REMOTE, unfriended, melancholy, flow,
Or by the lazy Scheld, or wandering Po;
Or onward, where the rude Carinthian boor
Against the houseless stranger shuts the door;
Or where Campania's plain forfaken lies,
A weary wafte, expanding to the skies-
Where'er I roam, whatever realms to fee,
My heart, untravell'd, fondly turns to thee;
Still to my Brother turns, with ceafeless pain,
And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.
Eternal bleffings crown my earliest friend,
And round his dwelling guardian-faints attend;
Bleft be that spot where cheerful guests retire
To paufe from toil, and trim their ev❜ning fire-
Bleft that abode where want and pain repair,
And every ftranger finds a ready chair-
Bleft be thofe feafts, with fimple plenty crown'd,
Where all the ruddy family around

Laugh at the jefts, or pranks that never fail,
Or figh with pity at fome mournful tale,
Or prefs 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 wandering spent, and care
Impell'd with steps unceafing to purfue

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;
My fortune leads to traverse realms alone,
And find no spot of all the world my own.
Ev'n now, where Alpine folitudes afcend,

I fit me down, a penfive hour to spend;
And, plac'd on high, above the ftorm's career,
Look downward where an hundred realms appear;
Lakes, forefts, cities, plains extending wide,
The pomp of kings, the fhepherd's humbler pride.
When thus creation's charms around combine,
Amidst the store, fhould thankless pride repine?
Say, fhould the philofophic mind difdain

That good which makes each humbler bosom vain?
Let fchool-taught pride diffemble all it can,
Thefe little things are great to little man;

And wifer he, whofe fympathetic mind
Exults in all the good of all mankind.

Ye glittering towns, with wealth and fplendor crown'd;
Ye fields, where fummer spreads profufion round;
Ye lakes, whofe veffels catch the bufy gale;
Ye bending fwains, that dress the flow'ry vale-
For me your tributary stores combine-
Creation's heir, the world, the world is mine.

As fome lone mifer, vifiting his store,
Bends at his treasure-counts, recounts it o'er-
Hoards after hoards his rifing raptures fill,

Yet ftill he fighs, for hoards are wanting ftill:
Thus to my breaft alternate paffions rife,

Pleas'd with each good that Heav'n to man supplies;
Yet oft a figh prevails, and forrows fall,

To fee the fum of human blifs fo fmall-
And oft I wish, amidst the scene to find
Some spot to real happinefs confign'd,

Where my worn foul, each wand'ring hope at rest,
May gather blifs to fee my fellows bleft.

But where to find that happiest spot below,
Who can direct, when all pretend to know?
The fhudd'ring tenant of the frigid zone
Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own,
Extols the treasures of his stormy feas,
And his long nights of revelry and ease;
The naked negro, panting at the line,
Boafts of his golden fands and palmy wine,
Basks in the glare, or ftems the tepid wave,
And thanks his gods for all the good they gave;
Such is the patriot's boaft where'er we roam,
His first, best country, ever is at home;
And yet, perhaps, if countries we compare,
And eftimate the bleffings which they share,
Though patriots flatter, ftill fhall wisdom find
An equal portion dealt to all mankind—
As different good, by Art or Nature given
To different nations, makes their bleflings even.
Nature, a mother kind alike to all,

Still grants her bliss at labour's earnest call:

With food as well the peafant is supply'd
On Idra's cliffs, as Arno's fhelvy fide;

And though the rocky-crefted fummits frown,
Thefe rocks, by custom, turn to beds of down.
From Art, more various are the bleffings fent-
Wealth, commerce, honour, liberty, content:
Yet thefe each other's power so strong contest,
That either feems deftructive of the reft-

Where wealth and freedom reign, contentment fails,
And honour finks where commerce long prevails:
Hence every ftate, to one lov'd blessing prone,
Conforms, and models life to that alone;
Each to the fav'rite happiness attends,
And fpurns the plan that aims at other ends,
Till, carried to excefs in each domain,
This fav'rite good begets peculiar pain.

But let us try thefe truths with clofer eyes,
And trace them through the profpect as it lies:
Here, for a while, my proper cares refign'd,
Here let me fit in forrow for mankind-

Like yon neglected shrub, at random caft,
That shades the steep, and fighs at every blast.
Far to the right, where Apennine ascends,
Bright as the fummer, Italy extends;

Its uplands, floping, deck the mountain's fide,
Woods over woods in gay theatric pride;
While oft fome temple's mould'ring top between,
With venerable grandeur marks the scene.
Could Nature's bounty fatisfy the breast,

The fons of Italy were furely bleft:

Whatever fruits in different climes were found,
That proudly rife, or humbly court the ground;

Whatever blooms in torrid tracts appear,
Whose bright fucceffion decks the varied year;
Whatever fweets falute the northern sky
With vernal lives, that bloffom but to die-
Thefe, here disporting, own the kindred foil,
Nor afk luxuriance from the planter's toil;
While fea-born gales their gelid wings expand,
To winnow fragrance round the smiling land.
But small the blifs that fenfe alone bestows,
And fenfual blifs is all the nation knows.
In florid beauty, groves and fields appear,
Man feems the only growth that dwindles here:
Contrafted faults through all his manners reign-
Though poor, luxurious-though fubmiffive, vain-
Though grave, yet trifling-zealous, yet untrue—
And ev'n in penance planning fins anew.
All evils here contaminate the mind,

That opulence, departed, leaves behind;

For wealth was their's-nor far remov'd the date
When commerce proudly flourish'd through the state;
At her command the palace learnt to rise,
Again the long-fall'n column fought the skies;
The canvass glow'd, beyond e'en nature warm;
The pregnant quarry teem'd with human form—
Till, more unsteady than the southern gale,
Commerce on other shores difplay'd her fail;
While naught remain'd of all that riches gave,
But towns unmann'd, and lords without a flave;
And late the nation found with fruitless skill,
Its former ftrength was but plethoric ill.

Yet, ftill the loss of wealth is here supply'd
By arts, the fplendid wrecks of former pride;