On what the torrent, and the gather'd blast; 80
Gave the tall ancient forest to his axe;
Taught him to chip the wood, and hew the stone,
Till by degrees the finish'd fabric rose;
Tore from his limbs the blood-polluted fur,
And wrapt them in the woolly vestment warm, 85
Or bright in glossy silk, and flowing lawn;
With wholesome viands fill'd his table, pour'd
The generous glass around, inspired to wake
The life-refining soul of decent wit: X
Nor stopp'd at barren bare necessity;
But still advancing bolder, led him on
To pomp, to pleasure, elegance, and grace;
And, breathing high ambition through his soul,
Set Science, Wisdom, Glory, in his view,
And bade him be the Lord of all below.
Then gathering men their natural powers com
And form'd a Public; to the general good
Submitting, aiming, and conducting all.
For this the Patriot-Council met, the full,
The free, and fairly represented Whole;
For this they plann'd the holy guardian laws,
Distinguish'd orders, animated arts,
And with joint force Oppression chaining, set
Imperial Justice at the helm; yet still
To them accountable: nor slavish dream'd
That toiling Millions must resign their weal,
And all the honey of their search, to such
As for themselves alone themselves have raised.
Hence every
In order set, protected, and inspired,
Into perfection wrought. Uniting all,
Society grew numerous, high, polite,
And happy. Nurse of art! the City rear'd
In beauteous pride her tower-encircled head;
And, stretching street on street, by thousands
drew,
From twining woody haunts, or the tough yew
To bows strong-straining, her aspiring sons.
Then Commerce brought into the public walk The busy Merchant; the big warehouse built; Raised the strong crane; choked up the loaded
With foreign plenty; and thy stream, O Thames,
Large, gentle, deep, majestic, king of floods!
Chose for his grand resort. On either hand,
Like a long wintry forest, groves of masts
Shot up their spires; the bellying sheet between
Possess'd the breezy void; the sooty hulk
Steer'd sluggish on; the splendid barge along
Row'd, regular, to harmony; around,
The boat, light-skimming, stretch'd its oary wings;
While deep the various voice of fervent Toil 130
From bank to bank increased; whence ribb'd with
To bear the British thunder, black, and bold,
The roaring Vessel rush'd into the main.
Then too the pillar'd Dome, magnific, heaved Its ample roof; and Luxury within
Pour'd out her glittering stores; the Canvass
With glowing life protuberant, to the view
Embodied rose; the Statue seem'd to breathe,
And soften into flesh; beneath the touch
Of forming Art, imagination-flush'd.
All is the gift of Industry; whate'er Exalts, embellishes, and renders life Delightful. Pensive Winter cheer'd by him Sits at the social fire, and happy hears The excluded tempest idly rave along ; His harden'd fingers deck the gaudy Spring; Without him Summer were an arid waste; Nor to the Autumnal months could thus transmit Those full, mature, immeasurable stores That, waving round, recall my wandering song. 150 Soon as the morning trembles o'er the sky, And, unperceived, unfolds the spreading day; Before the ripen'd field the Reapers stand, In fair array, each by the Lass he loves, To bear the rougher part, and mitigate By nameless gentle offices her toil.
At once they stoop, and swell the lusty Sheaves; While through their cheerful band the rural talk, The rural scandal, and the rural jest,
Fly harmless, to deceive the tedious time,
And steal unfelt the sultry hours away.
Behind the Master walks, builds up the Shocks;
And, conscious, glancing oft on every side
His sated eye, feels his heart heave with joy.
The Gleaners spread around, and here and there,
Spike after spike, their sparing harvest pick.
Be not too narrow, Husbandmen! but fling
From the full sheaf, with charitable stealth,
The liberal handful. Think, oh grateful think!
How good the God of Harvest is to you;
Who pours abundance o'er your flowing fields;
While these unhappy partners of your kind
Wide-hover round you, like the fowls of heaven,
And ask their humble dole. The various turns
Of fortune ponder; that your Sons may want 175
What now, with hard reluctance, faint, ye give.,
The lovely young Lavinia once had Friends;
And Fortune smiled, deceitful, on her birth.
For, in her helpless years deprived of all,
Of every stay, save Innocence and Heaven,
She with her widow'd Mother, feeble, old,
And poor, lived in a cottage, far retired
Among the windings of a woody vale;
By solitude and deep surrounding shades,
But more by bashful modesty, conceal'd,
Together thus they shunn'd the cruel scorn
Which Virtue, sunk to poverty, would meet
From giddy Fashion and low-minded Pride!
Almost on Nature's common bounty fed;
Like the gay Birds that sung them to repose, 190
Content, and careless of to-morrow's fare.
Her form was fresher than the morning Rose,
When the dew wets its leaves; unstain'd and pure
As is the Lily, or the mountain Snow.
The modest Virtues mingled in her eyes,
Still on the ground, dejected, darting all
Their humid beams into the blooming flowers:
Or when the mournful tale her Mother told,
Of what her faithless fortune promised once,
Thrill'd in her thought, they, like the dewy star
Of evening, shone in tears. A native Grace
Sat fair-proportion'd on her polished limbs,
Veil'd in a simple robe, their best attire,
Beyond the pomp of dress; for Loveliness
Needs not the foreign aid of ornament,
But is when unadorn'd, adorn'd the most.
Thoughtless of beauty, she was Beauty's self,
Recluse amid the close-embowering woods.
As in the hollow breast of Apennine,
Beneath the shelter of encircling hills,
A Myrtle rises, far from human eye,
And breathes its balmy fragrance o'er the wild;
So flourish'd blooming, and unseen by all,
The sweet Lavinia; till, at length, compell'd
By strong Necessity's supreme command,
With smiling Patience in her looks, she went
To glean Palemon's fields. The pride of swains
Palemon was, the generous, and the rich;
Who led the rural life in all its joy
And elegance, such as Arcadian song
Transmits from ancient uncorrupted times ;
When tyrant Custom had not shackled man,
But free to follow Nature was the mode.
He then, his fancy with autumnal scenes
|