For property stripp'd off by cruel chance; From gaiety that fills the bones with pain, The mouth with blasphemy, the heart with woe. The earth was made so various, that the mind Of desultory man, studious of change, And pleased with novelty, might be indulged. Prospects however lovely may be seen Till half their beauties fade; the weary sight,
Too well acquainted with their smiles, slides off Fastidious, seeking less familiar scenes.
Then snug inclosures in the shelter'd vale,
Where frequent hedges intercept the eye, Delight us, happy to renounce a while 3,
Not senseless of its charms, what still we love, That such short absence may endear it more. Then forests, or the savage rock may please,
That hides the sea-mew in his hollow clefts Above the reach of man: his hoary head Conspicuous many a league, the mariner Bound homeward, and in hope already there, Greets with three cheers exulting. At his waist A girdle of half-wither'd shrubs he shows, And at his feet the baffled billows die.
The common overgrown with fern 37, and rough
Thee satiate, to short absence I could yield, For solitude sometimes is best society, And short retirement urges sweet return.
37 E'en the wild heath displays her purple dies, And midst the desert fruitful fields arise.
With prickly goss, that shapeless and deform And dangerous to the touch, has yet its bloom And decks itself with ornaments of gold, Yields no unpleasing ramble; there the turf Smells fresh, and rich in odoriferous herbs And fungous fruits of earth, regales the sense With luxury of unexpected sweets.
There often wanders one, whom better days Saw better clad, in cloak of sattin trimm'd With lace, and hat with splendid ribband bound. A serving-maid was she, and fell in love With one who left her, went to sea and died. Her fancy follow'd him through foaming waves To distant shores, and she would sit and weep At what a sailor suffers; fancy too, Delusive most where warmest 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 smiled again. And now she roams The dreary waste; there spends the livelong day, And there, unless when charity forbids,
The livelong night. A tatter'd apron hides, Worn as a cloak, and hardly hides a gown More tatter'd still; and both but ill conceal A bosom heaved with never-ceasing sighs. She begs an idle pin of all she meets, And hoards them in her sleeve; but needful food, Though press'd with hunger oft, or comelier clothes, Though pinch'd with cold, asks never 38.-Kate is crazed.
28 Man may dismiss compassion from his heart,
I see a column of slow-rising smoke O'ertop the lofty wood that skirts the wild. A vagabond and useless tribe there eat Their miserable meal. A kettle slung Between two poles upon a stick transverse, Receives the morsel; flesh obscene of dog, Or vermin, or at best, of cock purloin'd From his accustom'd perch. Hard-faring race! They pick their fuel out of every hedge, Which kindled with dry leaves, just saves unquench'd The spark of life. The sportive wind blows wide Their fluttering rags, and shows 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 worthless dross into its place.
Loud when they beg, dumb only when they steal. Strange! that a creature rational, and cast
In human mould, should brutalize by choice His nature, and though capable of arts
By which the world might profit and himself, Self-banish'd from society, prefer
Such squalid sloth to honourable toil.
Yet even these, though feigning sickness oft
An assembly such as earth
They swathe the forehead, drag the limping limb And vex their flesh with artificial sores, Can change their whine into a mirthful note When safe occasion offers, and with dance
And music of the bladder and the bag
Beguile their woes and make the woods resound. Such health and gaiety of heart enjoy
The houseless rovers of the sylvan world;
And breathing wholesome air 39, and wandering much, Need other physic none to heal the effects
Of loathsome diet, penury, and cold.
Blest he, though undistinguish'd from the crowd
By wealth or dignity, who dwells secure
Where man, by nature fierce, has laid aside
His fierceness, having learnt, though slow to learn, 595 The manners and the arts of civil life. His wants, indeed, are many; but supply Is obvious; placed within the easy reach Of temperate wishes and industrious hands. Here virtue thrives as in her proper soil; Not rude and surly, and beset with thorns, And terrible to sight, as when she springs, (If e'er she spring spontaneous,) in remote And barbarous climes, where violence prevails, And strength is lord of all; but gentle, kind, By culture tamed, by liberty refresh'd, And all her fruits by radiant truth matured. War and the chase engross the savage whole : War follow'd for revenge, or to supplant The envied tenants of some happier spot,
39 The physic of the field.
Essay on Criticism, iii. 174.
The chase for sustenance, precarious trust! His hard condition with severe constraint Binds all his faculties, forbids all growth Of wisdom, proves a school in which he learns Sly circumvention, unrelenting hate, Mean self-attachment, and scarce aught beside. Thus fare the shivering natives of the north, And thus the rangers of the western world Where it advances far into the deep,
Towards the Antarctic. Even the favour'd isles 620 So lately found, although the constant sun Cheer all their seasons with a grateful smile, Can boast but little virtue; and inert Through plenty, lose in morals what they gain In manners, victims of luxurious ease. These therefore I can pity, placed remote From all that science traces, art invents, Or inspiration teaches; and inclosed In boundless oceans never to be pass'd By navigators uninform'd as they,
Or plough'd perhaps by British bark again. But far beyond the rest, and with most cause, Thee, gentle savage"! whom no love of thee Or thine, but curiosity perhaps,
Or else vain-glory, prompted us to draw
Forth from thy native bowers, to show thee here
40 Could nature's bounty satisfy the breast, The sons of Italy were surely blest.-
But small the bliss that sense alone bestows, And sensual bliss is all the nation knows.
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