University of Virginia Library

No wealthy Wizard, here, with haughty pales,
Impounds large portions of those Hills and Dales,
Reversing fairy ring, and circling spell,
Where greener grass, or purer Spirits, dwell—
Where Worth can sleep secure, in magic fence,
With Thieves and evil Demons driven thence.
Such proud impalements scarcely e'er inclose
True hosts of Friends, or fence off treacherous Foes;
Nor Health, Peace, Happiness, nor Hope, retain,
Excluding Sorrow, Sickness, Care, or Pain—
Nor can their pow'r, or churlish looks, repel
The frowns of Conscience, or the fears of Hell!
They simply serve to fix forbidding bound,
To fruitful fields, and manag'd meadows, round;
To keep out Cattle, and the woolly Race,
Whose rustic troops would spoil so pure a place.
No fence can answer Life's important end,
Their hopes to foster, or their health defend,—
Tho' fortified so strong their useless lawns,
For fleeceless unpenn'd hinds, and does, and fawns.
High, ostentatious Domes, and proud Parades—
Unhallow'd Temples—unproductive Shades—
Shrubberies, all barren—Streams, that useless glide,
Merely to heighten Lust, and pamper Pride!

Scarce, in such Scenes, Lake—Lawn—or Dome, supply
One moral rapture, or one genuine joy!
Nor whispering woodland, nor green shady grove;
Nor shelter'd skreen, smooth walk, or cool alcove;
On Luxury, Pride, or Lust, or Sloth, bestows,
More bliss than restless lounge or dreaming doze.
No sacrilegious plough the turf must tear—
No labouring Lout must print base footsteps there—
No notched sickle, gathering golden sheaves,
Unseemly sight! long, tawney, stubble, leaves;
Nor, o'er the shaven sod, the shining scythe,
For vulgar cattle, cuts the herbage blythe,
But the fair produce of its frequent crops,
As filthy refuse, on the dunghill drops!

Thus countless acres lie, in worthless waste,
To banish all that frets fastidious Taste—
All squeamish Pomp, or Arrogance, disgusts,
That low'rs Life's pride, or Eyes' deluding lusts—
Ev'n Population's springs, and Culture's course,
Must stop their currents, and dry up their source,
The Country's riches, and the Kingdom's dow'r,
To Ostentation, sacrificed by Pow'r!

Wisdom's clear ken beholds, with greater glee,
Fair Agriculture's rich Economy.
Still, while the active Scene attracts her sight,
Utility contributes pure delight;
For, when with Beauty Benefit's combin'd,
The joint reflection fills the generous Mind.
Her Pow'r, prophetic, sees the fallow field,
Its wintry stores of nurturing Turnips yield.
Foresees the silvery floods of Barley, borne—
Next, twice, in Summer, shining Clover shorn;
Then scatter'd compost, and the fatt'ning fold—
Give their full tides of Wheat in waving gold!
Eyes hills with fleecy flocks well whiten'd o'er,
Not unclipp'd Deers' aristocratic store,
The meads' green table spread with plenteous meat,
Milch Kines', and culturing Teams, perpetual treat;
Or sundried heaps producing annual towns,
For food and shelter when bleak Winter frowns;
Hassocks, and woods, to frequent falls assign'd,
With countless blessings comforting Mankind!
Not puzzling labyrinths, groves, and vistas, grand,
To stablish Pride, and perish where they stand!
Views labouring lakes their foamy floods disgorge,
To blow the furnace, and to work the forge—
To grind the grain, or bolt the branny flour,
With strength untir'd, surpassing human pow'r—
While sparkling stones, and whirling spindles, run,
To burnish tools, or bore the guarding gun:
Not growing stagnant, in unwholesome glades,
Or scatt'ring pow'r in puerile cascades!
Scans comely fabrics, for convenience built,
With garniture, and table, free from guilt—
The swarming hamlets' procreative hive,
Where useful Arts, and Manufactures, thrive;
And each inhabitant fulfils its trust,
Alert, with temperance, and with toil, robust.
Their cells replete with tireless working troops,
Or, round their thresholds throng'd, in gladsome groups—
While some, dispatch'd, 'mid fields and woodlands toil,
To win just wage, or porter lawful spoil—
Each cottage teeming with a rising race;
Life in each limb, and health in frame, and face;
Like sapling oaks, enlarging year by year,
The perfect male and female forms appear;
By gradual steps ascending, strong, and hale,
From puling babe to manhood's noblest scale!
Where unsophisticated Man, or Beast,
On every acre find an ample feast;
Whilst labour—health—innocence, combine
To make the prospect, and the people, shine!
Not formal Frames, unmeet for motion, set,
Like waxen figures, in gilt cabinet—
Muscles relax'd, and tendons loosely knit,
Unapt for labour, and for love unfit—
From languid faces rose and lily flown!
The softening smile, and kindling laugh, unknown!
No rayless orbs, and cheeks' cold, lifeless, look,
Which, like wan lips, all freshness has forsook;
But eyes' electric sparks, with spirit warm,
Which melt the soul, and take the heart by storm!
While pure complexions clear vermilion glow,
Lies, brightly bedded round, with sheets of snow;
With all those matchless charms, truth need not tell,
Where Love, without alloy might alway dwell!
No freezing coldness—no affected ease—
Too dead for passion, and too dull to please—
Weak, with indulgence—low, with lassitude—
Each sun too sultry! blandest breeze too rude!
No lusts indulg'd—no useful arts unlearn'd—
Nature, nor Nature's Author, proudly spurn'd—
But all, directed by their twofold light,
Read Providence's deeds, and dictates, right!
No falsehood films—no bigot weakness blinds—
Conceit inflates, nor Fashion cramps their Minds—
Nor Custom twists, nor Prejudice controuls
The inborn bias of their simple Souls.
No superstitious meteors, dark, and dense,
Obscure conceptions, or bewilder sense—
No lens by Skill, or Fiction scoop'd, or swell'd,
Before the eyes of Understanding held,
In specious shape, or size, false facts impress,
To swell each Virtue, or make Vice look less—
No moral mediums, bended, thick, or thin,
Make right-lin'd Merit seem like crooked Sin;
Or, fixed in Passion's, Pride's, or Falsehood's, pate,
Make Cunning's curves, or Flattery's turns, look straight.
No hypocritic Art frames form, or hue,
To make false Piety appear like true.
No curious questions puzzle, or perplex;
Disputes enrage, or controversies vex;
Nor stagnant intellect, continual, teems
With froward fancies, or distorted dreams;
Like swarms of insects in their summer flight,
Or noisome vapours that invest the night.
No learned leaven, bubbling in the brain,
Makes pure spontaneous Reason's morals vain—
Acids, and alkalies, with every gass,
Mingled in hurrying heterogeneous mass,
The Soul's recipient with confusion fill,
Distorting Judgment, and distracting Will;
While Fancy's furnace Egypt's darkness spreads,
Pestering, and plaguing, all proud hearts and heads,
O'er Earth to pour impenetrable glooms,
From Logic's mists, or Metaphysic's fumes.
No sloughs of Luxury, or foul fogs of Sloth,
Stop Virtue's progress, or Religion's growth.
Desarts, nor dunghills, nourish noxious weeds,
Which yield no beauteous blooms, or sanient seeds;
But well-manured, well-cultured, soils, alone;
The free exposure, and the temperate zone—
Clear light—kind heat—soft air—and dew-drops pure
Make flow'rets fair—fruits rich—and corn mature!