As foine lone mifer, vifiting his store,
Bends at his treasure-counts, recounts it o'er-
Hoards after hoards his rifing raptures fill,

Yet ftill he fighs, for hoards are wanting still:
Thus to my breast alternate passions rise,

Pleas'd with each good that heaven to man fupplies;
Yet oft a figh prevails, and forrows fall,

To fee the hoard of human blifs fo fmall-
And oft I wish, amidst the scene to find
Some spot to real happineis confign'd,

Where my worn foul, each wand'ring hope at rest,
May gather blifs to fee my fellows bleft.

But where to find that happiest spot below, Who can direct, when all pretend to know? The fhudd'ring tenant of the frigid zone Boldly proclaims that happieft fpot his own, Extols the treasures of his ftormy feas, And his long nights of revelry and ease; The naked negro, panting at the line, Boafts of his golden fands and palmy wine, Basks in the glare, or ftems the tepid wave, And thanks his gods for all the good they gave; Such is the patriot's boaft where'er we roam, His first, best country, ever is at home: And yet, perhaps, if countries we compare, And estimate the bleffings which they share, Though patriots flatter, still shall wisdom find An equal portion dealt to all mankind— As different good, by Art or Nature given To different nations, makes their bleffings even. Nature, a mother kind alike to all,

Still grants her bliss at labour's earnest call:

With food as well the peasant is fupply'd
On Idra's cliffs, as Arno's fhelvy fide;
And though the rocky crested summits frown,
These rocks, by custom, turn to beds of down.
From Art, more various are the bleffings fent-
Wealth, commerce, honour, liberty, content:
Yet these each other's power fo strong contest,
That either feems deftructive of the rest-
Where wealth and freedom reign, contentment fails,
And honour finks where commerce long prevails:
Hence every state, to one lov'd bleifing prone,
Conforms, and models life to that alone;
Each to the fav'rite happiness attends,
And fpurns the plan that aims at other ends,
Till, carried to excefs in each domain,
This fav'rite good begets peculiar pain.

But let us try thefe truths with clofer eyes,
And trace them through the prospect as it lies:
Here, for a while, my proper cares resign'd,
Here let me fit in forrow for mankind-
Like yon neglected fhrub, at random cast,
That fhades the steep, and fighs at every blast.
Far to the right, where Appennine ascends,
Bright as the fummer, Italy extends;
Its uplands floping deck the mountain's fide,
Woods over woods in gay theatric pride;
While oft fome temple's mould'ring tops between,
With venerable grandeur mark the scene.
Could Nature's bounty fatisfy the breast,
The fons of Italy were furely bleft:

Whatever fruits in different climes were found,
That proudly rife, or humbly court the ground;

Whatever blooms in torrid tracts appear,

Whofe bright fucceffion decks the varied year;
Whatever sweets falute the northern sky
With vernal lives, that blossom but to die-
These, here difporting, own the kindred foil,
Nor ask luxuriance from the planter's toil;
While fea-born gales their gelid wings expand
To winnow fragrance round the fmiling land.
But small the blifs that fenfe alone bestows,
And fenfual blifs is all the nation knows.
In florid beauty, groves and fields
appear,
Man feems the only growth that dwindles here:
Contrafted faults thro' all his manners reign-
Tho' poor, luxurious-tho' fubmiffive, vain-
Tho' grave, yet trifling-zealous, yet untrue—
And even in penance planning fins a-new.
All evils here contaminate the mind

That opulence departed leaves behind;

For wealth was their's-not far remov'd the date
When commerce proudly flourish'd thro' the state;
At her command the palace learnt to rise,
Again the long-fall'n column fought the ikies;
The canvas glow'd beyond e'en nature warm,
The pregnant quarry teem'd with human form-
Till, more unsteady than the southern gale,
Commerce on other fhores difplay'd her fail;
While nought renain'd of all that riches gave,
But towns unmaiın'd, and lords without a slave;
And late the nation found with fruitlefs fkill,
Its former ftrength was but plethoric ill.
Yet, ftill the lofs of wealth is here supply'd
By arts, the fplendid wrecks of former pride;

From these the feeble heart and long-fall'n mind
An easy compensation seems to find.

Here may be seen, in bloodless pomp array'd,
The pafteboard triumph and the cavalcade;
Proceffions form'd for piety and love-

A miftrefs or a faint in every grove.

By sports like these, are all their cares beguil'd-
The sports of children fatisfy the child:

Each nobler aim, repreft by long controul,
Now finks at laft, or feebly mans the foul;
While low delights, fucceeding fast behind,
In happier meanness occupy the mind-

As in thofe domes, where Cæfars once bore fway,
Defac'd by time and tottering in decay,
There in the ruin, heedless of the dead,
The shelter-seeking peasant builds his shed,
And, wond'ring man could want the larger pile,
Exults, and owns his cottage with a smile.

My foul turn from them! turn we to survey
Where rougher climes a nobler race display,
Where the bleak Swifs their stormy mansions tread,
And force a churlish foil for fcanty bread:
No product here the barren hills afford
But man and steel-the foldier and his sword;
No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array,
But winter, lingering, chills the lap of May;
No zephyr fondly fues the mountain's breast,
But meteors glare, and stormy glooms invest.

Yet ftill, ev'n here, content can spread a charm, Redress the clime, and all its rage difarm. Tho' poor the peasant's hut, his feafts tho' fmall, He fees his little lot the lot of all;

Sees no contiguous palace rear its head
To shame the meannefs of his humble fhed;
No coftly lord the fumptuous banquet deal
To make him loath his vegetable meal:
But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil,
Each wish contracting, fits him to the foil;
Cheerful at morn he wakes from short repose,
Breathes the keen air, and carols as he goes;
With patient angle trolls the finny deep,

Or drives his vent'rous ploughfhare to the steep;
Or feeks the den where fnow-tracks mark the way,
And drags the ftruggling favage into day:
At night returning, every labour sped,
He fits him down, the monarch of a shed,
Smiles by his cheerful fire, and round furveys
His children's looks, that brighten at the blaze-
While his lov'd partner, boastful of her hoard,
Displays her cleanly platter on the board;
And haply, too, fome pilgrim thither led,
With many a tale repays the nightly bed.

Thus every good his native wilds impart,
Imprints the patriot paffion on his heart;
And ev❜n thofe ills that round his manfion rife,
Enhance the blifs his fcanty fund fupplies:
Dear is that shed to which his foul conforms,
And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms;
And as a child, when scaring sounds molest,
Clings close and closer to the mother's breast,
So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar,
But bind him to his native mountains more.

Such are the charms to barren ftates affign'dTheir wants but few, their wishes all confin'd.