Ill fares the traveller now, and he that stalks
In ponderous boots befide his reeking team.
The wain goes heavily, impeded fore
By congregated loads adhering clofe
To the clogged wheels; and in its fluggish pace-
Noiseless appears a moving hill of fnow.
The toiling steeds expand the noftril wide,
While every breath, by refpiration ftrong
Forced downward, is consolidated soon
Upon their jutting chefts. He, formed to bear
The pelting brunt of the tempeftuous night,
With half-fhut eyes, and puckered cheeks, and teeth
Prefented bare against the ftorm, plods on.
One hand fecures his hat, fave when with both
He brandishes his pliant length of whip,
Refounding oft, and never heard in vain.
Oh happy; and in my account denied
That fenfibility of pain, with which
Refinement is endued, thrice happy thou!
Thy frame, robuft and hardy, feels indeed.
The piercing cold, but feels it unimpaired.
The learned finger never need explore
Thy vigorous pulfe; and the unhealthful eaft,
That breathes the spleen, and searches every bone
Of the infirm, is wholesome air to thee.
Thy days roll on exempt from household care;
Thy waggon is thy wife; and the poor beafts,
That drag the dull companion to and fro,
Thine helpless charge, dependent on thy care.
Ah treat them kindly! rude as thou appeareft,
Yet fhow that thou haft mercy! which the great,
With needlefs hurry whirled from place to place,
Humane as they would seem, not always fhow.
Poor, yet induftrious, modeft, quiet, neat, Such claim compaffion in a night like this, And have a friend in every feeling heart. Warmed, while it lasts, by labour, all day long, They brave the season, and yet find at eve, Ill clad and fed but sparely, time to cool. The frugal, housewife trembles when the lights Her scanty stock. of brush-wood, blazing clear, But dying foon, like all terreftrial joys. The few small embers left fhe nurses well; And, while her infant race, with outspread hands And crowded knees, fit cowering o'er the fparks, Retires, content to quake, fo they be warmed. The man feels least, as more inured than she
To winter, and the current in his veins.
More brifkly moved by his feverer toil;
Yet he too finds his own diftrefs in their's.
The taper foon extinguished, which I faw
Dangled along at the cold finger's end
Juft when the day declined, and the brown loaf
Lodged on the fhelf, half-eaten without fauce
Of favory cheese, or butter, coftlier ftill;
Sleep feems their only refuge: for alas,
Where penury is felt the thought is chained,
And fweet colloquial pleasures are but few!
With all this thrift they thrive not.
Ingenious parfimony takes, but juft
Saves the fmall inventory, bed, and stool,
Skillet, and old carved cheft, from public fale.
They live, and live without extorted alms
From grudging hands; but other boast have none
To footh their honeft pride, that fcorns to beg,
Nor comfort else, but in their mutual love.
I praise you much, ye meek and patient pair,
For ye are worthy; choofing rather far
A dry but independent cruft, hard earned,
And eaten with a figh, than to endure
The rugged frowns and infolent rebuffs
Of knaves in office, partial in the work
Of diftribution; liberal of their aid
To clamorous importunity in rags,
But oft-times deaf to fuppliants, who would blush
To wear a tattered garb however coarse,
Whom famine cannot reconcile to filth:
These ask with painful shyness, and, refused
Because deferving, filently retire!
But be ye of good courage! Time itself
Shall much befriend you. Time fhall give increase;
And all your numerous progeny, well-trained
But helpless, in few years fhall find their hands,
And labour too. Meanwhile ye fhall not want
What, conscious of your virtues, we can fpare,
Nor what a wealthier than ourselves may fend.
I mean the man, who, when the diftant poor
Need help, denies them nothing but his name.
But poverty with moft, who whimper forth
Their long complaints, is felf-inflicted woe;
The effect of laziness or fottish waste.
Now goes the nightly thief prowling abroad
For plunder; much folicitous how best
He may compenfate for a day of floth
By works of darkness and nocturnal wrong.
Woe to the gardener's pale, the farmer's hedge,
Plashed neatly, and secured with driven stakes
Deep in the loamy bank. Uptorn by ftrength,.
Refiftlefs in fo bad a caufe, but lame
To better deeds, he bundles up the spoil,
An afs's burden, and, when laden moft
And heaviest, light of foot steals fast away.
Nor does the boarded hovel better guard
The well-ftacked pile of riven logs and roots-
From his pernicious force. Nor will he leave
Unwrenched the door, however well fecured,
Where Chanticleer amidst his haram fleeps
In unfufpecting pomp. Twitched from the perch,
He gives the princely bird, with all his wives,
To his voracious bag, ftruggling in vain,
And loudly wondering at the fudden change..
Nor this to feed his own. 'Twere fome excufe,
Did pity of their sufferings warp afide
His principle, and tempt him into fin
For their fupport, fo deftitute. But they
Neglected pine at home; themselves, as more-
Exposed than others, with less fcruple made
His victims, robbed of their defenceless all.
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