THE 



REMOTE, unfriended, melancholy, slow, 



Or by the lazy Scheld, or wandering Po ; 



Or onward, whe're the rude Carinthian boor 



Against the houseless stranger shuts the door ; 



Or where Campania's plain forsaken lies, 



A weary waste expanding to the skies; 



Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see, 



My heart, untravelled, fondly turns to thee ; 



Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain, 



And drags, at each remove, a lengthening chain ; 



Eternal bless^gs crown my earliest friend, 



And round his dwelling guardian saints attend ; 



Blessed be that spot, where cheerful guests retire, 



To pause from toil and trim their evening fire ; 



Blessed that abode, where want and pain repair, 



And every stranger finds a ready chair : 



Blessed be those feasts, with simple plenty crowned, 



Where all the ruddy family around 



Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail, 



Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale ; 



Or press the bashful stranger to his food, 



And learn the luxury of doing good! 



But me, not destined such delights to share, 

 My prime of life in wandering spent, and care 

 Impelled, with steps unceasing, to pursue 

 Some fleeting good, that mocks me with the view ; 

 That, like the circle, bounding earth- and skies, 

 Allures from far, yet, as I follow, flies ; 

 My fortune leads to traverse realms alone, 

 And find no spot of all the world my own. 



MO. 71 & 72. 



E'en now where Alpine solitudes ascend, 

 I sit me down a pensive hour to spend ; 

 And placed on high, above the storm's career, 

 Look downward where an hundred realms appear; 

 Lakes, forests, cities, plains, extending wide, 

 The pomp of kings, the shepherd's humbler pride. 



When thus creation's charms around combine, 

 Amidst 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 man ; 

 And wiser he, whose sympathetic mind 

 Exults in all the good of all mankind. 

 Ye glittering towns, with wealth and splendour crowned ; 

 Ye fields, where summer spreads profusion round ; 

 Ye lakes, whose vessels catch the busy gale ; 

 Ye bending swains, that dress the flowery vale; 

 For me your tributary stores combine : 

 Creation's heir ! the world, the world is mine ! 



As some lone miser, visiting his store, 

 Bends at his treasure, counts, recounts it o'er ; 

 Hoards after hoards his rising raptures fill, 

 Yet still he sighs, for hoards are wanting still ; 

 Thus to my breast alternate passions rise, 

 Pleased with each good that heaven to man supplies ; 

 Yet oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall, 

 To see the hoard of human bliss so small : 

 And oft I wish, amidst the scene, to find 

 Some spot to real happiness consigned, 



6A 





