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Rude as thou art (for we return'd thee rude
and thine are honest tears, A patriot's for his country: thou art sad At thought of her forlorn and abject state, From which no power of thine can raise her up. Thus Fancy paints thee, and, though apt to err, Perhaps errs little when she paints thee thus. She tells me too, that duly every morn Thou climb'st the mountain top, with eager eye Exploring far and wide the watery waste, For sight of ship from England. Every speck 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 sends thee to thy cabin, well prepared To dream all night of what the day denied. Alas! expect it not. We found no bait To tempt us in thy country. Doing good, Disinterested good, is not our trade. We travel far 'tis true, but not for nought; And must be bribed to compass Earth again By other hopes and richer fruits than yours.
But though true worth and virtue in the mild And genial soil 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 sewer,
alone The powers of Sculpture, but the style as much; Each province of her art her equal care. With nice incision of her guided steel She ploughs a brazen field, and clothes a soil So steril with what charms soe'er she will, The richest
and the loveliest forms. Where finds Philosophy her eagle eye, With which she gazes at yon burning disk Undazzled, and detects and counts his spots ? In London: where her implements exact, With which she calculates, computes, and scans
All distance, motion, magnitude, and now
She has her praise. Now mark a spot or two,
God made the country, and man made the town. What wonder then that health and virtue, gifts
That can alone make sweet the bitter draught
We can spare
mirth; It plagues your country. Folly such as yours, Graced with a sword, and worthier of a fan, Has made, what enemies could ne'er have done, Our arch of empire, steadfast but for you, A mutilated structure, soon to fall.
Reflections suggested by the conclusion of the former book.
Peace among the nations recommended, on the ground of their common fellowship in sorrow.-Prodigies enumerated. -Sicilian earthquakes.-Man rendered obnoxious to these calamities by sin.-God the agent in them. The philosophy that stops at secondary causes reproved.Our own late miscarriages accounted for.-Satirical notice taken of our trips to Fontainbleau.-But the pulpit, not satire, the proper engine of reformation.-—The Reverend Advertiser of engraved sermons.—Petit-maitre parson. The good preacher.— Pictures of a theatrical clerical coxcomb.Story-tellers and jesters in the pulpit reproved.-Apostrophe to popular applause.—Retailers of ancient philosophy expostulated with.-Sum of the whole matter.Effects of sacerdotal mismanagement on the laity. Their folly and extravagance.—The mischiefs of profusion.—Profusion itself, with all its consequent evils, ascribed, as to its principal cause, to the want of discipline in the universities.
O for a lodge in some vast wilderness,