Where my worn foul, each wand'ring hope at reft, T
May gather blifs to fee my fellows blefs'd.

But where to find that happieft fpot below,
Who can direct, when all pretend to know?
The fhudd'ring tenant of the frigid zone,"
Boldly proclaims that happieft fpot his own;
Extols the treafures of his ftormy feas,
And his long nights of revelry and eafe:
The naked negro, panting at the line,
Boafts of his golden fands and palmy wine;
Basks in the glare, or ftems the tepid wave,
And thanks his gods for all the good they gave,
Such is the patriot's boaft, where'er we roam;
His first, best country, ever is at home.
And yet, perhaps, if countries we compare,
And estimate the bleffings which they share,
Though patriots flatter, ftill fhall wisdom find
An equal portion dealt to all mankind;
As different good, by art or nature given,
To different nations makes their bleffings even.
Nature, a mother kind alike to all,
Still grants her blifs at labour's earnest call;
With food as well the peafant is fupply'd,
On Idra's cliffs as Arno's fhelvy fide;
And tho' the rocky-crefted fummits frown,
These rocks by custom turn to beds of down.
From art more various are the bleffings fent;
Wealth, commerce, honour, liberty, content.
Yet these each other's pow'r fo ftrong conteft,
That either feems deftructive of the rest,
Where wealth and freedom reign, contentment fails;
And honour finks where commerce long prevails.
Hence ev'ry ftate to one lov'd bleffing prone,
Conforms and models life to that alone.
Each to the fav'rite happiness attends,
And fpurns the plan that aims at other ends;

T

Till carried to excefs in each domain,
This fav'rite good begets peculiar pain.

But let us try thefe truths with closer eyes,

And trace them through the profpect as it lies:
Here for a while my proper cares refign'd,
Here let me fit in forrow for mankind;
Like yon neglected shrub at random caft,
That fhades the fteep, and fighs at ev'ry blaft.
Far to the right, where Appennine afcends,
Bright as the fummer, Italy extends;
It's uplands floping, deck the mountain's fide,
Woods over woods in gay theatrick pride;
While oft fome temple's mould'ring tops between,
With venerable grandeur mark the scene.
Could Nature's bounty fatisfy the breaft,
The fons of Italy were furely bless'd.
Whatever fruits in different climes are found,
That proudly rife, or humbly court the ground;
Whatever blooms in torrid tracts appear,

Whose bright fucceffion decks the varied year;
Whatever sweets falute the northern sky
With vernal lives, that blossom but to die :
Thefe, here difporting, own the kindred foil,
Nor afk luxuriance from the planter's toil;
While fea-born gales their gelid wings expand,
To winnow fragrance round the smiling land,
But fmall the bliss that fenfe alone bestows,
And fenfual blifs is all the nation knows.
In florid beauty groves and fields appear,
Man feems the only growth that dwindles here.
Contrafted faults through all his manners reign:
Though poor, luxurious; though fubmiffive, vain;
Though grave, yet trifling; zealous, yet untrue;
And e'en in penance planning fins anew.
All evils here contaminate the mind,
That opulence departed leaves behind;

糕

For

For wealth was theirs, not far remov'd the date,
When commerce proudly flourish'd through the state:
At her command the palace learn'd to rife,
Again the long-fall'n column fought the skies;
The canvas glow'd beyond e'en Nature warm,
The pregnant quarry teem'd with human form.
Till, more unsteady than the fouthern gale,
Commerce on other shores display'd her fail;
While nought remain'd of all that riches gavę,
But towns unmann'd, and lords without a slave:
And late the nation found with fruitless skill
It's former ftrength was but plethorick ill.

Yet, ftill the loss of wealth is here supply'd
By arts, the fplendid wrecks of former pride;
From these the feeble heart and long-fall'n mind
An eafy compenfation feem to find.

Here may be seen, in bloodlefs pomp array'd,
The pafte-board triumph and the cavalcade;
Proceffions form'd for piety and love,

A mistress or a faint in ev'ry grove.

By fports like these are all their cares beguil'd,
The fports of children fatisfy the child;
Each nobler aim, repress'd by long controul,
Now finks at laft, or feebly mans the foul;
While low delights, fucceeding fast behind,
In happier meannefs occupy the mind:

As in those domes, where Cæfars once bore fway,
Defac'd by time, and tott'ring in decay,

There in the ruin, heedlefs of the dead,
The shelter-feeking peasant builds his shed;
And, wond'ring man could want the larger pile,
Exults, and owns his cottage with a smile.

My foul turn from them-turn we to survey
Where rougher climes a nobler race display;
Where the bleak Swifs their ftormy manfion tread,
And force a churlish foil for fcanty bread:

No product here the barren hills afford,
But man and fteel, the foldier and his fword.
No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array,
But winter ling'ring chills the lap of May;
No zephyr fondly fues the mountain's breast,
But meteors glare, and ftormy glooms invest.

Yet ftill, e'en here, Content can spread a charm,
Redress the clime, and all it's rage difarm.

Though poor the peafant's hut, his feafts though fmall,
He fees his little lot the lot of all;

Sees no contiguous palace rear it's head,

To shame the meanness of his humble shed;
No coftly lord the fumptuous banquet deal,
To make him loathe his vegetable meal;
But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil,
Each wifh contracting, fits him to the foil.
Chearful at morn, he wakes from short repose,
Breathes the keen air, and carols as he goes;
With patient angle trolls the finny deep,

Or drives his vent'rous plough-fhare to the steep;
Or feeks the den where fnow-tracks mark the way,
And drags the struggling favage into day.
At night returning, ev'ry labour fped,
He fits him down the monarch of a shed;
Smiles by his chearful fire, and round furveys
His children's looks, that brighten at the blaze;
While his lov'd partner, boastful of her hoard,
Displays her cleanly platter on the board :
And haply too fome pilgrim, thither led,
With many a tale repays the nightly bed.

Thus ev'ry good his native wilds impart,
Imprints the patriot paffion on his heart;
And e'en thofe ills, that round his mansion rife,
Enhance the blifs his fcanty fund fupplies.
Dear is that fhed to which his foul conforms,
And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms;

And

And as a child, when fearing founds moleft,
Clings clofe and clofer to the mother's breaft,
So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar,
But bind him to his native mountains more.

Such are the charms to barren ftates affign'd;
Their wants but few, their wishes all confin'd.
Yet let them only fhare the praises due ;
If few their wants, their pleasures are but few:
For ev'ry want that ftimulates the breast,
Becomes a fource of pleasure when redress'd.
Whence from fuch lands each pleafing science flies,
That firft excites defire, and then fupplies;
Unknown to them, when fenfual pleasures cloy,
To fill the languid paufe with finer joy;
Unknown thofe pow'rs that raise the foul to flame,
Catch ev'ry nerve, and vibrate through the frame.
"Their level life is but a mould'ring fire,
Unquench'd by want, unfann'd by ftrong defire;
Unfit for raptures; or, if raptures chear
On fome high festival of once a year,
In wild excess the vulgar breast takes fire,
Till, buried in debauch, the bliss expire.

But not their joys alone thus coarsely flow;
Their morals, like their pleafures, are but low:
For, as refinement ftops, from fire to fon,
Unalter'd, unimprov'd, the manners run;
And love's and friendflip's finely pointed dart
Fall blunted from each indurated heart.
Some fterner virtues o'er the mountain's breaft
May fit, like falcons cowering on the neft;
But all the gentler morals, fuch as play
Through life's more cultur'd walks, and charm the way,
Thefe far difpers'd, on timorous pinions fly,

To fport and flutter in a kinder fky.

To kinder skies, where gentler manners reign, I turn-and France displays her bright domain.

Gay