Selections from Five English Poets | Page 8

Apennine ascends, 105 Bright as the summer, Italy extends: Its uplands sloping deck the mountain's side, Woods over woods in gay theatric pride; While oft some temple's mould'ring tops between With venerable grandeur mark the scene, 110
Could Nature's bounty satisfy the breast, The sons of Italy were surely blest. Whatever fruits in different climes were found, That proudly rise, or humbly court the ground; Whatever blooms in torrid tracts appear, 115 Whose bright succession decks the varied year; Whatever sweets salute the northern sky With vernal lives, that blossom but to die; These, here disporting, own the kindred soil, Nor ask luxuriance from the planter's toil; 120 While sea-born gales their gelid[13] wings expand To winnow[14] fragrance round the smiling land.
But small the bliss that sense alone bestows, And sensual bliss is all the nation knows.[15] In florid beauty groves and fields appear; 125 Man seems the only growth that dwindles here. Contrasted faults through all his manners reign: Though poor, luxurious; though submissive, vain; Though grave, yet trifling; zealous, yet untrue; And ev'n in penance planning sins anew. 130 All evils here contaminate the mind That opulence departed leaves behind; For wealth was theirs,[16] not far removed the date When commerce proudly nourished through the state, At her command the palace learnt to rise,[17] 135 Again the long-fallen column sought the skies,[18] The canvas glowed, beyond e'en nature warm,[19] The pregnant quarry teemed with human form; Till, more unsteady than the southern gale, Commerce on other shores displayed her sail;[20] 140 While nought remained of all that riches gave, But towns unmanned, and lords without a slave: And late the nation found with fruitless skill Its former strength was but plethoric ill.[21]
Yet still the loss of wealth is here supplied 145 By arts, the splendid wrecks of former pride; From these the feeble heart and long-fall'n mind An easy compensation seem to find. Here may be seen, in bloodless pomp arrayed, The paste-board triumph and the cavalcade, 150 Processions formed for piety and love, A mistress or a saint in every grove. By sports like these are all their cares beguiled; The sports of children satisfy the child. Each nobler aim, repressed by long control, 155 Now sinks at last, or feebly mans the soul; While low delights, succeeding fast behind, In happier meanness occupy the mind: As in those domes where Caesars[22] once bore sway, Defaced by time and tottering in decay, 160 There in the ruin, heedless of the dead, The shelter-seeking peasant builds his shed; And, wond'ring man could want the larger pile, Exults, and owns his cottage with a smile. My soul, turn from them, turn we to survey, 165 Where rougher climes a nobler race display; Where the bleak Swiss their stormy mansions tread, And force a churlish soil[23] for scanty bread. No product here the barren hills afford, But man and steel, the soldier and his sword:[24] 170 No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array, But winter ling'ring 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, 175 Redress the clime, and all its rage disarm. Though poor the peasant's hut, his feasts tho' small, He sees his little lot the lot of all; Sees no contiguous palace[25] rear its head To shame the meanness of his humble shed; 180 No costly lord the sumptuous banquet deal To make him loath his vegetable meal; But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil,[26] Each wish contracting fits him to the soil. Cheerful at morn he wakes from short repose, 185 Breathes the keen air, and carols as he goes; With patient angle trolls the finny deep; Or drives his venturous plowshare to the steep; Or seeks the den where snow-tracks mark the way, And drags the struggling savage[27] into day. 190 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, 195 Displays her cleanly platter on the board: And haply too some pilgrim, thither led, With many a tale repays the nightly bed.[28]
Thus every good his native wilds impart Imprints the patriot passion on his heart; 200 And ev'n 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; And as a child, when scaring sounds molest, 205 Clings close and closer to the mother's breast, So the loud torrent and the whirlwind's roar But bind him to his native mountains more.
Such are the charms to barren states assigned;[29] Their wants but few,