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Down where yon anch'ring vessel spreads the fail,
That idly waiting flaps with ev'ry gale,
Downward they move, a melancholy band,
Pafs from the fhore, and darken all the strand.
Contented toil, and hofpitable care,

And kind connubial tenderness, are there ;
And piety with wishes plac'd above,
And fteady royalty, and faithful love.
And thou, fweet poetry, thou loveliest raid,
Still first to fly when fenfual joys invade;
Unfit in thefe degen'rate times of shame
To catch the heart, or strike for honeft fame
Dear charming nymph, neglected and decry'd,
My fhame in crowds, my folitary pride:
Thou fource of blifs, as well as fource of wo,
Thou found'st me poor at first, and keep'ft me fo
Thou guide, by which the nobler arts excel,
Thou fource of ev'ry virtue, fare thee well;
Farewell and oh! where'er thy voice be try'd,
On Torrio's cliffs, or Pambamarca's fide,
Whether where equinoctial fervours glow,
Or winter wraps the polar world in fnow,
Still let thy voice, prevailing over time,
Redress the rigours of th' inclement clime;
And flighted truth with thy persuasive strain,
Teach erring man to fpurn the rage of gain;
Teach him that states, of native ftrength poffeft,
Though very poor, may still be very bleft;
That trade's proud empire haftes to fwift decay,
As ocean fweeps the labour'd mole away;
While felf-dependent pow'r can time defy,
As rocks refit the billows and the sky.

SECTION V.

GOLDSMITH.

The Traveller; or, a profpect of fociety.
Inscribed to the Author's Brother.

REMOTE, unfriended, melancholy, flow,
Or by the lazy Scheld, or wandering Po;
Or onward, where the rude Carinthian boor
Against the houseless stranger shuts the door;
Or where Campania's plain forsaken lies,
A weary wafte, expanding to the skies;
Where'er I roam, whatever realms to fee,
My heart untravell'd, fondly turns to thee:

Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain,
And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.
Perpetual bleffings crown my earliest friend,

And round his dwelling guardian faints attend!
Blefs'd be that fpot where cheerful guests retire,
To paufe from toil, and trim their ev❜ning fire:
Bleis'd that abode where want and pain repair,
And ev'ry stranger finds a ready chair:

Blefs'd be thofe feafts, with fimple plenty crown'd,
Where all the ruddy family around

Laugh at the jefts or pranks that never fail,
Or figh with pity at fome mournful tale;
Or prefs the bashful stranger to his food,
And learn the luxury of doing good!

But me, not deftin'd fuch delights to share,
My prime of life in wand'ring spent, and care;
Impell'd with fteps unceasing, to purfue

Some fleeting good that mocks me with the view;
That, like the circle bounding earth and skies,
Allures from far, yet as I follow flies

;

Me fortune leads to traverfe realms alone,
And find no fpot of all the world my own.

E'en now, where Alpine folitudes afcend,
I fit me down a penfive hour to spend ;
And plac'd on high, above the storm's career,
Look downward where an hundred realms appear;
Lakes, forefts, cities, plains, extending wide,
The pomp of kings, the fhepherd's humbler pride.
When thus creation's charms around combine,
Amidst the store should thanklefs pride repine?
Say, fhould the philofophic mind difdain

That good which makes each humbler bofom vain ?
Let fchool-taught pride diffemble all it can,

Thefe little things are great to little man ;
And wifer he, whose fympathetic mind

Exults in all the good of all mankind.

Ye glitt'ring towns, with wealth and fplendour crown'd;
Ye fields, where fummer fpreads profufion round;
Ye lakes, whofe veffels catch the busy gale;
Ye bending fwains that drefs the flow'ry vale;
For me your tributary ftores combine
Creation's heir! the world, the world is mine!
As fome lone mifer, vifiting his ftore,

Bends at his treasure, counts, recounts it o'er;

Hoards after hoards his rifing raptures fill,

Yet still he fighs, for hoards are wanting still!
Thus to my breast alternate paffions rise,

Pleas'd with each good that Heav'n to man fupplies;
Yet oft a figh prevails, and forrows fall,

To fee the hoard of human bliss so small;
And oft I wifh, amidst the scene, to find
Some fpot to real happiness confign'd;
Where my worn foul, each wand'ring hope at rest,
May gather blifs to fee my fellows blest.

But where to find that happieft fpot below,
Who can direct, when all pretend to know?
The fhuddering tenant of the frigid zone
Boldly proclaims that happieft fpot his own;
Extols the treasures of his stormy feas,
And his long nights of revelry and ease:
The naked negro panting at the line,
Boafts of his golden fands and palmy wine;
Basks in the glare, or ftems the tepid wave,
And thanks his gods for all the good they gave.
Such is the patriot's boaft, where'er we roam;
His firft, beft country, ever is at home.
And yet, perhaps, if countries we compare,
And eftimate the bleffings which they share,
Though patriots flatter, ftill fhall wifdom find
An equal portion dealt to all mankind;
As different good, by art or nature given,
To different nations, makes their bleffings even.
Nature, a mother kind alike to all,

Still grants her blifs at labour's earnest call.
With food as well the peafant is fuppli'd
On Idra's cliffs, as Arno's fhelvy fide;
And though the rocky-crefted fummits frown,
Thefe rocks by custom turn to beds of down.
From art more various are the bleffings fent,
Wealth, commerce, honour, liberty, content;
Yet thefe each other's power fo ftrong conteft
That either feems deftructive of the rest.
Where wealth and freedom reign, contentment fails
And honour finks where commerce long prevails.
Hence every state, to one lov'd bleffing prone,
Conforms and models life to that alone,
Each to the fav'rite happiness attends,
And spurns the plan that aims at other ends;

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Till carried to excess in each domain,
This favourite good begets peculiar pain.
But let us try thefe truths with closer eyes,
And trace them through the profpect as it lies
Here for a while, my proper cares refign'd,
Here let me fit, in forrow for mankind;
Like yon neglected shrub at random caft,
That fhades the fteep, and fighs at every blast.
Far to the right, where Apennine afcends,
Bright as the fummer Italy extends;
Its uplands, floping, deck the mountain's fide,
Woods over woods in gay theátric pride;
While oft fome temple's mouidering tops between
With venerable grandeur mark the fcene.
Could nature's bounty fatisfy the breast,
The fons of Italy were furely bleft.

Whatever fruits in different climes are found,
That proudly rife or humbly court the ground;
Whatever blooms in torrid tracts appear,
Whofe bright fucceffion decks the varied year;
Whatever fweets falute the northern fky
With vernal lives, that bloffom but to die :
Thefe here difporting, own the kindred foil,'
Nor afk luxuriance from the planter's toil;
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 through all his manners reign,
Though poor, luxurious; though fubmiffive, vain ;
Though grave, yet trifling; zealous, yet untrue;
And e'er in penance planning fins anew.
All evils bere contaminate the mind,
That opulence departed leaves behird;

For wealth was theirs, not far remov'd the date,
When commerce proudly flourish'd through the state
At her command the palace learn'd to rife,
Again the long fall'n column fought the fkies;
The canvas glow'd beyond e'en nature warm ;
The pregnant quarry teem'd with human form ;
Till, more unfteady than the fouthern gale,
Commerce on other fhores difplay'd her fail!

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While nought remain'd of all that riches gave,
But towns unman'd, and lords without a flave:
And late the nation found, with fruitless skill,
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 seen in bloodless pomp array'd,
The pasteboard triumph, and the cavalcade ;
Proceffions form'd for piety and love,

A mistress or a faint in every grove.

By fports like these are all their cares beguil❜d;
The sports of children fatisfy the child.
Each nobler aim reprefs'd by long control,
Now finks at last, or feebly mans the foul
While low delights, fucceeding fast behind,
In happier meannefs occupy the mind;
As in those domes where Cefars once bore sway,
Defac'd by time, and tott'ring in decay,
There in the ruin, heedlefs of the dead,
The shelter-feeking peasant builds his shed ;
And, wond'ring man could want the larger pile,
Exults, and owns his cottage with a smile.

SECTION VI.

The Traveller continued.

My foul, turn from them-turn we to furvey
Where roughest climes a nobler race display;
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 fteel, 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 invest.
Yet ftill e'en here content can fpread a charm,
Redrefs the clime, and all its rage difarm.
Tho' poor the peafant's hut, his feast tho' small,
He fees his little lot the lot of all;
Sees no contiguous palace rear its head,
To fhame the meanness of his humble fhed;
No coftly lord the fumptuous banquet deal,
To make him loathe his vegetable meal;

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