844 



THE TRAVELLER. 



Where my worn soul, each wandering hope at rest, 

 May gather bliss to see my fellows blessed. 



But where to find that happiest spot below, 

 Who can direct, when all pretend to know ? 

 The shuddering tenant of the frigid zone 

 Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own ; 

 Extols the treasures of his stormy seas, 

 And his long nights of revelry and ease ; ' 

 The naked negro, panting at the line, 

 Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine ; 

 Uasks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave, 

 And thanks his gods for all the good they gave. 

 Such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam ; 

 His first, best country ever is at home : 

 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 aH mankind ; 

 As different good, by art or nature given, 

 To different nations, makes their blessings even. 



Nature, a mother kind alike to all, 

 Still grants her bliss at labour's earnest call ; 

 With food as well the peasant is supplied 

 On Idra's cliffs as Arno's shelvy side ; 

 And though the rocky-crested summit's frown> 

 These rocks by custom turn to beds of down. 

 From art more various are the blessings sent ; 

 Wealth, commerce, honour, liberty, content : 

 Yet these each other's power so strorig contest 

 That either seems destructive of the rest. 

 Where wealth and freedom reign, contentment fails; 

 And honour sinks where commerce long prevails : 

 Hence every state, to one loved blessing prone, 

 Conforms and models life to that alone. 

 Each to the favourite happiness attends, 

 And spurns the plan, that aims at other ends ; 

 Till, carried to excess in each domain, 

 This favourite good begets peculiar pain. 



But let us try these truths with closer eyes, 

 And trace them through the prospect as it lies ; 

 Here for a while my proper cares resigned, 

 Here let me sit in sorrow for mankind ; 

 Like yon neglected shrub at random easr^ 

 That shades the steep, and sighs at every blast. 



Far to the right where Appennine 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 mouldering tops between, 

 With venerable grandeur mark the scene. 



Could nature's bounty satisfy the breast, 

 The sons of Italy were surely blest. 

 Whatever fruits in different climes are found, 

 That proudly rise, or humbly court the ground ; 

 Whatever blooms in torrid tracts appear, 

 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, 

 While sea-born gales their gelid wings expand, 

 To winnow fragrance round the smiling land. 



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 removed th~ date, 

 When commerce proudly flourished through the state; 

 At her command the palace learned to rise, 

 Again the long-fallen column sought the skies ; 

 The canvass glowed beyond e'en .nature warm, 

 The pregnant quarry teemed with human form j 

 Till, more unsteady than the southern gale, 

 Commerce on other shores displayed her sail ; 

 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. 



Yet still the loss of wealth is here supplied 

 By arts, the splendid wrecks of former pride ; 

 From these the feeble heart and long-fallen mind 

 An easy compensation seem to find. 

 Here may be seen, in bloodless pomp arrayed, 

 The pasteboard triumph and the cavalcade ; 

 Processions formed for piety and love, 

 A mistress or a saint in every grove. 



