War follow'd for revenge, or to fupplant
The envied tenants of fome happier spot,
The chafe for fuftenance, precarious trust!
His hard condition with fevere constraint
Binds all his faculties, forbids all growth
Of wisdom, proves a school in which he learns
Sly circumvention, unrelenting hate,
Mean felf-attachment, and scarce aught befide.
Thus fare the shiv'ring natives of the north,
And thus the rangers of the western world,
Where it advances far into the deep,
Towards th' antarctic. Ev'n the favour'd ifles,
So lately found, although the conftant fun
Cheer all their seasons with a grateful smile,
Can boast but little virtue; and, inert
Through plenty, lofe in morals what they gain
In manners-victims of luxurious ease.
These therefore I can pity, plac'd remote
From all that science traces, art invents,
Or inspiration teaches; and enclofed
In boundless oceans, never to be pafs'd
By navigators uninformed as they,
Or plough'd perhaps by British bark again :
But, far beyond the reft, and with most cause,
Thee, gentle favage! whom no love of thee
Or thine, but curiofity perhaps,
Or else vain glory, prompted us to draw
Forth from thy native bow'rs, to fhow thee here
With what superior skill we can abuse
The gifts of Providence, and fquander life.
The dream is paft; and thou haft found again
Thy cocoas and bananas, palms and yams,
And homeftall thatch'd with leaves. But haft thou found
Their former charms? And, having feen our state,
Our palaces, our ladies, and our pomp
Of equipage, our gardens, and our fports,
And heard our mufic; are thy fimple friends,
Thy fimple fare, and all thy plain delights,
As dear to thee as once? And have thy joys
Loft nothing by comparison with our's?
Rude as thou art, (for we return'd thee rude
And ignorant, except of outward fhow)
cannot think thee yet fo dull of heart
And spiritlefs, as never to regret
Sweets tasted here, and left as soon as known.
Methinks I fee thee ftraying on the beach,
And asking of the furge that bathes thy foot
If ever it has wash'd our distant shore.
I see thee weep, and thine are honeft tears,
A patriot's for his country: thou art fad
At thought of her forlorn and abject state,
From which no pow'r of thine can raise her up.
Thus fancy paints thee, and, though apt to err,
Perhaps errs little when the paints thee thus.
She tells me, too, that duly ev'ry morn
Thou climb'ft the mountain top, with eager eye
Exploring far and wide the wat'ry waste.
For fight of fhip from England. Ev'ry fpeck
Seen in the dim horizon turns thee pale
With conflict of contending hopes and fears.
But comes at last the dull and dusky `eve,
And fends thee to thy cabin, well-prepar'd
To dream all night of what the day denied.
Alas! expect it not.
To tempt us in thy country.
Difinterested good, is not our trade.
We travel far, 'tis true, but not for nought;
And must be brib'd, to compafs earth again,
By other hopes and richer fruits than your's.
But, though true worth and virtue in the mild And genial foil of cultivated life
Thrive most, and may perhaps thrive only there,
Yet not in cities oft: in proud and gay
And gain-devoted cities. Thither flow,
As to a common and most noisome few'r,
The dregs and feculence of ev'ry land.
In cities foul example on most minds
Begets its likeness. Rank abundance breeds
In grofs and pamper'd cities floth and luft,
And wantonness and gluttonous excefs.
In cities vice is hidden with most ease,
Or feen with leaft reproach; and virtue, taught
By frequent lapfe, can hope no triumph there
Beyond th' achievement of fuccessful flight.
I do confefs them nurs'ries of the arts,
In which they flourish moft; where, in the beams Of warm encouragement, and in the eye
Of public note, they reach their perfect fize.
Such London is, by taste and wealth proclaim'd
The fairest capital of all the world,
By riot and incontinence the worst.
There, touch'd by Reynolds, a dull blank becomes
A lucid mirror, in which Nature fees
All her reflected features. Bacon there
Gives more than female beauty to a stone,
And Chatham's eloquence to marble lips.
Nor does the chiffel occupy alone
The pow'rs of fculpture, but the style as much;
Each province of her art her equal care.
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