The task: a poem, in six books. By William Cowper, ... To which are added, by the same author, An epistle to Joseph Hill, Esq. ... To which are added, ... an epistle ... and the history of John Gilpin.
About this Item
Title
The task: a poem, in six books. By William Cowper, ... To which are added, by the same author, An epistle to Joseph Hill, Esq. ... To which are added, ... an epistle ... and the history of John Gilpin.
Author
Cowper, William, 1731-1800.
Publication
London :: printed for J. Johnson,
1785.
Rights/Permissions
To the extent possible under law, the Text Creation Partnership has waived all copyright and related or neighboring rights to this keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above, according to the terms of the CC0 1.0 Public Domain Dedication (http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/). This waiver does not extend to any page images or other supplementary files associated with this work, which may be protected by copyright or other license restrictions. Please go to http://www.lib.umich.edu/tcp/ecco/ for more information.
Cite this Item
"The task: a poem, in six books. By William Cowper, ... To which are added, by the same author, An epistle to Joseph Hill, Esq. ... To which are added, ... an epistle ... and the history of John Gilpin." In the digital collection Eighteenth Century Collections Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/004792652.0001.000. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 23, 2024.
Pages
descriptionPage [unnumbered]
ARGUMENT of the FIRST BOOK.
Historical deduction of seats, from the stool to the Sofa.—
A School-boys ramble.—A walk in the country.—The
scene described.—Rural sounds as well as sights de|lightful.
—Another walk.—Mistake concerning the
charms of solitude, corrected.—Colonnades commended.
—Alcove and the view from it.—The Wilderness.
—The Grove.—The Thresher.—The necessity and the
benefits of exercise.—The works of nature superior to
and in some instances inimitable by art.—The weari|someness
of what is commonly called a life of pleasure.
—Change of scene sometimes expedient.—A common de|scribed,
and the character of crazy Kate introduced
upou it.—Gipsies.—The blessings of civilized life.—
That state most favourable to virtue.—The South Sea
Islanders compassionated, but chiefly Omai.—His pre|sent
state of mind supposed.—Civilized life friendly to
virtue, but not great cities.—Great cities, and London
in particular, allowed their due praise, but censured.—
Fete Champetre.—The book concludes with a reflec|tion
on the fatal effects of dissipation and effeminacy
upon our public measures.
descriptionPage [unnumbered]
BOOK I.
THE SOFA.
I SING the SOFA. I who lately sangTruth, Hope and Charity, and touch'd with aweThe solemn chords, and with a trembling hand,Escap'd with pain from that advent'rous flight,Now seek repose upon an humbler theme;The theme though humble, yet august and proudTh' occasion—for the Fair commands the song.
Time was, when cloathing sumptuous or for use,Save their own painted skins, our sires had none.As yet black breeches were not; sattin smooth,
descriptionPage 2
Or velvet soft, or plush with shaggy pile:The hardy chief upon the rugged rockWash'd by the sea, or on the grav'ly bankThrown up by wintry torrents roaring loud,Fearless of wrong, repos'd his weary strength.Those barb'rous ages past, succeeded nextThe birth-day of invention, weak at first,Dull in design, and clumsy to perform.Joint-stools were then created; on three legsUpborne they stood. Three legs upholding firmA massy slab, in fashion square or round.On such a stool immortal Alfred sat,And sway'd the sceptre of his infant realms;And such in ancient halls and mansions drearMay still be seen, but perforated soreAnd drill'd in holes the solid oak is found,By worms voracious eating through and through.
At length a generation more refinedImprov'd the simple plan, made three legs four,
descriptionPage 3
Gave them a twisted form vermicular,And o'er the seat with plenteous wadding stuff'dInduced a splendid cover green and blue,Yellow and red, of tapestry richly wroughtAnd woven close, or needle-work sublime.There might ye see the pioney spread wide,The full-blown rose, the shepherd and his lass,Lap-dog and lambkin with black staring eyes,And parrots with twin cherries in their beak.
Now came the cane from India, smooth and brightWith Nature's varnish; sever'd into stripesThat interlaced each other, these suppliedOf texture firm a lattice work, that bracedThe new machine, and it became a chair.But restless was the chair; the back erectDistress'd the weary loins that felt no ease;The slipp'ry seat betray'd the sliding partThat press'd it, and the feet hung dangling down,Anxious in vain to find the distant floor.
descriptionPage 4
These for the rich: the rest, whom fate had placedIn modest mediocrity, contentWith base materials, sat on well tann'd hidesObdurate and unyielding, glassy smooth,With here and there a tuft of crimson yarn,Or scarlet crewel in the cushion fixt:If cushion might be call'd, what harder seem'dThan the firm oak of which the frame was form'd.No want of timber then was felt or fear'dIn Albion's happy isle. The umber stoodPond'rous, and fixt by its own massy weight.But elbows still were wanting; these, some say,An Alderman of Cripplegate contrived,And some ascribe the invention to a priestBurly and big and studious of his ease.But rude at first, and not with easy slopeReceding wide, they press'd against the ribs,And bruised the side, and elevated highTaught the rais'd shoulders to invade the ears.Long time elapsed or e'er our rugged sires
descriptionPage 5
Complain'd, though incommodiously pent in,And ill at ease behind. The Ladies first'Gan murmur, as became the softer sex.Ingenious fancy, never better pleas'dThan when employ'd t' accommodate the fair,Heard the sweet moan with pity, and devisedThe soft settee; one elbow at each end,And in the midst an elbow, it receiv'dUnited yet divided, twain at once.So sit two Kings of Brentford on one throne;And so two citizens who take the airClose pack'd and smiling in a chaise and one.But relaxation of the languid frameBy soft recumbency of outstretched limbs,Was bliss reserved for happier days. So slowThe growth of what is excellent, so hardT'attain perfection in this nether world.Thus first necessity invented stools,Convenience next suggested elbow chairs,And luxury th' accomplished Sofa last.
descriptionPage 6
The nurse sleeps sweetly, hired to watch the sickWhom snoring she disturbs. As sweetly heWho quits the coach-box at the midnight hourTo sleep within the carriage more secure,His legs depending at the open door.Sweet sleep enjoys the Curate in his desk,The tedious Rector drawling o'er his head,And sweet the Clerk below: but neither sleepOf lazy Nurse, who snores the sick man dead,Nor his who quits the box at midnight hourTo slumber in the carriage more secure,Nor sleep enjoy'd by Curate in his desk,Nor yet the dozings of the Clerk are sweet,Compared with the repose the SOFA yields.
Oh may I live exempted (while I liveGuiltless of pamper'd appetite obscene)From pangs arthritic that infest the toeOf libertine excess. The SOFA suitsThe gouty limb, 'tis true; but gouty limb
descriptionPage 7
Though on a SOFA, may I never feel:For I have loved the rural walk through lanesOf grassy swarth close cropt by nibbling sheep,And skirted thick with intertexture firmOf thorny boughs: have loved the rural walkO'er hills, through valleys, and by rivers brink,E'er since a truant boy I pass'd my boundsT'enjoy a ramble on the banks of Thames.And still remember, nor without regretOf hours that sorrow since has much endear'd,How oft, my slice of pocket store consumed,Still hung'ring pennyless and far from home,I fed on scarlet hips and stoney haws,Or blushing crabs, or berries that imbossThe bramble, black as jet, or sloes austere.Hard fare! but such as boyish appetiteDisdains not, nor the palate undepravedBy culinary arts, unsav'ry deems.No SOFA then awaited my return,Nor SOFA then I needed. Youth repairs
descriptionPage 8
His wasted spirits quickly, by long toilIncurring short fatigue; and though our yearsAs life declines, speed rapidly away,And not a year but pilfers as he goesSome youthful grace that age would gladly keep,A tooth or auburn lock, and by degreesTheir length and color from the locks they spare;Th' elastic spring of an unwearied footThat mounts the stile with ease, or leaps the fence,That play of lungs inhaling and againRespiring freely the fresh air, that makesSwift pace or steep ascent no toil to me,Mine have not pilfer'd yet; nor yet impair'dMy relish of fair prospect; scenes that sooth'dOr charm'd me young, no longer young, I findStill soothing and of power to charm me still.And witness, dear companion of my walks,Whose arm this twentieth winter I perceiveFast lock'd in mine, with pleasure such as loveConfirm'd by long experience of thy worth
descriptionPage 9
And well-tried virtues could alone inspire—Witness a joy that thou hast doubled long.Thou know'st my praise of nature most sincere,And that my raptures are not conjured upTo serve occasions of poetic pomp,But genuine, and art partner of them all.How oft upon yon eminence, our paceHas slacken'd to a pause, and we have borneThe ruffling wind scarce conscious that it blew,While admiration feeding at the eye,And still unsated, dwelt upon the scene.Thence with what pleasure have we just discern'dThe distant plough slow-moving, and besideHis lab'ring team that swerv'd not from the track,The sturdy swain diminish'd to a boy!Here Ouse, slow winding through a level plainOf spacious meads with cattle sprinkled o'er,Conducts the eye along his sinuous courseDelighted. There, fast rooted in his bankStand, never overlook'd, our fav'rite elms
descriptionPage 10
That screen the herdsman's solitary hut;While far beyond and overthwart the streamThat as with molten glass inlays the vale,The sloping land recedes into the clouds;Displaying on its varied side, the graceOf hedge-row beauties numberless, square tow'r,Tall spire, from which the sound of chearful bellsJust undulates upon the list'ning ear;Groves, heaths, and smoking villages remote.Scenes must be beautiful which daily view'dPlease daily, and whose novelty survivesLong knowledge and the scrutiny of years.Praise justly due to those that I describe.
Nor rural sights alone, but rural soundsExhilarate the spirit, and restoreThe tone of languid Nature. Mighty windsThat sweep the skirt of some far-spreading woodOf ancient growth, make music not unlikeThe dash of ocean on his winding shore,
descriptionPage 11
And lull the spirit while they fill the mind,Unnumber'd branches waving in the blast,And all their leaves fast flutt'ring, all at once.Nor less composure waits upon the roarOf distant floods, or on the softer voiceOf neighb'ring fountain, or of rills that slipThrough the cleft rock, and chiming as they fallUpon loose pebbles, lose themselves at lengthIn matted grass, that with a livelier greenBetrays the secret of their silent course.Nature inanimate employs sweet sounds,But animated Nature sweeter stillTo sooth and satisfy the human ear.Ten thousand warblers chear the day, and oneThe live-long night: nor these alone whose notesNice-finger'd art must emulate in vain,But cawing rooks, and kites that swim sublimeIn still repeated circles, screaming loud,The jay, the pie, and ev'n the boding owlThat hails the rising moon, have charms for me.
descriptionPage 12
Sounds inharmonious in themselves and harsh,Yet heard in scenes where peace for ever reigns,And only there, please highly for their sake.
Peace to the artist, whose ingenious thoughtDevised the weather-house, that useful toy!Fearless of humid air and gathering rainsForth steps the man, an emblem of myself,More delicate his tim'rous mate retires.When Winter soaks the fields, and female feetToo weak to struggle with tenacious clay,Or ford the rivulets, are best at home,The task of new discov'ries falls on me.At such a season and with such a chargeOnce went I forth, and found, till then unknown,A cottage, whither oft we since repair:'Tis perch'd upon the green-hill top, but closeInviron'd with a ring of branching elmsThat overhang the thatch, itself unseen,Peeps at the vale below; so thick beset
descriptionPage 13
With foliage of such dark redundant growth,I call'd the low-roof'd lodge the peasant's nest.And hidden as it is, and far remoteFrom such unpleasing sounds as haunt the earIn village or in town, the bay of cursIncessant, clinking hammers, grinding wheels,And infants clam'rous whether pleas'd or pain'd,Oft have I wish'd the peaceful covert mine.Here, I have said, at least I should possessThe poet's treasure, silence, and indulgeThe dreams of fancy, tranquil and secure.Vain thought! the dweller in that still retreatDearly obtains the refuge it affords.Its elevated scite forbids the wretchYo drink sweet waters of the chrystal well;He dips his bowl into the weedy ditch,And heavy-laden brings his bev'rage homeFar-fetch'd and little worth; nor seldom waits,Dependent on the baker's punctual call,To hear his creaking panniers at the door,
descriptionPage 14
Angry and sad and his last crust consumed.So farewel envy of the peasant's nest.If solitude make scant the means of life,Society for me! thou seeming sweet,Be still a pleasing object in my view,My visit still, but never mine abode.
Not distant far, a length of colonadeInvites us. Monument of ancient taste,Now scorn'd, but worthy of a better fate.Our fathers knew the value of a screenFrom sultry suns, and in their shaded walksAnd long-protracted bow'rs, enjoy'd at noonThe gloom and coolness of declining day.We bear our shades about us; self depriv'dOf other screen, the thin umbrella spread,And range an Indian waste without a tree.Thanks to Benevolus—he spares me yet
descriptionPage 15
These chesnuts ranged in corresponding lines,And though himself so polish'd, still reprievesThe obsolete prolixity of shade.
Descending now (but cautious, lest too fast)A sudden steep, upon a rustic bridgeWe pass a gulph in which the willows dipTheir pendent boughs, stooping as if to drink.Hence ancle deep in moss and flow'ry thymeWe mount again, and feel at ev'ry stepOur foot half sunk in hillocks green and soft,Rais'd by the mole, the miner of the soil.He not unlike the great ones of mankind,Disfigures earth, and plotting in the darkToils much to earn a monumental pile,That may record the mischiefs he has done.
The summit gain'd, behold the proud alcoveThat crowns it! yet not all its pride securesThe grand retreat from injuries impress'd
descriptionPage 16
By rural carvers, who with knives defaceThe pannels, leaving an obscure rude nameIn characters uncouth, and spelt amiss.So strong the zeal t' immortalize himselfBeats in the breast of man, that ev'n a fewFew transient years won from th' abyss abhorr'dOf blank oblivion, seem a glorious prize,And even to a clown. Now roves the eye,And posted on this speculative heightExults in its command. The sheep-fold herePours out its fleecy tenants o'er the glebe.At first, progressive as a stream, they seekThe middle field; but scatter'd by degreesEach to his choice, soon whiten all the land.There, from the sun-burnt hay-field homeward creepsThe loaded wain, while lighten'd of its chargeThe wain that meets it, passes swiftly by,The boorish driver leaning o'er his teamVocif'rous, and impatient of delay.Nor less attractive is the woodland scene
descriptionPage 17
Diversified with trees of ev'ry growthAlike yet various. Here the grey smooth trunksOf ash or lime, or beech, distinctly shine,Within the twilight of their distant shades;There lost behind a rising ground, the woodSeems sunk, and shorten'd to its topmost boughs.No tree in all the grove but has its charms,Though each its hue peculiar; paler some,And of a wannish grey; the willow suchAnd poplar, that with silver lines his leaf,And ash far-stretching his umbrageous arm.Of deeper green the elm; and deeper still,Lord of the woods, the long-surviving oak.Some glossy-leav'd and shining in the sun,The maple, and the beech of oily nutsProlific, and the lime at dewy eveDiffusing odors: nor unnoted passThe sycamore, capricious in attire,Now green, now tawny, and 'ere autumn yetHave changed the woods, in scarlet honors bright.
descriptionPage 18
O'er these, but far beyond, (a spacious mapOf hill and valley interpos'd between)The Ouse, dividing the well water'd land,Now glitters in the sun, and now retires,As bashful, yet impatient to be seen.
Hence the declivity is sharp and short,And such the re-ascent; between them weepsA little Naiad her impov'rish'd urnAll summer long, which winter fills again.The folded gates would bar my progress now,But that the Lord of this inclosed demesne,Communicative of the good he owns,Admits me to a share: the guiltless eyeCommits no wrong, nor wastes what it enjoys.Refreshing change! where now the blazing sun?By short transition we have lost his glareAnd stepp'd at once into a cooler clime.Ye fallen avenues! once more I mourn
descriptionPage 19
Your fate unmerited, once more rejoiceThat yet a remnant of your race survives.How airy and how light the graceful arch,Yet awful as the consecrated roofRe-echoing pious anthems! while beneathThe chequer'd earth seems restless as a floodBrush'd by the wind. So sportive is the lightShot through the boughs, it dances as they dance,Shadow and sunshine intermingling quick,And darkning and enlightning, as the leavesPlay wanton, ev'ry moment, ev'ry spot.
And now with nerves new-brac'd and spirits chear'dWe tread the wilderness, whose well-roll'd walksWith curvature of slow and easy sweep,Deception innocent—give ample spaceTo narrow bounds. The grove receives us next;Between the upright shafts of whose tall elmsWe may discern the thresher at his task.Thump after thump, resounds the constant flail,
descriptionPage 20
That seems to swing uncertain, and yet fallsFull on the destin'd ear. Wide flies the chaff,The rustling straw sends up a frequent mistOf atoms sparkling in the noon-day beam.Come hither, ye that press your beds of downAnd sleep not: see him sweating o'er his breadBefore he eats it.—'Tis the primal curse,But soften'd into mercy; made the pledgeOf chearful days, and nights without a groan.
By ceaseless action, all that is, subsists.Constant rotation of th' unwearied wheelThat nature rides upon, maintains her health,Her beauty, her fertility. She dreadsAn instant's pause, and lives but while she moves.Its own revolvency upholds the world.Winds from all quarters agitate the air,And fit the limpid element for use,Else noxious: oceans, rivers, lakes, and streamsAll feel the fresh'ning impulse, and are cleansed
descriptionPage 21
By restless undulation; ev'n the oakThrives by the rude concussion of the storm;He seems indeed indignant, and to feelTh' impression of the blast with proud disdain,Frowning as if in his unconscious armHe held the thunder. But the monarch owesHis firm stability to what he scorns,More fixt below, the more disturb'd above.The law by which all creatures else are bound,Binds man the lord of all. Himself derivesNo mean advantage from a kindred cause,From strenuous toil his hours of sweetest ease.The sedentary stretch their lazy lengthWhen custom bids, but no refreshment find,For none they need: the languid eye, the cheekDeserted of its bloom, the flaccid, shrunk,And wither'd muscle, and the vapid soul,Reproach their owner with that love of restTo which he forfeits ev'n the rest he loves.Not such th' alert and active. Measure life
descriptionPage 22
By its true worth, the comforts it affords,And theirs alone seems worthy of the name.Good health, and its associate in the most,Good temper; spirits prompt to undertake,And not soon spent, though in an arduous task;The pow'rs of fancy and strong thought are theirs;Ev'n age itself seems privileged in themWith clear exemption from its own defects.A sparkling eye beneath a wrinkled frontThe vet'ran shows, and gracing a grey beardWith youthful smiles, descends toward the graveSprightly, and old almost without decay.
Like a coy maiden, ease, when courted most,Farthest retires—an idol, at whose shrineWho oft'nest sacrifice are favor'd least.The love of Nature, and the scenes she drawsIs Nature's dictate. Strange! there should be foundWho self-imprison'd in their proud saloons,Renounce the odors of the open field
descriptionPage 23
For the unscented fictions of the loom.Who satisfied with only pencil'd scenes,Prefer to the performance of a GodTh' inferior wonders of an artist's hand.Lovely indeed the mimic works of art,But Nature's works far lovelier. I admire—None more admires the painter's magic skill,Who shews me that which I shall never see,Conveys a distant country into mine,And throws Italian light on English walls.But imitative strokes can do no moreThan please the eye, sweet Nature ev'ry sense.The air salubrious of her lofty hills,The chearing fragrance of her dewy valesAnd music of her woods—no works of manMay rival these; these all bespeak a powerPeculiar, and exclusively her own.Beneath the open sky she spreads the feast;'Tis free to all—'tis ev'ry day renew'd,Who scorns it, starves deservedly at home.
descriptionPage 24
He does not scorn it, who imprison'd longIn some unwholesome dungeon, and a preyTo sallow sickness, which the vapors dankAnd clammy of his dark abode have bred,Escapes at last to liberty and light.His cheek recovers soon its healthful hue,His eye relumines its extinguish'd fires,He walks, he leaps, he runs—is wing'd with joy,And riots in the sweets of ev'ry breeze.He does not scorn it, who has long endur'dA fever's agonies, and fed on drugs.Nor yet the mariner, his blood inflamedWith acrid salts; his very heart athirstTo gaze at Nature in her green array.Upon the ship's tall side he stands, possess'dWith visions prompted by intense desire;Fair fields appear below, such as he leftFar distant, such as he would die to find—He seeks them headlong, and is seen no more.
descriptionPage 25
The spleen is seldom felt where Flora reigns;The low'ring eye, the petulance, the frown,And sullen sadness that o'ershade, distort,And mar the face of beauty, when no causeFor such immeasurable woe appears,These Flora banishes, and gives the fairSweet smiles and bloom less transient than her own.It is the constant revolution staleAnd tasteless, of the same repeated joys,That palls and satiates, and makes languid lifeA pedlar's pack, that bows the bearer down.Health suffers, and the spirits ebb; the heartRecoils from its own choice—at the full feastIs famish'd—finds no music in the song,No smartness in the jest, and wonders why.Yet thousands still desire to journey on,Though halt and weary of the path they tread.The paralitic who can hold her cardsBut cannot play them, borrows a friend's handTo deal and shuffle, to divide and sort
descriptionPage 26
Her mingled suits and sequences, and sitsSpectatress both and spectacle, a sadAnd silent cypher, while her proxy plays.Others are dragg'd into the crowded roomBetween supporters; and once seated, sitThrough downright inability to rise,'Till the stout bearers lift the corpse again.These speak a loud memento. Yet ev'n theseThemselves love life, and cling to it, as heThat overhangs a torrent, to a twig.They love it, and yet loath it; fear to die,Yet scorn the purposes for which they live.Then wherefore not renounce them? No—the dread,The slavish dread of solitude, that breedsReflection and remorse, the fear of shame,And their invet'rate habits, all forbid.
Whom call we gay? That honor has been longThe boast of mere pretenders to the name.The innocent are gay—the lark is gay
descriptionPage 27
That dries his feathers saturate with dewBeneath the rosy cloud, while yet the beamsOf day-spring overshoot his humble nest.The peasant too, a witness of his song,Himself a songster, is as gay as he.But save me from the gaiety of thoseWhose head-aches nail them to a noon-day bed;And save me too from theirs whose haggard eyesFlash desperation, and betray their pangsFor property stripp'd off by cruel chance;From gaiety that fills the bones with pain,The mouth with blasphemy, the heart with woe.
The earth was made so various, that the mindOf desultory man, studious of change,And pleas'd with novelty, might be indulged.Prospects however lovely may be seen'Till half their beauties fade; the weary sight,Too well acquainted with their smiles, slides offFastidious, seeking less familiar scenes.
descriptionPage 28
Then snug inclosures in the shelter'd vale,Where frequent hedges intercept the eye,Delight us, happy to renounce a while,Not senseless of its charms, what still we love,That such short absence may endear it more.Then forests, or the savage rock may please,That hides the sea-mew in his hollow cleftsAbove the reach of man: his hoary headConspicuous many a league, the marinerBound homeward, and in hope already there,Greets with three cheers exulting. At his waistA girdle of half-wither'd shrubs he shows,And at his feet the baffled billows die.The common overgrown with fern, and roughWith prickly goss, that shapeless and deformAnd dang'rous to the touch, has yet its bloomAnd decks itself with ornaments of gold,Yields no unpleasing ramble; there the turfSmells fresh, and rich in odorif'rous herbs
descriptionPage 29
And fungous fruits of earth, regales the senseWith luxury of unexpected sweets.
There often wanders one, whom better daysSaw better clad, in cloak of sattin trimm'dWith lace, and hat with splendid ribband bound.A serving maid was she, and fell in loveWith one who left her, went to sea and died.Her fancy followed him through foaming wavesTo distant shores, and she would sit and weepAt what a sailor suffers; fancy tooDelusive most where warmest wishes are,Would oft anticipate his glad return,And dream of transports she was not to know.She heard the doleful tidings of his death,And never smil'd again. And now she roamsThe dreary waste; there spends the livelong day,And there, unless when charity forbids,The livelong night. A tatter'd apron hides,Worn as a cloak, and hardly hides a gown
descriptionPage 30
More tatter'd still; and both but ill concealA bosom heaved with never-ceasing sighs.She begs an idle pin of all she meets,And hoards them in her sleeve; but needful food,Though press'd with hunger oft, or comelier cloaths,Though pinch'd with cold, asks never.—Kate is craz'd.
I see a column of slow-rising smokeO'ertop the lofty wood that skirts the wild.A vagabond and useless tribe there eatTheir miserable meal. A kettle slungBetween two poles upon a stick transverse,Receives the morsel; flesh obscene of dog,Or vermin, or at best, of cock purloin'dFrom his accustom'd perch. Hard-faring race!They pick their fuel out of ev'ry hedge,Which kindled with dry leaves, just saves unquench'dThe spark of life. The sportive wind blows wideTheir flutt'ring rags, and shows a tawny skin,The vellum of the pedigree they claim.
descriptionPage 31
Great skill have they in palmistry, and moreTo conjure clean away the gold they touch,Conveying worthless dross into its place.Loud when they beg, dumb only when they steal.Strange! that a creature rational, and castIn human mould, should brutalize by choiceHis nature, and though capable of artsBy which the world might profit and himself,Self-banish'd from fociety, preferSuch squalid sloth to honorable toil.Yet even these, though feigning sickness oftThey swathe the forehead, drag the limping limbAnd vex their flesh with artificial sores,Can change their whine into a mirthful noteWhen safe occasion offers, and with danceAnd music of the bladder and the bagBeguile their woes and make the woods resound.Such health and gaiety of heart enjoyThe houseless rovers of the sylvan world;And breathing wholesome air, and wand'ring much,
descriptionPage 32
Need other physic none to heal th' effectsOf loathfome diet, penury, and cold.
Blest he, though undistinguish'd from the crowdBy wealth or dignity, who dwells secureWhere man, by nature fierce, has laid asideHis fierceness, having learnt, though slow to learn,The manners and the arts of civil life.His wants, indeed, are many; but supplyIs obvious; placed within the easy reachOf temp'rate wishes and industrious hands.Here virtue thrives as in her proper soil;Not rude and surly, and beset with thorns,And terrible to sight, as when she springs,(If e'er she spring spontaneous) in remoteAnd barb'rous climes, where violence prevails,And strength is lord of all; but gentle, kind,By culture tam'd, by liberty refresh'd,And all her fruits by radiant truth matur'd.War and the chace engross the savage whole.
descriptionPage 33
War follow'd for revenge, or to supplantThe envied tenants of some happier spot,The chace for sustenance, precarious trust!His hard condition with severe constraintBinds all his faculties, forbids all growthOf wisdom, proves a school in which he learnsSly circumvention, unrelenting hate,Mean self-attachment, and scarce aught beside.Thus fare the shiv'ring natives of the north,And thus the rangers of the western worldWhere it advances far into the deep,Towards th' Antarctic. Ev'n the favor'd islesSo lately found, although the constant sunCheer all their seasons with a grateful smile,Can boast but little virtue; and inertThrough plenty, lose in morals, what they gainIn manners, victims of luxurious ease.These therefore I can pity, placed remoteFrom all that science traces, art invents,Or inspiration teaches; and inclosed
descriptionPage 34
In boundless oceans never to be pass'dBy navigators uninformed as they,Or plough'd perhaps by British bark again.But far beyond the rest, and with most causeThee, gentle savage! whom no love of theeOr thine, but curiosity perhaps,Or else vain glory, prompted us to drawForth from thy native bow'rs, to show thee hereWith what superior skill we can abuseThe gifts of providence, and squander life.The dream is past. And thou hast found againThy cocoas and bananas, palms and yams,And homestall thatch'd with leaves. But hast thou foundTheir former charms? And having seen our state,Our palaces, our ladies, and our pompOf equipage, our gardens, and our sports,And heard our music; are thy simple friends,Thy simple fare, and all thy plain delightsAs dear to thee as once? And have thy joysLost nothing by comparison with ours?
descriptionPage 35
Rude as thou art (for we return'd thee rudeAnd ignorant, except of outward show)I cannot think thee yet so dull of heartAnd spiritless, as never to regretSweets tasted here, and left as soon as known.Methinks I see thee straying on the beach,And asking of the surge that bathes thy footIf ever it has wash'd our distant shore.I see thee weep, and thine are honest tears,A patriot's for his country. Thou art sadAt 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 duely ev'ry mornThou climb'st the mountain top, with eager eyeExploring far and wide the wat'ry wasteFor sight of ship from England. Ev'ry speckSeen in the dim horizon, turns thee paleWith conflict of contending hopes and fears.
descriptionPage 36
But comes at last the dull and dusky eve,And sends thee to thy cabbin, well-prepar'dTo dream all night of what the day denied.Alas! expect it not. We found no baitTo 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 brib'd to compass earth againBy other hopes and richer fruits than yours.
But though true worth and virtue, in the mildAnd genial soil of cultivated lifeThrive most, and may perhaps thrive only there,Yet not in cities oft. In proud and gayAnd gain devoted cities; thither flow,As to a common and most noisome sewer,The dregs and faeculence of ev'ry land.In cities foul example on most mindsBegets its likeness. Rank abundance breedsIn gross and pamper'd cities sloth and lust,
descriptionPage 37
And wantonness and gluttonous excess.In cities, vice is hidden with most ease,Or seen with least reproach; and virtue taughtBy frequent lapse, can hope no triumph thereBeyond th' atchievement of successful flight.I do confess them nurs'ries of the arts,In which they flourish most. Where in the beamsOf warm encouragement, and in the eyeOf public note they reach their perfect size.Such London is, by taste and wealth proclaim'dThe fairest capital of all the world,By riot and incontinence the worst.There, touch'd by Reynolds, a dull blank becomesA lucid mirror, in which nature seesAll her reflected features. Bacon thereGives more than female beauty to a stone,And Chatham's eloquence to marble lips.Nor does the chissel occupy aloneThe pow'rs of sculpture, but the style as much;Each province of her art her equal care.
descriptionPage 38
With nice incision of her guided steelShe ploughs a brazen field, and clothes a soilSo sterile with what charms soe'er she will,The richest scen'ry and the loveliest forms.Where finds philosophy her eagle eyeWith which she gazes at yon burning diskUndazzled, and detects and counts his spots?In London; where her implements exactWith which she calculates computes and scansAll distance, motion, magnitude, and nowMeasures an atom, and now girds a world?In London; where has commerce such a mart,So rich, so throng'd, so drain'd, and so suppliedAs London, opulent, enlarged, and stillIncreasing London? Babylon of oldNot more the glory of the earth, than sheA more accomplish'd world's chief glory now.
She has her praise. Now mark a spot or twoThat so much beauty would do well to purge;
descriptionPage 39
And show this queen of cities, that so fairMay yet be foul, so witty, yet not wise.It is not seemly, nor of good reportThat she is slack in discipline. More promptT'avenge than to prevent the breach of law.That she is rigid in denouncing deathOn petty robbers, and indulges lifeAnd liberty, and oft-times honor tooTo peculators of the public gold.That thieves at home must hang; but he that putsInto his overgorged and bloated purseThe wealth of Indian provinces, escapes.Nor is it well, nor can it come to good,That through profane and infidel contemptOf holy writ, she has presum'd t'annulAnd abrogate, as roundly as she may,The total ordonance and will of God;Advancing fashion to the post of truth,And cent'ring all authority in modesAnd customs of her own, till sabbath rites
descriptionPage 40
Have dwindled into unrespected forms,And knees and hassocks are well-nigh divorced.
God made the country, and man made the town.What wonder then, that health and virtue, giftsThat can alone make sweet the bitter draughtThat life holds out to all, should most aboundAnd least be threatened in the fields and groves?Possess ye therefore, ye who borne aboutIn chariots and sedans, know no fatigueBut that of idleness, and taste no scenesBut such as art contrives, possess ye stillYour element; there only, ye can shine,There only minds like yours can do no harm.Our groves were planted to console at noonThe pensive wand'rer in their shades. At eveThe moon-beam sliding softly in betweenThe sleeping leaves, is all the light they wish,Birds warbling all the music. We can spareThe splendor of your lamps, they but eclipse
descriptionPage 41
Our softer satellite. Your songs confoundOur more harmonious notes. The thrush departsScared, and th' offended nightingale is mute.There is a public mischief in your mirth,It plagues your country. Folly such as your'sGraced with a sword, and worthier of a fan,Has made, which enemies could ne'er have done,Our arch of empire, stedfast but for you,A mutilated structure, soon to fall.
Notes
John Courtney Throckmorton, Esq. of Weston Underwood.