Alike all ages. Dames of ancient days

Have led their children through the mirthful

maze;

And the gay grandsire, skill'd in gestic lore,
Has frisk'd beneath the burden of threescore.

So gay a life these thoughtless realms display,
Thus idly busy rolls their world away :
Theirs are those arts that mind to mind endear;
For honour forms the social temper here:
Honour, that praise which real merit gains,
Or e'en imaginary worth obtains,

Here passes current; paid from hand to hand,
It shifts in splendid traffic round the land :
From courts to camps, to cottages it strays,
And all are taught an avarice of praise:
They please, are pleas'd, they give to get esteem,
Till, seeming blest, they grow to what they seem.
But while this softer art their bliss supplies,

It gives their follies also room to rise,

For praise too dearly lov'd, or warmly sought, Enfeebles all internal strength of thought; And the weak soul, within itself unblest,

Leans for all pleasure on another's breast.

Hence ostentation here, with tawdry art,
Pants for the vulgar praise which fools impart :
Here vanity assumes her pert grimace,

And trims her robes of frieze with copper lace:
Here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer,

To boast one splendid banquet once a year;
The mind still turns where shifting fashion draws,
Nor weighs the solid worth of self applause.

To men of other minds my fancy flies,
Embosom'd in the deep where Holland lies.
Methinks her patient sons before me stand,

And sedulous to stop the coming tide,
Lift the tall rampire's artificial pride.
Onward, methinks, and diligently slow,
The firm connected bulwark seems to grow;
Spreads its long arms amidst the wat❜ry roar,
Scoops out an empire, and usurps the shore,
While the pent ocean, rising o'er the pile,
Sees an amphibious world beneath him smile,
The slow canal, the yellow blossom'd vale,
The willow tufted bank, the gliding sail,
The crowded mart, the cultivated plain.
A new creation rescued from his reign.
Thus while around the wave subjected soil
Impels the native to repeated toil,
Industrious habits in each bosom reign,
And industry begets a love of gain.

Hence all the good from opulence that springs,
With all those ills superfluous treasure brings,
Are here display'd. Their much lov'd wealth
imparts

Convenience, plenty, elegance, and arts;

But view them closer, craft and fraud appear; Even liberty itself is barter'd here;

At gold's superior charms all freedom flies;

The needy sell it, and the rich man buys :
A land of tyrants, and a den of slaves !
Here wretches seek dishonourable graves,
And calmly bent, to servitude conform ;
Dull as their lakes that slumber in the storm.
Oh! how unlike their Belgic sires of old!
Rough, poor, content, ungovernably bold;
War in each breast, and freedom on each brow;
How much unlike the sons of Britain now!

Fir'd at the sound, my genius spreads her wing,
And flies where Britain courts the western spring;
Where lawns extend that scorn Arcadian pride,
And brighter streams than fam'd Hydaspes glide:
There all around the gentlest breezes stray;
There gentle music melts on ev'ry spray;
Creation's mildest charms are there combin'd;
Extremes are only in the master's mind!
Stern o'er each bosom reason holds her state,
With daring aims irregularly great:

Pride in their port, defiance in their eye,
I see the lords of human kind* pass by ;

*The writer of this was a British subject. As a parallel, see the little boy's song, page 45, head d Prejudice, taken from Original Poems, and the wise and happy conclusion occasioned by the Father's observations to his Child.

Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band,
By forms unfashion'd, fresh from nature's hand;
Fierce in their native hardiness of soul,

True to imagin'd right, above control,

While e'en the peasant boasts these rights to scan, And learns to venerate himself a man.

Thine, freedom, thine the blessings pictur'd here; Thine are those charms that dazzle and endear; Too blest indeed were such without alloy, But foster'd e'en by freedom ills annoy :

That independence Briton's prize too high,