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Whence from fuch lands each pleasing science
That firft excites defire, and then fupplies; Unknown to them, when fenfual pleasures
To fill the languid pause with finer joy; Unknown those powers that raise the foul to flame,
Catch every nerve, and vibrate through the frame.
Their level life is but a fmould'ring fire, Unquench'd by want, unfann'd by ftrong
Unfit for raptures, or if raptures cheer
But not their joys alone thus coarfely flow: Their morals, like their pleasures, are but
For, as refinement stops, from fire to son, Unalter'd, unimprov'd the manners run, And love's and friendship's finely pointed
Fall blunted from each indurated heart.
Some fterner virtues o'er the mountain's breaft
May fit, like falcons cow'ring on the neft; But all the gentler morals, fuch as play Through life's more cultur'd walks, and charm the way,
Thefe far difpers'd, on timorous pinions fly, To sport and flutter in a kinder sky.
To kinder fkies, where gentler manners
I turn; and France difplays her bright domain.
Gay fprightly land of mirth and social ease, Pleas'd with thyfelf, whom all the world can please,
How often have I led thy fportive choir, With tunelefs pipe, befide the murmuring Loire ?
Where fhading elms along the margin grew, And freshen'd from the wave the zephyr
And haply, tho' my harsh tough faultering
But mock'all tune, and marr'd the dancer's
Yet would the village praise my wonderous pow'r,
And dance, forgetful of the noon-tide hour. Alike all ages. Dames of ancient days
Have led their children through the mirthful maze,
And the gay grandfire, skill'd in gestic lore, Has frifk'd beneath the burden of threefcore.
So bleft a life these thoughtless realms display,
Thus idly bufy rolls their world away :
Theirs are thofe arts that mind to mind en
For honour forms the focial temper here. Honour, that praise which real merit gains, Or even imaginary worth obtains,
Here paffes current ; paid from hand to hand, It fhifts in fplendid traffic round the land : From courts, to camps, to cottages it strays, And all are taught an avarice of praise : They please, are pleas'd, they give to get
Till, feeming bleft, they grow to what they
But while this fofter art their blifs fupplies, It gives their follies alfo room to rife
For praise too dearly lov'd, or warmly fought,
Enfeebles all internal ftrength of thought.
Here vanity affumes her pert grimace,
Here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer, To boaft one fplendid banquet once a year; The mind ftill turns where fhifting paffion draws,
Nor weighs the folid worth of felf-applaufe. To men of other minds my fancy flies, Embofom'd in the deep where Holland
Methinks her patient fons before me ftand, Where the broad ocean leans against the
And, fedulous to stop the coming tide,
The flow canal, the yellow bloffom'd vale,
Impels the native to repeated toil,
And industry begets a love of gain.
Hence all the good from opulence that fprings,
With all thofe ills fuperfluous treafure brings,
Are here difplay'd.
Convenience, plenty, elegance and arts;