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While beasts with man divided empire claim, No more thy glassy brook reflects the day,
And the brown Indian marks with murd’rous aim; But chok'd with sedges works its weary way;
There, while above the giddy tempest flies, Along thy glades, a solitary guest,
And all around distressful yells arise,

The hollow-sounding birtern guards its nest;
The pensive exile, bending with his woe, Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies,
To stop too fearful, and too faint to go,

And tires their echoes with unvaried cries. Casts a long look where England's glories shine, Sunk are thy bow'rs in shapeless ruin all, And bids his bosom sympathize with mine. And the long grass o’ertops the mould'ring wall,

Vain, very vain, my weary search to find And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand That bliss which only centres in the mind. Far, far away thy children leave the land. Why have I stray'd from pleasure and repose, Ill fares the land, to hast'ning ills a prey, To seek a good each government bestows? Where wealth accumulates, and men decay; In ev'ry government, though terrors reign, Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade; Though tyrant kings or tyrant laws restrain, A breath can make them, as a breath has made : How small, of all that human hearts endure, But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, That part which laws or kings can cause or cure ! When once destroy'd, can never be supplied. Still to ourselves in every place consign'd,

A time there was, ere England's griefs began, Our own felicity we make or find :

When ev'ry rood of ground maintain 'd its man; With secret course, which no loud storms annoy, For him light labor spread her wholesome store, Glides the smooth current of domestic joy. Just gave what life requird, but gave no more : The lified ax, the agonizing wheel,

His best companions, innocence and health ;
Luke's iron crown, and Damien's bed of steel, And his best riches, ignorance of wealth.
To men remote from pow'r but rarely known, But times are alter'd; trade's unfeeling train
Leave reason, faith, and conscience, all our own. Usurp the land, and dispossess the swain;

Along the lawn, where scatter'd hamlets rose,
Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose ;

And ev'ry want to luxury allied,

And ev'ry pang that folly pays to pride.

Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain, Those calm desires that ask'd but little room, Where health and plenty cheer'd the lab'ring swain, Those healthful sports that grac'd the peaceful scene Where smiling Spring its earliest visit paid, Liv'd in each look, and brighten'd all the green; And parting Summer's ling'ring blooms delay'd : These, far departing, seek a kinder shore, Dear lovely bow'rs of innocence and ease,

And rural mirth and manners are no more. Seats of my youth, when ev'ry sport could please : Sweet Auburn! parent of the blissful hour, How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green,

Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's pow'r.
Where humble happiness endear'd each scene! Here, as I take my solitary rounds,
How often have I pausd on ev'ry charm,

Amidst thy tangling walks and ruin'd grounds, The shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm,

And, many a year elaps'd, return to view The never-failing brook, the busy mill,

Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, The decent church that topt the neighb'ring hill, Remembrance wakes with all her busy train, The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain. For talking age and whisp'ring lovers made!

In all my wand'rings round this world of care, How often have I bless'd the coming day,

In all my griefs--and God has giv'n my shareWhen toil remitting lent its turn to play,

I still had hopes my latest hours to crown, And all the village train, from labor free,

Amidst these humble bow'rs to lay me down; Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree : To husband out life's taper at the close, While many a pastime circled in the shade, And keep the flame from wasting, by repose : The young contending as the old survey'd ; I still had hopes, for pride attends us still, And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground,

Amidst the swains to show my book-learn'd skill And sleights of art and feats of strength went round; Around my fire an ev'ning group to draw, And still, as each repeated pleasure tird,

And tell of all I felt, and all I saw; Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspir'd. And, as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue The dancing pair that simply sought renown, Pants to the place from whence at first she flew, By holding out to tire each other down ;

I still had hopes, my long vexations past, The swain mistrustless of his smulted face,

Here to return--and die at home at last. While secret laughter titter'd round the place; O blest retirement, friend to life's decline, The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love,

Retreats from care, that never must be mine, The matron’s glance that would those looks reprove: How blest is he who crowns, in shades like these, These were thy charms, sweet village ! sports like A youth of labor with an age of ease; these

Who quits a world where strong temptations try With sweet succession, taught e'en toil to please; And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly! These round thy bow'rs their cheerful influence shed, For him no wretches, born to work and weep, These were thy charms—but all these charms are fled. Explore the mine, or tempt the dang'rous deep;

Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn, No surly porter stands, in guilty state,
Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn; To spurn imploring famine from the gate;
Amidst thy bow'rs the tyrant's hand is seen, But on he moves to meet his latter end,
And desolation saddens all thy green:

Angels around befriending virtue's friend;
One only master grasps the whole domain, Sinks to the grave with unperceiv'd decay,
And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain : While resignation gently slopes the way;

And, all his prospects brightning to the last, Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway, His heav'n commences ere the world be past. And fools, who came to scoff, remain'd to pray.

Sweet was the sound, when oft at ev'ning's close, The service past, around the pious man, Up yonder hill the village murmur rose ;

With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran : There, as I pass'd with careless steps and slow, Ev'n children follow'd, with endearing wile, The mingling notes came sosten'd from below; And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's The swain responsive as the milk-maid sung,

smile; The sober herd that low'd to meet their young; His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest, The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares distrest . The playful children just let loose from school : To them his heart, his love, his griefs, were giv'n, The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whisp'ring But all his serious thoughts had rest in Heav'n. wind,

As some tall cliff, that lifis ils awful form, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind; Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, And fill'd each pause the nightingale had made. Eternal sun-shine seliles on its head. But now the sounds of population fail,

Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale, With blossom'd furze, unprofitably gay, No busy steps the grass-grown foolway tread, There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule, But all the blooming flush of life is Ned :

The village master taught his liule school : All but yon widow'd, solitary thing,

A man severe he was, and stern to view, That feebly bends beside the plashy spring ; I knew him well, and every truant knew; She, wretched matron, forc'd in age, for bread, Well, had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread, The day's disasters in his morning face; To pick her wintry fagot from the thorn,

Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn: At all his jokes, for many a joke had he; She only lest of all the harmless train,

Full well the busy whisper, circling round, The sad historian of the pensive plain.

Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd; Near yonder copse, where once the garden smild, Yet he was kind, or if severe in aught, And still where many a garden-flow'r grows wild, The love he bore to learning was in fault; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village all declar'd how much he knew; The village preacher's modest mansion rose. "Twas certain he could write and cipher too; A man he was to all the country dear,

Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, And passing rich with forty pounds a year; And ev'n the story ran that he could gauge. Remote from towns he ran his godly race,

In arguing, too, the parson own'd his skill, Nor e'er had chang’d, nor wish'd to change his place; For ev'n though vanquish'd he could argue still; Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for pow'r,

While words of learned length, and thund'ring By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour;

sound, Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize, Amaz'd the gazing rustics rang'd around; More bent to raise the wretched than to rise. And still they gaz'd, and still the wonder grew His house was known to all the vagrant train, That one small head should carry all he knew. He chid their wand'rings, but reliev'd their pain; But past is all his fame. The very spot, The long-remember'd beggar was his guest, Where many a time he triumph'd, is forgot. Whose beard descending swept his aged breast; Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high, The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye, Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd ; Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay,

inspir'd, Sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away ; Where grey-beard mirth and smiling toil retir'd, Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, Where village statesmen talk'd with looks profound Shoulder'd his crutch, and show'd how fields were And news much older than their ale went round ;

Imagination fondly stoops to traco Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow, The parlor splendors of that festive place; And quite forgot their vices in their woe; The white-wash'd wall, the nicely-sanded Noor, Careless their merits of their faults to scan, The varnish'd clock that click'd behind the door ; His pity gave ere charity began.

The chest contriv'd a double debt to pay, Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day; And ev'n his failings lean'd to virtue's side ; The pictures plac'd for ornament and use. But in his duty prompt, at ev'ry call,

The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose ; He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt, for all : The hearth, except when winter chill'd the day, And, as a bird each fond endearment tries

With aspen boughs, and flowers, and fennel, To tempt its new-fledg'd offspring to the skies,

gay ; He tried each art, reprov'd each dull delay, While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show, Allur'd to brighter worlds, and led the way. Rang'd o'er the chimney, glisten'd in a row.

Beside the bed where parting life was laid, Vain transitory splendors! could not all And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismay'd, Reprieve the toti'ring mansion from its fall! The rev'rend champion stood. At his control, Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul; An hour's importance to the poor man's heart; Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, Thither no more the peasant shall repair And his last falt'ring accents whisper'd praise. To sweet oblivion of his daily care ;

At church, with meek and unaffected grace, No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, His looks adorn'd the venerable place;

No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail,


No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear, To see each joy the sons of pleasure know,
Relax his pond'rous strength, and lean to hear; Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe.
The host himself no longer shall be found Here, while the courtier glitters in brocade,
Careful to see the mantling bliss go round; There the pale artist plies the sickly trade;
Nor the coy maid, half willing to be prest, Here, while the proud their long-drawn pomp
Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest.

Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, There the black gibbet glooms beside the way;
These simple blessings of the lowly train; The dome where pleasure holds her midnight reign.
To me more dear, congenial to my heart, Here, richly deck’d, admits the gorgeous train;
One native charm, than all the gloss of art; Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square,
Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play, The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare.
The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway ; Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy!
Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind,

Sure these denote one universal joy! Unen vied, unmolested, unconfin'd.

Are these thy serious thoughts ?-Ah, turn thine eyes But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, Where the poor houseless shivering female lies: With all the freaks of wanton wealth array'd, She, once perhaps, in village pleniy blest, In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain, Has wept at tales of innocence distrest; The toiling pleasure sickens into pain;

Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, And, e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy, Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn; The heart distrusting asks, if this be joy?

Now lost to all; her friends, her virtue, fied, Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen, who survey Near her betrayer's door she lays her head, The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, And, pinch'd with cold, and shrinking from the 'Tis yours to judge how wide the limits stand

show'r, Between a splendid and a happy land.

With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour, Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore, When idly first, ambitious of the town, And shouting Folly hails them from her shore; She left her wheel and robes of country brown. Hoards e'en beyond the miser's wish abound, Do thine, sweet Auburn, thine, the loveliest train And rich men flock from all the world around. Do thy fair tribes participate her pain ? Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name E'en now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led, That leares our useful product still the same. At proud men's doors they ask a little bread! Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride Ah, no. To distant climes, a dreary scene, Takes up a space that many poor supplied ; Where half the convex world intrudes between, Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds, Through torrid fracts with fainting steps they go, Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds; Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe. The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth Far diff'rent there from all that charm'd before, llas robb’d the neighb'ring fields of half their The various terrors of that horrid shore; growth;

Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray, His seat, where solitary sports are seen,

And fiercely shed intolerable day; Indignant spurns the cottage from the green; Those matted woods where birds forget to sing, Around the world each needful product flies : But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling; For all the luxuries the world supplies :

Those pois'nous fields with rank luxuriance crown'd While thus the land, adorn'd for pleasure all, Where the dark scorpion gathers death around : In barren splendor feebly waits the fall.

Where at each step the stranger fears to wake As some fair female, unadorn'd and plain, The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake; Secure to please while youth confirms her reign, Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey, Slights ev'ry borrow'd charm that dress supplies, And savage men more murd'rous still than they ; Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes; While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies, But when those charms are past, for charms are Mingling the ravag'd landscape with the skies. frail,

Far diff"rent these from ev'ry former scene, When time advances, and when lovers fail, The cooling brook, the grassy-vested green, She then shines forth, solicitous to bless,

The breezy covert of the warbling grove, In all the glaring impotence of dress :

That only shelter'd thefts of harmless love. Thus fares the land, by luxury betray'd,

Good Heav'n! what sorrow's gloom'd that part. In nature's simplest charms at first array’d;

ing day, But verging to decline, its splendors rise,

That call'd them from their native walks away; Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise ;

When the poor exiles, ev'ry pleasure past, While, scourg'd by famine, from the smiling land Hung round the bow'rs, and fondly look'd their The mournful peasant leads his humble band;

last, And while he sinks, without one arm to save, And took a long farewell, and wish'd in vain The country blooms—a garden and a grave! For seats like these beyond the western main ;

Where, then, ah! where shall poverty reside, And shudd'ring still to face the distant deep, To 'scape the pressure of contiguous pride? Return'd and wept, and still return'd to weep. If to some common's senceless limits stray'd, The good old sire the first prepard to go He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade, To new-found worlds, and wept for others' woe ; Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide, But for himself, in conscious virtue brave, And e'en the bare-worn common is denied. He only wish'd for worlds beyond the grave.

If to the city sped-What waits him there? His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears, To see profusion that he must not share ;

The fond companion of his helpless years, To see ten thousand baneful arts combin'd Silent went next, neglectful of her charms, To pamper luxury, and thin mankind;

And left a lover's for her father's arms.

"Forbear, my son,” the hermit cries,

“ To tempt the dang'rous gloom; For yonder faithless phantom Mies

To lure thee to thy doom.

“Here to the houseless child of want

My door is open still; And though my portion is but scant,

I give it with good-will.

“Then turn to-night, and freely share

Whate'er my cell bestows ;
My rushy couch and frugal fare,

My blessing and repose. “No flocks that range the valley free

To slaughter I condemn : Taught by that Pow'r that pities me,

I learn to pity them :

“ But from the mountain's grassy side

A guiltless feast I bring; A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied,

And water from the spring.

With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes,
And bless'd the cot where ev'ry pleasure rose;
And kiss'd her thoughtless babes with many a tear,
And clasp'd them close, in sorrow doubly dear;
Whilst her fond husband strove to lend relief
In all the silent manliness of grief.

O Luxury! thou curs'd by Heaven's decree,
How ill exchang'd are ings 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 vigor not their own :
At ev'ry draught more large and large they grow,
A bloated mass of rank unwieldy woe ;
Till, sapp'd their strength, and ev'ry part unsound,
Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round.

E'en now the devastation is begun, And half the business of destruction done; E'en 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 ev'ry 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 plac'd 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 ev'ry virtue, fare thee well; Farewell! and O! where'er thy voice be tried, On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side, Whether where equinoctial fervors glow, Or winter wraps the polar world in snow, Still let thy voice, prevailing over time, Redress the rigors of th' 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 possest, Though very poor, may still be very blest ; That trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay, As ocean sweeps the labor'd mole away; While self-dependent pow'r can time defy, As rocks resist the billows and the sky.

“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 sell;
The modest stranger lowly bends,

And follows to the cell.

Far in a wilderness obscure

The lonely mansion lay; A refuge to the neighboring poor,

And strangers led astray.

No stores beneath its humble thatch

Requir'd a master's care; The wicket, op'ning with a latch,

Receiv'd the harmless pair.

And now when busy crowds retire

To take their ev'ning rest, The hermit trimm'd his little fire,

And cheer'd his pensive guest :

And spread his vegetable store,

And gaily prest, and smil'd; And, skill'd in legendary lore,

The ling'ring hours beguil'd.

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