THUS naught is useless made; nor is there land But what or of itself or else compell'd
Affords advantage. On the barren heath The shepherd tends his flock, that daily crop Their verdant dinner from the mossy turf Sufficient; after them the cackling goose, Close grazer, finds wherewith to ease her want. What should I more? Ev'n on the cliffy height Of Penmenmaur, and that cloud-piercing hill Plinlimmon, from afar the traveller kens Astonish'd how the goats their shrubby browse
mg, the earliest of our parodies, is still considered as one of the happiest specimens of the burlesque. On its first appearance it startled the world as something new. Its humour is quiet and droll; the treatment of so rude a subject in the lofty Miltonic style and measure, was a bold attempt; but as the writer was then totally unknown, the risk of failure which he incurred was very slight. We cannot find in it the talent that others have found; while his poem of Cider, which has been generally regarded as of far less merit, to us appears a production of the highest and rarest order. It is at once "a book of entertainment and of science." It communicates a vast quantity of knowledge in a form the most agreeable and impressive; there is, indeed, no point or circumstance connected with the subject upon which the author has not offered some comment, and given some explanation; passing from essays on the nature and culture of the soil, to rural sports, when labour is over,-from the seasons, their changes and effects, to the industry of the husbandman and the skill of the mechanic,-from the growth of the tree to the treatment of the varied fruit it bears, and always with a grace, easy, unforced, and natural. The poem is, like the subject of it, essentially English-the style is nervous, clear and comprehensive; the writer, if rarely enthusiastic, is always satisfactory; and the reader derives
THUS naught is useless made; nor is there land But what or of itself or else compell'd
Affords advantage. On the barren heath The shepherd tends his flock, that daily crop Their verdant dinner from the mossy turf Sufficient; after them the cackling goose, Close grazer, finds wherewith to ease her want. What should I more? Ev'n on the cliffy height Of Penmenmaur, and that cloud-piercing hill Plinlimmon, from afar the traveller kens Astonish'd how the goats their shrubby browse
How from a scraggy rock whose prominence Half overshades the ocean hardy men,
Fearless of rending winds and dashing waves, Cut samphire, to excite the squeamish gust Of pamper'd luxury. Then let thy ground Not lie unlabour'd; if the richest stem Refuse to thrive, yet who would doubt to plant Somewhat that may to human use redound, And penury the worst of ills remove?
The farmer's toil is done; his cades mature Now call for vent; his lands exhaust permit T' indulge awhile. Now solemn rites he pays To Bacchus, author of heart-cheering mirth. His honest friends at thirsty hour of dusk Come uninvited; he with bounteous hand Imparts his smoking vintage, sweet reward Of his own industry; the well-fraught bowl, Circles incessant, whilst the humble cell With quav'ring laugh and rural jests resounds. Ease and content, and undissembled love, Shine in each face; the thoughts of labour past Increase their joy: as, from retentive cage, When sullen Philomel escapes, her notes She varies, and of past imprisonment Sweetly complains; her liberty retriev'd
Cheers her sad soul, improves her pleasing song: Gladsome they quaff, yet not exceed the bounds Of healthy temp'rance, nor encroach on night, Season of rest, but well bedew'd repair Each to his home with unsupplanted feet. Ere heav'n 's emblazon'd by the rosy dawn, Domestic cares awake them; brisk they rise, Refresh'd, and lively with the joys that flow From amicable talk and mod'rate cups Sweetly interchang'd.
In clean array for rustic dance prepare,
Mixt with the buxom damsels; hand in hand They frisk and bound, and various mazes weave, Shaking their brawny limbs, with uncouth mien Transported, and sometimes an oblique leer
Steal from unwary lasses; they with scorn And neck reclin'd resent the ravish'd bliss: Mean-while blind British bards with volant touch Traverse loquacious strings, whose solemn notes Provoke to harmless revels.
HAPPY the man who, void of cares and strife, In silken or in leathern purse retains A Splendid Shilling! he nor hears with pain New oysters cry'd, nor sighs for cheerful ale; But with his friends, when nightly mists arise, To Juniper's Magpie, or Town-Hall, repairs, Where, mindful of the nymph whose wanton eye Transfix'd his soul and kindled amorous flames, Cloe or Phillis, he each circling glass Wisheth her health, and joy and equal love; Mean-while he smokes and laughs at merry tale Or pun ambiguous, or conundrum quaint: But I, whom griping penury surrounds And hunger, sure attendant upon want, With scanty offals and small acid tiff (Wretched repast!) my meagre corpse sustain: Then solitary walk, or doze at home In garret vile, and with a warming puff Regale chill'd fingers; or from tube as black As winter chimney, or well-polish'd jet Exhale mundungus, ill perfuming scent! Not blacker tube, nor of a shorter size, Smokes Cambro-Briton (vers'd in pedigree Sprung from Cadwallador and Arthur, kings Full famous in romantic tale) when he O'er many a craggy hill and barren cliff Upon a cargo of fam'd Cestrian cheese High over-shadowing rides, with a design To vend his wares, or at th' Arvonian mart Or Maridunum, or the ancient town Yclep'd Brechinia, or where Vaga's stream Encircles Ariconium, fruitful soil! Whence flow nectareous wines that well may
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