Selections from Five English Poets | Page 9

their wishes all confined. 210 Yet let them only share the praises due: If few their wants, their pleasures are but few; For every want that stimulates the breast Becomes a source of pleasure when redressed; Whence from such lands each pleasing science flies 215 That first excites desire, and then supplies; Unknown to them, when sensual pleasures cloy, To fill the languid pause with finer joy; Unknown those powers that raise the soul to flame, Catch every nerve, and vibrate 'through the frame. 220 Their level life is but a smould'ring fire, Unquenched by want, unfanned by strong desire; Unfit for raptures, or, if raptures cheer On some high festival of once a year, In wild excess the vulgar breast takes fire, 225 Till, buried in debauch, the bliss expire.
But not their joys alone thus coarsely flow: Their morals, like their pleasures, are but low; For, as refinement stops, from sire to son Unaltered, unimproved, the manners run, 230 And love's and friendship's finely-pointed dart Fall blunted from each indurated heart. Some sterner virtues o'er the mountain's breast May sit, like falcons, cow'ring on the nest; But all the gentler morals, such as play 235 Thro' life's more cultured walks, and charm the way, These, far dispersed, on timorous pinions fly, To sport and flutter in a kinder sky.
To kinder skies, where gentler manners reign, I turn; and France displays her bright domain. 240 Gay, sprightly land of mirth and social ease, Pleased with thyself, whom all the world can please, How often have I led thy sportive choir, With tuneless pipe, beside the murmuring Loire? Where shading elms along the margin grew, 245 And freshened from the wave the Zephyr flew; And haply, though my harsh touch, faltering still, But mocked all tune, and marred the dancer's skill, Yet would the village praise my wonderous power, And dance, forgetful of the noontide hour. 250 Alike all ages. Dames of ancient days Have led their children through the mirthful maze, And the gay grandsire, skilled in gestic lore,[30] Has frisked beneath the burthen of threescore.
So blest a life these thoughtless realms display; 255 Thus idly busy rolls their world away;[31] Theirs are those arts that mind to mind endear, For honor forms the social temper here. Honor, that praise which real merit gains, Or even imaginary worth obtains, 260 Here passes current: paid from hand to hand, It shifts in splendid traffic round the land; From courts to camps, to cottages, it strays, And all are taught an avarice of praise. They please, are pleased; they give to get esteem; 265 Till, seeming blest, they grow to what they seem.
But while this softer art their bliss supplies, It gives their follies also room to rise; For praise too dearly loved, or warmly sought, Enfeebles all internal strength of thought, 270 And the weak soul, within itself unblest, Leans for all pleasure on another's breast. Hence ostentation here, with tawdry art, Pants for the vulgar praise which fools impart; Here vanity assumes her pert grimace, 275 And trims her robes of frieze[32] with copper lace; Here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer, To boast one splendid banquet once a year; The mind still turns where shifting fashion draws, Nor weighs the solid worth of self-applause. 280
To men of other minds my fancy flies, Embosomed in the deep where Holland[33] lies. Methinks her patient sons before me stand, Where the broad ocean leans against the land, And, sedulous to stop the coming tide, 285 Lift the tall rampire's[34] artificial pride. Onward methinks, and diligently slow, The firm connected bulwark seems to grow; Spreads its long arms amidst the wat'ry roar, Scoops out an empire, and usurps the shore. 290 While the pent ocean, rising o'er the pile, Sees an amphibious world beneath him smile: The slow canal, the yellow blossomed vale, The willow tufted bank, the gliding sail, The crowded mart, the cultivated plain,-- 295 A new creation rescued from his reign.
Thus while around the wave-subjected soil Impels the native to repeated toil, Industrious habits in each bosom reign, And industry begets a love of gain. 300 Hence all the good from opulence that springs,[35] With all those ills superfluous treasure brings, Are here displayed. Their much-loved wealth imparts Convenience, plenty, elegance, and arts: But view them closer, craft and fraud appear; 305 E'en liberty itself is bartered here. At gold's superior charms all freedom flies; The needy sell it, and the rich man buys; A land of tyrants and a den of slaves, Here wretches seek dishonorable graves, 310 And calmly bent, to servitude conform, Dull as their lakes that slumber in the storm.[36] Heavens! how unlike their Belgic sires[37] of old, Rough, poor, content, ungovernably bold; War in each breast, and freedom on each brow; 315 How much unlike