R. Johnson, del. THE DEPARTURE. T. Bewick, sculp. Published January 1, 1795, by William Bulmer, at the Shakspeare Printing Office, Cleveland Row. THE DESERTED VILLAGE. Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain, And parting summer's lingering blooms delay'd. Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, Seats of my youth, when every sport could please, Where humble happiness endear'd each scene! How often have I paused on every charm, The shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm, The never-failing brook, the busy mill, The decent church, that topp'd the neighbouring hill, How often have I bless'd the coming day, Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired: 1 The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love, The matron's glance, that would those looks reprove. One only master grasps the whole domain, And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain. No more thy glassy brook reflects the day, The hollow sounding bittern guards its nest; And trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand, Far, far away thy children leave the land. Ill fares the land, to hastening 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 peasantry, their country's pride, When once destroy'd, can never be supplied. A time there was, ere England's griefs began, When every rood of ground maintain'd its man ; For him light labour spread her wholesome store, Just gave what life required, but gave no more: His best companions, innocence and health ; And his best riches, ignorance of wealth. But times are alter'd; trade's unfeeling train Usurp the land, and dispossess the swain; Along the lawn, where scatter'd hamlets rose, Unwieldy wealth, and cumbrous pomp repose; And every want to luxury allied, And every pang that folly pays to pride. |