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And fungous fruits of earth, regales the sense
With luxury of unexpected fweets.

There often wanders one, whom better days
Saw better clad, in cloak of fatin trimm'd
With lace, and hat with splendid ribband bound.
A ferving maid was fhe, and fell in love

With one who left her, went to sea, and died.
Her fancy follow'd him through foaming waves
To distant fhores; and she would fit and weep
At what a failor suffers; fancy, too,
Delufive moft where warmest wishes are,
Would oft anticipate his glad return,

And dream of transports she was not to know.
She heard the doleful tidings of his death—
And never fmil'd again! and now the roams
The dreary wafte; there fpends the livelong day,
And there, unless when charity forbids,
The livelong night. A tatter'd apron hides,
Worn as a cloak, and hardly hides, a gown
More tatter'd still; and both but ill conceal
A bofom heav'd with never-ceafing fighs,
She begs an idle pin of all she meets,

And hoards them in her fleeve; but needful food, Though prefs'd with hunger oft, or comelier clothes, Though pinch'd with cold afks never.-Kate is craz'd!

I fee a column of flow rifing fmoke
O'ertop the lofty wood that fkirts the wild.
A vagabond and useless tribe there eat
Their miferable meal. A kettle, flung
Between two poles upon a stick transverse,
Receives the morfel-flesh obscene of dog,
Or vermin, or, at best, of cock purloin’d
From his accustom'd perch. Hard-faring race!
They pick their fuel out of ev'ry hedge,

Which, kindled with dry leaves, just saves unquench'd
The fpark of life. The fportive wind blows wide
Their flutt'ring rags, and fhews a tawny skin,
The vellum of the pedigree they claim.
Great skill have they in palmistry, and more
To conjure clean away the gold they touch,
Conveying worthless dross into its place;

Loud when they beg, dumb only when they steal.
Strange! that a creature rational, and cast
In human mould, should brutalize by choice
His nature; and, though capable of arts
By which the world might profit, and himself,
Self-banifh'd from fociety, prefer

Such fqualid floth to honourable toil!

Yet even thefe, though, feigning ficknefs oft,
They fwathe the forehead, drag the limping limb,
And vex their flesh with artificial fores,

Can change their whine into a mirthful note
When fafe occafion offers; and, with dance,
And music of the bladder and the bag,
Beguile their woes, and make the woods refound.
Such health and gaiety of heart enjoy

The houseless rovers of the fylvan world;

And, breathing wholesome air, and wand'ring much,
Need other phyfic none to heal th' effects
Of loathfome diet, penury, and cold.

Bleft he, though undistinguish'd from the crowd
By wealth or dignity, who dwells fecure,
Where man, by nature fierce, has laid aside
His fiercenefs, having learnt, though flow to learn,
The manners and the arts of civil life.
His wants, indeed, are many; but supply
Is obvious, plac'd within the eafy reach
Of temp'rate wishes and industrious hands.
Here virtue thrives as in her proper foil;
Not rude and furly, and befet with thorns,
And terrible to fight, as when fhe fprings
(If e'er fhe fpring spontaneous) in remote
And barb'rous climes, where violence prevails,
And strength is lord of all; but gentle, kind,
By culture tam'd, by liberty refresh'd,
And all her fruits by radiant truth matur’d.

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War and the chafe engross the favage whole;
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 severe constraint
Binds all his faculties, forbids all growth
Of wisdom, proves a school in which he learns
Sly circumvention, unrelenting hate,

Mean self-attachment, and scarce aught beside.
Thus far the fhiv'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 constant fun
Cheer all their feafons with a grateful smile,
Can boaft but little virtue; and, inert
Through plenty, lofe in morals what they gain
In manners-victims of luxurious eafe.
These therefore I can pity, plac'd remote
From all that fcience traces, art invents,
Or infpiration teaches; and enclos'd
In boundless oceans, never to be pass'd]
By navigators uninform'd as they,
Or plough'd perhaps by British bark again;
But, far beyond the rest, and with most cause,

Thee, gentle favage *! whom no love of thee
Or thine, but curiofity perhaps,

Or elfe vain glory, prompted us to draw

Forth from thy native bow'rs, to show 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 sports,
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 ours?
Rude as thou art, (for we return thee rude
And ignorant, except of outward show)

I 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 wafh'd our distant fhore.

I see thee weep, and thine are honest tears,

* Omia.

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