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If to some common's fenceless limits stray'd,
If to the city sped --What waits him there? To see profusion that he must not share ; To see ten thousand baneful arts combin'd To pamper luxury, and thin mankind; To lee each joy the fons of pleasure know, Extorted from his fellow-creature's wo. Here while the courtier glitters in brocade, There the pale artist plies the fickly trade; Here, while the proud their long-drawn pomps display, There the black gibbet glooms beside the way. The dome where pleasure holds her midnight reign, Here, richly deckt, admits the gorgeous Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square, The rattling chariots clash the torches glare, Sure scenes like these no troubles ere annoy! Sure these denote one universal joy! Are these thy serious thoughts-Ah, turn thine eyes Where the poor houseless Thiv'ring female lies. She once, perhaps, in village plenty bleft, Has wept at tales of innocence diftreft
t; Her modeft looks the cottage might adorn, Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn ; Now lost to all: her friends, her virtue fled, Near ber betrayer's door she lays her head, And, pinch'd with cold and shrinking from the show'r, With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour, When idly first, ambitious of the town, She left her wheel and robes of country brown.
Do thine sweet AUBURN, thine, the loveliest train, Do thy fair tribes participate her pain? Ev'n now, perhaps by col: nd hunger led, At proud men's doors they alk a little bread!
Ah no! To diftant climes, a dreary scene, Where half the convex world intrudes between, Through torrid tracts with fainting Reps they go, Where wild Altama murmurs to their wo. Far different there from all that charm’d before, The various terrors of that horrid shore; Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray, And fiercely shed intolerable day; Those matted woods where birds forget to fing, But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling; Those pois’nous fields with rank luxuriance crown'd, Where the dark scorpion gathers death around; Where at each step the stranger fears to wake The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake : Where crouching tygers wait their hapless prey, And savage men more murd'rous still than they ; While oft in whirls the mad tornada fies, Mingling the ravag'd landscape with the skies. Far different these from ev'ry former scene, The cooling brook, the grassy vefted green, The breezy covert of the warbling grove, That only shelter'd thefts of harmless love.
Good Heaven! what sorrows gloom'd that parting day, That call'd them from their native walks away ; When the poor exiles, ev'ry pleasure past, Hung round the bow'rs, and fondly look'd their last, And took a long farewel, and with’d in vain For seats like these beyond the western main ; And shudd'ring still to face the destin'd deep, Return’d and wept, and fill return’d to weep. The good old fire, who first prepar'd to go To new-found worlds, and wept for other's wo; But for himself, in conscious virtue brave, He only with'd for worlds beyond the grave His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears, The fond companion of his helpless years,
Silent went next, negle&ful of her charms,
O luxury! thou curft by heav'n's decrec, How ill exchang'd are things like these for thee ! How do thy potions with insidious joy, Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy ! Kingdoms by thee, to fickly greatness grown, Boalt of a Aorid vigour not their own. At ev'ry draught more large and large they grow, A bloated mals of rank unwieldy wo; Till sapp'd their strength, and ev'ry part unsound, Down, down they fink and spread a ruin round,
Ev'n now the devastation is begun, And half the business of destruction done ; Ev'n now methinks, as pond'ring here I stand, I see the rural virtues leave the land. Down where yon anch'ring vessel spreads the fail That idly waiting flaps with ev'ry gale, Downward they move, a melancholy band, Pass from the shore, and darken all the Atrand. Contented toil, and hospitable care, And kind connubial tenderness are there ; And piety with wishes plac d above, And steady loyalty, and fait iful love. And thou sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid, Still first to fly where sensual joys invade ; Unfit in these degen’rate times of shame, To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame; Dear charming nymph, neglected and decry'd, My shame in crowds, my folitary pride.
Thou source of all my bliss, and all my wo,
warps the polar world in snow,