Reproach their owner with that love of rest, That palls and satiates, and makes languid life,
To which he forfeits ev'n the rest he loves. A pedlar's pack, that bows the bearer down.
Not such the alert and active. Measure life Health suffers, and the spirits ebb, the heart
By its true worth, the comforts it affords,

Recoils from its own choice-at the full feast
And theirs alone seems worthy of the name. Is famish'd-finds no music in the song,
Good health, and, its associate in the most,

No smartness in the jest; and wonders why.
Good temper; spirits prompt to undertake,

Yet thousands still desire to journey on,
And not soon spent, though in an arduous task; Though halt, and weary of the path they tread
The pow'rs of fancy and strong thought are theirs; The paralytic, who can hold her cards,
Ev'n age itself seems privileg'd in them

But cannot play them, borrows a friend's hand,
With clear exemption from its own defects. To deal and shuffle, to divide and sort
A sparkling eye beneath a wrinkled front

Her mingled suits and sequences; and sits,
The vet'ran shows, and, gracing a grey beard Spectatress both and spectacle, a sad
With youthful smiles, descends toward the grave And silent cipher, while her proxy plays.
Sprightly, and old almost without decay.

Others are dragg'd into the crowded room
Like a coy maiden, Ease, when courted most, Between supporters; and, once seated, sit,
Farthest retires-an idol, at whose shrine

Through downright inability to rise,
Who oft'nest sacrifice are favor'd least.

Till the stout bearers lift the corpse again.
The love of Nature, and the scertes she draws, These speak a loud mementa. Yet ev'n these
Is Nature's dictate. Strange! there should be found, Themselves love life, and cling to it, as he,
Who, self-imprison'd in their proud saloons, That overhangs a torrent, to a twig.
Renounce the odors of the open field

They love it, and yet lothe it; fear 10 die,
For the unscenied fictions of the loom;

Yet scorn the purposes for which they live.
Who, satisfied with only pencil'd scenes,

Then wherefore not renounce them? No-the dread
Prefer to the performance of a God

The slavish dread of solitude, that breeds
Th' inferior wonders of an artist's hand!

Reflection and remorse, the fear of shame,
Lovely indeed the mimic works of Art;

And their invet'rate habits, all forbid.
But Nature's works far lovelier. I admire,

Whom call we gay? That honor has been long
None more admires, the painter's magic skill, The boast of mere pretenders to the name.
Who shows me that which I shall never see, The innocent are gay—ihe lark is gay,
Conveys a distant country into mine,

That dries his feathers, saturate with dew,
And throws Italian light on English walls : Beneath the rosy cloud, while yet the beams
But imitative strokes can do no more

of day-spring over-shoot his humble nest.
Than please the eye-sweet Nature's, ev'ry sense. The peasant too, a witness of his song,
The air salubrious of her lofty hills,

Himself a songster, is as gay as he.
The cheering fragrance of her dewy vales, But save me from the gaiety of those,
And music of her woods--no works of man Whose head-aches nail them to a noon-day bed ;
May rival these; these all bespeak a pow'r

And save me too from theirs, whose haggard eyes
Peculiar, and exclusively her own.

Flash desperation, and betray their pangs
Beneath the open sky she spreads the feast; For properly stripp'd off by cruel chance;
"Tis free to all-'tis ev'ry day renew'd;

From gaiety, that fills the bones with pain,
Who scorns it starves deservedly at home. The mouth with blasphemy, the heart with woe.
He does not scorn it, who, imprison'd long

The Earth was made so various, that the mind
In some unwholesome dungeon, and a prey Of desultory man, studious of change,
To sallow sickness, which the vapors, dank And pleas'd with novelty, might be indulg'd.
And clammy, of his dark abode have bred, Prospects, however lovely, may be seen
Escapes at last to liberty and light:

Till half their beauties fade; the weary sight,
His cheek recovers soon its healthful hue; Too well acquainted with their smile, slides off
His eye relumines its extinguish'd fires;

Fastidious, seeking less familiar scenes.
He walks, he leaps, he runsmis wing'd with joy, Then snug inclosures in the shelter'd vale,
And riots in the sweets of ev'ry breeze.

Where frequent hedges intercept the eye,
He does not scorn it, who has long endur'd Delight us; happy to renounce awhile,
A fever's agonies, and fed on drugs.

Not senseless of its charms, what still we love,
Nor yet the mariner, his blood inflam'd

That such short absence may endear it more. With acrid salts; his very heart athirst,

Then forests, or the savage rock may please,
To gaze at Nature in her green array,

That hides the seamew in his hollow clefts
Upon the ship's tall side he stands, possess'd Above the reach of man. His hoary head,
With visions prompted by intense desire :

Conspicuous many a league, the mariner,
Fair fields appear below, such as he left

Bound homeward, and in hope already there,
Far distant, such as he would die to find

Greets with three cheers exulting. At his waist He seeks them headlong, and is seen no more. A girdle of half-wither'd shrubs he shows,

The spleen is seldom felt where Flora reigns; And at his feet the baffled billows die. The low'ring eye, the petulance, the frown, The common, overgrown with fern, and rough And sullen sadness, that o'ershade, distort,

With prickly gorse, that, shapeless and deform'd, And mar, the face of Beauty, when no cause And dang'rous to the touch, has yet its bloom, For such immeasurable woe appears,

And decks itself with ornaments of gold, These Flora banishes, and gives the fair

Yields no unpleasing ramble; there the turf Sweet smiles, and bloom less transient than her own. Smells fresh, and, rich in oxlorif'rous herbs It is the constant revolution, stale

And fungous fruits of earth, regales the sense And tasteless, of the same repeated joys,

With luxury of unexpected sweets.

There often wanders one, whom better days And terrible to sight, as when she springs Saw better clad, in cloak of satin trimm'd

(If e'er she springs spontaneous) in remote With lace, and hat with splendid riband bound. And barb'rous climes, where violence prevails, A serving-maid was she, and fell in love

And strength is lord of all; but, gentle, kind, With one who left her, went to sea, and died. By culture tam'd, by liberty refresh'd, Her fancy follow'd him through foaming waves And all her fruits by radiant truth matur'd. To distant shores; and she would sit and weep War and the chase engross the savage whole ; At what a sailor suffers; fancy too,

War follow'd for revenge, or to supplant Delusive most where warmest wishes are,

The envied tenants of some happier spot : Would oft anticipate his glad return,

The chase for sustenance, precarious trust! And dream of transports she was not to know. His hard condition with severe constraint She heard the doleful tidings of his death

Binds all his faculties, forbids all growth And never smild again! and now she roams of wisdom, proves a school, in which he learns The dreary waste ; there spends the livelong day, Sly circumvention, unrelenting hate, And there, unless when charity forbids,

Mean self-attachment, and scarce aught beside. The livelong night. A tatter'd apron hides, Thus fare the shiv'ring natives of the north, Worn as a cloak, and hardly hides, a gown And thus the rangers of the western world, More tatter'd still; and both but ill conceal Where it advances far into the deep, A bosom heav'd with never-ceasing sighs.

Tow'rds the antarctic. Even the favor'd isles She begs an idle pin of all she meets,

So lately found, although the constant Sun And hoards them in her sleeve ; but needful food, Cheer all their seasons with a grateful smile, Though press'd with hunger oft, or comelier clothes, Can boast but liule virtue ; and, inert Though pinch'd with cold, asks never.-Kate is Through plenty, lose in morals what they gain craz'd.

In manners-victims of luxurious ease. I see a column of slow-rising smoke

These therefore I can pity, plac'd remote O'ertop the lofty wood, that skirts the wild. From all that science traces, art invents, A vagabond and useless tribe there eat

Or inspiration teaches ; and inclos'd Their miserable meal. A kettle, slung

In boundless oceans never to be passid Between two poles upon a stick transverse, By navigators uninform'd as they, Receives the morsel-Aesh obscene of dog, Or plow'd perhaps by British bark again : Or vermin, or at best of cock purloin'd

But far beyond the rest, and with most cause, From his accustom'd perch. Hard-faring race! Thee, gentle savage !* whom no love of thee They pick their fuel out of ev'ry hedge,

Or thine, but curiosity perhaps, Which, kindled with dry leaves, just saves un- Or else vain-glory, prompted us to draw quench'd

Forth from thy native bow'rs, to show thee here The spark of life. The sportive wind blows wide with what superior skill we can abuse Their flutı'ring rags, and shows a tawny skin, The gifts of Providence, and squander life. The vellum of the pedigree they claim.

The dream is past; and thou hast found again Great skill have they in palmistry, and more Thy cocoas and bananas, palms and yams, To conjure clean away the gold they touch, And homestall thatch'd with leaves. But hast thou Conveying worthless dross into its place;

found Loud when they beg, dumb only when they steal. Their former charms ? And, having seen our state, Strange! that a creature rational, and cast Our palaces, our ladies, and our pomp In human mould, should brutalize by choice Of equipage, our gardens, and our sports. His nature ; apd, though capable of arts,

And heard our music; are thy simple friends, By which the world might profit, and himself, Thy simple fare, and all thy plain delights, Self-banish'd from society, prefer

As dear to thee as once? And have thy joys
Such squalid sloth to honorable toil!

Lost nothing by comparison with ours ?
Yet even these, though feigning sickness oft Rude as thou art, (for we return'd thee rude
They swathe the forehead, drag the limping limb, And ignorant, except of outward show;)
And vex their flesh with artificial sores,

I cannot think thee yet so dull of heart
Can change their whine into a mirthful note, And spiritless, as never to regret
When safe occasion offers; and with dance, Sweets tasted here, and left as soon as known.
And music of the bladder and the bag,

Methinks I see thee straying on the beach, Beguile their woes, and make the woods resound. And asking of the surge, that bathes thy foot, Such health and gaiety of heart enjoy

If ever it has wash'd our distant shore.
The houseless rovers of the sylvan world ; I see thee weep, and thine are honest lears,
And, breathing wholesome air, and wand'ring much, A patriot's for his country: thou art sad
Need other physic none to heal th' effects

At thought of her forlorn and abject state,
Of lothesome diet, penury, and cold.

From which no pow'r of thine can raise her up. Blest he, though undistinguish'd from the crowd Thus Fancy paints thee, and, though apt to err, By wealth or dignity, who dwells secure,

Perhaps errs little, when she paints thee thus. Where man, by nature fierce, has laid aside She tells me too, that duly ev'ry morn His fierceness, having learnt, though slow to learn, Thou climb'st the mountain-top, with eager eye The manners and the arts of civil life.

Exploring far and wide the wat'ry waste His wants indeed are many; but supply

For sight of ship from England. Ev'ry speck 18 obvious, plac'd within the easy reach

Seen in the dim horizon turns thee pale
Of temp'rate wishes and industrious hands. With conflict of contending hopes and fears
Here virtue thrives as in her proper soil ;
Not rude and surly, and beset with thorns,

* Omai.

But comes at last the dull and dusky eve,

Nor is it well, nor can it come to good,
And sends thee to thy cabin, well-prepar'd That, through profane and infidel contempt
To dream all night of what the day denied. Of Holy Writ, she has presum'd t'annul
Alas! expect it not. We found no bait

And abrogate, as roundly as she may,
To tempt us in thy country. Doing good,

The total ordinance and will of God; Disinterested good, is not our trade.

Advancing Fashion to the post of Truth, We travel far, 'tis true, but not for nought; And centring all authority in modes And must be brib'd to compass Earth again

And customs of her own, till sabbath-rites By oiher hopes and richer fruits than yours. Have dwindled into unrespected forms,

But though true worth and virtue in the mild And knees and hassocks are well-nigh divorc'd. And genial soil of cultivated life

God made the country, and man made the town. Thrive most, and may perhaps thrive only there, What wonder then that health and virtue, gifts Yet not in cities oft; in proud, and gay,

That can alone make sweet the bitter dranght And gain-devoted cities. Thither flow,

That life holds out to all, should most abound As to a common and most noisome sewer,

And least be threaten'd in the fields and groves? The dregs and feculence of ev'ry land.

Possess ye therefore, ye who, borne about In cities foul example on most minds

In chariots and sedans, know no fatigue Begets its likeness. Rank abundance breeds, But that of idleness, and taste no scenes In gross and pamper'd cities, sloth, and lust, But such as art contrives, possess ye still And wantonness, and gluttonous excess.

Your element; there only can ye shine ; In cities, vice is hidden with most ease,

There only minds like yours can do no harm. Or seen with least reproach ; and virtue, taught Our groves were planted to console at noon By frequent lapse, can hope no triumph there The pensive wand'rer in their shades. At eve, Beyond th' achievement of successful flight. The moonbeam, sliding sofily in between I do confess them nurs'ries of the arts,

The sleeping leaves, is all the light they wish, In which they flourish most; where, in the beams Birds warbling all the music. We can spare Of warm encouragement, and in the eye

The splendor of your lamps; they but eclipse Of public note, they reach their perfect size. Our softer satellite. Your songs confound Such London is, by taste and wealth proclaim'd Our more harmonious notes; the thrush departs The fairest capital of all the world,

Scar'd, and th' offended nightingale is mute. By riot and incontinence the worst.

There is a public mischief in your mirth ; There, touch'd by Reynolds, a dull blank becomes It plagues your country. Folly such as yours, A lucid mirror, in which Nature sees

Grac'd with a sword, and worthier of a fan, All her reflected features. Bacon there

Has made what enemies could ne'er have done,
Gives more than female beauty to a stone, Our arch of empire, stedfast but for you,
And Chatham's eloquence to marble lips.

A mutilated structure, soon to fall.
Nor does the chisel occupy alone
The pow'rs of sculpture, but the style as much;
Each province of her art her equal care.
With nice incision of her guided steel

Воок ІІ.
She plows a brazen field, and clothes a soil
So sterile with what charms soe'er she will,

THE TIME-PIECE.
The richest scen'ry and the loveliest forms.
Where finds Philosophy her eagle eye,

Argument.
With which she gazes at yon burning disk
Undazzled, and detects and counts his spots ?

Reflections suggested by the conclusion of the for. In London. Where her implements exact,

mer book. Peace among the nations recommended With which she calculates, computes, and scans,

on the ground of their common fellowship in sorAll distance, motion, magnitude, and now

row. Prodigies enumerated. Sicilian earthquakes. Measures an atom, and now girds a world ?

Man rendered obnoxious to these calamities by In London. Where has commerce such a mart,

sin. God the agent in them. The philosophy So rich, so throng'd, so drain'd, and so supplied,

that stops at secondary causes reproved. Our own As London--opulent, enlarg’d, and still

late miscarriages accounted for. Satirical notice Increasing, London? Babylon of old

taken of our trips to Fontaine-Bleau. But the Not more the glory of the Earth than she,

pulpit, not satire, the proper engine of reformaA more accomplish'd world's chief glory now.

tion. The reverend advertiser of engraved ser. She has her praise. Now mark a spot or two,

mons. Petit-maître parson. The good preacher. That so much beauty would do well to purge;

Picture of a theatrical clerical coxcomb. Story. And show this queen of cities, that so fair

tellers and jesters in the pulpit reproved. A posMay yet be foul; so witty, yet not wise.

trophe to popular applause. Retailers of ancient It is not seemly, nor of good report,

philosophy expostulated with. Sum of the whole That she is slack in discipline; more prompt

matter. Effects of sacerdotal mismanagement on T'avenge than to prevent the breach of law;

the laity. Their folly and extravagance. The That she is rigid in denouncing death

mischiefs of profusion. Profusion itself, with all On petty robbers, and indulges lise

its consequent evils, ascribed, as to its principal And liberty, and oft-times honor too,

cause, to the want of discipline in the universities. To peculators of the public gold; That thieves at home must hang; but he, that puts O for a lodge in some vast wilderness, Into his over-gorg'd and bloated purse

Some boundless contiguity of shade, The wealth of Indian provinces, escapes.

Where rumor of oppression and deceit,

Of unsuccessful or successful war,

Still they are frowning signals, and bespeak Might never reach me more. My ear is pain'd, Displeasure in His breast, who smites the Earth My soul is sick, with ev'ry day's report

Or heals it, makes it languish or rejoice.
Of wrong and outrage, with which Earth is fill'd. And 'tis but seemly, that, where all deserve
There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart;

And stand expos'd by common peccancy
It does not feel for man; the nat'ral bond

To what no few have felt, there should be

peace, of brotherhood is sever'd, as the flax

And brethren in calamity should love. That falls aaunder at the touch of fire.

Alas for Sicily! rude fragments now He finds his fellow guilty of a skin

Lie scatter'd, where the shapely column stood. Not color'd like his own; and, having pow'r Her palaces are dust. In all her streets T' enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause The voice of singing and the sprightly chord Dooms and devotes him as his lawful prey. Are silent. Revelry, and dance, and show Lands intersected by a narrow frith

Suffer a syncope and solemn pause; Abhor each other. Mountains interpos'd

While God performs upon the trembling stage Make enemies of nations, who had else

Of his own works his dreadful part alone. Like kindred drops been mingled into one. How does the Earth receive him ?--with what signs Thus man devotes his brother, and destroys; of gratulation and delight her king ? And, worse than all, and most to be deplor'd Pours she not all her choicest fruits abroad, As human nature's broadest, foulest blot,

Her sweetest flowers, her aromatic gums, Chains him, and tasks him, and exacts his sweat Disclosing Paradise where'er he treads? With stripes, that Mercy with a bleeding heart She quakes at his approach. Her hollow womb, Weeps, when she sees inflicted on a beast. Conceiving thunders through a thousand deeps Then what is man? And what man, seeing this, And fiery caverns, roars beneath his foot. And having human feelings, does not blush, The hills move lightly, and the mountains smoke, And hang his head, to think himself a man?

For he has touch'd them. From th' extremest point I would not have a slave to till my ground, Of elevation down into the abyss, To carry me, to fan me while I sleep,

His wrath is busy, and his frown is felt. And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth The rocks fall headlong, and the valleys rise, That sinews bought and sold have ever earn'd. The rivers die into offensive pools, No: dear as freedom is, and in my heart's

And, charg'd with putrid verdure, breathe a gross Just estimation priz'd above all price,

And mortal nuisance into all the air.
I had much rather be myself the slave,

What solid was, by transformation strange,
And wear the bonds, than fasten them on him. Grows fluid; and the fix'd and rooted earth.
We have no slaves at home-Then why abroad? Tormented into billows, heaves and swells,
And they themselves, once ferried o'er the wave Or with vortiginous and hideous whirl
That parts us, are emancipate and loos’d.

Sucks down its prey insatiable. Immense
Slaves cannot breathe in England ; if their lungs

The tumult and the overthrow, the pangs
Receive our air, that moment they are free; And agonies of human and of brute
They touch our country, and their shackles fall. Multitudes, fugitive on ev'ry side,
That's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud

And fugitive in vain. The sylvan scene
And jealous of the blessing. Spread it then, Migrates uplifted; and with all its soil
And let it circulate through ev'ry vein

Alighting in far-distant fields, finds out
Of all your empire; that, where Britain's pow'r A new possessor, and survives the change.
Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too.

Ocean has caught the frenzy, and, upwrought Sure there is need of social intercourse, To an enormous and o'erbearing height, Benevolence, and peace, and mutual aid,

Not by a mighty wind, but by that voice Between the nations, in a world that seems

Which winds and waves obey, invades the shore To toll the death-bell of its own decease,

Resistless. Never such a sudden flood, And by the voice of all its elements

Upridg’d so high, and sent on such a charge, To preach the gen'ral doom. When were the winds Possess'd an inland scene. Where now the throng Let slip with such a warrant to destroy?

That press'd the beach, and, hasty to depart, When did the waves so haughtily o'erleap

Look'd to the sea for safety? They are gone, Their ancient barriers, deluging the dry ?

Gone with the refluent wave into the deep, Fires from beneath, and meteors † from above, A prince with half his people! Ancient tow'rs, Portentous, unexampled, unexplain'd,

And roofs embattled high, the gloomy scenes, Have kindled beacons in the skies; and th' old Where beauty oft and letter'd worth consume And crazy Earth has had her shaking fits

Life in the unproductive shades of death, More frequent, and foregone her usual rest. Fall prone : the pale inhabitants come forth, Is it a time to wrangle, when the props

And, happy in their unforeseen release And pillars of our planet seem to fail,

From all the rigors of restraint, enjoy And Nature ( with a dim and sickly eye

The terrors of the day, that sets them free. To wait the close of all ? But grant her end

Who then, that has thee, would not hold thee, More distant, and that prophecy demands

Freedom! whom they that lose thee so regret, A longer respite, unaccomplish'd yet;

That ev'n a judgment, making way for thee,

Seems in their eyes a mercy for thy sake? * Alluding to the calamities in Jamaica.

Such evil Sin hath wrought; and such a flame † August 18, 1783.

Kindled in Heav'n, that it burns down to Earth, 1 Alluding to the fog, that covered both Europe and And in the furious inquest, that it makes Asia during the whole summer of 1783.

On God's beholf, lays waste his fairest works.

The very elements, though each be meant

England, with all thy faults, I love thee still The minister of man, to serve his wants,

My country! and, while yet a nook is left, Conspire against him. With his breath he draws Where English minds and manners may be found, A plague into his blood ; and cannot use

Shall be constrain'd to love thee. Though thy clime Life's necessary means, but he must die.

Be fickle, and thy year most part deform'd
Storms rise t' o'erwhelm him: or if stormy winds With dripping rains, or wither'd by a frost,
Rise not, the waters of the deep shall rise, I would not yet exchange thy sullen skies,
And, needing none assistance of the storm, And fields without a flow'r, for warmer France
Shall roll themselves ashore, and reach him there. With all her vines; nor for Ausonia's groves
'The earth shall shake him out of all his holds, Of golden fruitage, and her myrtle bow'rs.
Or make his house his grave: nor so content, To shake thy senate, and from heights sublime
Shall counterfeit the motions of the flood,

Of patriot eloquence to flash down fire
And drown him in her dry and dusty guifs. Upon thy foes, was never meant my task :
What then! were they the wicked above all, But I can feel thy fortunes, and partake
And we the righteous, whose fast-anchor'd isle Thy joys and sorrows, with as true a heart
Mov'd not, while theirs was rock'd, like a light As

any

thund'rer there. And I can feel The sport of ev'ry wave? No: none are clear, Thy follies too, and with a just disdain And none than we more guilty. But, where all Frown at effeminates, whose very looks Stand chargeable with guilt, and to the shafts Reflect dishonor on the land I love. Of wrath obnoxious, God may choose his mark; How, in the name of soldiership and sense, May punish, if he please, the less, to warn Should England prosper, when such things, as smooth The more malignant. If he spar'd not them, And tender as a girl, all essenc'd o'er Tremble and be amaz'd at thine escape,

With odors, and as profligate as sweet; Far guiltier England, lest he spare not thee! Who sell their laurel for a myrtle wreath,

Happy the man, who sees a God employ'd And love when they should fight; when such as these In all the good and ill, that chequer life!

Presume to lay their hand upon the ark Resolving all events, with their effects

Of her magnificent and awful cause ? And manifold results, into the will

Time was when it was praise and boast enough And arbitration wise of the Supreme.

In ev'ry clime, and travel where we might, Did not his eye rule all things, and intend That we were born her children. Praise enough The least of our concerns (since from the least To fill th' ambition of a private man, The greatest oft originate); could chance

That Chatham's language was his mother's tongue Find place in his dominion, or dispose

And Wolfe's great name compatriot with his own. One lawless particle to thwart his plan;

Farewell those honors, and farewell with them Then God might be surpris'd, and unforeseen The hope of such hereafter; they have fall'n, Contingence might alarm him, and disturb Each in his field of glory; one in arms, The smooth and equal course of his affairs. And one in council-Wolfe upon the lap This truth Philosophy, though eagle-ey'd

Of smiling Victory that moment won, In nature's tendencies, ost overlooks;

And Chatham heart-sick of his country's shame! And, having found his instrument, forgets,

They made us many soldiers. Chatham, still
Or disregards, or, more presumptuous still,

Consulting England's happiness at home,
Denies the pow'r that wields it. God proclaims Secur’d it by an unforgiving frown,
His hot displeasure against foolish men,

If any wrong'd her. Wolfe, where'er he fought,
That live an atheist life ; involves the Heav'ns Put so much of his heart into his act,
In tem pests; quits his grasp upon the winds, That his example had a magnet's force,
And gives them all their fury; bids a plague And all were swift to follow whom all lov'd..
Kindle a fiery boil upon the skin,

Those suns are set. O rise some other such !
And putrefy the breath of blooming Health. Or all that we have left is empty talk
He calls for Famine, and the meagre fiend Of old achievements, and despair of new.
Blows mildew from between his shrivel'd lips, Now hoist the sail, and let the streamers float
And taints the golden ear. He springs his mines, Upon the wanion breezes. Strew the deck
And desolates a nation at a blast.

With lavender, and sprinkle liquid sweets,
Forih steps the spruce philosopher, and tells That no rude savor maritime invade
Of homogeneal and discordant springs

The nose of nice nobility! Breathe soft,
And principles: of causes, how they work Ye clarionets; and softer still, ye futes;
By necessary laws their sure effects;

That winds and waters, lulld by magic sounds, Of action and reaction: he has found

May bear us smoothly to the Gallic shore ! The source of the disease that nature feels, True, we have lost an empire-let it pass. And bids the world take heart and banish fear. True; we may thank the perfidy of France, Thou fool! will thy discov'ry of the cause That pick'd the jewel out of England's crown, Suspend th' effect, or heal it? Has not God With all the cunning of an envious shrew. Still wrought by means since first he made the world? And let that pass—-'ıwas but a trick of state ! And did he not of old employ his means,

A brave man knows no malice, but at once To drown it? What is his creation less

Forgets in peace the injuries of war, Than a capacious reservoir of means,

And gives his direst foe a friend's embrace. Form'd for his use, and ready at his will ?

And, sham'd as we have been, to th' very beard Go, dress thine eyes with eye-salve; ask of him, Brav'd and defied, and in our own sea prov'd Or ask of whomsoever he has taught;

Too weak for those decisive blows, that once And learn, though late, the genuine cause of all. Insur'd us mast'ry there, we yet retain