Woods vanish, hills subside, and valleys rise; And streams, as if created for his use, Pursue the track of his directing wand, Sinuous or straight, now rapid and now slow, Now murm'ring soft, now roaring in cascades→→ E'en as he bids! Th' enraptur'd owner smiles. "Tis finish'd, and yet, finish'd as it seems, Still wants a grace, the loveliest it could show, A mine to satisfy th' enormous cost.
Drain'd to the last poor item of his wealth,
He sighs, departs, and leaves th' accomplish'd plan, That he has touch'd, retouch'd, many a long day Labour'd, and many a night pursu'd in dreams, Just when it meets his hopes, and proves the heav'n He wanted, for a wealthier to enjoy!
And now perhaps the glorious hour is come, When, having no stake left, no pledge t' endear Her int'rests, or that gives her sacred cause A moment's operation on his love,
He burns with most intense and flagrant zeal To serve his country. Ministerial grace Deals him out money from the public chest ; Or, if that mine be shut, some private purse Supplies his need with a usurious loan, To be refunded duly, when his vote Well-manag'd shall have earn'd its worthy price. O innocent, compar'd with arts like these, Crape, and cock'd pistol, and the whistling ball Sent through the trav'ller's temples! He, that finds One drop of Heav'n's sweet mercy in his cup, Can dig, beg, rot, and perish, well content, So he may wrap himself in honest rags At his last gasp; but could not for a world Fish up his dirty and dependent bread From pools and ditches of the commonwealth, Sordid and sick'ning at his own success. Ambition, av'rice, penury incurr'd By endless riot, vanity, the lust Of pleasure and variety, despatch, As duly as the swallows disappear,
The world of wand'ring knights and squires to town. London ingulfs them all! The shark is there, And the shark's prey; the spendthrift, and the leech That sucks him there the sycophant, and he Who, with bareheaded and obsequious bows, Begs a warm office, doom'd to a cold jail And groat per diem, if his patron frown. The levee swarms, as if in golden pomp Were character'd on ev'ry statesman's door, 'Batter'd and bankrupt fortunes mended here.' These are the charms, that sully and eclipse The charms of nature. "Tis the cruel gripe, That lean, hard-handed Poverty inflicts, The hope of better things, the chance to win, The wish to shine, the thirst to be amus'd, That at the sound of Winter's hoary wing Unpeople all our counties of such herds
Of flutt'ring, loit'ring, cringing, begging, loose, And wanton vagrants, as make London, vast And boundless as it is, a crowded coop.
O thou, resort and mart of all the earth, Checker'd with all complexions of mankind, And spotted with all crimes; in whom I see Much that I love, and more that I admire, And all that I abhor; thou freckled fair, That pleasest and yet shock'st me, I can laugh, And I can weep, can hope, and can despond, Feel wrath and pity, when I think on thee ! Ten righteous would have sav'd a city once, And thou hast many righteous.-Well for thee- That salt preserves thee; more corrupted else, And therefore more obnoxious, at this hour, Than Sodom in her day had pow'r to be, For whom God heard his Abr'ham plead in vain
Argument of the Fourth Book.
The post comes in.-The newspaper is read.-The world contemplated at a distance-Address to Winter.-The amusements of a rural winter evening compared with the fashionable ones.-Address to Evening.➡ A brown study.-Fall of snow in the evening.-The waggoner.-A poor family-piece.-The rural thief.-Public houses.-The multitude of them censured.-The farmer's daughter: what she was-what she is.--The simplicity of country manners almost lost.-Causes of the change.-Desertion of the country by the rich.-Neglect of magistrates. The militia principally in fault. The new recruit and his transformation.--Reflection on bodies corporate.-The love of rural objects natural to all, and never to be totally extinguished.
HARK! 'tis the twanging horn o'er yonder bridge, That with its wearisome but needful length Bestrides the wintry flood, in which the moon Sees her unwrinkled face reflected bright;- He comes, the herald of a noisy world,
With spatter'd boots, strapp'd waist, and frozen locks; News from all nations lumb'ring at his back. True to his charge, the close-pack'd load behind, Yet careless what he brings, his one concern Is to conduct it to the destin'd inn;
And, having dropp'd th' expected bag, pass on. He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch, Cold and yet cheerful: messenger of grief Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to some; To him indiff'rent whether grief or joy. Houses in ashes, and the fall of stocks, Births, deaths, and marriages, epistles wet With tears, that trickled down the writer's cheeks Fast as the periods from his fluent quill,
Or charg'd with am'rous sighs of absent swains, Or nymphs responsive, equally affect His horse and him, unconscious of them all. But O th' important budget! usher'd in With such heart-shaking music, who can say What are its tidings? have our troops awak'd? Or do they still, as if with opium drugg'd, Snore to the murmurs of th' Atlantic wave? Is India free? and does she wear her plum'd And jewell'd turban with a smile of peace, Or do we grind her still? The grand debate, The popular harangue. the tart reply, The logic, and the wisdom, and the wit, And the loud laugh-I long to know them all; I burn to set th' imprison'd wranglers free, And give them voice and utt'rance once again. Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, And, while the bubbling and loud hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups, That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful ev'ning in. Not such his ev'ning, who with shining face Sweats in the crowded theatre, and, squeez'd And bor'd with elbow-points through both his sides, Outscolds the ranting actor on the stage:
Nor his, who patient stands till his feet throb, And his head thumps, to feed upon the breath Of patriots, bursting with heroic rage, Or placemen, all tranquillity and smiles. This folio of four pages, happy work! Which not e'en critics criticise; that holds Inquisitive Attention, while I read,
Fast bound in chains of silence, which the fair, Though eloquent themselves, yet fear to break; What is it, but a map of busy life,
Its fluctuations, and its vast concerns Here runs the mountainous and craggy ridge, That tempts Ambition. On the summit see The scals of office glitter in his eyes;
He climbs, he pants, he grasps them! At his heels, Close at his heels, a demagogue ascends,
And with a dex'trous jerk, soon twists him down, And wins them, but to lose them in his turn. Here rills of oily eloquence in soft
Meanders lubricate the course they take; The modest speaker is asham'd and griev'd, T'engross a moment's notice; and yet begs, Begs a propitious ear for his poor thoughts, However trivial all that he conceives.
Sweet bashfulness! it claims at least this praise; The dearth of information and good sense, That it foretells us, always comes to pass. Cat'racts of declamation thunder here; There forests of no meaning spread the page, In which all comprehension wanders lost; While fields of pleasantry amuse us there With merry descants on a nation's woes. The rest appears a wilderness of strange But gay confusion; roses for the cheeks, And lilies for the brows of faded age, Teeth for the toothless, ringlets for the bald, Heav'n, earth, and ocean, plunder'd of their sweets, Nectareous essences, Olympian dews,
Sermons, and city feasts, and fav'rite airs, Ethereal journeys, submarine exploits, And Katerfelto, with his hair on-end
At his own wonders, wond'ring for his bread. 'Tis pleasant, through the loopholes of retreat, To peep at such a world; to see the stir Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd; To hear the roar she sends through all her gates At a safe distance, where the dying sound Falls a soft murmur on th' uninjur'd ear. Thus sitting, and surveying thus at ease The globe and its concerns, I seem advanc'd To some secure and more than mortal height, That lib'rates and exempts me from them all. It turns submitted to my view, turns round With all its generations; I behold
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