THE WINTER EVENING.

Her elbows ruffled, and her tott'ring form

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Ill propp'd upon French heels; she might be deem'd
(But that the basket dangling on her arm
Interprets her more truly) of a rank

Too proud for dairy work, or sale of eggs-
Expect her soon with footboy at her heels,
No longer blushing for her awkward load,
Her train and her umbrella all her care!

The town has ting'd the country; and the stain ·
Appears a spot upon a vestal's robe,

The worse for what it soils. The fashion runs
Down into scenes still rural; but, alas,
Scenes rarely grac'd with rural manners now!
Time was when in the pastoral retreat
Th' unguarded door was safe; men did not watch
T' invade another's right, or guard their own.
Then sleep was undisturb'd by fear, unscar'd
By drunken howlings; and the chilling tale
Of midnight murder was a wonder heard
With doubtful credit, told to frighten babes.
But farewell now to unsuspicious nights,
And slumbers unalarm'd! Now, ere you sleep,
See that your polish'd arms be prim'd with care,
And drop the night-bolt;-ruffians are abroad;
And the first larum of the cock's shrill throat

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May prove a trumpet, summoning your ear
To horrid sounds of hostile feet within.
E'en daylight has its dangers; and the walk

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Through pathless wastes and woods, unconscious once
Of other tenants than melodious birds,

Or harmless flocks, is hazardous and bold.
Lamented change! to which full many a cause
Invet'rate, hopeless of a cure, conspires.
The course of human things from good to ill,
From ill to worse, is fatal, never fails.
Increase of pow'r begets increase of wealth;
Wealth luxury, and luxury excess;
Excess, the scrofulous and itchy plague,

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That seizes first the opulent, descends
To the next rank contagious, and in time
Taints downward all the graduated scale
Of order, from the chariot to the plough.
The rich, and they that have an arm to check
The license of the lowest in degree,,

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His rev'rence and his worship both to rest
On the same cushion of habitual sloth.

Perhaps timidity restrains his arm;

When he should strike he trembles, and sets free, 600 Himself enslav'd by terrour of the band—

Th' audacious convict whom he dares not bind.
Perhaps though by profession ghostly pure,

He, too, may have his vice, and sometimes prove

Less dainty than becomes his grave outside
In lucrative concerns. Examine well

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His milk-white hand; the palm is hardly clean-
But here and there an ugly smutch appears.

Foh! 'twas a bribe that left it: he has touch'd
Corruption. Whoso seeks an audit here
Propitious, pays his tribute, game or fish,

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Wild fowl or venison: and his errand speeds.
But faster far, and more than all the rest,

A noble cause, which none, who bears a spark
Of publick virtue, ever wish'd remov'd,
Works the deplor'd and mischievous effect.
"Tis universal soldiership has stabb'd
The heart of merit in the meaner class.
Arms, through the vanity and brainless rage
Of those that bear them, in whatever cause,

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Conducts th' unguarded nose to such a whiff
Of stale debauch, forth-issuing from the sties
That law has licens'd, as makes Temp'rance reel.
There sit, involv'd and lost in curling clouds
Of Indian fume, and guzzling deep, the boor,
The lackey, and the groom; the craftsman there
Takes a Lethean leave of all his toil;
Smith, cobbler, joiner, he that plies the shears,
And he that kneads the dough; all loud alike,
All learned and all drunk! the fiddle screams
Plaintive and piteous, as it wept and wail'd
Its wasted tones and harmony unheard,

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Fierce the dispute, whate'er the theme; while she,
Fell Discord, arbitress of such debate,

Perch'd on the signpost, holds with even hand
Her undecisive scales. In this she lays

A weight of ignorance; in that, of pride;
And smiles delighted with the eternal poise.
Dire is the frequent curse, and its twin sound,
The cheek distending oath, not to be prais'd
As ornamental, musical, polite,

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Like those which modern senators employ,

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Whose oath is rhet'rick, and who swear for fame!
Behold the schools, in which plebeian minds,

Once simple, are initiated in arts

Which some may practise with politer grace,

But none with readier skill!-'Tis here they learn
The road that leads from competence and peace
To indigence and rapine; till at last

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Society, grown weary of the load,

Shakes her encumber'd lap, and casts them out.

But censure profits little; vain th' attempt

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To advertise in verse a publick pest,

That, like the filth with which the peasant feeds

His hungry acres, stinks, and is of use.
Th' excise is fatten'd with the rich result
Of all this riot; and ten thousand casks,
For ever dribbling out their base contents,

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Touch'd by the Midas finger of the state,
Bleed gold for ministers to sport away.
Drink, and be mad then; 'tis your country bids!
Gloriously drunk, obey th' important call!
Her cause demands th' assistance of your throats;
Ye all can swallow, and she asks no more.

Would I had fallen upon those happier days
That poets celebrate: those golden times,
And those Arcadian scenes that Maro sings,
And Sidney, warbler of poetick prose.
Nymphs were Dianas then, and swains had hearts
That felt their virtues: Innocence, it seems,

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From courts dismiss'd, found shelter in the groves;
The footsteps of simplicity, impress'd

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Upon the yielding herbage, (so they sing,)

Then were not all effac'd; then speech profane,
And manners profligate, were rarely found,
Observ'd as prodigies, and soon reclaim'd.

Vain wish! those days were never; airy dreams

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Sat for the picture: and the poet's hand,

Imparting substance to an empty shade,
Impos'd a gay delirium for a truth.

Grant it: I still must envy them an age

That favour'd such a dream; in days like these

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Impossible when Virtue is so scarce,

That to suppose a scene where she presides

Is tramontane, and stumbles all belief.

No: we are polish'd now. The rural lass,
Whom once her virgin modesty and grace,
Her artless manners, and her neat attire,
So dignified, that she was hardly less
Than the fair shepherdess of old romance,
Is seen no more. The character is lost!
Her head adorn'd with lappets pinn'd aloft,
And ribbands streaming gay, superbly rais'd,
And magnified beyond all human size,
Indebted to some smart wig-weaver's hand
For more than half the tresses it sustains:

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Seem most at variance with all moral good,
And incompatible with serious thought.
The clown, the child of nature, without guile,
Blest with an infant's ignorance of all

But his own simple pleasures; now and then
A wrestling match, a foot-race, or a fair;
Is balloted, and trembles at the news:
Sheepish he doffs his hat, and mumbling swears
A bible oath to be whate'er they please,

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To do he knows not what. The task perform❜d,

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That instant he becomes the sergeant's care,
His pupil, and his torment, and his jest.

His awkward gait, `his introverted toes,

Bent knees, round shoulders, and dejected looks,

Procure him many a curse. By slow degrees,

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Unapt to learn, and form'd of stubborn stuff,

He yet by slow degrees puts off himself,

Grows conscious of a change, and likes it well:
He stands erect: his slouch becomes a walk;

He steps right onward, martial in his air,

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His form and movement; is as smart above

As meal and larded locks can make him; wears

His hat, or his plum'd helmet, with a grace;

And his three years of heroship expir'd,
Returns indignant to the slighted plough.

He hates the field, in which no fife or drum
Attends him; drives his cattle to a march;
And sighs for the smart comrades he has left.
"Twere well if his exterior change were all—
But with his clumsy port the wretch has lost
His ignorance and harmless manners too.
To swear, to game, to drink; to show at home

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By lewdness, idleness, and sabbath breach,

The great proficiency he made abroad;

T' astonish, and to grieve his gazing friends;

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To break some maiden's and his mother's heart:

To be a pest where he was useful once;

Are his sole aim, and all his glory, now.