And mufic of the bladder and the bag,

Beguile their woes, and make the woods refound.
Such health and gaiety of heart enjoy

The houseless rovers of the fylvan world;
And, breathing wholesome air, and wandering
much,

Need other phyfic none to heal the effects
Of loathfome diet, penury, and cold.

Blest he, though undistinguish'd from the crowd
By wealth or dignity, who dwells fecure,
Where man, by nature fierce, has laid afide

His fiercenefs, having learnt, though flow to learn,
The manners and the arts of civil life.
His wants indeed are many; but fupply
Is obvious, placed within the eafy reach
Of temperate wifhes and induftrious hands.
Here virtue thrives as in her proper foil;
Not rude and furly, and befet with thorns,
And terrible to fight, as when the fprings
(If e'er the fpring fpontaneous) in remote
And barbarous climes, where violence prevails,
And strength is lord of all; but gentle, kind,
By culture tamed, by liberty refresh'd,
And all her fruits by radiant truth matured.
War and the chase engross the savage whole;
War follow'd for revenge, or to supplant
The envied tenants of fome happier spot:
The chafe for fuftenance, precarious trust!
His hard condition with fevere constraint
Binds all his faculties, forbids all growth
Of wisdom, proves a school, in which he learns
Sly circumvention, unrelenting hate,

Mean felf-attachment, and scarce aught befide.
Thus fare the shivering natives of the north,
And thus the rangers of the western world,
Where it advances far into the deep,

Towards the Antarctic. E'en the favour'd ifles,
So lately found, although the constant fun
Cheer all their seasons with a grateful smile,
Can boaft but little virtue; and, inert
Through plenty, lofe in morals what they gain
In manners-victims of luxurious eafe.
These therefore I can pity, placed remote
From all that science traces, art invents,
Or inspiration teaches; and enclosed
In boundless oceans, never to be paff'd
By navigators uninform'd as they,
Or plough'd perhaps by British bark again :
But far beyond the rest, and with most cause,
Thee, gentle savage!* whom no love of thee
Or thine, but curiofity, perhaps,

Or elfe vainglory, prompted us to draw
Forth from thy native bowers, to fhow thee here
With what fuperior skill we can abuse
The gifts of Providence, and fquander life.
The dream is past; and thou hast found again
Thy cocoas and bananas, palms and yams,

And homeftall thatch'd with leaves. But haft thou

found

Their former charms? And having feen our state, Our palaces, our ladies, and our pomp

Of equipage, our gardens, and our sports,

* Omai.

And heard our mufic; are thy fimple friends,
Thy fimple fare, and all thy plain delights
As dear to thee as once? And have thy joys
Loft nothing by comparison with ours?
Rude as thou art (for we return'd thee rude
And ignorant, except of outward show),
I cannot think thee yet fo dull of heart
And spiritlefs, as never to regret
Sweets tasted here, and left as foon as known.
Methinks I fee thee ftraying on the beach,
And asking of the furge that bathes thy foot,
If ever it has wafh'd our diftant shore.

up.

I fee thee weep, and thine are honeft tears,
A patriot's for his country: thou art fad
At thought of her forlorn and abject state,
From which no power of thine can raise her
Thus Fancy paints thee, and, though apt to err,
Perhaps errs little when the paints thee thus.
She tells me, too, that duly every morn
Thou climb'ft the mountain top, with eager eye
Exploring far and wide the watery wafte
For fight of fhip from England. Every fpeck
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 fends 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,
Difinterested 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 foil of cultivated life

Thrive moft, 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 fewer,
The dregs and feculence of every land.
In cities foul example on most minds
Begets its likeness. Rank abundance breeds,
In grofs and pamper'd cities, floth, and lust,
And wantonnefs, and gluttonous excefs.
In cities vice is hidden with most ease,

Or feen with leaft reproach; and virtue, taught
By frequent lapfe, can hope no triumph there
Beyond the achievement of fuccessful flight.
I do confefs them nurseries of the arts,

In which they flourish most; where, in the beams
Of warm encouragement, and in the eye

Of public note, they reach their perfect size. Such London is, by taste and wealth proclaim'd The fairest capital of all the world,

By riot and incontinence the worst.

There, touch'd by Reynolds, a dull blank becomes
A lucid mirror, in which Nature fees
All her reflected features. Bacon there
Gives more than female beauty to a stone,
And Chatham's eloquence to marble lips.
Nor does the chifel occupy alone

The powers of sculpture, but the style as much;
Each province of her art her equal care.

With nice incifion of her guided steel

She ploughs a brazen field, and clothes a foil
So fterile with what charms foe'er fhe will,
The richest scenery and the lovelieft forms.
Where finds Philosophy her eagle eye,

With which the gazes at yon burning disk
Undazzled, and detects and counts his fpots?
In London: where her implements exact,
With which the calculates, computes, and scans
All distance, motion, magnitude, and now
Measures an atom, and now girds a world?
In London. Where has commerce fuch a mart,
So rich, fo throng'd, fo drain'd, and so supplied,
As London-opulent, enlarged, and still
Increafing London? Babylon of old

Not more the glory of the earth than she,
A more accomplish'd world's chief glory now.

She has her praise. Now mark a spot or two,
That so much beauty would do well to purge;
And show this Queen of Cities, that so fair
May yet be foul; fo witty, yet not wise.
It is not feemly, nor of good report,

That she is flack in difcipline; more prompt
Το avenge than to prevent the breach of law:
That she is rigid in denouncing death

On petty robbers, and indulges life

And liberty, and ofttimes honour too,

To peculators of the public gold.

That thieves at home muft hang; but he, that puts
Into his overgorged and bloated purse
The wealth of Indian provinces, escapes.
Nor is it well, nor can it come to good,
That, through profane and infidel contempt
Of holy writ, fhe has prefumed to annul