And conftant occupation without care.
Thus bleft I draw a picture of that bliss,
Hopeless indeed that diffipated minds,
And profligate abufers of a world

Created fair fo much in vain for them,
Should feek the guiltlefs joys, that I describe,
Allured by my report: but fure no less,

That felf-condemned they must neglect the prize,
And what they will not taste must yet approve.
What we admire we praise; and when we praise,
Advance it into notice, that its worth
Acknowledged, others may admire it too.
I therefore recommend, though at the risk
Of popular disgust, yet boldly ftill,

The cause of piety and facred truth,

And virtue, and those scenes, which God ordained
Should beft fecure them and promote them moft;
Scenes that I love, and with regret perceive
Forfaken, or through folly not enjoyed.
Pure is the nymph, though liberal of her smiles,
And chafte, though unconfined, whom I extol.
Not as the prince in Shufhan, when he called,
Vain-glorious of her charms, his Vashti forth
To grace the full pavilion. His defign

Was but to boaft his own peculiar good,

Which all might view with envy, none partake.
My charmer is not mine alone; my sweets,

And fhe, that fweetens all my bitters too,
Nature, enchanting nature, in whose form
And lineaments divine I trace a hand,
That errs not, and find raptures ftill renewed,
Is free to all men-univerfal prize.

Strange that fo fair a creature fhould yet want
Admirers, and be destined to divide

With meaner objects e'en the few she finds!

Stripped of her ornaments, her leaves and flowers,
She lofes all her influence. Cities then
Attract us, and neglected Nature pines
Abandoned, as unworthy of our love.

But are not wholefome airs, though unperfumed
By rofes; and clear funs, though fcarcely felt;
And groves, if unharmonious, yet fecure
From clamour, and whofe very filence charms;
To be preferred to smoke, to the eclipfe,

That Metropolitan volcanos make,

Whofe Stygian throats breathe darkness all day

long;

And to the ftir of commerce, driving flow,

And thundering loud, with his ten thousand wheels?
They would be, were not madness in the head,
And folly in the heart; were England now,
What England was, plain, hospitable, kind,
And undebauched. But we have bid farewell
To all the virtues of those better days,

And all their honeft pleasures. Manfions once
Knew their own masters; and laborious binds,
Who had furvived the father, ferved the fon.
Now the legitimate and rightful lord

Is but a tranfient gueft, newly arrived,
And foon to be fupplanted. He that faw
His patrimonial timber caft its leaf,

Sells the laft fcantling, and transfers the price
To fome fhrewd fharper, ere it buds again.
Eftates are landscapes, gazed upon awhile,
Then advertised, and auctioneered away.

The country starves, and they, that feed the o'ercharged

And furfeited lewd town with her fair dues,
By a juft judgment ftrip and starve themselves.
The wings, that waft our riches out of fight,
Grow on the gamefter's elbows; and the alert
And nimble motion of those restless joints,

That never tire, foon fans them all away.
Improvement too, the idol of the age,

Is fed with many a victim. Lo, he comes!
The omnipotent magician, Brown, appears !
Down falls the venerable pile, the abode

Of our

forefathers-a grave whiskered race,
But taftelefs. Springs a palace in its stead,
But in a diftant spot; where more exposed
It may enjoy the advantage of the north,
And aguish east, till time fhall have transformed
Those naked acres to a fheltering grove.

He speaks. The lake in front becomes a lawn;
Woods vanish, hills fubfide, and vallies rife;
And ftreams, as if created for his ufe,
Pursue the track of his directing wand,

Sinuous or ftraight, now rapid and now flow,
Now murmuring foft, now roaring in cascades-
Ev'n as he bids! The enraptured owner smiles.
'Tis finished, and yet, finished as it feems,
Still wants a grace, the lovelieft it could show,
A mine to fatisfy the enormous coft.
Drained to the last poor item of his wealth,
He fighs, departs, and leaves the accomplished plan,
That he has touched, retouched, many a long day

Laboured, and many a night pursued in dreams,
Juft when it meets his hopes, and proves the heaven
He wanted, for a wealthier to enjoy!

And now perhaps the glorious hour is come,
When, having no stake left, no pledge to endear
Her intereft, or that gives her facred cause
A moment's operation on his love,

He burns with most intense and flagrant zeal
To ferve his country. Minifterial grace
Deals him out money from the public cheft;
Or, if that mine be fhut, fome private purse
Supplies his need with an usurious loan,
To be refunded duly, when his vote

Well-managed fhall have earned its worthy price.
Oh innocent, compared with arts like these,
Crape, and cocked pistol, and the whistling ball
Sent through the traveller's temples! He, that finde
One drop of heaven's sweet mercy
in his cup,
Can dig, beg, rot, and perifh, well content,

So he may wrap himself in honest rags

At his laft gasp; but could not for a world
Fifh up his dirty and dependent bread

From pools and ditches of the commonwealth,
Sordid and fickening at his own fuccess.