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CONTRASTED NATIONAL TYPES.
(From "The Traveler.") My soul, turn from them; turn we to survey Where rougher climes a nobler race display; Where the bleak Swiss their stormy mansion tread, And force a churlish soil for scanty bread. No product here the barren hills afford, But man and steel, the soldier and his sword; No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array, But winter lingering chills the lap of May; No zephyr fondly sues the mountain's breast, But meteors glare, and stormy glooms invest. Yet still, even here, content can spread a charm, Redress the clime, and all its rage disarm. Though poor the peasant's hut, his feasts though small, He sees his little lot the lot of all; Sees no contiguous palace rear its head To shame the meanness of his humble shed; No costly lord the sumptuous banquet deal To make him loathe his vegetable meal ; But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil, Each wish contracting fits him to the soil. Cheerful at morn he wakes from short reposo, Breasts the keen air, and carols as he goes ; With patient angle trolls the finny deep, Or drives his venturous plowshare to the steop; Or seeks the den where snow-tracks mark the way, And drags the struggling savage into day. At night returning, every labor sped, He sits him down, the monarch of a shed; Smiles by his cheerful fire, and round surveys His children's looks, that brighten at the blaze; While his loved partner, boastful of her hoard, Displays her cleanly platter on the board; And haply too some pilgrim, thither led, With many a tale repays the nightly bed. Thus every good his native wilds impart, Imprints the patriot passion on his heart; And even those ills that round his mansion rise, Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies. Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms,
And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms;
Such are the charms to barren states assigned ;
And freshened from the wave the zephyr flew;
So blest a life these thoughtless realms display,
But while this softer art their bliss supplies,
EDWIN AND ANGELINA.
To where yon taper cheers the vale
With hospitable ray. “ For here forlorn and lost I tread,
With fainting steps and slow; Where wilds, immeasurably spread,
Seem length’ning as I go."
“Forbear, my son,” the Hermit cries,
“To tempt the dangerous gloom; For yonder faithless phantom flies
To lure thee to thy doom.
“Here to the houseless child of want
My door is open still;
I give it with good-will.
" Then turn to-night, and freely share
Whate'er my cell bestows;
My blessing and repose. “ No flocks that range the valley free,
To slaughter I condemn; Taught by that Power that pities me,
I learn to pity them: « But from the mountain's grassy side,
A guiltless feast I bring; A scrip with herbs and fruit supplied,
And water from the spring. “Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego,
All earth-born cares are wrong: Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long.”
His gentle accents fell;
And follows to the cell.
Far in a wilderness obscure,
The lonely mansion lay;
And strangers led astray.
No stores beneath its humble thatch
Requir'd a master's care ;
Receiv'd the harmless pair.
And now, when busy crowds retire
To take their ev'ning rest,
And cheer'd his pensive guest;
And spread his vegetable store,
And gayly press’d and smild; And skill'd in legendary lore,
The ling’ring hours beguiled.
Around, in sympathetic mirth,
Its tricks the kitten tries,
The crackling fagot flies.
But nothing could a charm impart
To soothe the stranger's woe; For grief was heavy at his heart,
And tears began to flow.
His rising cares the Hermit spied,
With answ'ring care opprest: “And whence, unhappy youth,” he cried,
“The sorrows of thy breast ?
Reluctant dost thou rove ?
Or un regarded love?
Are trifling, and decay; And those who prize the paltry things,
More trifling still than they.
A charm that lulls to sleep;
But leaves the wretch to weep ?
The modern fair one's jest: