And mufic of the bladder and the bag,
Beguile their woes, and make the woods refound. Such health and gaiety of heart enjoy
The houseless rovers of the fylvan world; And, breathing wholesome air, and wandering much,
Need other phyfic none to heal the effects Of loathfome diet, penury, and cold.
Blest he, though undistinguish'd from the crowd By wealth or dignity, who dwells fecure, Where man, by nature fierce, has laid afide
His fiercenefs, having learnt, though flow to learn, The manners and the arts of civil life. His wants indeed are many; but fupply Is obvious, placed within the eafy reach Of temperate wifhes and induftrious hands. Here virtue thrives as in her proper foil; Not rude and furly, and befet with thorns, And terrible to fight, as when the fprings (If e'er the fpring fpontaneous) in remote And barbarous climes, where violence prevails, And strength is lord of all; but gentle, kind, By culture tamed, by liberty refresh'd, And all her fruits by radiant truth matured. War and the chase engross the savage whole; War follow'd for revenge, or to supplant The envied tenants of fome happier spot: The chafe for fuftenance, precarious trust! His hard condition with fevere constraint Binds all his faculties, forbids all growth Of wisdom, proves a school, in which he learns Sly circumvention, unrelenting hate,
Mean felf-attachment, and scarce aught befide. Thus fare the shivering natives of the north, And thus the rangers of the western world, Where it advances far into the deep,
Towards the Antarctic. E'en the favour'd ifles, So lately found, although the constant fun Cheer all their seasons with a grateful smile, Can boaft but little virtue; and, inert Through plenty, lofe in morals what they gain In manners-victims of luxurious eafe. These therefore I can pity, placed remote From all that science traces, art invents, Or inspiration teaches; and enclosed In boundless oceans, never to be paff'd By navigators uninform'd as they, Or plough'd perhaps by British bark again : But far beyond the rest, and with most cause, Thee, gentle savage!* whom no love of thee Or thine, but curiofity, perhaps,
Or elfe vainglory, prompted us to draw Forth from thy native bowers, to fhow thee here With what fuperior skill we can abuse The gifts of Providence, and fquander life. The dream is past; and thou hast found again Thy cocoas and bananas, palms and yams,
And homeftall thatch'd with leaves. But haft thou
Their former charms? And having feen our state, Our palaces, our ladies, and our pomp
Of equipage, our gardens, and our sports,
And heard our mufic; are thy fimple friends, Thy fimple fare, and all thy plain delights As dear to thee as once? And have thy joys Loft nothing by comparison with ours? Rude as thou art (for we return'd thee rude And ignorant, except of outward show), I cannot think thee yet fo dull of heart And spiritlefs, as never to regret Sweets tasted here, and left as foon as known. Methinks I fee thee ftraying on the beach, And asking of the furge that bathes thy foot, If ever it has wafh'd our diftant shore.
I fee thee weep, and thine are honeft tears, A patriot's for his country: thou art fad At thought of her forlorn and abject state, From which no power of thine can raise her Thus Fancy paints thee, and, though apt to err, Perhaps errs little when the paints thee thus. She tells me, too, that duly every morn Thou climb'ft the mountain top, with eager eye Exploring far and wide the watery wafte For fight of fhip from England. Every fpeck Seen in the dim horizon turns thee pale With conflict of contending hopes and fears. But comes at last the dull and dusky eve, And fends thee to thy cabin, well prepared To dream all night of what the day denied. Alas! expect it not. We found no bait To tempt us in thy country. Doing good, Difinterested good, is not our trade.
We travel far, 'tis true, but not for nought; And must be bribed to compass earth again
By other hopes and richer fruits than yours.
But though true worth and virtue in the mild And genial foil of cultivated life
Thrive moft, and may perhaps thrive only there, Yet not in cities oft,-in proud, and gay, And gain-devoted cities. Thither flow, As to a common and most noisome fewer, The dregs and feculence of every land. In cities foul example on most minds Begets its likeness. Rank abundance breeds, In grofs and pamper'd cities, floth, and lust, And wantonnefs, and gluttonous excefs. In cities vice is hidden with most ease,
Or feen with leaft reproach; and virtue, taught By frequent lapfe, can hope no triumph there Beyond the achievement of fuccessful flight. I do confefs them nurseries of the arts,
In which they flourish most; where, in the beams Of warm encouragement, and in the eye
Of public note, they reach their perfect size. Such London is, by taste and wealth proclaim'd The fairest capital of all the world,
By riot and incontinence the worst.
There, touch'd by Reynolds, a dull blank becomes A lucid mirror, in which Nature fees All her reflected features. Bacon there Gives more than female beauty to a stone, And Chatham's eloquence to marble lips. Nor does the chifel occupy alone
The powers of sculpture, but the style as much; Each province of her art her equal care.
With nice incifion of her guided steel
She ploughs a brazen field, and clothes a foil So fterile with what charms foe'er fhe will, The richest scenery and the lovelieft forms. Where finds Philosophy her eagle eye,
With which the gazes at yon burning disk Undazzled, and detects and counts his fpots? In London: where her implements exact, With which the calculates, computes, and scans All distance, motion, magnitude, and now Measures an atom, and now girds a world? In London. Where has commerce fuch a mart, So rich, fo throng'd, fo drain'd, and so supplied, As London-opulent, enlarged, and still Increafing London? Babylon of old
Not more the glory of the earth than she, A more accomplish'd world's chief glory now.
She has her praise. Now mark a spot or two, That so much beauty would do well to purge; And show this Queen of Cities, that so fair May yet be foul; fo witty, yet not wise. It is not feemly, nor of good report,
That she is flack in difcipline; more prompt Το avenge than to prevent the breach of law: That she is rigid in denouncing death
On petty robbers, and indulges life
And liberty, and ofttimes honour too,
To peculators of the public gold.
That thieves at home muft hang; but he, that puts Into his overgorged and bloated purse The wealth of Indian provinces, escapes. Nor is it well, nor can it come to good, That, through profane and infidel contempt Of holy writ, fhe has prefumed to annul
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