« ForrigeFortsett »
And fungous fruits of earth, regales the fenfe
There often wanders one, whom better days
Delufive moft where warmest wishes are,
And dream of transports she was not to know.
The livelong night. A tatter'd apron hides, -
More tatter'd ftill; and both but ill conceal
And hoards them in her fleeve; but needful food,
I fee a column of flow-rising smoke O'ertop the lofty wood that skirts the wild. A vagabond and useless tribe there eat Their miserable meal. A kettle flung Between two poles upon a stick transverse, Receives the morfel; flesh obfcene of dog, Or vermin, or at beft, of cock purloin'd From his accuftom'd perch. Hard-faring race! They pick their fuel out of ev'ry hedge, Which kindled with dry leaves, just saves unquench'd The spark of life. The fportive wind blows wide Their flutt'ring rags, and fhows a tawny skin, The vellum of the pedigree they claim.
Great skill have they in palmistry, and more
Loud when they beg, dumb only when they fteal.
In human mould, fhould brutalize by choice
By which the world might profit and himself,
Such fqualid floth to honorable toil.
Yet even these, though feigning sickness oft
They swathe 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.
The houseless rovers of the fylvan world;
And breathing wholefume 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 fierceness, having learnt, though flow to learn,
His wants, indeed, are many; but fupply
And all her fruits by radiant truth matur'd.
War follow'd for revenge, or to fupplant
Mean felf-attachment, and scarce aught befide.
Towards th' Antarctic. Ev'n the favor'd ifles So lately found, although the conftant fun Cheer all their feafons with a grateful smile, Can boaft but little virtue; and inert
Through plenty, lofe in morals, what they gain
manners, victims of luxurious eafe.
These therefore I can pity, placed remote
From all that science traces, art invents,
Or infpiration teaches; and inclofed