But verging to decline, its fplendors rife,
Its viftas ftrike, its palaces furprise;

While, fcourg'd by famine from the fmiling land,
The mournful peasant leads his humble band;
And while he finks, without one arm to save,
The country blooms-a garden and a grave.

Where then, ah! where fhall poverty refide,
To 'scape the preffure of contiguous pride?
If to fome common's fenceless limits stray'd,
He drives his flock 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 fped-What waits him there? To fee profufion that he must not share ; To fee ten thousand baneful arts combin'd To pamper luxury, and thin mankind ; To fee each joy the fons of pleasure know, Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe. Here, while the courtier glitters in brocade, There the pale artift plies the fickly trade; Here, while the proud their long-drawn pomps display, There the black gibbet glooms befide the way. The dome where Pleasure holds her midnight reign, Here, richly deckt, admits the gorgeous train ; Tumultuous grandeur crouds the blazing fquare, The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare. Sure scenes like these no troubles ere annoy! Sure thefe denote one univerfal joy!

Are

Are these thy ferious thoughts-Ah, turn thine eyes
Where the poor houfelefs fhiv'ring female lies.
She once, perhaps, in village plenty bleft,
Has wept at tales of innocence diftreft ;
Her modeft looks the cottage might adorn,
Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn,
Now loft to all; her friends, her virtue fled,
Near her betrayer's door fhe lays her head,
And, pinch'd with cold, and fhrinking from the shower,
With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour,
When idly firft, ambitious of the town,

She left her wheel and robes of country brown.

Do thine, sweet AUBURN, thine, the lovelieft train, Do thy fair tribes participate her pain? Even now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led, At proud men's doors they afk a little bread!

Ah, no. To diftant climes, a dreary scene,
Where half the convex world intrudès between,
Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go,
Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe.

Far different there from all that charm'd before,
The various terrors of that horrid fhore;
Those blazing funs that dart a downward ray,
And fiercely fhed intolerable day;

Thofe matted woods where birds forget to fing,
But filent bats in drowsy clufters cling;

Thofe pois'nous fields with rank luxuriance crown'd,
Where the dark scorpion gathers death around;

Where

Where at each step the stranger fears to wake
The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake;
Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey,
And favage men more murd'rous still than they;
While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies,
Mingling the ravag'd landscape with the skies.
Far different thefe from every former scene,
The cooling brook, the graffy vested green,,
The breezy covert of the warbling grove,
That only shelter'd thefts of harmless love.

Good Heaven! what forrows gloom'd that parting day, That call'd them from their native walks away; When the poor exiles, every pleasure past,

;

Hung round the bowers, and fondly look'd their last,
And took a long farewell, and wifh'd in vain.
For feats like these beyond the western main
And fhudd'ring ftill to face the diftant deep,
Return'd and wept, and ftill return'd to weep.
The good old fire, the first prepar'd to go
To new-found worlds, and wept for others' woe;
But for himself, in confcious virtue brave,
He only wish'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 louder plaints the mother spoke her woes,
And bleft the cot where every pleasure rose;

And

And kift her thoughtless babes with many a tear,
And clafpt them clofe, in forrow doubly dear;
Whilft her fond husband ftrove to lend relief
In all the filent manlinefs 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 infidious joy, Diffuse their pleasures only to deftroy! Kingdoms by thee, to fickly greatness grown, Boaft 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 ftrength, and every part unfound, Down, down they fink, and spread a ruin round,

Even now the devaftation is begun,

And half the bufinefs of deftruction done;
Even now, methinks, as pond'ring here I fland,
I fee the rural virtues leave the land.

Down where yon anchoring veffel fpreads the fail
That idly waiting flaps with every gale,
Downward they move, a melancholy band,
Pass from the fhore, and darken all the ftrand,
Contented toil, and hofpitable care,

And kind connubial tenderness, are there;
And piety with wishes plac'd above,

And steady loyalty, and faithful love.
And thou, fweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid,
Still firft to fly where fenfual joys invade;

Unfit in these degenerate times of fhame,
To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame;
Dear charming nymph, neglected and decry'd,
My fhame in crouds, my folitary pride.
Thou fource of all my bliss, and all my woe,
That found'ft me poor at firft, and keep'ft me so;
Thou guide, by which the nobler arts excel,
Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well,
Farewel, and O! where'er thy voice be-try'd,
On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's fide,
Whether where equinoctial fervours glow,
Or winter wraps the polar world in fnow,
Still let thy voice, prevailing over time,
Redress the rigours of th' inclement clime ;
Aid flighted truth with thy persuasive strain ;
Teach erring man to fpurn the rage of gain;
Teach him, that ftates of native ftrength poffeft,
Though very poor, may ftill be very blest ;
That trade's proud empire haftes to fwift decay,
As ocean fweeps the labour'd mole away;
While felf-dependent power can time defy,
As rocks refift the billows and the sky.

THE