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With store of sweetmeats rang'd in order ;
And potted nothings on the border :
While salves and caudle-cups between,
With squalling children, close the scene !
TERNAL blesings crown my * earliest friend,
And round his dwelling guardian saints attend;
Bleft be that spot, where cheerful guests retire
To pause from toil, and trim their evening fire ;
Bleft that abode, where want and pain repair,
And every stranger finds a ready chair ;
Bleft be those feasts where mirth and peace abound,
Where all the ruddy family around
Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail,
Or figh with pity at some mournful tale,
Or press the bashful stranger to his food,
And learn the luxury of doing good.
But me, not destin’d such delights to share,
My prime of life in wand'ring spent and care !
Impelld with steps unceasing, to pursue
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 ;
* The Author's brother.
My fortune leads to traverse realms alone,
And find no spot of all the world my own.
COULD Nature's bounty satisfy the breaft,
The sons of Italy were surely blest. Whatever fruits in different climes are found, That proudly rise or humbly court the ground; Whatever blooms in torrid tracts appear, Whofe bright fucceffion decks the varied year; Whatever sweets falute the northern sky With vernal lives, that'blossom but to die ; These here difporting own the kindred foil, Nor ask luxuriance from the planter's toil; While sea-born gales their gelid wings expand To winnow fragrance round the smiling land. But small the bliss that sense alone bestows, And sensual bliss is all this nation know!! In florid beauty groves and fields appear, Men feem the only growth that dwindles here. Contrafted faults through all their manners reign, Though poor, luxurious ; though submissive, vain ; Though grave, yet trifling; zealous, yet untrue; And even in penance planning fins anew.
To men of other minds my fancy flies, Embofom'd in the deep where Holland lies; Methinks her patient fons before me stand, Where the broad ocean leans against the land,
And, fedulous to stop the coming tide,
Lift the tall rampire's artificial pride.
Onward methinks, and diligently flow,
The firm connected bulwark seems to go;
Spreads its long arms amidit the wat'ry roar,
Scoops out an empire, and ufurps the shore :
While the pent Ocean, rising o'er the pile,
Sees an amphibious world beneath him smile ;
The flow canal, the yellow bloffom'd vale,
The willow-tufted bank, the gliding fail,
The crowded mart, the cultivated plain,
A new creation rescu'd from his reign.
ON THE HARD FATE OF THE INDIGENT.
WHERE then, ah, where shall poverty refide,
To 'scape the pressure of contiguous pride ?
If to some common's fenceless limits stray'd,
He drives his Aock to pick the scanty blade,
Those fenceless fields the fons of wealth divide,
And even the bare-worn common is deny’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 see each joy the fons of pleasure know,
Extorted from his fellow-creatures' woe.
Here, while the courtier glitters in brocade,
There the pale artist plies the fickly trade;
Here, while the proud their long-drawn pomp display,
There the black gibbet glooms beside the way.
The dome where Pleasure holds her midnight reign,
Here richly deck'd admits the gorgeous train ;
Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square,
The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare :
Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy!
Sure these denote one universal joy!
Are these thy serious thoughts?--Ah, turn thine
Where the poor houseless shiv'ring female lies;
She once, perhaps, in village plenty blest,
Has wept at tales of innocence distreft ;
Her modest looks the cottage might adorn,
Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn ;
Now lost to all her friends, her, virtue fled,
Near her 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.
GRANTS, WHEN LEAVING THEIR NATIVE COUNTRY, AND PREPARING TO EMBARK FOR AMERICA.
OOD Heaven! what sorrows gloom'd that part-
That callid them from their native walks away ;
When the poor exiles, every pieasure past,
Hung round their bowers, and fondly look'd their last,
And took a long farewel, and wish'd in vain,
For seats like these beyond the western main ;
And, shudd'ring still to face the diftant deep,
Return'd and wept, and still return’d to weep!
The good old fire, who first prepar'd to go
To new-found worlds, and wept for others woe,
But for himself, in conscious virtue brave,
He only will’d for worlds beyond the grave.
His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears,
The fond companion of his helpless years,
Silent went next, neglectful of her charms,
And left a lover's for her father's arms.
With loudest plaints the mother spoke her woes,
And bless’d the cot where every pleasure rose;
And kiss'd her thoughtless babes with many a tear,
And clasp'd them clofe, in forrow doubly dear ;.
While her fond husband ftrove to lend relief
In all the decent manliness of grief.
O Luxury! Thou curft by Heaven's decree,
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,
Boast of a florid vigour not their own.
At every draught more large and large they grow,
A bloated mass of rank unwieldy woe;
Till fapp'd their strength, and every part unsound,
Down, down they fink, and spread a ruin round.
Even now thie devastation is begun,
And half the business of destruction done ;