As some fair female, unadorned and plain, Secure to please while youth confirms her reign, In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain, In all the glaring impotence of dress,— The rich man's joys increase, the poor's She then shines forth, solicitous to bless, decay, 'Tis yours to judge how wide the limits Thus fares the land by Luxury betrayed: stand Between a splendid and a happy land. ore, And shouting Folly hails them from her shore ; Hoards e'en beyond the miser's wish abound, And rich men flock from all the world around. In Nature's simplest charms at first arrayed, The mournful peasant leads his humble band; Yet count our gains: this wealth is but a Where, then-ah! where-shall Poverty reside name same. That leaves our useful products still the To 'scape the pressure of contiguous Pride? If to some common's fenceless limits strayed Not so the loss. The man of wealth and He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade, Those fenceless fields the sons of Wealth pride Takes up a space that many poor suppliedSpace for his lake, his park's extended bounds; Space for his horses, equipage and hounds; The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth Has robbed the neighboring fields of half their growth; His seat, where solitary sports are seen, Indignant spurns the cottage from the green; Around the world each needful product flies, For all the luxuries the world supplies; While thus the land, adorned for pleasure all, In barren splendor feebly waits the fall. divide, And even the bare-worn common is denied. There the black gibbet glooms beside the way. The dome where Pleasure holds her midnight | Far different there from all that charmed reign before Here, richly decked, admits the gorgeous The various terrors of that horrid shoreThose blazing suns that dart a downward train; Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square, The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare. Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy; Sure these denote one universal joy. Are these thy serious thoughts? Ah! turn thine eyes Where the poor houseless, shivering female lies. She once, perhaps, in village plenty blest, Now, lost to all, her friends, her virtue, fled, With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour Do thine, sweet Auburn-thine the loveliest train Do thy fair tribes participate her pain? Ah, no! To distant climes, a dreary scene, Where half the convex world intrudes between, Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go, Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe. deep, And, shuddering still to face the distant | Even now the devastation is begun, The good old sire, the first, prepared to go To new-found worlds, and wept for others' woe, But for himself, in conscious virtue brave, He only wished for worlds beyond the grave. stand, I see the rural virtues leave the land: the sail That idly waiting flaps with every gale, Contented toil and hospitable care His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears, woes, rose, And kind connubial tenderness are there, And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid, And blessed the cot where every pleasure Still first to fly where sensual joys invade, Unfit, in these degenerate times of shame, And kissed her thoughtless babes with many To catch the heart or strike for honest fame; a tear, Dear, charming nymph, neglected and decried, And clasped them close, in sorrow doubly dear; My shame in crowds, my solitary pride; Whilst her fond husband strove to lend Thou source of all my bliss and all my woe, relief In all the silent manliness of grief. O Luxury, thou curst by Heaven's decree, How do thy potions, with insidious joy, grow A bloated mass of rank unwieldy woe- Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin That foundst me poor at first, and keepst me so; Thou guide by which the nobler arts excel, On Tornea's cliffs or Pambamarca's side, Though very poor, may still be very blest, Of youthful pleasure's giddy round; That Trade's proudempire hastes to swift decay, It comes with memories deeply fraught OLIVER GOLDSMITH. TWELVE YEARS HAVE FLOWN. Of forms that roved life's sunniest bowers- TWELVE years have flown since last I A brief but eloquent reply! saw Where are youth's hopes, life's morning dream? Seek for the flowers that floated by Upon the rushing mountain-stream. Yet beneath that wave may sleep gems |