But helpless, in few years shall find their hands, But poverty, with most who whimper forth Now goes the nightly thief prowling abroad To better deeds, he bundles up the spoil An ass's burden-and, when laden most And heaviest, light of foot, steals fast away.) The well-stack'd pile of riven logs and roots 0 To his voracious bag, struggling in vain, And loudly wond'ring at the sudden change.- For their support, so destitute.-But they His ev'ry action, and imbrutes the man. Oh for a law to noose the villain'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, ev'ry twentieth pace Smith, cobbler, joiner, he that plies the shears, Its wasted tones and harmony unheard: . Fierce the dispute, whate'er the theme; while she, Fell Discord, arbitress of such debate, Perch'd on the sign-post, holds with even hand Her undecisive scales. In this she lays A weight of ignorance; in that, of pride; And smiles, delighted with th' eternal poise. Dire is the frequent curse, and its twin sound The cheek-distending oath, not to be prais'd As ornamental, musical, polite, Like those which modern senators employ, Whose oath is rhet'ric, 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 Society, grown weary of the load, Shakes her encumber'd lap, and casts them out. But censure profits little: vain th' attempt To advertise in verse a public pest, That, like the filth with which the peasant feeds Th' excise is fatten'd with the rich result Her cause demands th' assistance of your throats;– Would I had fall'n upon those happier days That poets celebrate; those golden times, And those Arcadian scenes, that Maro sings, And Sidney, warbler of poetic prose. Nymphs were Dianas then, and swains had hearts That felt their virtues: innocence, it seems, From courts dismiss'd, found shelter in the groves; |