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War follow'd for revenge, or to supplant
The envied tenants of some happier spot,
The chace for sustenance, precarious trust!
His hard condition with severe 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 beside.
Thus fare the shiv'ring natives of the north,
And thus the rangers of the western world,
Where it advances far into the deep,
Towards th' Antarctic. Ev'n the favor'd illes
So lately found, although the constant sun
Cheer all their seasons with a grateful finile,
Can boast but little virtue; and inert
Through plenty, lose in morals what they gain
In manners, victims of luxurious ease.
These therefore I can pity, plac'd remote
From all that icience traces, art invents,
Or inspiration teaches ; and inclosed



In boundless oceans, never to be pafs'd
By navigators uninformed 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 curiosity perhaps,
Ör else vain glory, prompted us to draw
Forth from thy native, bow'rs, to show thee here
With what superior skill we can abuse
The gifts of Providence, and squander life.
The dream iš 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 seen our state,
Our palaces, our ladies, and our pomp
Of equipage, our gardens, and our sports,
And heard our music; are thy fimple friends,
Thy simple fare, and all thy plain delights,
As dear to thee as once ? And have thy joys
Loft nothing by comparison with ours?

Rude * Omia,

Rude as thou art (for we return'd thee rude
And ignorant, except of outward fhow)
I cannot think thee yet fo dull of heart
And spiritless, as never to regret
Sweets tasted here, and left as soon as known.
Methinks I see thee straying on the beach,
And asking of the surge that bathes thy foot
If 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 fad
At 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 duly ev'ry morn
Thou climb'it the mountain top, with eager eye
Exploring far and wide the wae'ry waste
For fight of ship from England. Ev'ry speck
Seen in the dim horizon, turns thee pale
With conflict of contending hopes and fears.

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But comes at last the dull and dusky eve,
And sends thee to thy cabbin, well-prepar'd
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,
Disinterested good, is not our trade.
We travel far 'tis true, but not for nought
And must be brib'd to compass earth again
By other hopes and richer fruits than yours.

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But though true worth and virtue, in the mild
And genial soil 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 sewer,
The dregs and fæculence of ev'ry land.
In cities foul example on most minds
Begets its likeness. Rank abundance breeds
In grofs and pamper'd cities Noth and luft,


And wontonness and gluttonous excess.
In cities, vice is hidden with most ease,
Or seen with least reproach ; and virtue, taught
By frequent lapse, can hope no triumph there
Beyond th' atchievement of successful Aight.
I do confess them nurs'ries of the arts,
In which they flourish moft: 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 sees

All her reflected features. Bacon there

Gives more than female beauty to a stone,
And Chatham's eloquence to marble lips.
Nor does the chissel occupy

The pow'rs of sculpture, but the style as much;
Each province of her art her equal care,



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