While fea-born gales their gelid wings expand,
To winnow fragrance round the fmiling land.
But fmall the blifs that fenfe alone beftows;
And fenfual blifs is all the nation knows.
In florid beauty groves and fields appear,
Man feems the only growth that dwindles here.
Contrafted faults thro' all his manners reign:
Tho' poor, luxurious; tho' fubmiffive, vain ;
Tho' grave, yet trifling; zealous, yet untrue;
And e'en in pennance planning fins anew.
All evils here contaminate the mind,
That opulence departed leaves behind;
For wealth was theirs, not far remov'd the date,
When commerce proudly flourish'd thro' the ftate:
At her command the palace learn'd to rife,
Again the long-fall'n column fought the skies;
The canvas glow'd beyond e'en Nature warm;
The pregnant quarry teem'd with human form;
Till, more unfieady than the southern gale,
Commerce on other fhores difplay'd her fail;
While nought remain'd of all that riches gave,
But towns unmann'd, and lords without a flave:
And late the nation found, with fruitlefs fkill,
Its former ftrength was but plethoric ill.

Yet ftill the lofs of wealth is here fupply'd
By arts, the fplendid wrecks of former pride;
From these the feeble heart and long-fall'n mind
An eafy compenfation feem to find.
Here may be feen, in bloodlefs pomp array'd,
The pafteboard triumph and the cavalcade;
Proceffions form'd for piety and love,
A miftrefs or a faint in ev'ry grove.
By fports like thefe are all their cares beguil'd;
The fports of children fatisfy the child:
Each nobler aim, reprefs'd by long controul,
Now finks at laft, or feebly mans the foul;
While low delights, fucceeding faft behind,
In happier meannefs occupy the mind:
As in thofe domes, where Cæfars once bore fway,
Defac'd by time, and tott'ring in decay,
There in the ruin, heedlefs of the dead,
The fhelter-feeking peafant builds his fhed;
And, wondering man could want the larger pile,
Exults, and owns his cottage with a fimile.

My foul turn from them-turn we to furvey Where rougher climes a nobler race difplay; Where the bleak Swifs their stormy manfion tread, And force a churlifh foil for fcanty-bread : No product here the barren hills afford, But man and free!, the foldier and his fword. No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array, But winter ling'ring chills the lap of May; No zephyr fondly fues the mountain's breast, But meteors glare, and ftormy glooms inveft.

Yet ftill, c'en here Content can fpread a charm, Redrets the clime, and all its rage difarm. Tho' poor the peafant's hut, his feaft tho' fmall, He fees his little lot the lot of all; Sees no contiguous palace rear its head, To fname the meannefs of his humble thed; No coftly lord the fumptuous banquet deal, To make him loath his vegetable meal; But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil, Each with contracting, fits him to the foil.

Cheerful at morn he wakes from short repose,
Breathes the keen air, and carols as he goes;
With patient angle trolls the finny deep,
Or drives his vent'rous ploughfhare to the steep;
Or feeks the den where fnow-tracks mark the way,
And drags the struggling favage into day.
At night returning, ev'ry labour fped,
He fits him down the monarch of a fhed;
Smiles by his cheerful fire, and round furveys
His childrens looks, that brighten at the blaze;
While his lov'd partner, boastful of her hoard,
Difplays her cleanly platter on the board :
And haply too fome pilgrim, thither led,
With many a tale repays the nightly bed.

Thus ev'ry good his native wilds impart,
Imprints the patriot paffion on his heart;
And e'en thofe ills that round his manfion rife,
Enhance the blifs his feanty fund fupplies.
Dear is that fhed to which his foul conforms,
And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms;
And as a child, when fearing founds moleft,
Clings clofe and closer to the mother's breast,
So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar,
But bind him to his native mountains more.

Such are the charms to barren ftates affign'd: Their wants but few, their wifhes all confin'd. Yet let them only fhare the praites due; If few their wants, their pleasures are but few: For ev'ry want that ftimulates the breast, Becomes a fource of pleafure when redreft. When from fuch lands each pleafing science flies, That firft excites defire, and then fupplies; Unknown to them, when fenfual pleatures cloy, To fill the languid paufe with finer joy; Unknown thofe pow'rs that raise the foul to flame, Catch ev'ry nerve, and vibrate thro' the frame. Their level life is but a mould'ring fire, Unquench'd by want, unfann'd by strong defire; Unfit for raptures; or, if raptures cheer On fome high feftival of once a year, In wild excefs the vulgar breaft takes fire, Till, bury'd in debauch, the blifs expire.

But not their joys alone thus coarsely flow; Their morals, like their pleafures, are but low: For, as refinement fops, from fire to fon, Unalter'd, unimprov'd, the manners run; And love's and friendship's finely-pointed dart Fall blunted from cach indurated heart. Some fterner virtues o'er the mountain's breaft May fit, like falcons cowering on the neft; But all the gentler morals, fuch as play [way, Thro' life's more cultur'd walks, and charm the Thefe far difpers'd, on timorous pinions fly, To fport and flutter in a kinder sky.

To kinder fkies, where gentler manners reign, I turn-and France difplays her bright domain. Gay fprightly land of mirth and focial eafe, Pleas'd with thy felf, whom all theworld can pleafe, How often have I led thy fportive choir, With tunelefs pipe, beide the murm'ring Loire! Where fhading elms along the margin grew, And, frefhen'd from the wave, the zephyr flew; And haply, tho' my harfh touch falt'ring ftill, But mock'd all tune, and marr'd the dancer's skill,

Yet would the village praife my wond'rous pow'r,
And dance, forgetful of the noon-tide hour!
Alike all ages. Dames of ancient days
Have led their children thro' the mirthful maze;
And the gay grandfire, skill'd in gestic lore,
Has frifk'd beneath the burden of threescore.
So bleft a life thefe thoughtlefs realins difplay,
Thus idly bufy rolls their world away:
Theirs are thofe arts that mind to mind endear;
For honour forms the focial temper here.
Honour, that praise which real merit gains,
Or e'en imaginary worth obtains,
Here paffes current; paid from hand to hand,
It fhifts in fplendid traffic round the land:
From courts to camps, to cottages it strays;
And all are taught an avarice of praife;
They pleafe, are pleas'd, they give to get efteem,
Till, feeming blefs'd, they grow to what they feem.
But while this fofter art their blifs fupplies,
It gives their follies alfo room to rife;
For praife too dearly lov'd, or warmly fought,
Enfeebles all internal ftrength of thought;
And the weak foul, within itself unbleft,
Leans for all pleasure on another's breast.
Hence oftenation here, with tawdry art,
Pants for the vulgar praise which fools impart:
Here vanity affumes her pert grimace,
And trims her robes of frize with copper lace;
Here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer,
To boatt one fplendid banquet once a year;
The mind ftill turns where thifting fashion draws,
Nor weighs the folid worth of felf-applaufe.

To men of other minds my fancy flies,
Embofom'd in the deep where Holland lies.
Methinks her patient fons before me ftand,
Where the broad ocean leans against the land;
And, fedulous to ftop the coming tide,
Lift the tall rampire's artificial pride.
Onward methinks, and diligently flow,
The firm conne&ted bulwark feems to grow;
Spreads its long arms amidst the wat'ry roar,
Scoops out an empire, and ufurps the fhore,
While the pent occan, rifing o'er the pile,
Sees an amphibious world beneath him fimile;
The flow canal, the yellow-bloffom'd vale,
The willow-tufted bank, the gliding fail,
The crowded mart, the cultivated plain,
A new creation, refcu'd from his reign.

Thus, while around the wave-subjected soil
Impels the native to repeated toil,
Induftrious habits in each bofom reign,
And induftry begets a love of gain.
Hence all the good from opulence that fprings,
With all thofe ills fuperfluous treasure brings,
Are here difplay'd. Their much-lov'd wealth im-
Convenience, plenty, elegance, and arts; [parts
But view them clofer, craft and fraud appear;
E'en liberty itself is barter'd here!

At gold's fuperior charms all freedom flies;
The needy fell it, and the rich mañ buys;
A land of tyrants, and a den of flaves!
Here wretches feck difhonourable graves,
And calmly bent, to fervitude conform;
Dull as their lakes that flumber in the ftorm.

Heavens how unlike their Belgic fires of old! Rough, poor, content, ungovernably bold; War in each breaft, and freedom on each brow; How much unlike the fons of Britain now!

Fir'd at the found, my Genius fpreads her wing, And flies where Britain courts the western spring; Where lawns extend that fcorn Arcadian pride, And brighter ftreams than fam'd Hydafpis glide. There all around the gentleft breezes ftray; There gentle mufic melts on ev'ry spray; Creation's mildeft charms are there combin'd; Extremes are only in the mafter's mind! Stern o'er each bofom Reafon holds her state, With daring aims irregularly great: Pride in their port, defiance in their eye, I fee the lords of human-kind pafs by; Intent on high defigns, a thoughtful band, By forms unfashion'd fresh from Nature's hand; Fierce in their native hardinefs of foul, True to imagin'd right, above controul, While e'en the peafant boafts thefe rights to fean, And learns to venerate himself as man.

Thine, Freedom, thine the bleffings pictur'd here;

Thine are thofe charms that dazzle and endear
Too blefs'd indeed were fuch without alloy,
But fofter'd e'en by Freedom ills annoy;
That independance Britons prize too high,
Keeps man from man, and breaks the focial tie;
The felf-dependant lordlings ftand alone;
All claims that bind and fweeten life unknown;
Here, by the bonds of Nature feebly held,
Minds combat minds, repelling and repell❜d.
Ferments arife, imprifon'd factions roar,
Reprefs'd ambition ftruggles round her fhore,
Till, over-wrought, the general fyftem feels
Its motions ftop, or phrenzy fire the wheels.

Nor this the worft. As Nature's ties decay,
As duty, love, and honour fail to fway,
Fictitious bonds, the bonds of wealth and law,
Still gather ftrength, and force unwilling awe.
Hence all obedience bows to thefe alone,
And talent finks, and merit weeps unknown;
Till time may come, when, ftripp'd of all her
charms,

The land of fcholars and the nurse of arms, Where noble stems tranfinit the patriot flame, Where kings have toil'd, and poets wrote for fame, One fink of level avarice fhall lie,

And fcholars, foldiers, kings, unhonour'd die.

Yet think not, thus when Freedom's ills I ftate, I mean to flatter kings, or court the great : Ye pow'rs of truth, that bid my foul afpire, Far from my bofom drive the low defire! And thou, fair Freedom, taught alike to feel The rabble's rage, and tyrant's angry fteel; Thou tranfitory flower, alike undone By proud Contempt, or Favour's foft'ring fun, Still may thy blooms the changeful clime endure, I only would reprefs them to fecure : For just experience tells, in ev'ry foil, That thofe who think muft govern thofe that toil; And all that Freedom's higheft aims can reach, Is but to lay proportion'd loads on each.

Hence,

Hence, should one order difproportion'd grow,
Its double weight muft ruin all below.

O, then, how blind to all that truth requires,
Who think it freedom when a part afpires !
Calm is my foul, nor apt to rife in arms,
Except when faft-approaching danger warms:
But when contending chiefs blocade the throne,
Contracting regal power to ftretch their own,
When I behold a factious band agree

To call it freedom when themfelves are rec;
Each wanton judge new penal statutes draw,
Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law;
The wealth of climes, where favage nations roan,
Pillag'd from flaves, to purchase flaves at home;
Fear, pity, juftice, indignation start,
Tear off referve, and bare my fwelling heart;
Till, half a patriot, half a coward grown,
I fly from petty tyrants to the throne.

Yes, brother, curfe me with that baleful hour,
When firft ambition ftruck at regal power;
And thus polluting honour in its fource,
Gave wealth to fway the mind with double force.
Have we not feen, round Britain's peopled thore,
Her useful fons exchang'd for ufelefs ore?
Seen all her triumphs but deftruction haste,
Like flaring tapers, bright'ning as they waste;
Seen Opulence, her grandeur to maintain,
Lead stern Depopulation in her train,
And over fields, where fcatter'd hamlets rofe,
In barren, folitary pomp repose?
Have we not feen, at Pleafure's lordly call,
The fmiling long-frequented village fall?
Beheld the duteous fon, the fire decay'd,
The modeft matron, and the blushing maid,
Forc'd from their homes, a melancholy train,
To traverse climes beyond the western main;
Where wild Ofwego fpreads her fwamps around,
And Niagara ftuns with thund'ring found!
E'en now, perhaps, as there fome pilgrim ftrays
Thro' tangled forefts, and thro' dang'rous ways;
Where beafts with man divided empire claim,
And the brown Indian marks with murd'rous aim;
There, while above the giddy tempeft flics,
And all around distressful yells arife,
The penfive exile, bending with his woe,
To ftop too fearful, and too faint to go,
Cafts a long look where England's glories fhine,
And bids his bofom fympathize with nine.

Vain, very vain, my weary fearch, to find That blifs which only centres in the mind! Why have I ftray'd from pleafure and repofe, To feek a good each government beftows ? In ev'ry government, tho' terrors reign. Tho' tyrant kings, or tyrant laws reftrain, How fmall, of all that human hearts endure, That part which laws or kings can cause or cure! Still to ourselves in ev'ry place confign'd, Our own felicity we make or find: With fecret courfe, which no loud ftorms annoy, Glides the finooth current of domeftic joy. The lifted ax, the agonizing wheel, Luke's iron crown, and Damien's bed of steel, To men remote from power but rarely known, Leave reafon, faith, and confcience, all our own.

§ 21.

S

The Deferted Village. GOLDSMITH. WEET Auburn! lovelieft village of the plain, Where health and plenty cheer'd the labouring fwain;

Where finiling fpring its earlieft vifit paid,
And parting fummer's ling'ring blooms delay'd.
Dear lovely bow'rs of innocence and cafe,
Seats of my youth, when ev'ry fport could pleafe,
How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green,
Where humble happiness endear'd each scene!
How often have I paus'd on ev'ry charm,
The fhelter'd cot, the cultivated farm,
The never-failing brook, the bufy mill,
The decent church, that topt the neighb'ring hill,
The hawthorn bufh, with feats beneath the thade,
For talking age and whifp'ring lovers made!
How often have I bleft the coming day,
When toil remitting lent its turn to play,
And all the village train from labour free,
Led up their fports beneath the fpreading tree,
While many a paftime circle in the fhade,
The young contending as the old furvey'd;
And many a gambol frolic'd o'er the ground,
And fleights of art and feats of strength went

round.

Amidft thy bow'rs the Tyrant's hand is seen,
And defolation faddens all thy green :
One only mafter grafps the whole domain,
And half a tillage ftints thy finiling plain;
No more thy glaffy brook reflects the day,
But choak'd with fedges, works its weedy way;
Along thy glades, a folitary gueft,

The hollow founding bittern guards its neft;
Amidft thy defart walks the lapwing flies,
And tires their echoes with unvary'd cries.
Sunk are thy bow'rs in fhapelefs ruin all,
And the long grafs o'ertops the mould'ring wall.
And, trembling, fhrinking from the fpoiler's
hand,

Far, far away thy children leave the land.

Ill fares the land, to haft'ning ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates and men decay: Princes and Lords may flourish, or may fade; A breath can make them, as a breath has made: But a bold peafantry, their country's pride, When once destroy'd, can never be fupply'd.

A time

A time there was, ere England's griefs began, |
When every rood of ground maintain'd its inan;
For him light labour fpread her wholefome ftore;
Juft gave what life requir'd, but gave no more:
His beft companions, innocence and health;
And his beft riches, ignorance of wealth.
But times are alter'd: trade's unfeeling train
Ufurp the land, and dispossess the fwain;
Along the lawn, where scatter'd hamlets rose,
Unwieldy wealth and cumb'rous pomp repofe;
And ev'ry want to luxury ally'd,
And ev'ry pang that folly pays to pride.
Thefe gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom,
Thofe calm defires that afk'd but little room,
Thele healthful fports that grac'd the peaceful
fcene,

Liv'd in cach look, and brighten'd all the green;
Thefe, far departing, feck a kinder fhore;
And rural mirth and manners are no more.

Sweet Auburn! parent of the blissful hour,
Thy glades forlorn confefs the tyrant's pow'r.
Here, as I take my folitary rounds,
Amidst thy tangling walks and ruin'd grounds,
And many a year claps'd, return to view
Where once the cottage ftood, the hawthorn grew,
Remembrance wakes with all her busy train,
Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain.
In all my wand'rings, round this world of care,
In all my griefs-and God has giv'n my fhare-
I ftill had hopes, my lateft hours to crown,
Amidst thefe humble bow'rs to lay me down:
To husband out life's taper at the close,
And keep the flame from watting by repofe:
I ftill had hopes, for pride attends us ftill,
Amidft the fwains to fhew my book-learn'd skill;
Around my fire an ev'ning group to draw,
And tell of all I felt, and all I faw;
And, as an hare, whom hounds and horns purfue,
Pants to the place from whence at firft he flew,
I ftill had hopes, my long vexations past,
Here to return-and die at home at laft.

O blett retirement, friend to life's decline,
Retreats from care, that never must be mine,
How bleft is he who crowns, in fhades like thefe,
A youth of labour with an age of ease!
Who quits a world where ftrong temptations try,
And, fince 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly!
For him no wretches, born to work and weep,
Explore the mine, or tempt the dang'rous deep;
No furly porter ftands in guilty ftate,

To fpurn imploring famine from the gate;
But on he moves to meet his latter end,
Angels around befriending virtue's friend;
Sinks to the grave with unperceiv'd decay,
While refignation gently flopes the way:
And, all his profpects bright'ning to the laft,
His heav'n commences ere the world be paft!
Sweet was the found, when oft, at ev'ning's
clofe,

Up yonder hill the village murmur rofe;
There, as I paft, with carlefs fteps and flow,
The mingling notes came foften'd from below;
The fwain reiponfive as the milk-maid fung,
The fober herd that low'd to meet their young;

The noify geefe that gabbl'd o'er the pool,
The playful children juft let loofe from school,
The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whisp'ring
wind,

And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind;
Thefe all in fweet confufion fought the fhade,
And fill'd cach paufe the nightingale had made.
But now the founds of population fail,
No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale,
No bufy fteps the graf-grown foot-way tread,
But all the bloomy flush of life is Alcd!
All but yon widow'd, folitary thing,
That feebly bends betide the plathy spring;
She, wretched matron, forc'd, in age, for bread,
To ftrip the brook with mantling creffes fpread,
To pick her wint'ry faggot from the thorn,
To feck her nightly fhed, and weep till morn;
She only left, of all the harmless train,
The fad hiftorian of the penfive plain.

Near yonder copfe, where once the garden finil'd,

And still where many a garden-flower growswild,
There, where a few torn fhrubs the place difclofe,
The village preacher's modeft manfion rofe.
A man he was to all the country dear,
And paffing rich, with forty pounds a year!
Remote from towns, he ran his godly race,
Nor ere had chang'd, nor wifh'd to change his
Unfkilful he to fawn, or feck for pow'r, [place;
By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour;
Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize;
More bent to raife the wretched than to rife.
His houfe was known to all the vagrant train;
He chid their wand'rings,but reliev'd their pain.
The long-remember'd beggar was his gueft,
Whofe beard, defcending, twept his aged breaft;
The ruin'd fpendthrift, now no longer proud,
Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd;
The broken foldier, kindly bade to stay,
Sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away;
Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of forrow done,
Shoulder'd his crutch, and thew'd how fields
[glow,
Pleas'd with his guefts, the good man learn'd to
And quite forget their vices in their woe;
Carelefs their merits or their faults to fcan,
His pity gave ere charity began.

were won.

Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And ev'n his failings lean'd to Virtue's fide; But in his duty prompt at ev'ry call,

He watch'd and wept, he pray'd, and felt for all.
And, as a bird cach fond endearment tries,
To tempt her new-fledg'd offspring to the fkics,
He try'd each art, reprov'd each dull delay,
Allur'd to brighter worlds, and led the way.

Befide the bed, where parting life was laid, And forrow, guilt, and pain, by turns difinay'd, The rev'rend champion stood. At his controul Defpair and anguish fled the struggling foul; Comfort came down, the trembling wretch to

raife,

And his laft fault'ring accents whisper'd praise.

At church, with meek and unaffected grace, His looks adorn'd the venerable place; Truth