« ForrigeFortsett »
Still wants a grace, the loveliest it could show,
From pools and ditches of the commonwealth,
Ambition, avarice, penury incurred
These are the charms, that sully and eclipse
Oh thou, resort and mart of all the earth, Chequered with all complexions of mankind, And spotted with all crimes; in whom I see Much that I love, and more that I admire, And all that I abhor; thou freckled fair, That pleasest and yet shockest me, I can laugh And I can weep, can hope, and can despond, Feel wrath and pity, when I think on thee! Ten righteous would have saved a city once, And thou hast many righteous—Well for thee— That salt preserves thee; more corrupted else, And therefore more obnoxious, at this hour Than Sodom in her day had power to be, For whom God heard his Abraham plead in vaim
THE WINTER EVENING.
The Argument. The post comes in.—The newspaper is read.—The world contemplated at a distance.—Address to Winter.—The rural amusements of a Winter evening compared with the fashionable ones.—Address to evening.—A brown study.—Fall of snow in the evening.—The waggoner.—A poor family piece.—The rural thief.—Public houses.—The multitude of them censured.—The farmer's daughter: what she was—what she rs.—The simplicity otcountry manners almost lost.—Causes of the change. —Desertion of the country by the rich.—Neglect of magistrates.—The militia principally in fault.— The new recruit and his transformation.—Reflection on bodies corporate.—The love of rural objects natural to all, and never to be totally extinguished.
Hark! 'tis the twanging horn o'er yonder bridge,
News from all nations lumbering at his back.
True to his charge, the close-packed load behind,
Yet careless what he brings, his one concern
Is to conduct it to the destined inn;
And having dropped the expected bag, pass on.
He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch, •
Cold and yet cheerful; messenger of grief
Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to some;
To him indifferent whether grief or joy.
Houses in ashes, and the fall of stocks,
Births, deaths, and marriages, epistles wet
With tears, that trickled down the writer's cheeks
Fast as the periods from his fluent quill,
Or charged with amorous sighs of absent swains,
Or nymphs responsive, equally affect
His horse and him, unconscious of them all.
But oh the important budget! ushered in
With such heart-shaking music, who can say
What are its tidings? have our troops awaked?
Or do they still, as if with opium drugged,
Snore to the murmurs of the Atlantic wave?
Is India free? and does she wear her plumed
And jewelled turban with a smile of peace,
Or do we grind her still? The grand debate,
The popular harangue, the tart reply,
The logic and the wisdom, and the wit,
And the loud laugh—I long to know them all;