Suits well the thoughtful or unthinking mind,
The mind contemplative, with some new theme 280 Pregnant, or indispos'd alike to all.
Laugh ye, who boast your more mercurial pow'rs, That never feel a stupor, know no pause, Nor need one; I am conscious, and confess Fearless, a soul that does not always think, Me oft has Fancy, ludicrous and wild, Sooth'd with a waking dream of houses, tow'rs, Trees, churches, and strange visages, express'd In the red cinders, while with poring eye I gaz❜d, myself creating what I saw. Nor less amus'd have I quiescent watch'd The sooty films that play upon the bars Pendulous, and foreboding in the view Of superstition, prophesying still,
Though still deceiv'd, some stranger's near approach. 'Tis thus the understanding takes repose
In indolent vacuity of thought,
And sleeps, and is refresh'd. Meanwhile the face Conceals the mood lethargick with a mask
Of deep deliberation, as the man
Were task'd to his full strength, absorb'd and lost. Thus oft, reclin'd at ease I lose an hour
At ev❜ning, till at length the freezing blast
That sweeps the bolted shutter, summons home The recollected pow'rs; and snapping short The glassy threads, with which the Fancy weayes Her brittle toils, restores me to myself.
How calm is my recess; and how the frost, Raging abroad, and the rough wind, endear The silence and the warmth enjoy'd within! I saw the woods and fields at close of day, A variegated show; the meadows green, Though faded; and the lands, where lately way'd The golden harvest, of a mellow brown, Upturn'd so lately by the forceful share. I saw far off the weedy fallows smile
With verdure not unprofitable, graz'd
By flocks, fast feeding, and selecting each His fav'rite herb: while all the leafless groves That skirt th' horizon wore a sable hue, Scarce notic'd in the kindred dusk of eve. To-morrow brings a change, a total change! Which even now, though silently perform❜d, And slowly, and by most unfelt, the face of universal nature undergoes.
Fast falls a fleecy show'r: the downy flakes Descending, and with never-ceasing lapse, Softly alighting upon all below,
Assimilate all objects. Earth receives
Gladly the thick'ning mantle; and the green
And tender blade, that fear'd the chilling blast, Escapes unhurt beneath so warm a veil.
In such a world, so thorny, and where none Finds happiness unblighted, or, if found, Without some thistly sorrow at its side; It seems the part of wisdom, and no sin Against the law of love, to measure lots With less distinguish'd than ourselves; that thus We may with patience bear our moderate ills, And sympathize with others suff'ring more. Ill fares the trav'ller now, and he that stalks
In pond'rous boots beside his reeking team. The wain goes heavily, impeded sore
By congregated loads adhering close
To the clogg'd wheels; and in its sluggish pace
Noiseless appears a moving hill of snow.
The toiling steeds expand the nostril wide,
While ev'ry breath, by respiration strong
Forc'd downward, is consolidated soon
Upon their jutting chests. He, form'd to bear
The pelting brunt of the tempestuous night,
With half shut eyes, and pucker'd cheeks, and teeth Presented bare against the storm, plods on.
One hand secure his hat, save when with both
He brandishes his pliant length of whip, Resounding oft, and never heard in vain.. O happy: and in my account denied That sensibility of pain with which Refinement is endu'd, thrice happy thou! Thy frame, robust and hardy, feels indeed The piercing cold, but feels it unimpair'd. The learn'd finger never need explore
Thy vig'rous pulse; and the unhealthful east, That breathes the spleen, and searches ev'ry bone Of the infirm, is wholesome air to thee. Thy days roll on exempt from household care; Thy wagon is thy wife; and the poor beasts, That drag the dull companion to and fro, Thine helpless charge, dependent on thy care. Ah, treat them kindly; rude as thou appear'st, Yet show that thou hast mercy! which the great, With needless hurry whirl'd from place to place, Humane as they would seem, not always show. Poor, yet industrious, modest, quiet, neat, Such claim compassion in a night like this, And have a friend in ev'ry feeling heart. Warm'd, while it lasts, by labour, all day long They brave the season, and yet find at eve, Ill clad, and fed but sparely, time to cool. The frugal housewife trembles when she lights Her scanty stock of brushwood blazing clear, But dying soon, like all terrestrial joys.
The few small embers left she nurses well;
And while her infant race, with outspread hands
And crowded knees, sit cow'ring o'er the sparks,
Retires, content to quake, so they be warm'd. The man feels least, as more inur'd than she To winter, and the current in his viens More briskly mov'd by his severer toil; Yet he too finds his own distress in theirs. The taper soon extinguis'd, which I saw Dangled along at the cold finger's end
Just when the day declin'd: and the brown loaf Lodg'd on the shelf half eaten without sauce Of sav'ry cheese, or butter, costlier still; Sleep seems their only refuge. for, alas! Where penury is felt the thought is chain'd, And sweet colloquial pleasures are but few! With all this thrift they thrive not. All the care, Ingenious Parsimony takes, but just
Saves the small inventory, bed and stool, Skillet, and old carv'd chest, from publick sale. They live, and live without extorted alms From grudging hands: but other boast have none, To soothe their honest pride, that scorns to beg, Nor comfort else, but in their mutual love. I praise you much, ye meek and patient pair, For ye are worthy; choosing rather far A dry but independent crust, hard earn'd, And eaten with a sigh, than to endure The rugged frowns and insolent rebuffs Of knaves in office, partial in the work
Shall much befriend you. Time shall give increase; And all your numerous progeny, well train'd, But helpless, in few years shall find their hands, And labour too. Meanwhile ye shall not want What, conscious of your virtues, we can spare, Nor what a wealthier than ourselves may send. I mean the man, who, when the distant poor Need help, denies them nothing but his name. But poverty with most, who wimper forth Their long complaints, is self-inflicted wo;
The effect of laziness or sottish waste.
Now goes the nightly thief prowling abroad For plunder; much solicitous how best He may compensate for a day of sloth By works of darkness and nocturnal wrong.
Wo to the gard'ner's pale, the farmer's hedge, Plash'd neatly, and secur'd with driven stakes Deep in the loamy bank. Uptorn by strength, Resistless in so bad a cause, but lame To better deeds, he bundles up the spoil, An ass's burden, and, when laden most And heaviest, light of foot, steals fast away. Nor does the bordered hovel better guard The well-stack'd pile of riven logs and roots From his pernicious force. Nor will he leave Unwrench'd the door, however well-secur'd, Where Chanticleer amidst his harem sleeps
In unsuspecting pomp. Twitch'd from the perch, He gives the princely bird, with all his wives,
To his voracious bag, struggling in vain,
And loudly wondering at the sudden change.
Nor this to feed his own. "Twere some excuse
Did pity of their suff'rings warp aside
His principle and tempt him into sin
For their support, so destitute. But they
Neglected, pine at home; themselves, as more
Expos'd than others, with less scruple made His victims, robb'd of their defenseless all. Cruel is all he does. 'Tis quenchless thirst Of ruinous ebriety, that prompts
His ev'ry action, and imbrutes the man. O for a law to noose the villian's neck
Who starves his own; who persecutes the blood He gave them in his children's veins, and hates
And wrongs the woman he has sworn to love!
Pass where we may, through city or through town, Village or hamlet, of this merry land,
Though lean and beggar'd, every twentieth pace
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