling terrors of the vengeful fnake;
Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey, 355
And favage men, more murderous ftill than they ;
While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies,
Mingling the ravaged landschape with the skies.
Far different these from every former scene,
The cooling brook, the graffy vefted green, 360
The breezy covert of the warbling grove,
That only sheltered thefts of harmiefs love.
Good heaven! what forrows gloom'd that part
That called them from their native walks away;
When the poor exiles, every pleasure past,
Hung round their bowers, and fondly looked their
And took a long farewell, and wished in vain
For feats like thefe beyond the western main;
And fhuddering ftill to face the diftant deep,
Returned and
wept, and still returned to weep. 370
The good old fire, the firft 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 rofe; 380
And kift her thoughtless babes with many a tear,
And clafpt them close, in forrow doubly dear;
Whilft her fond husband strove to lend relief
In all the filent manlinefs of grief.
Oluxury! Thou curft by heaven's decree, 385
How ill exchanged are things like thefe for thee!
How do thy potions, with infidious joy,
Diffufe their pleafures 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 mass of rank unwieldy woe;
Till fapp'd their ftrength, and every part unfound, Down, down they fink, and fpread a ruin round.
Even now the devaftation is begun,
And half the bufinefs of deftruction done;
Even now, methinks, as pondering here I ftand,
I fee the rural virtues leave the land:
Down where yon anchoring veffel fpreads the fail
That idly waiting flaps with every gale,
Downward they move, a melancholy band,
Pafs from the fhore, and darken all the strand.
Contented toil, and hofpitable care,
And kind connubial tenderness, are there ;
And piety, with wifhes placed above,
And fteady loyalty, and faithful love.
And thou, fweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid,
Still firft to fly where fenfual joys invade;
Unfit in thefe degenerate times of shame,
To catch the heart, or ftrike for honeft fame; 410
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 first, and keep'ft me so ;
Thou guide, by which the nobler arts excel, 415
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,
Redress the rigours of the inclement clime;
Aid fighted truth with thy perfuafive strain,
Teach erring man to fpurn the rage of gain;
Teach him, that states of native ftrength poffeft, 425
Tho' very poor, may still be very bleft;
That trade's proud empire haftes to fwift decay,
As ocean fweeps the laboured mole away;
While felf-dependent power can time defy,
As rocks refit the billows and the sky.
TURN, gentle hermit of the dale,
"And guide my lonely way,
"To where yon taper cheers the vale, "With hospitable ray:
For here forlorn and loft I tread, "With fainting steps and flow; "Where wilds, immeafurably spread, "Seem lengthening as I go."
"Forbear, my fon," the hermit cries, "To tempt the dangerous gloom; For yonder faithlefs phantom flies "To lure thee to thy doom.
"Here to the houfelefs child of want
My door is open still;
And tho' my portion is but fcant,
"I give it with good will.
The original idea of this elegant poem was fuggefted by a beautiful old ballad, printed in the "Reliques of ancient English poetry," volume the fecond.
"Then turn to-night, and freely fhare "Whate'er my cell beftows;
"My rufhy couch, and frugal fare,
"No flocks that range the valley free "To flaughter I condemn :
"Taught by that power that pities me, "I learn to pity them.
"But from the mountain's graffy fide
"A guiltless feast I bring;
"A fcrip with herbs and fruits fupply'd,.
"And water from the spring.
"Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego;
"All earth-born cares are wrong:
"Man wants but little here below,
"Nor wants that little long."
Soft as the dew from heav'n descends,
His gentle accents fell:
The modest stranger lowly bends,
And follows to the cell.
Far in a wilderness obfcure
The lonely manfion lay;
A refuge to the neighbouring poor,
And strangers led aftray.
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