Of defultory man, ftudious of change,

And pleased with novelty, might be indulged. Profpects, however lovely, may be seen

Till half their beauties fade; the weary fight,
Too well acquainted with their smiles, flides off
Faftidious, feeking less familiar scenes.
Then fnug enclosures in the sheltered vale,
Where frequent hedges intercept the eye,
Delight us; happy to renounce awhile,
Not fenfeless of its charms, what ftill we love,
That such short abfence may endear it more.
Then forefts, or the savage rock, may please,
That hides the fea-mew in his hollow clefts
Above the reach of man. His hoary head,
Confpicuous many a league, the mariner
Bound homeward, and in hope already there,
Greets with three cheers exulting. At his waift
A girdle of half-withered shrubs he shows,
And at his feet the baffled billows die.

The common, overgrown with fern, and rough
With prickly gorse, that shapeless and deformed,
And dangerous to the touch, has yet its bloom,
And decks itself with ornaments of gold,
Yields no unpleafing ramble; there the turf
Smells fresh, and rich in odoriferous herba

And fungous fruits of earth, regales the fenfe
With luxury of unexpected fweets.

There often wanders one, whom better days
Saw better clad, in cloak of fattin trimmed
With lace, and hat with fplendid ribband bound.
A férving maid was she, and fell in love
With one who left her, went to fea, and died.
Her fancy followed him through foaming waves
To diftant fhores; and she would fit and weep
At what a failor fuffers; fancy too

Delusive moft where warmeft wishes are,
Would oft anticipate his glad return,

And dream of transports the was not to know.
She heard the doleful tidings of his death-
And never fmiled again! and now the roams
The dreary wafte; there spends the livelong day,
And there, unlefs when charity forbids,
The livelong night. A tattered apron hides,
Worn as a cloak, and hardly hides, a gown

More tattered ftill; and both but ill conceal
A bofom heaved with never-ceafing fighs.
She begs an idle pin of all she meets,

And hoards them in her fleeve; but needful food,

Though preffed with hunger oft, or comelier clothes, Though pinched with cold, afks never.-Kate is crazed.

I fee a column of flow rifing smoke

Overtop the lofty wood, that skirts the wild.
A vagabond and useless tribe there eat,
Their miferable meal. A kettle, flung
Between two poles upon a stick transverse,
Receives the morfel--flesh obscene of dog,
Or vermin, or at beft of cock purloined
From his accuftomed perch. Hard-faring race!
They pick their fuel out of every hedge,

Which, kindled with dry leaves, juft faves unquenched,

The spark of life. The sportive wind blows wide
Their fluttering rags, and shows a tawny skin,
The vellum of the pedigree they claim.

Great skill have they in palmistry, and more
To conjure clean away the gold they touch,
Conveying worthless drofs into its place;

Loud when they beg, dumb only when they fteal.
Strange! that a creature rational, and caft

In human mould, should brutalize by choice
His nature; and, though capable of arts,

By which the world might profit, and himself,
Self-banished from society, prefer

Such fqualid floth to honourable toil!

Yet even these, though feigning fickness oft
They fwathe the forehead, drag the limping limb,
And vex their flesh with artificial fores,

Can change their whine into a mirthful note,
When fafe occafion offers; and with dance,
And mufic of the bladder and the bag,
Beguile their woes, and make the woods refound.
Such health and gaiety of heart enjoy

The houfelefs 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.

Bleft he, though undiftinguished from the crowd By wealth or dignity, who dwells fecure, Where man, by nature fierce, has laid afide His fierceness, having learnt, though flow to learn, The manners and the arts of civil life. His wants indeed are many; but supply Is obvious, placed within the easy reach Of temperate wishes and industrious hands. Here virtue thrives as in her proper foil; Not rude and furly, and befet with thorns, And terrible to fight, as when she springs (If ever she spring spontaneous) in remote And barbarous climes, where violence prevails, And ftrength is lord of all; but gentle, kind, By culture tamed, by liberty refreshed, And all her fruits by radiant truth matured.

War and the chafe engross the savage whole;
War followed for revenge, or to fupplant
The envied tenants of fome happier spot:
The chafe for fuftenance, precarious truft!
His hard condition with fevere conftraint
Binds all his faculties, forbids all growth
Of wisdom, proves a fchool, in which he learns
Sly circumvention, unrelenting hate,

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

Towards the Antarctic. Even the favoured ifles
So lately found, although the conftant fun
Cheer all their feafons with a grateful fmile,
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 paffed
By navigators uninformed as they,
Or ploughed perhaps by British bark again :
But far beyond the reft, and with moft caufe