Then fnug inclofures in the fhelter'd vale, Where frequent hedges intercept the eye, Delight us, happy to renounce awhile,
Not fenfeless of its charms, what still we love, That fuch fhort absence may endear it more. Then forefts, or the favage rock, may please, That hides the fea-mew in his hollow clefts Above the reach of man: his hoary head, Confpicuous many a league, the mariner, Bound homeward, and in hope already there, Greets with three cheers exulting. At his waift A girdle of half-wither'd fhrubs he shows, And at his feet the baffled billows die.
The common, overgrown with fern, and rough With prickly gorse, that, fhapeless and deform'd, And dang'rous to the touch, has yet its bloom, And decks itself with ornaments of gold, Yields no unpleafing ramble; there the turf Smells fresh, and, rich in odorif'rous herbs
And fungous fruits of earth, regales the fenfe With luxury of unexpected fweets.
There often wanders one, whom better days Saw better clad, in cloak of fattin trimm'd With lace, and hat with fplendid ribband bound. A ferving maid was fhe, and fell in love
With one who left her, went to sea, and died. Her fancy followed him through foaming waves To distant fhores, and fhe would fit and weep At what a failor fuffers; fancy too,
Delufive moft where warmeft wishes are,
Would oft anticipate his glad return,
And dream of transports she was not to know. She heard the doleful tidings of his death,
And never fmil'd again. And now she roams The dreary wafte; there fpends the livelong day, And there, unless when charity forbids,
The livelong night. A tatter'd
Worn as a cloak, and hardly hides a gown
More tatter'd ftill, and both but ill conceal
A bofom heav'd with never-ceafing fighs. She begs an idle pin of all she meets,
And hoards them in her fleeve; but needful food, Though prefs'd with hunger oft, or comelier cloaths, Though pinch'd with cold, afks never.-Kate is craz'd.
I fee a column of flow-rifing smoke
O'ertop the lofty wood that skirts the wild. A vagabond and useless tribe there eat Their miserable meal. A kettle, flung Between two poles upon a stick transverse, Receives the morfel; flesh obfcene of dog,
Or vermin, or, at best, of cock purloin'd From his accuftom'd perch. Hard-faring race! They pick their fuel out of ev'ry hedge,
Which, kindled with dry leaves, juft faves unquench'd The fpark of life. The fportive wind blows wide Their flutt'ring rags, and fhows a tawny skin,
The vellum of the pedigree they claim.
Great skill have they in palmistry, and more To conjure clean away the gold they touch, Conveying worthlefs drofs into its place;
Loud when they beg, dumb only when they steal. Strange! that a creature rational, and caft
In human mould, fhould brutalize by choice His nature, and, though capable of arts
By which the world might profit and himself, Self-banish'd from fociety, prefer
Such fqualid floth to honorable toil!
Yet even these, though, feigning fickness oft,
They swathe the forehead, drag the limping limb, And vex their flesh with artificial fores,
Can change their whine into a mirthful note
When safe occafion offers, and with dance,
And mufic of the bladder and the bag,
Beguile their woes, and make the woods refound.
Such health and gaiety of heart enjoy
The houseless rovers of the fylvan world;
And breathing wholesome air, and wand'ring much,
Need other phyfic none to heal th' effects
Of loathfome diet, penury, and cold.
Bleft he, though undistinguish'd from the crowd By wealth or dignity, who dwells fecure,
Where man, by nature fierce, has laid aside
His fiercenefs, having learnt, though flow to learn, The manners and the arts of civil life.
His wants, indeed, are many; but fupply Is obvious; plac'd within the easy reach Of temp'rate wishes and industrious hands. Here virtue thrives as in her proper foil; Not rude and furly, and befet with thorns, And terrible to fight, as when she springs (If e'er fhe spring spontaneous) in remote And barb'rous climes, where violence prevails, And strength is lord of all; but gentle, kind, By culture tam'd, by liberty refresh'd,
And all her fruits by radiant truth matur’d. War and the chace engrofs the favage whole;
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