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Of pleasure and variety, dispatch,
Is to conduct it to the destin'd inn; As duly as the swallows disappear,
And, having dropp'd th' expected bag, pass on. The world of wand'ring knights and squires to town. He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch, London ingulfs them all! The shark is there, Cold and yet cheerful: messenger of grief And the shark's prey; the spendthrift, and the leech Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to some ; That sucks him: there the sycophant, and he To him indiff'rent whether grief or joy. Who, with bareheaded and obsequious bows, Houses in ashes, and the fall of stocks, Begs a warm office, doom'd to a cold gaol Births, deaths, and marriages, epistles wet And groat per diem, if his patron frown.
With tears, that trickled down the writer's cheeks The levee swarms as if in golden pomp
Fast as the periods from his fluent quill, Were character'd on ev'ry statesman's door, Or charg'd with am'rous sighs of absent swains, “BATTER'DAND BANKRUPT FORTUNES MENDED HERE." Or nymphs responsive, equally affect These are the charms, that sully and eclipse His horse and him, unconscious of them all. The charms of nature. 'Tis the cruel gripe, But 0 th' important budget! usher'd in That lean, hard-handed Poverty inflicts,
With such heart-shaking music, who can say The hope of better things, the chance to win, What are its tidings? have our troops awak'd ? The wish to shine, the thirst to be amus'd,
Or do they still, as if with opium drugg'd, That at the sound of Winter's hoary wing
Snore to the murmurs of the Atlantic wave? Unpeople all our counties of such herds
Is India free? and does she wear her plum'd Of Aut'ring, loit'ring, cringing, begging, loose, And jeweld turban with a smile of peace, And wanton vagrants, as make London, vast Or do we grind her still? The grand debate, And boundless as it is, a crowded coop.
The popular harangue, the tart reply, O thou, resort and mart of all the Earth, The logic, and the wisdom, and the wit, Chequer'd with all complexions of mankind, And the loud laugh-I long to know them all ; And spotted with all crimes; in whom I see I burn to set th' imprison'd wranglers free, Much that I love, and more that I admire,
And give them voice and utt'rance once again. And all that I abhor; thou freckled fair,
Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, That pleasest and yet shock’st me, I can laugh, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, And I can weep, can hope, and can despond, And while the bubbling and loud hissing urn Feel wrath and pity, when I think on thee! Throws up a steamy column, and the cups Ten righteous would have sav'd a city once, That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, And thou hast many righteous.— Well for thee- So let us welcome peaceful ev'ning in. That salt preserves thee; more corrupted else, Not such his ev’ning, who with shining face And therefore more obnoxious, at this hour, Sweats in the crowded theatre, and, squeez'd Than Sodom in her day had pow'r to be,
And bord with elbow-points through both his sides For whom God heard his Abr'ham plead in vain. Out-scolds the ranting actor on the stage :
Nor his, who patient stands till his feet throb,
Of patriots, bursting with heroic rage,
Or placemen, all tranquillity and smiles.
This folio of four pages, happy work!
Which not ev'n critics criticise ; that holds
Inquisitive Attention, while I read,
Fast bound in chains of silence, which the fair, The post comes in. The newspaper is read. The Though eloquent themselves, yet fear to break;
World contemplated at a distance. Address to What is it, but a map of busy life, Winter. The rural amusements of a winter even. Its fluctuations, and its vast concerns ? ing compared with the fashionable ones. Ad- Here runs the mountainous and craggy ridge, dress to evening. A brown study. Fall of snow That tempts Ambition. On the summit see in the evening. The wagoner. A poor family. The seals of office glitter in his eyes : piece. The rural thief. Public houses. The He climbs, he pants, he grasps them! At his heels multitude of them censured. The farmer's daugh-Close at his heels, a demagogue ascends, ter: what she was—what she is. The simplicity And with a dext'rous jerk soon twists him down, of country manners almost lost. Causes of the And wins them, but to lose them in his turn. change. Desertion of the country by the rich. Here rills of oily eloquence in soft Neglect of magistrates. The militia principally Meanders lubricate the course they take ; in fault. The new recruit and his transformation. The modest speaker is asham'd and griev'd Reflection on bodies corporate. The love of rural T' engross a moment's notice; and yet begs, objects natural to all, and never to be totally ex- Begs a propitious ear for his poor thoughts, tinguished.
However trivial all that he conceives.
Sweet bashfulness! it claims at least this praise ; HARK! 'tis the twanging horn o'er yonder bridge, The dearth of information and good sense, That with its wearisome but needful length That it foretells us, always comes to pass. Bestrides the wintry flood, in which the Moon Cat'racts of declamation thunder here: Sees her unwrinkled face reflected bright; There forests of no meaning spread the page, He comes, the herald of a noisy world,
In which all comprehension wanders lost; With spatter'd boots, strapp'd waist, and frozen locks; While fields of pleasantry amuse us there News from all nations lumb’ring at his back. With merry descants on a nation's woes. True to his charge, the close-pack'd load behind, The rest appears a wilderness of strange Yet careless what he brings, his one concern But gay confusion; roses for the cheeks
And lilies for the brows of faded age,
But here the needle plies its busy task,
Unfolds its bosom ; buds, and leaves, and sprigs,
And curling tendrils, gracefully dispos'd,
Follow the nimble finger of the fair;
A wreath, that cannot fade, of flow'rs, that blow
'Tis pleasant through the loop-holes of retreat, The poet's or historian's page by one
Made vocal for th'amusement of the rest;
And the clear voice symphonious, yet distinct,
And in the charming strise triumphant still ;
Beguile the night, and set a keener edge
Of the last meal commence. A Roman meal ;
Such as the mistress of the world once found
Perhaps by moonlight, at their humble doors,
Nor do we madly, like an impious world,
That made them, an intruder on their joys,
Start at his awful name, or deem his praise
A jarring note. Themes of a graver tone,
While we retrace with Mem’ry's pointing wand,
That calls the past to our exact review,
The disappointed foe, deliv'rance found
Unlook'd for, life preserv'd, and peace restord,
Fruits of omnipotent eternal love.
The Sabine bard. O ev'nings, I reply,
The pent-up breath of an unsav'ry throng,
To thaw him into feeling; or the smart
And snappish dialogue, that fippant wits And dreaded as thou art! Thou hold'st the Sun Call comedy, to prompt him with a smile ? A pris'ner in the yet undawning east,
The self-complacant actor, when he views Short'ning his journey between morn and noon, (Stealing a sidelong glance at a full house) And hurrying him, impatient of his stay,
The slope of faces, from the floor to th' roof Down to the rosy west; but kindly still
|(As if one master-spring controlld them all) Compensating his loss with added hours
Relax'd into a universal grin,
Sees not a count'nance there, that speaks of joy
Cards were superfluous here, with all the tricks
To fill the void of an unfurnish'd brain,
Time, as he passes us, has a dove's wing,
Unsoil'd, and swift, and of a silken sound ; Of long uninterrupted ev’ning, know.
But the World's Time is Time in masquerade ! Yo rauiling wheels stop short before these gates ; Theirs, should I paint him, has his pinions fledg'd No powder'd pert, proficient in the art
With motley plumes; and, where the peacock shc .us of sounding an alarm, assaults these doors
His azure eyes, is tinctur'd black and red Till the street rings; no stationary steeds
With spots quadrangular of diamond form, Cough their own knell, while, heedless of the sound, Ensanguin'd hearts, clubs typical of strife, The silent circle fan themselves, and quake: And spades, the emblem of untimely graves. 96
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What should be, and what was an hour-glass once, In the red cinders, while with poring eye
I gaz'd, myself creating what I saw.
Of superstition, prophesying still,
In indolent vacuity of thought, Of card-devoted Time, and night by night
And sleeps and is refresh'd. Meanwhile the face Plac'd at some vacant corner of the board, Conceals the mood lethargic with a mask Learn ev'ry trick, and soon play all the game. of deep deliberation, as the man But truce with censure. Roving as I rove, Were task'd to his full strength, absorb'd and lost. Where shall I find an end, or how proceed ? Thus oft reclin'd at ease, I lose an hour As he that travels far oft turns aside
At ev'ning, till at length the freezing blast, To view some rugged rock or mould'ring tow'r, That sweeps the bolted shutter, summons home Which seen delights him not; then coming home The recollected pow'rs, and snapping short Describes and prints it, that the world may know The glassy threads, with which the Faney weares How far he went for what was nothing worth; Her britile toils, restores me io myself. So I, with brush in hand and pallet spread, How calm is my recess! and how the frost, With colors mix'd for a far diff'rent use,
Raging abroad, and the rough wind, endear Paint cards and dolls, and ev'ry idle thing, The silence and the warmth enjoy'd within ! That Fancy finds in her excursive flights.
I saw the woods and fields at close of day
The golden harvest, of a mellow brown,
With verdure not unprofitable, graz'd
His fav'rite herb; while all the leafless groves, Not sumptuously adorn'd, not needing aid,
That skirt th' horizon, wore a sable hue, Like homely-featur'd Night, of clust'ring gems; Scarce notic'd in the kindred dusk of eve. A slar or two, just twinkling on thy, brow,
To-morrow brings a change, a total change! Suffices thee; save that the Moon is thine
Which even now, though silently perform d, No less than hers, not worn indeed on high And slowly, and by most unfelt, ihe face With ostentatious pageantry, but set
Of universal nature undergoes. With modest grandeur in thy purple zone,
Fast falls a fleecy show'r: the downy flakes
Descending, and with never-ceasing lapse,
Assimilate all objects. Earth receives
Gladly the thick'ning mantle; and the green To books, to music, or the poet's toil ;
And tender blade, that fear'd the chilling blast, To weaving nets for bird-alluring fruit;
Escapes unhurt beneath so warm a reil. Or twining silken threads round iv'ry reels,
In such a world, so thorny, and where none When they command whom man was born to Finds happiness unblighted, or, if found, please;
Without some thistly sorrow at its side ; I slight thee not, but make thee welcome still. It seems the part of wisdom, and no sin
Just when our drawing-rooms begin to blaze Against the law of love, to measure lots With lights, by clear reflection multiplied
With less distinguish'd than ourselves ; that thus From many a mirror, in which he of Gath, We may with patience bear our mod 'rate ills, Goliath, might have seen his giant bulk.
And sympathize with others sufforing more. Whole without stooping, tow'ring crest and all, Ill fares the trav'ller now, and he that stalks My pleasures, too, begin. But me perhaps In pond'rous boots beside his reeking team. The glowing hearth may satisfy awhile
The wain goes heavily, impeded sore With faint illumination, that uplifts
By congregated loads adhering close The shadows to the ceiling, there by fits
To the clogg'd wheels; and in its sluggish pace Dancing uncouthly to the quiv’ring flame. Noiseless appears a moving hill of snow. Not undelightful is an hour to me
The toiling steeds expand the nostril wide, So spent in parlor twilight: such a gloom
While ev'ry breath, by respiration strong
Forc'd downward, is consolidated soon
The pelting brunt of the tempestuous night,
Presented bare against the storm, plods on. Nor need one; I am conscious, and confess
One hand secures his hat, save when with both Fearless a soul, that does not always think. He brandishes his pliant length of whip, Me oft has Fancy ludicrous and wild
Resounding oft, and never heard in vain. Sooth'd with a waking dream of houses, tow'rs, O happy! and in my account denied Trees, churches, and strange visages, express'd That sensibility of pain, with which
Refinement is endu'd, thrice-happy thou!
But poverty with most, who whimper forth
The effect of laziness or sottish waste.
Now goes the nightly thief prowling abroad
By works of darkness and noctural wrong.
Deep in the loamy bank. Uptorn by strength,
Poor, yet industrious, modest, quiet, neat, The well-stack'd pile of riven logs and roots
Unwrench'd the door, however well secur'd,
He gives the princely bird, with all his wives,
Nor this to feed his own. "Twere some excuse,
His victims, robbid of their defenceless all.
Cruel is all he does. 'Tis quenchless thirst
of ruinous ebriety, than prompts
His ev'ry action, and imbrutes the man.
O for a law to noose the villain's neck,
And wrongs the woman he has sworn to love!
Pass where we may, through city or through town,
of stale debauch, forth-issuing from the styes
That law has licens'd, as makes Temp’rance reel.
All learned, and all drunk! The fiddle screams
Plaintive and piteous, as it wept and wailid
Its wasted tones and harmony unheard :
Fierce the dispute, whate'er the theme; while she,
Fell Discord, arbitress of such debate,
Perch'd on the sign-post, holds with even hand
Her undecisive scales. In this she lays
And smiles delighted with the eternal poise.
Dire is the frequent curse, and its twin sound,
As ornamental, musical, polite,
Like those which modern senators employ,
Shakes her encumber'd lap, and casts them out. And the first larum of the cock's shrill throat
To horrid sounds of hostile feet within.
Through pathless wastes and woods, unconscious once Th’ Excise is fattend with the rich result
of other tenants than melodious birds, Of all this riot; and ten thousand casks,
Or harmless flocks, is hazardous and bold. For ever dribbling out their base contents, Lamented change! to which full many a cause Touch'd by the Midas finger of the state,
Invet'rate, hopeless of a cure, conspires, Bleed gold for ministers to sport away.
The course of human things from good to ill, Drink, and be mad, then ; 'tis your country bids ! From ill to worse, is fatal, never fails. Gloriously drunk, obey th' important call ! Increase of pow'r begets increase of wealth; Her cause demands th' assistance of your throats ;
-Wealth, luxury; and luxury, excess ; Ye all can swallow, and she asks no more.
Excess, the scrofulous and itchy plague, Would I had fallin upon those happier days, That seizes first the opulent, descends That poets celebrate ; those golden times,
To the next rank contagious, and in time And those Arcadian scenes, that Maro sings, Taints downward all the graduated scale And Sidney, warbler of poetic prose.
Of order, from the chariot to the plow. Nymphs were Dianas then, and swains had hearts, The rich, and they that have an arm to check That felt their virtues : Innocence, it seems, The license of the lowest in degree, From courts dismiss'd, found shelter in the groves ; Desert their office; and themselves, intent The footsteps of Simplicity, impress'd
On pleasure, haunt the capital, and thus Upon the yielding herbage, (so they sing.)
To all the violence of lawless hands
Authority herself not seldom sleeps,
The magisterial sword in vain, and lays
His rev'rence and his worship boih to rest Impos'd a gay delirium for a truth.
On the same cushion of habitual sloth. Grant it: I still must envy them an age,
Perhaps timidity restrains his arm; Thai favor’d such a dream; in days like these When he should strike he trembles, and sets free, Impossible, when Virtue is so scarce,
Himself enslav'd by terror of the band, That to suppose a scene where she presides, Th' audacious convict, whom he dares not bind. Is tramontane, and stumbles all belief.
Perhaps, though by profession ghostly pure, No: we are polish'd now. The rural lass, He too may have his vice, and sometimes prove Whom once her virgin modesty and grace, Less dainty than becomes his grave outside Her artless manners, and her neat attire,
In lucrative concerns. Examine well So dignified, that she was hardly less
His milk-white hand; the palm is hardly cleanThan the fair shepherdess of old romance,
But here and there an ugly smutch appear. Is seen no more. The character is lost !
Foh! 'twas a bribe that left it: he has touch'd Her head, adorn’d with lappets pinn'd aloft, Corruption. Whoso seeks an audit here And ribands streaming gay, superbly rais'd, Propitious, pays his tribuie, game or fish, And magnified beyond all human size,
Wild-fowl or ven'son; and his errand speeds. Indebted to some smart wig-weaver's hand
But faster far, and more than all the rest, For more than half the tresses it sustains ; A noble cause, which none, who bears a spark Her elbows ruffled, and her tott'ring form
of public virtue, ever wish'd remov'd, Ill-propp'd upon French heels ; she might be deem'd Works the deplor'd and mischievous effect. (But that the basket dangling on her arm
| 'Tis universal soldiership has stabb'd Interprets her more truly) of a rank
The heart of merit in the meaner class.
And incompatible with serious thought.
Blest with an infant's ignorance of all
A wrestling-match, a foot-race, or a fair;
Sheepish he doffs his hat, and mumbling swears Th' unguarded door was safe ; men did not watch A Bible-oath to be whate'er they please, T' invade another's right, or guard their own. To do he knows not what. The task perform'd, Then sleep was undisturb'd by fear, unscar'd That instant he becomes the sergeant's care, By drunken howling; and the chilling tale His pupil, and his torment, and his jest. Of midnight murder was a wonder heard
Ilis awkward gait, his introverted toes, With doubtful credit, told to frighten babes. Bent knees, round shoulders, and dejected looks, But farewell now to unsuspicious nights,
Procure him many a curse. By slow degrees, And slumbers unalarm’d! Now, ere you sleep, Unapt to learn, and form’d of stubborn stuff, See that your polish d arms be prim'd with care, He yet by slow degrees puts off himself, And drop the night-bolt ;-ruffians are abroad; Grows conscious of a change, and likes it well: