Land he could measure, terms and tides presage, And even the story ran that he could guage; In arguing too the parson own'd his skill, For, e'en though vanquish'd, he could argue still; While words of learned length, and thund'ring sound, Amaz'd the gazing rustics rang'd around, Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high, Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye, Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspir'd, Where grey-beard mirth, and smiling toil, retir'd; Where village statesmen talk'd with looks profound, And news much older than their ale went round. The parlour-splendours of that festive place; While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show, No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, These simple blessings of the lowly train; To me more dear, congenial to my heart, One native charm, than all the gloss of art. Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play, The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway; Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen who survey The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, 'Tis yours to judge, how wide the limits stand, Between a splendid and a happy land. Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore, And shouting Folly hails them from her shore; Hoards, even beyond the miser's wish, abound, And rich men flock from all the world around. Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name That leaves our useful products still the same. Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride, Takes up a space that many poor supplied; Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds, Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds; The robe that wraps his limbs in silken cloth, Has robb'd the neighbouring fields of half their growth; His seat, where solitary sports are seen, Indignant spurns the cottage from the green; Around the world each needful product flies, For all the luxuries the world supplies; While thus the land, adorn'd for pleasure all, In barren splendour feebly waits the fall. As some fair female unadorn'd and plain, Secure to please while youth confirms her reign, Slights every borrow'd charm that dress supplies Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes; But when those charms are past, for charms are frail, When time advances, and when lovers fail, 40 She then shines forth, solicitous to bless, While, scourg'd by famine from the smiling The mournful peasant leads his humble band; Where then, ah! where shall poverty reside, If to the city sped, what waits him there? To see profusion that he must not share; To see ten thousand baneful arts combin'd To pamper luxury, and thin mankind; To see each joy the sons of pleasure know, Extorted from his fellow-creatures' woe. Here, while the courtier glitters in brocade, There the pale artist plies the sickly trade; Here, while the proud their long-drawn pomps display, There the black gibbet glooms beside the way: The dome where Pleasure holds her midnight reign, Here, richly deck'd, admits the gorgeous train; 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 shiv'ring female lies. With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour, She left her wheel, and robes of country brown. Do thine, sweet Auburn, thine, the loveliest train, Do thy fair tribes participate her pain? Ah, no. To distant climes, a dreary scene, |