Without espousing the cause of any party, I have attempted to moderate the rage of all. I have endea voured to show, that there may be equal happiness in states, that are differently governed from our own; that every state has a particular principle of happiness, and that this principle in each may be carried to a mischievous excess. There are few can judge, better than yourself, how far these positions are illustrated in this Poem. I am,

THE TRAVELLER;

OR,

A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY *.

REMOTE, unfriended, melancholy, slow,
Or by the lazy Scheld, or wandering Po;
Or onward, where the rude Carinthian boor
Against the houseless stranger shuts the door;
Or where Campania's plain forsaken lies,
A weary waste expanding to the skies;
Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see,
My heart, untravell'd, fondly turns to thee:
Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain,
And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.

Several alterations were made in this Poem, and some new verses added to it, as it passed through different editions. -We have followed the last edition published in the lifetime of the author.

Eternal blessings crown my earliest friend, And round his dwelling guardian saints attend; Blest be that spot, where cheerful guests retire To pause from toil, and trim their evening fire; Blest that abode, where want and pain repair, And every stranger finds a ready chair;

Blest be those feasts with simple plenty crown'd,
Where all the ruddy family around

Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail,
Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale;

Or

press the bashful stranger to his food,

And learn the luxury of doing good.

But me not destin'd such delights to share,
My prime of life in wandering spent and care;
Impell'd with steps unceasing to pursue

Some fleeting good, that mocks me with the view;
That like the circle bounding earth and skies,
Allures from far, yet, as I follow, flies-
My fortune leads to traverse realms alone,
And find no spot of all the world my own.
Ev'n now, where Alpine solitudes ascend,
I sit me down a pensive hour to spend ;

And, plac'd on high above the storm's career, Look downward where an hundred realms appear; Lakes, forests, cities, plains extending wide,

The pomp of kings, the shepherd's humbler pride.

When thus Creation's charms around combine, Amidst the store should thankless pride repine? Say, should the philosophic mind disdain

That good which makes each humbler bosom vain ? Let school-taught pride dissemble all it can,

These little things are great to little man;

And wiser he, whose sympathetic mind

Exults in all the good of all mankind.

Ye glittering towns, with wealth and splendour crown'd;
Ye fields, where summer spreads profusion round;
Ye lakes, whose vessels catch the busy gale;

Ye bending swains, that dress the flowery vale

For me your tributary stores combine:
Creation's heir, the world, the world is mine.
As some lone miser visiting his store,

Bends at his treasure, counts, recounts it o'er ;
Hoards after hoards his rising raptures fill,

Yet still he sighs, for hoards are wanting still:

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Thus to my breast alternate passions rise,

Pleas'd with each good that Heaven to man supplies;
Yet oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall,

To see the hoard of human bliss so small;

And oft I wish, amidst the scene, to find
Some spot to real happiness consign'd,

Where my worn soul, each wandering hope at rest,
May gather bliss to see my fellows blest.
But where to find that happiest spot below,
Who can direct, when all pretend to know?
The shudd'ring tenant of the frigid zone
Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own;
Extols the treasures of his stormy seas,
And his long nights of revelry and ease:
The naked negro, panting at the line,
Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine,
Basks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave,
And thanks his gods for all the good they gave.
Such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam;
His first, best country, ever is—at home.
And yet, perhaps, if countries we compare,
And estimate the blessings which they share,