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Is sloth indulgence? 'tis a toil;
Enervates man, and damns the soil;
Defeats creation, plunges in distress,
Cankers our being; all devours.
A full exertion of our pow'rs,
Thence, and thence only, glows our happiness
The stream may stagnate, yet be clear,
The sun suspend his swift career,
Yet healthy Nature feel her wonted force;
Ere man his active springs resign'd,
Can rust in body and in mind,
Yet taste of bliss, of which he chokes the source.
Where, Industry! thy daughter fair ?
Recall her to her native air:
Here was Trade born, here bred, here fourish'd long;
And ever shall she flourishhere:
What tho’ she languish'd ? 'twas but fear;
She's sound of heart; her constitution's strong.
Wake, sting her up." Trade! lean no more
On thy fix'd anchor; push from shore;
Earth lies before thee, ev'ry climate court,
And see! she's rous'd; absolv'd from fears,
Her brow in cloudless azure rears,
Spreads all her sail, and opens ev'ry port,
See, cherish'd by her sister, Peace,
She levies gain on ev'ry Place,
Religion, habit, custom, tongue, and name!
Again she travels with the sun,
Again she draws a golden zone,
59 Round earth and main; bright zone of wealth and
[fame! Ten thousand active hands, that hung In shameful sloth, with nerves unstrung, The nation's languid load, defy the storms, The sheets unfurl, and anchors weigh, The long-moor'd vessels wing to sea, Worlds worlds salute, and peopled ocean swarms.
His sons, Po, Ganges, Danube, Nile,
Their sedgy foreheads lift and smile;
Their urns inverted prodigally pour
Streams charg'd with wealth, and vow to buy 70
Britannia for their great ally,
With climes paid down. What can the gods do more?
Cold Russia costly furs, from far
Hot China sends her painted jar,
France gen'rous wines to crown it, Arab sweet,
With gales of incense swells our sails,
Ņor distant Ind our Merchant fails,
Her richest ore the ballast of our fleet.
Luxuriant Isle! what tide that flows,
Or stream that glides, or wind that blows,
Or genial sun that shines, or show's that pours,
But flows, glides, breathes, shines, pours for thee?
How ev'ry heart dilates to see
Each land's each season blending on thy shores?
All these one British harvest make ?
The servant Ocean, for thy sake,
Both sinks and swells; his arms thy bosom wrap,
And fondly give, in boundless dow'r,
To mighty George's growing pow'r,
The wafted world into thy loaded lap.
Commerce brings riches, riches crown
Fair Virtue with the first renown:
A large revenue, and a large expense
When hearts for others' welfare glow,
And spend as free as gods bestow,
Gives the full bloom to mortal excellence.
Glow, then, my Breast! abound, my Store!
This, and this boldly I implore :
Their want and apathy let Stoicks boast;
Passion and riches, good or ill,
100 As us’d by man, demand our skill; All blessings wound us when discretion 's lost.
Wealth, in the virtuous and the wise,
'Tis vice and folly to despise:
Let those in praise of poverty refine,
Whose heads or hearts pervert its use,
The narrow-soul'd or the profuse :
The truly great find morals in the mine.
Happy the man! who, large of heart,
Has learn'd the rare, illustrious art
Of being rich: stores starve us or they cloy,
From gold if more than chymic skill
Extract not what is brighter still:
'Tis hard to gain, much harder to enjoy.
Plenty's a means, and joy her end:
Exalted minds their joys extend.
A Chandos shines when others' joys are done;
As lofty turrets by their height,
When humble scenes resign their light,
Retain the rays of the declining sun.
Pregnant with blessings, Britain! swear
No sordid son of thine shall dare
Offend the donor of thy wealth and peace;
Who now his whole creation drains
To pour into thy tumid veins
That blood of nations, commerce and increase.
How various Nature! turgid grain,
Here nodding, floats the golden plain;
There worms weave silken webs, here glowing vines
Lay forth their purple to the sun:
130 Beneath the soil there harvests run, And kings' revenues ripen in the mines.
What's various Nature ? art divine,
Man's soul to soften and refine:
Heav'n diff'rent growths to diff'rent lands imparts,
That all may stand in need of all,
And int'rest draw around the ball
A net to catch and join all human hearts.
Thus has the great Creator's pen,
His law supreme to mortal men,
In their necessities distinctly writ:
Ev'n appetite supplies the place
Of absent virtue, absent grace,
And human want performs for human wita
Vast naval ensigns strow'd around,
The wond'ring foreigner confound:
How stands the deep-aw'd Continent aghast,
As her proud sceptered sons survey,
At ev'ry pori, on ev'ry quay, ..
Huge mountains rise of cable, anchor, mast.