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And lilies for the brows of faded age,

But here the needle plies its busy task, Teeth for the toothless, ringlets for the bald, The pattern grows, the well-depicted flow'r, Heav'n, earth, and ocean, plunderd of their sweets, Wrought patiently into the snowy lawn, Nectareous essences, Olympian dews,

Unfolds its bosom; buds, and leaves, and sprigs, Sermons, and city feasts, and fav’rite airs,

And curling tendrils, gracefully dispos'd, Ethereal journeys, submarine exploits,

Follow the nimble finger of the fair; And Katerfelto, with his hair on end

A wreath, that cannot fade, of now'rs, that blow At his own wonders, wond'ring for his bread. With most success when all besides decay.

"Tis pleasant through the loop-holes of retreat, The poet's or historian's page by one To peep at such a world ; to see the stir

Made vocal for th' amusement of the rest; of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd ; The sprightly lyre, whose treasure of sweet sounds To hear the roar she sends through all her gates The touch from many a trembling chord shakes out; At a safe distance, where the dying sound

And the clear voice symphonious, yet distinct, Falls a soft murmur on th' uninjur'd ear.

And in the charming strife triumphant still; 'Thus sitting, and surveying thus at ease

Beguile the night, and set a keener edge
The globe and its concerns, I seem advanc'd On female industry: the threaded steel
To some secure and more than mortal height, Flies swiftly, and unfelt the task proceeds.
That lib'rates and exempts me from them all. The volume clos'd, the customary rites
It turns submitted to my view, turns round

of the last meal commence. A Roman meal ; With all its generations; I behold

Such as the mistress of the world once found
The tumult, and am still. The sound of war Delicious, when her patriots of high note,
Has lost its terrors ere it reaches me ;

Perhaps by moonlight, at their humble doors,
Grieves, but alarms me not. I mourn the pride And under an old oak’s domestic shade,
And av'rice, that make man a wolf to man; Enjoyd, spare feast! a radish and an egg.
Hear the faint echo of those brazen throats Discourse ensues, not trivial, yet not dull,
By which he speaks the language of his heart, Nor such as with a frown forbids the play
And sigh, but never tremble at the sound.

of fancy, or proscribes the sound of mirth: He travels and expatiates, as the bee

Nor do we madly, like an impious world, From flow'r to flow'r, so he from land to land; Who deem religion frenzy, and the God, The manners, customs, policy, of all

That made them, an intruder on their joys, Pay contribution to the store he gleans ;

Start at his awful name, or deem his praise
He sucks intelligence in ev'ry clime,

A jarring note. Themes of a graver tone,
And spreads the honey of his deep research Exciting oft our gratitude and love,
At his return-a rich repast for me.

While we retrace with Mom’ry's pointing wand, He travels, and I too. I tread his deck,

That calls the past to our exact review, Ascend his topmast, through his peering eyes The dangers we have 'scaped, the broken snare, Discover countries, with a kindred heart

The disappointed foe, deliv'rance found Suffer his woes, and share in his escapes ;

Unlook'd for, life preserv'd, and peace restor’d, While fancy, like the finger of a clock,

Fruits of omnipotent eternal love.
Runs the great circuit, and is still at home. "O ev’nings worthy of the gods !" exclaim'd
O Winter, ruler of th' inverted year,

The Sabine bard. O ev’nings, I reply,
Thy scatter'd hair with sleet like ashes fillid, More to be priz'd and coveted than yonrs,
Thy breath congeald upon thy lips, thy cheeks As more illumin'd, and with nobler truths,
Fring’d with a beard made white with other snows That I, and mine, and those we love, enjoy.
Than those of age, thy forehead wrapp'd in clouds, Is Winter hideous in a garb like this?
A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne Needs he the tragic fur, the smoke of lamps,
A sliding car, indebted to no wheels,

The pent-up breath of an unsav'ry throng,
But urg'd by storms along its slipp’ry way,

To thaw him into feeling; or the smart I love thee, all unlovely as thou seemist,

And snappish dialogue, that flippant wits And dreaded as thou art! Thou hold'st the Sun Call comedy, to prompt him with a smile ? A pris'ner in the yet undawning east,

The self-complacant actor, when he views Short'ning his journey between morn and noon, (Stealing a sidelong glance at a full house) And hurrying him, impatient of his stay,

The slope of faces, from the floor to th' roof Down to the rosy west ; but kindly still

(As if one master-spring controllid them all) Compensating his loss with added hours

Relax'd into a universal grin, Of social converse and instructive ease,

Sees not a count'nance there, that speaks of joy And gath'ring, at short notice, in one group, Half so refind or so sincere as ours. The family dispers'd, and fixing thought,

Cards were superfluous here, with all the tricks
Not less dispers’d by daylight and its cares. That idleness has ever yet contriv'd
I crown thee king of intimate delights,

To fill the void of an unfurnish'd brain,
Fire-side enjoyments, home-born happiness, To palliate Dullness, and give Time a shove.
And all the comforts that the lowly roof

Time, as he passes us, has a dove's wing,
Of undisturb'd Retirement, and the hours

Unsoil'd, and swift, and of a silken sound; Of long uninterrupted ev'ning, know.

But the World's Time is Time in masquerade! No rattling wheels stop short before these gates ; Theirs, should I paint him, has his pinions fledg'd No powder'd pert, proficient in the art

With motley plumes; and, where the peacock shows Of sounding an alarm, assaults these doors His azure eyes, is tinctur'd black and red Till the street rings; no stationary steeds

With spots quadrangular of diamond form, Cough their own knell, while, heedless of the sound, Ensanguin'd hearts, clubs typical of strife, The silent circle fan themselves, and quake : And spades, the emblem of untimely graves. 96

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What should be, and what was an hour-glass once, In the red cinders, while with poring eye
Becomes a dice-box, and a billiard mace

I gaz'd, myself creating what I saw.
Well does the work of his destructive scythe. Nor less amus'd have I quiescent watch'd
Thus deck'd, he charms a world whom fashion blinds The sooty films, that play upon the bars
To his true worth, most pleas'd when idle most; Pendulous, and foreboding in the view
Whose only happy are their wasted hours. Of superstition, prophesying still,
Evin misses, at whose age their mothers wore Though still deceiv'd, some stranger's near approach
The backstring and the bib, assume the dress "Tis thus the understanding takes repose
Of womanhood, fit pupils in the school

In indolent vacuity of thought, of card-devoted Time, and night by night

And sleeps and is refresh'd. Meanwhile the face Plac'd at some vacant corner of the board, Conceals the mood lethargic with a mask Learn ev'ry trick, and soon play all the game. of deep deliberation, as the man But truce with censure. Roving as I rove, Were task'd to his full strength, absorb'd and lost. Where shall I find an end, or how proceed? Thus oft reclind at ease, I lose an hour As he that travels far oft turns aside

At ev'ning, till at length the freezing blast, To view some rugged rock or mould'ring tow'r, That sweeps the bolted shutter, summons home Which seen delights him not; then coming home The recollected pow'rs, and snapping short Describes and prints it, that the world may know | The glassy threads, with which the Faney weares How far he went for what was nothing worth; Her brittle toils, restores me to myself. So I, with brush in hand and pallet spread, How calm is my recess! and how the frost, With colors mix'd for a far diff'rent use,

Raging abroad, and the rough wind, endear Paint cards and dolls, and ev'ry idle thing, The silence and the warmth enjoy'd within! That Fancy finds in her excursive flights.

I saw the woods and fields at close of day
Come, Ev'ning, once again, season of peace; A variegated show; the meadows green,
Return, sweet Ev'ning, and continue long ! Though faded ; and the lands, where lately wav'd
Methinks I see thee in the streaky west,

The golden harvest, of a mellow brown,
With matron step slow moving, while the Night Upturn'd so lately by the forceful share.
Treads on thy sweeping train; one hand employ'd I saw far off the weedy fallows smile
In letting fall the curtain of repose

With verdure not unprofitable, graz'd
On bird and beast, the other charg'd for man By flocks, fast feeding, and selecting each
With sweet oblivion of the cares of day :

His fav'rite herb; while all the leafless groves, Not sumptuously adorn'd, not needing aid,

That skirt th' horizon, wore a sable hue,
Like homely-featur'd Night, of clust'ring gems;

Scarce notic'd in the kindred dusk of eve.
A star or two, just iwinkling on thy brow, To-morrow brings a change, a total change!
Suffices thee; save that the Moon is thine

Which even now, though silently perform'd,
No less than hers, not worn indeed on high And slowly, and by most unfelt, the face
With ostentatious pageantry, but set

Of universal nature undergoes.
With modest grandeur in thy purple zone, Fast falls a fleecy show's: the downy flakes
Resplendent less, but of an ampler round.

Descending, and with never-ceasing lapse,
Come then, and thou shalt find thy vot'ry calm, Softly alighting upon all below,
Or make me so. Composure is thy gift:

Assimilate all objects. Earth receives
And, whether I devote thy gentle hours

Gladly the thick’ning mantle; and the green To books, to music, or the poet's toil;

And iender blade, that fear'd the chilling blast, To weaving nels for bird-alluring fruit;

Escapes unhurt beneath so warm a veil. Or twining silken threads round iv'ry reels,

In such a world, so thorny, and where none When they command whom man was born to Finds happiness unblighted, or, if found, please;

Without some thistly sorrow at its side ; I slight thee not, but make thee welcome still. It seems the part of wisdom, and no sin

Just when our drawing-rooms begin to blaze Against the law of love, to measure lots With lights, by clear reflection multiplied

With less distinguish'd ihan ourselves ; that thus From many a mirror, in which he of Gath, We may with patience bear our mod'rate ills, Goliath, might have seen his giant bulk

And sympathize with others suff'ring more. Whole without stooping, tow'ring crest and all, Ill fares the tray'ller now, and he that stalks My pleasures, too, begin. But me perhaps

In pond'rous boots beside his reeking team. The glowing hearih may satisfy awhile

The wain goes heavily, impeded sore With faint illumination, that uplifts

By congregated loads adhering close The shadows to the ceiling, there by fits

To the clogg'd wheels; and in its sluggish pace Dancing uncouthly to the quiv'ring flame. Noiseless appears a moving hill of snow. Not undelightful is an hour to me

The toiling steeds expand the nostril wide,
So spent in parlor twilight: such a gloom

While ev'ry breath, by respiration strong
Suits well the thoughtful or unthinking mind, Forc'd downward, is consolidated soon
The mind contemplative, with some new theme Upon their jutting chests. He, form'd to bear
Pregnant, or indispos'd alike to all.

The pelling brunt of the tempestuous night,
Laugh, ye who boast your more mercurial pow'rs, With half-shut eyes, and pucker'd cheeks, and teeth
That never felt a stupor, know no pause,

Presented bare against the storm, plods on. Nor need one; I am conscious, and confess

One hand secures his hat, save when with both Fearless a soul, that does not always think. He brandishes his pliant length of whip, Me oft has Fancy ludicrous and wild

Resounding oft, and never heard in vain. Sooth'd with a waking dream of houses, tow'rs, O happy! and in my account denied Trees, churches, and strange visages, express'd | That sensibility of pain, with which


Refinement is endu'd, thrice-happy thou !

But poverty with most, who whimper forth Thy frame, robust and hardy, feels indeed

Their long complaints, is self-inflicted woe; The piercing cold, but feels it unimpair'd.

The effect of laziness or sottish waste.
The learned finger never need explore

Now goes the nightly thief prowling abroad
Thy vig'rous pulse ; and the unhealthful east, For plunder; much solicitous how best
That breathes the spleen, and searches ev'ry bone He may compensate for a day of sloth,
of the infirm, is wholesome air to thee.

By works of darkness and noctural wrong. Thy days roll on exempt from household care ; Woe to the gard'ner's pale, the farmer's hedge, Thy wagon is thy wife; and the poor beasts, Plash'd neatly, and secur'd with driven slakes That drag the dull companion to and fro,

Deep in the loamy bank. Uptorn by strength,
Thine helpless charge, dependent on thy care.

Resistless in so bad a cause, but lame
Ah treat them kindly! rude as thou appear'st, To better deeds, he bundles up the spoil,
Yet show that thou hast mercy! which the great,

An ass's burden, and, when laden most
With needless hurry whirl'd from place to place,

And heaviest, light of foot steals fast away Humane as they would seem, not always show. Nor does the boarded hovel better guard

Poor, yet industrious, modest, quiet, neat, The well-stack'd pile of riven logs and roots Such claim compassion in a night like this, From his pernicious force. Nor will he leave And have a friend in ev'ry feeling heart.

Unwrench'd the door, however well securd, Warmd, while it lasts, by labor, all day long Where Chanticleer amidst his harem sleeps They brave the season, and yet find at eve, In unsuspecting pomp. "Twitch'd from the perch, Ill clad, and fed but sparely, time to cool.

He gives the princely bird, with all his wives, The frugal housewife trembles when she lights To his voracious bag, struggling in vain, Her scanty stock of brushwood, blazing clear, And loudly wond'ring at the sudden change. But dying soon, like all terrestrial joys.

Nor this to feed his own. "Twere some excuse, The few small embers left she nurses well; Did pity of their suff'rings warp aside And, while her infant race, with outspread hands His principle, and tempt him into sin And crowded knees, sit cow'ring o'er the sparks, For their support, so destitute. But they Retires, content to quake, so they be warm’d. Neglected pine at home; themselves, as more The man feels least, as more inur'd than she Expos'd than others, with less scruple made To winter, and the current in his veins

His victims, robb’d of their defenceless all. More briskly mov'd by his severer toil ;

Cruel is all he does. 'Tis quenchless thirst Yet he too finds his own distress in theirs.

Of ruinous ebriety, than prompts The taper soon extinguish'd, which I saw

His ev'ry action, and imbrutes the man. Dangled along at the cold finger’s-end

O for a law to noose the villain's neck, Just when the day declin'd; and the brown loaf Who starves his own; who persecutes the blood Lodgid on the shelf, half eaten without sauce He gave them in his children's veins, and hates Of sav'ry cheese, or butter, costlier still;

And wrongs the woman he has sworn to love! Sleep seems their only refuge: for, alas !

Pass where we may, through city or through town, Where penury is felt, the thought is chain'd, Village, or hamlet, of this merry land, And sweet colloquial pleasures are but few! Though lean and beggar'd, ev'ry twentieth pace With all this thrift they thrive not. All the care, Conducts th' unguarded nose to such a whiff Ingenious Parsimony takes, but just

Of stale debauch, forth-issuing from the styes Saves the small inventory, bed, and stool,

That law has licens'd, as makes Temp'rance reel. Skillet, and old carv'd chest, from public sale. There sit, involv'd and lost in curling clouds They live, and live without extorted alms

Of Indian fume, and guzzling deep, the boor, From grudging hands; but other boast bave none, The lackey, and the groom : the craftsman there To soothe their honest pride, that scorns to beg, Takes a Lethean leave of all his toil ; Nor comfort else, but in their mutual love. Smith, cobbler, joiner, he that plies the shears, I praise you much, ye meek and patient pair, And he that kneads the dough; all loud alike, For ye are worthy; choosing rather far

All learned, and all drunk! The fiddle screams A dry but independent crust, hard earn’d,

Plaintive and piteous, as it wept and wail'd And eaten with a sigh, than to endure

Its wasted tones and harmony unheard : The rugged frowns and insolent rebuffs

Fierce the dispute, whate'er the theme; while she, Of knaves in office, partial in the work

Fell Discord, arbitress of such debate, of distribution ; lib'ral of their aid

Perch'd on the sign-post, holds with even hand To clam'rous Importunity in rags,

Her undecisive scales. In this she lays But oft-times deaf to suppliants, who would blush A weight of ignorance; in that, of pride ; To wear a tatter'd garb however coarse,

And smiles delighted with the eternal poise. Whom famine cannot reconcile to filth:

Dire the frequent curse, and its twin sound, These ask with painful shyness, and, refus'd The cheek-distending oath, not to be prais'd Because deserving, silently retire !

As ornamental, musical, polite, But be ye of good courage! Time itself

Like those which modern senators employ, Shall much befriend you. Time shall give increase; Whose oath is rhet'ric, and who swear for famne! And all your num'rous progeny, well-train'd Behold the schools, in which plebeian minds But helpless, in few years shall find their hands, Once simple are initiated in arts, And labor too. Meanwhile ye shall not want Which some may practise with politer grace, What, conscious of your virtues, we can spare, But none with readier skill 'Tis here they learn Nor what a wealthier than ourselves may send.

The road, that leads from competence and peace I mean the man, who, when the distant poor To indigence and rapine ; till at last Need help, denies them nothing but his name. Society, grown weary of the load,

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Shakes her encumber'd lap, and casts them out. And the first larum of the cock's shrill throat
But censure profits little : vain th' attempt May prove a trumpet, summoning your ear
To advertise in verse a public pest,

To horrid sounds of hostile feet within.
That, like the filth with which the peasant feeds Ev'n daylight has its dangers; and the walk
His hungry acres, stinks, and is of use.

Through pathless wastes and woods, unconscious once Th’ Excise is fatten'd with the rich result

Of other tenants than melodious birds, Of all this riot; and ten thousand casks,

Or harmless flocks, is hazardous and bold.
For ever dribbling out their base contents, Lamented change! to which full many a cause
Touch'd by the Midas finger of the state, Invet'rate, hopeless of a cure, conspires,
Bleed gold for ministers to sport away.

The course of human things from good to ill,
Drink, and be mad, then ; 'tis your country bids ! From ill to worse, is fatal, never fails.
Gloriously drunk, obey th' important call! Increase of pow'r begets increase of wealth ;
Her cause demands th' assistance of your throats ;— Wealth, luxury; and luxury, excess;
Ye all can swallow, and she asks no more. Excess, the scrofulous and itchy plague,

Would I had fall'n upon those happier days, That seizes first the opulent, descends
That poets celebrate ; those golden times, To the next rank contagious, and in time
And those Arcadian scenes, that Maro sings, Taints downward all the graduated scale
And Sidney, warbler of poetic prose.

Of order, from the chariot to the plow. Nymphs were Dianas then, and swains had hearts, The rich, and they that have an arm to check That felt their virtues : Innocence, it seems, The license of the lowest in degree, From courts dismiss’d, found shelter in the groves; Desert their office ; and themselves, intent The footsteps of Simplicity, impress'd

On pleasure, haunt the capital, and thus Upon the yielding herbage, (so they sing,) To all the violence of lawless hands Then were not all effac'd: then speech profane, Resign the scenes their presence might protect. And manners profligate, were rarely found, Authority herself not seldom sleeps, Observ'd as prodigies, and soon reclaim'd. Though resident, and witness of the wrong. Vain wish! those days were never: airy dreams The plump convivial parson often bears Sat for the picture : and the poet's hand, The magisterial sword in vain, and lays Imparting substance to an empty shade,

His rev'rence and his worship both to rest Impos'd a gay delirium for a truth.

On the same cushion of habitual sloth. Grant it: 1 still must envy them an age,

Perhaps timidity restrains his arm; That favor'd such a dream; in days like these When he should strike he trembles, and sets free, Impossible, when Virtue is so scarce,

Himself enslav'd by terror of the band, That to suppose a scene where she presides, Th' audacious convict, whom he dares not bind. Is tramontane, and stumbles all belief.

Perhaps, though by profession ghostly pure, No: we are polish'd now. The rural lass, He too may have his vice, and sometimes prove Whom once her virgin modesty and grace, Less dainty than becomes his grave outside Her artless manners, and her neat attire,

In lucrative concerns. Examine well So dignified, that she was hardly less

His milk-white hand; the palm is hardly cleanThan the fair shepherdess of old romance,

But here and there an ugly smutch appears. Is seen no more. The character is lost!

Foh! 'twas a bribe that left it: he has touch'd Her head, adorn'd with lappets pinn'd aloft, Corruption. Whoso seeks an audit here And ribands streaming gay, superbly rais’d, Propitious, pays his tribute, game or fish, And magnified beyond all human size,

Wild-fowl or ven’son; and his errand speeds. Indebted to some smart wig-weaver's hand

But faster far, and more than all the rest,
For more than half the tresses it sustains ; A noble cause, which none, who bears a spark
Her elbows ruffled, and her tott'ring form of public virtue, ever wish'd remov'd,
Ill-propp'd upon French heels ; she might be deem'd Works the deplor'd and mischievous effect.
(But that the basket dangling on her arm 'Tis universal soldiership has stabb'd
Interprets her more truly) of a rank

The heart of merit in the meaner class.
Too proud for dairy work, or sale of eggs. Arms, through the vanity and brainless rage
Expect her soon with footboy at her heels, Of those that bear them, in whatever cause,
No longer blushing for her awkward load, Seem most at variance with all moral good,
Her train and her umbrella all her care !

And incompatible with serious thought.
The town has ting’d the country; and the stain The clown, the child of Nature, without guile,
Appears a spot upon a vestal's robe,

Blest with an infant's ignorance of all
The worse for what it soils. The fashion runs But his own simple pleasures ; now and then
Down into scenes still rural; but, alas!

A wrestling-match, a foot-race, or a fair;
Scenes rarely grac'd with rural manners now! Is balloted, and trembles at the news :
Time was when in the pastoral retreat

Sheepish he doffs his hat, and mumbling swears Th' unguarded door was safe; men did not watch A Bible-oath to be whate'er they please, T'invade another's right, or guard their own. To do he knows not what. The task perform'd, Then sleep was undistwrb’d by fear, unscar'd That instant he becomes the sergeant's care, By drunken howling; and the chilling tale His pupil, and his torment, and his jest. of midnight murder was a wonder heard

His awkward gait, his introverted toes, With doubtful credit, told to frighten babes. bar knees, round shoulders, and dejected looks, But farewell now to unsuspicious nights,

Procure him many a curse. By slow degrees, And slumbers unalarm'd! Now, ere you sleep, Unapt to learn, and form'd of stubborn stuff, See that your polish'd arms be prim'd with care, He yet by slow degrees puts off himself, And drop the night-bolt ;-ruftians are abroad ; Grows conscious of a change, and likes it well:

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He stands erect; his slouch becomes a walk; Then Milton had indeed a poet's charms :
He steps right onward, martial in his air,

New to my taste, his Paradise surpass'd
His form, and movement; is as smart above The struggling efforts of my boyish tongue
As meal and larded locks can make him ; wears To speak its excellence. I danc'd for joy.
His hat, or his plum'd helmet, with a grace;

I marvellid much that at so ripe an age
And, his three years of heroship expir'd,

As twice seven years, his beauties had then first
Returns indignant to the slighted plow.

Engag'd my wonder; and admiring still,
He hates the field, in which no fife or drum

And still admiring, with regret suppos'd
Attends him ; drives his cattle to a march; The joy half lost, because not sooner found.
And sighs for the smart comrades he has left. There, 100, enamourd of the life I lov'd,
'T were well if his exterior change were all- Pathetic in its praise, in its pursuit
But with his clumsy port the wretch has lost

Determin'd, and possessing it at last
His ignorance and harmless manners 100.

With transports, such as favor'd lovers feel,
To swear, to game, to drink; to show at home I studied, priz'd, and wish'd that I had known,
By lewdness, idleness, and Sabbath-breach, Ingenious Cowley! and, though now reclaim'd
The great proficiency he made abroad;

By modern lights from an erroneous laste,
T' astonish and to grieve his gazing friends; I cannot but lament thy splendid wit
To break some maiden's and his mother's heart; Entangled in the cobwebs of the schools.
To be a pest where he was useful once ;

I still revere thee, courtly though retir'd;
Are his sole aim, and all his glory, now.

Though stretch'd at ease in Chertsey's silent bow'rs
Man in society is like a flow'r

Not unemploy’d; and finding rich amends
Blown in its native bed : 'tis there alone

For a lost world in solitude and verse.
His faculties, expanded in full bloom,

"Tis born with all: the love of Nature's works Shine out; there only reach their proper use.

Is an ingredient in the compound man,
But man, associated and leagu'd with man

Infus'd at the creation of the kind.
By regal warrant, or self-join'd by bond

And, though th' Almighty Maker has throughout
For int'rest-sake, or swarming into clans

Discriminated each from each, by strokes
Beneath one head for purposes of war,

And touches of his hand, with so much art
Like flow'rs selected from the rest, and bound Diversified, that two were never found
And bundled close to fill some crowded vase,

Twins at all points-yet this obtains in all,
Fades rapidly, and, by compression marrd,

That all discern a beauty in his works,
Contracts defilement not to be endur'd.

And all can taste them: minds that have been form'd
Hence charter'd boroughs are such public plagues; And tutor'd, with a relish more exact,
And burghers, men immaculate perhaps

But none without some relish, none unmoy'd.
In all their private functions, once combin’d,

It is a flame, that dies not even there,
Become a lothesome body, only fit

Where nothing feeds it: neither business, crowds,
For dissolution, hurtful to the main.

Nor habits of luxurious city life,
Hence merchants, unimpeachable of sin

Whatever else they smother of true worth
Against the charities of domestic life,

In human bosoms, quench it or abate.
Incorporated seem at once to lose

The villas, with which London stands begirt,
Their nature; and, disclaiming all regard

Like a swarth Indian with his belt of beads,
For mercy and the common rights of man, Prove it. A breath of unadulterate air,
Build factories with blood, conducting trade The glimpse of a green pasture, how they cheer
At the sword's point, and dying the white robe The citizen, and brace his languid frame!
Of innocent commercial Justice red.

Ev'n in the stifling bosom of the town,
Hence too the field of glory, as the world

A garden, in which nothing thrives, has charms
Misdeeins it, dazzled by its bright array,

That soothe the rich possessor; much consolid, With all its majesty of thund'ring pomp,

That here and there some sprigs of mournful mint,
Enchanting music, and immortal wreaths,

Of nightshade, or valerian, grace the well
Is but a school, where thoughtlessness is taught He cultivates. These serve him with a hint,
On principle, where foppery atones

That Nature lives; that sight-refreshing green
For folly, gallantry for ev'ry vice.

Is still the liv'ry she delights to wear,
But slighted as it is, and by the great

Though sickly samples of th' exub'rant whole.
Abandon'd, and, which still I more regret,

What are the casements lin'd with creeping herbs,
Infected with the manners and the modes

The prouder sashes fronted with a range
It knew not once, the country wins me still. Of orange, myrtle, or the fragrant weed,
I never fram'd a wish, or form'd a plan

The Frenchman's darling ** Are they not all proofs
That flatter'd me with hopes of earthly bliss,

That man, immur'd in cities, still retains
But there I laid the scene. There early stray'd

His inborn inextinguishable thirst
My fancy, ere yet liberty of choice

of rural scenes, compensating his loss
Had found me, or the hope of being free. By supplemental shifts, the best he may ?
My very dreams were rural; rural too

The most unfurnish'd with the means of life,
The first-born efforts of my youthful Muse, Are they, that never pass their brick-wall bounds,
Sportive and jingling her poetic bells,

To range the fields, and treat their lungs with air,
Ere yet her ear was mistress of their pow'rs. Yet feel the burning instinct : over-head
No bard could please me but whose lyre was tun'd Suspend their crazy boxes, planted thick,
To Nature's praises. Heroes and their feats And water'd duly. There the pitcher stands
Fatigu'd me, never weary of the pipe

A fragment, and the spoutless tea-pot there;
Of Tityrus, assembling, as he sang,
The rustic throng beneath his fav'rite beech.

* Mignonette.


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