The rattling terrors of the vengeful fnake;
Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey,
And favage men more murd'rous ftill than they;
While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies,
Mingling the ravag'd landscape with the skies.
Far different these from every former fcene,
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 paft,
Hung round the bowers, and fondly look'd their last,
And took a long farewell, and wish'd in vain
For feats like thefe beyond the western main;
And fhudd'ring ftill to face the distant 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 other's woe i
But for himself, in conscious 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 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 manliness of grief.
O, luxury! thou curft by heaven's decree,
How ill exchang'd are things like thefe for thee!
How do thy potions with infidious joy,
Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy!
Kingdoms by thee, to fickly greatness grown,
Boast of a florid vigour not their own.
At every draught more large and large they grow,
A bloated mafs of rank unwieldy woe ;
Till fapp'd their strength, and every part unfound, Down, down they fink, and spread a ruin round.
Even now the devastation is begun,
And half the business of destruction done;
Even now, methinks, as pond'ring here I ftand,
I fee the rural virtues leave the land.
Down where yon anchoring veffel spreads the fail
That idly waiting flaps with every gale,
Downward they move, à melancholy band,
Pass from the fhore, and darken all the ftrand.
Contented toil, and hospitable care,
And kind connubial tenderness, are there;
And piety with wishes plac'd above,
And fteady loyalty, and faithful love.
And thou, fweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid,
Still firft to fly where fenfual joys invade;
Unfit in these degen'rate times of shame,
To catch the heart, or ftrike for honeft fame;
Dear charming nymph, neglected and decry'd,
My fhame in crouds, my folitary pride.
Thou fource of all my blifs, and all my woe,
That found'ft me poor at firft, and keep'ft me fo;
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,
Redrefs 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 states of native strength poffeft,
Though very poor, may ftill be very bleft;
That trade's proud empire haftes to swift decay,
As ocean fweeps the labour'd mole away;
While felf-dependent power can time defy,
As rocks refift the billows and the sky,
SAY, cruel Iris, pretty rake,
Dear mercenary beauty,-
What annual off'ring fhall I make
Expreffive of my duty.
My heart, a victim to thine eyes,
Should I at once deliver,
Say, would the angry fair-one prize
The gift who flights the giver?
A bill, a jewel, watch, or toy,
My rivals give-and let 'em.
If gems, or gold, import a joy,
I'll give them-when I get 'em.
THE GIFT.
I'll give-but not the full-blown rofe,
Or rofe-bud more in fashion;
Such fhort-liv'd off'rings but difclofe
A tranfitory paffion.
I'll give thee something yet unpaid,
Not lefs fincere, than civil:
I'll give thee-ah! too charming maid,
I'll give thee to the devil.
|