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A vagabond and useless tribe there eat

Sly circumvention, unrelenting hate, Their miserable meal. A kettle, slung

Mean self-attachment, and scarce aught beside. Between two poles upon a stick transverse,

Thus fare the shivering natives of the north, Receives the morsel – flesh obscene of dog,

And thus the rangers of the western world, Or vermin, or at best of cock purloined

Where it advances far into the deep, From his accustomed perch. Hard faring race ! Towards th’Antarctic. Even the favored isles They pick their fuel out of every hedge, [quenched So lately found, although the constant sun Which, kindled with dry leaves, just saves un- Cheer all their seasons with a grateful smile, The spark of life. The sportive wind blows wide Can boast but little virtue ; and inert Their fluttering rags, and shows a tawny skin, Through plenty, lose in morals what they gain The vellum of the pedigree they claim.

In manners — victims of luxurious ease.

These therefore I can pity, placed remote

From all that science traces, art invents,
Great skill have they in palmistry, and more Or inspiration teaches ; and enclosed
To conjure clean away the gold they touch,

In boundless oceans, never to be passed
Conveying worthless dross into its place ;

By navigators uninformed as they,
Loud when they beg, dumb only when they steal.

Or ploughed perhaps by British bark again.
Strange! that a creature rational, and cast
In human mould, should brutalize by choice

His nature ; and, though capable of arts,

But far beyond the rest, and with most cause, By which the world might profit, and himself, Thee, gentle savage, whom no love of thee Self-banished from society, prefer

Or thine, but curiosity perhaps, Such squalid sloth to honorable toil!

Or else vain glory, prompted us to draw Yet even these, though feigning sickness oft Forth from thy native bowers, to show thee here They swathe the forehead, drag the limping limb, With what superior skill we can abuse And vex their flesh with artificial sores,

The gifts of Providence, and squander life. Can change their whine into a mirthful note, The dream is past, and thou hast found again When safe occasion offers ; and with dance,

Thy cocoas and bananas, palms and yams, [found And music of the bladder and the bag,

And homestall thatched with leaves. But hast thou Beguile their woes, and make the woods resound. Their former charms? And having seen our state, Such health and gayety of heart enjoy

Our palaces, our ladies, and our pomp The houseless rovers of the sylvan world ;

Of equipage, our gardens, and our sports, And, breathing wholesome air, and wandering much, | And heard our music ; are thy simple friends, Need other physic none to heal th' effects

Thy simple fare, and all thy plain delights, Of loathsome diet, penury, and cold.

As dear to thee as once? And have thy joys

Lost nothing by comparison with ours?

Rude as thou art — for we returned thee rude

And ignorant, except of outward show,-
Blest he, though undistinguished from the crowd
By wealth or dignity, who dwells secure,

I cannot think thee yet so dull of heart
Where man, by nature fierce, has laid aside

And spiritless, as never to regret His fierceness ; having learned, though slow to

Sweets tasted here, and left as soon as known. The manners and the arts of civil life. [learn,

Methinks I see thee straying on the beach, His wants indeed are many ; but supply

And asking of the surge that bathes thy foot

If ever it has washed our distant shore.
Is obvious, placed within the easy reach
Of temperate wishes and industrious hands.
Here virtue thrives as in her proper soil ;

Not rude and surly, and beset with thorns,

I see thee weep, and thine are honest tears, And terrible to sight, as when she springs

A patriot's for his country ; thou art sad (If e'er she spring spontaneous), in remote

At thought of her forlorn and abject state, And barbarous climes, where violence prevails,

From which no power of thine can raise her up. And strength is lord of all ; but gentle, kind,

Thus fancy paints thee, and though apt to err, By culture tamed, by liberty refreshed,

Perhaps errs little when she paints thee thus. And all her fruits by radiant truth matured.

She tells me, too, that duly every morn War and the chase engross the savage whole ; Thou climbest the mountain top, with eager eye War followed for revenge, or to supplant

Exploring far and wide the watery waste, The envied tenants of some happier spot :

For sight of ship from England. Every speck The chase for sustenance, precarious trust!

Seen in the dim horizon turns thee pale
His hard condition with severe constraint

With conflict of contending hopes and fears.
Binds all his faculties, forbids all growth
Of visdom, proves a school, in which he learns

1 Omai.


Increasing London? Babylon of old
Not more the glory of the earth than she,
A more accomplished world's chief glory now.

But comes at last the dull and dusky eve,
And sends thee to thy cabin, well prepared
To dream all night of what the day denied.
Alas ! expect it not. We found no bait
To tempt us in thy country. Doing good,
Disinterested good, is not our trade.
We travel far, 't is true, but not for naught;
And must be bribed to compass earth again
By other hopes and richer fruits than yours.





But though true worth and virtue in the mild And genial soil of cultivated life Thrive most, and may perhaps thrive only there, Yet not in cities oft : in proud and gay, And gain-devoted cities. Thither flow, As to a common and most noisome scwer, The dregs and feculence of every land. In cities foul example on most minds Begets its likeness. Rank abundance breeds, In gross and pampered cities, sloth, and lust, And wantonness, and gluttonous excess ; In cities vice is hidden with most ease, Or seen with least reproach ; and virtue, taught By frequent lapse, can hope no triumph there Beyond th' achievement of successful flight.

She has her praise. Now mark a spot or two, That so much beauty would do well to purge ; And show this queen of cities, that so fair May yet be foul ; so witty, yet not wise. It is not seemly, nor of good report, That she is slack in discipline ; more prompt T avenge than to prevent the breach of law : That she is rigid in denouncing death On petty robbers, and indulges life And liberty, and ofttimes honor too, To peculators of the public gold ; That thieves at home must hang ; but he that puts Into his overgorged and bloated purse The wealth of Indian provinces escapes. Nor is it well, nor can it come to good, That, through profane and infidel contempt Of Holy Writ, she has presumed t' annul And abrogate, as roundly as sho may, The total ordinance and will of God ; Advancing fashion to the post of truth, And cent'ring all authority in modes And customs of her own, till Sabbath rites Have dwindled into unrespected forms, And knces and hassocks are well-nigh divorced.




ING; SCULPTURE ; ENGRAVING. I do confess them nurseries of the arts, In which they flourish most ; where, in the beams Of warm encouragement, and in the eye Of public note, they reach their perfect size. Such London is, by taste and wealth proclaimed The fairest capital of all the world, – By riot and incontinence the worst. There, touched by Reynolds, a dull blank becomes A lucid mirror, in which nature sees All her reflected features. Bacon there Gives more than female beauty to a stone, And Chatham's eloquence to marble lips. Nor does the chisel occupy alono The powers of sculpture, but the style as much ; Each province of her art her equal care. With nice incision of her guided steel She ploughs a brazen field, and clothes a soil So sterile with what charms soe'er she wills, The richest scenery and the loveliest forms.

God made the country, and man made the town. What wonder, then, that health and virtue, gifts That can alone make sweet the bitter draught That life holds out to all, should most abound And least be threatened in the fields and groves ? Possess ye, therefore, ye who, borne about In chariots and sedans, know no fatigue But that of idleness, and taste no scenes But such as art contrives, possess ye still Your element ; there only can ye shine ; There only minds like yours can do no barnı. Our groves were planted to console at noon The pensive wauderer in their shades. At eve The moonbeam, sliding softly in between The sleeping leaves, is all the light they wish, Birds warbling all the music. The splendor of your lamps : they but eclipse Our softer satellite. Your songs confound Our more harmonious notes : the thrush departs Scared, and th' offended nightingale is mute. There is a public mischief in your mirth ; It plagues your country. Folly such as yours, Graced with a sword, and worthier of a fan, Has made, what enemies could ne'er have done, Our arch of empire, steadfast but for you, A mutilated structure, soon to fall.

We can spare


Where finds philosophy her eagle eye, With which she gazes at yon burning disk Undazzled, and detects and counts his spots ? In London. Where her implements exact, With which she calculates, computes, and scans, All distance, motion, magnitude, and now Measures an atom, and now girds a world ? In London. Where bas commerce such a mart, So rich, so thronged, so drained, and so supplied, As London - opulent, enlarged, and still

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Be not to crop the tender herbage slow,

The smiling daisies blow beneath the sun, Feed on, my sheep, the grass again will grow, The brooks run purling down with silver waves, Fill ye your udders that your lambs may have The planted lanes rejoice with dancing leaves ; Their share of milk, - I some for cheese may save. The chirping birds from all the compass rove

To tempt the tuneful echoes of the grove : Then Daphnis next his tones preluding rung,

High sunny summits, deeply-shaded dales, Gave to the music voice, and sweetly sung.

Thick mossy banks, and flowery winding vales,

With various prospect gratify the sight,
As yesterday I drove my heifers by,

And scatter fixed attention in delight.
A girl, me spying from a cavern nigh,

Come, country goddess, come, nor thou suffice, Exclaimed, How handsome!' I my way pursued

But bring thy mountain-sister, Exercise. With downcast eyes, nor made her answer rude.

Called by thy lovely voice, she turns her pace, Sweet is the breath of cows and calves — and sweet

Her winding horn proclaims the finished chase ; To bask by running stream in summer heat.

She mounts the rocks, she skims the level plain, Acorns the oak ; and apples on the bough

Dogs, hawks, and horses, crowd her early train ; Adorn the apple-tree ; her calf the cow ;

Her hardy face repels the tanning wind, His drove of kine, depasturing the field,

And lines and meshes loosely float behind.
His proper honor to the cowherd yield.

All these as means of toil the feeble see,
But these are helps to pleasure joined with thee.

Let sloth lie softening till high noon in down,
Th’admiring goatherd then his judgment spake : Or lolling fan her in the sultry town,
• Sweet is thy mouth, and sweetest tones awake Unnerved with rest ; and turn her own disease,
From thy lips, Daphnis ! I would rather hear Or foster others in luxurious case :
Thee sing than suck the honey-comb, I swear. I mount the courser, call the deep-mouthed hounds,
Take thou the pipe, for thine the winning song.

The fox unkennelled flies to covert grounds ; If thou wilt teach me here, my goats among,

I lead ere stags through tangled thickets tread, Some song,

I will that bornless goat bestow, And shake the saplings with their branching head; That ever fills the pail to overflow.'

I make the falcons wing their airy way,

And soar to seize, or stooping strike their prey ; Glad Daphnis clapped his hands, and on the lawn

To snare the fish, I fix the lurking bait ;
He leapod, as round her mother leaps the fawn.
But sad Menalcas fed a smouldering gloom,

To wound the fowl, I load the gun with fate.
As grieves a girl betrothed to unknown groom.

'T is thus through change of exercise I range, And first in song was Daphnis from that time,

And strength and pleasure rise from every change. And wived a Naiad in his blooming prime.

Here, beauteous Health ! for all the year remain ;
When the next comes, I'll charm thee thus again.

0, come, thou Goddess of my rural song!

And bring thy daughter, calm Content, along; PARNELL'S “HEALTH."

Dame of the ruddy cheek and laughing eye,

From whose bright presence clouds of sorrow fly : AN EOLOGUE.

For her I mow my walks, I plat my bowers, Now early shepherds o'er the meadow pass, Clip my low hedges, and support my flowers ; And print long footsteps in the glittering grass ; To welcome her, this summer-seat I drest, The cows neglectful of their pasture stand,

And here I court her when she comes to rest ; By turns obsequious to the milker's hand.

When she from exercise to learnéd ease When Damon softly trod the shaven lawn ; Shall change again, and teach the change to please. Damon, a youth from city cares withdrawn ;

Now friends conversing my soft hours refine, Long was the pleasing walk he wandered through, And Tully's Tusculum revives in mine : A covered arbor closed the distant view; [throng Now to grave books I bid the mind retreat, There rests the youth, and, while the feathered And such as make me rather good than great ; Raise their wild music, thus contrives a song.

Or, o'er the works of easy fancy rove,
Here, wasted o'er by mild etesian air,

Where flutes and innocence amuse the grove :
Thou country goddess, beauteous health ! repair, The native bard, that on Sicilian plains
Here let my breast through quivering trees inhale First sung the lowly manners of the swains ;
Thy rosy blessings with the morning gale.

Or, Maro's muse, that in the fairest light
What are the fields, or flowers, or all I see?

Paints rural prospects and the charms of sight; Ah ! tasteless all, if not enjoyed with thee.

These soft amusements bring content along, Joy to my soul ! I feel the goddess nigh,

And fancy, void of sorrow, turns to song. The face of nature cheers as well as I ;

Here, beauteous Health ! for all the year remain ; O'er the flat green refreshing breezes run,

When the next comes, I'll charm thee thus again.

Crabbe's "Village.'





The subject proposed. Remarks upon pastoral poetry. A

tract of country near the coast described. An impoverished borough. Smugglers and their assistants. Rude manners of the inhabitants. Ruinous effects of a high tide. The village life more generally considered ; evils of it. The youthful laborer. The old man ; his soliloquy. The parish workhouse. Its inhabitants. The sick poor. Their apothecary. The dying pauper.

The village priest.

THE SUBJECT STATED ; POVERTY AS IT ts. The village life, and every care that reigns O'er youthful peasants and declining swains ; What labor yields, and what, that labor past, Age, in its hour of languor, finds at last ; What form the real picture of the poor, Demand a song - the Muse can give no more.

I grant indeed that fields and flocks have charms, For him that gazes or for him that farms ; But when amid such pleasing scenes I trace The poor, laborious natives of the place, And see the midday sun, with fervid ray, On their bare heads and dewy temples play ; While some, with feebler hands and fainter hearts, Deplore their fortune, yet sustain their parts, — Then shall I dare these real ills to hide, In tinsel trappings of poetic pride ?

No ; cast by fortune on a frowning coast, Which neither groves nor happy valleys boast ; Where other cares than those the muse relates, And other shepherds dwell with other mates ; By such examples taught, I paint the cot, As truth will paint it, and as bards will not : Nor you, ye poor, of lettered scorn complain, To you the smoothest song is smooth in vain ; O'ercome by labor and bowed down by time, Feel you the barren fattery of a rhyme ? Can poets soothe you, when you pine for bread, By winding myrtles round your ruined shed ? Can their light tales your weighty griefs o'erpower, Or glad with airy mirth the toilsome hour?




PIPES, PLOCGHS, POETRY. Fled are those times, when, in harmonious strains, The rustic poet praised his native plains ; No shepherds now, in smooth alternate verse, Their country's beauty or their nymphs' rehearse ; Yet still for these we frame the tender strain, Still in our lays fond Corydons complain, And shepherds' boys their amorous pains reveal, The only pains, alas ! they never feel.

On Mincio's banks, in Cæsar's bounteous reign, If Tityrus found the golden age again, Must sleepy bards the flattering dream prolong, Mechanic echoes of the Mantuan song? From truth and nature shall we widely stray, Where Virgil, not where fancy, leads the way?

Yes, thus the Muses sing of happy swains, Because the Muses never knew their pains : They boast their peasants' pipes, but peasants now Resign their pipes, and plod behind the plough ; And few amid the rural tribe have time To number syllables and play with rhyme ; Save honest Duck, what son of verse could share The poet's rapture and the peasant's care ? Or the great labors of the field degrade, With the new peril of a poorer trade ?

From this chief cause these idle praises spring, That themes so easy few forbear to sing ; For no deep thought the trilling subjects ask, To sing of shepherds is an easy task ; The happy youth assumes the common strain, A nymph his mistress and himself a swain ; With no sad scenes he clouds his tuneful prayer, But all, to look like her, is painted fair.

Lo! where the heath, with withering brake grown o'er,

(poor ; Lends the light turf that warms the neighboring From thence a length of burning sand appears, Where the thin harvest waves its withered ears ; Rank weeds, that every art and care defy, Reign o'er the land, and rob the blighted rye : There thistles stretch their prickly arms afar, And to the ragged infant threaten war; There poppies, nodding, mock the hope of toil, There the blue bugloss paints the sterilo soil ; Hardy and high, above the slender sheaf, The slimy mallow waves her silky leaf; O'er the young shoot the charlock throws a shade, And clasping tares cling round the sickly blade ; With mingled tints the rocky coasts abound, And a sad splendor vainly shines around.

So looks the nymph whom wretched arts adorn, Betrayed by man, then left for man to scorn ; Whose cheek in vain assumes the mimic rose, While her sad eyes the troubled breast disclose ;

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