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WHERE'ER I roam, whatever realms to see,
My heart, untravell'd, fondly turns to thee;
Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain,
And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.-id.
When thus creation's charms around combine,
A midst the store should thankless pride repine?
Say, should the philosophic mind disdain

That good which makes each humbler bosom vain ?
Let school-taught pride dissemble all it can
These little things are great to little men;
And wiser he, whose sympathetic mind
Exuits in all the good of all maı kind.—id.
And yet, perhaps, if countries we compare,
And estimate the blessings which they share,
Though patriots flatter, still shall wisdom find
An equal portion dealt to ali mankind.-id.
Far to the right, where Appenine ascends,
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 memorable grandeur mark the scene.

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But small the bliss that sense alone bestows,
And sensual bliss is all the nation knows.
In florid beauty groves and fields appear:
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 e'en in penance planning sins anew.
All evils here contaminate the mind,
That opulence departed leaves behind;

For wealth was theirs, not far remov'd the date,
When commerce proudly flourish'd through the state;
At her command the palace learnt to rise;
Again the long-fall'n column sought the skies;
The canvas glow'd, beyond e'en nature warm;
The pregnant quarry teem'd with human form:
Till, more unsteady than the southern gale,
Commerce on other shores display'd her sail;
While nought remain'd of all that riches gave,
But towns unmann'd, and lords without a slave;
And late the nation found with fruitless skill,

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Its former strength was but plethoric ill.

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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 e'en 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;

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Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms,

And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms;

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Such are the charms to barren states assign'd;
Their wants but few, their wishes all confin'd:
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 redrest.

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Their level life is but a mouldering fire,

Unquench'd by want, unfann'd by strong desire.-id.
For praise too dearly lov'd, or warmly sought,
Enfeebles all internal strength of thought;

And the weak soul, within itself unblest,
Leans for all pleasure on another's breast.-id.
Pride in their port, defiance in their eye,
I see the lords of humankind pass by;
Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band,
By forms unfashion'd, fresh from Nature's hand,
Fierce in their native hardiness of soul,

True to imagin'd right, above control;

While e'en the peasant boasts these rights to scan,
And learns to venerate himself as man.-id.
And thou, fair Freedom, taught alike to feel
The rabble's rage and tyrant's angry steel;
Thou transitory flower, alike undone

By proud contempt, or favour's fostering sun;
Still may thy blooms the changeful clime endure,
I only would repress them to secure;

For just experience tells, in every soil,

That those who think must govern those who toil;
And all that freedom's highest aims can reach,
Is but to lay proportion'd loads on each.
Hence, should one order disproportion'd grow,
Its double weight must ruin all below.-id.
Vain, very vain, my weary search to find
That bliss which only centres in the mind :

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Still to ourselves in every place consign'd,
Our own felicity we make or find :

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With secret course, which no loud storms annoy,
Glides the smooth current of domestic joy.-id.

ILL fares the land, to hast'ning ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates and men decay.
Princes and lords may flourish or may fade;
A breath can make them, as a breath has made;
But a bold peasantry, their country's pride,
When once destroy'd, can never be supplied.

-THE DESERTED VILLAGE. In all my wanderings through this world of care, In all my griefs-and God has giv'n my shareI still had hopes, my latest hours to crown, Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down; To husband out life's taper at the close,

And keep the flame from wasting by repose.

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How blest is he who crowns, in shades like these,
A youth of labour with an age of ease;

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Sinks to the grave with unperceiv'd decay,
While resignation gently slopes the way;
And all his prospects bright'ning to the last,
His heav'n commences ere the world be past.-id.
Near yonder copse, where once the garden smil'd
And still where many a garden-flower grows wild,
There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose,
The village preacher's modest mansion rose.
A man he was to all the country dear,
And passing rich with forty pounds a year.

Remote from towns he ran his godly race,

Nor e'er had chang'd, nor wish'd to change, his place;
Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power

By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour;
Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize,
More bent to raise the wretched than to rise.

At church with meek and unaffected grace,
His looks adorn'd the venerable place;
Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway,
And fools, who came to scoff, remain'd to pray.
The service past, around the pious man,
With steady zeal, the honest rustics ran:
Ev'n children follow'd, with endearing wile,
And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's smile.
His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest;
Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares distrest:
To them his heart, his love, his griefs, were given,
But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven.
As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,

Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm,
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head.

Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way,
With blossom'd furze unprofitably gay,
There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule,
The village master taught his little school.
A man severe he was, and stern to view;
I knew him well, and every truant knew.
Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace
The day's disasters in his morning face:
Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he:
Full well the busy whisper, circling round,
Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd:
Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aught,
The love he bore to learning was in fault :
The village all declar'd how much he knew;
'Twas certain he could write and cipher too;
Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage,
And e'en the story ran that he could gauge;
In arguing too the parson own'd his skill,
For e'en though vanquish'd he could argue still;
While words of learned length and thund'ring sound

Amaz'd the gazing rustics rang'd around;
And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew,
That one small head should carry all he knew.
But past is all his fame. The very spot
Where many a time he triumphed is forgot.
Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high,
Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye,
Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspir'd,
Where grey-beard mirth and smiling toil retir'd;
Where village statesmen talk'd with looks profound,
And news much older than their ale went round.
Imagination fondly stoops to trace

The parlour-splendours of that festive place;
The whitewash'd wall, the nicely sanded floor,
The varnish'd clock that click'd behind the door;
The chest contriv'd a double debt to pay,
A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day;
The pictures plac'd for ornament and use;
The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose;
The hearth, except when winter chill'd the day,
With aspen boughs, and flowers, and fennel gay;
While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show,
Rang'd o'er the chimney glisten'd in a row.

Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain,
These simple blessings of the lowly train;
To me more dear, congenial to my heart,
One native charm than all the gloss of art.-id.

THE HAUNCH OF VENISON.

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LEFT alone to reflect, having emptied my shelf,
And "nobody with me at sea but myself;"
Tho' I could not help thinking my gentleman hasty,
Yet Johnson and Burke, and a good venison-pasty,
Were things that I never disliked in my life,
Though clogg'd with a coxcomb, and Kitty his wife.
So next day, in due splendour to make my approach,
I drove to his door in my own hackney-coach.
When come to the place where we all were to dine
(A chair-lumber'd closet just twelve feet by nine),
My friend bade me welcome, but struck me quite dumb
With tidings that Johnson and Burke would not come;

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