854 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 



Do thine, sweet Auburn, thine the loveliest train, 

 Do thy fair tribes participate her pain ? 

 Even now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led, 

 At proud men's doors they ask a little bread ! 



Ah, no. To distant climes, a dreary scene, 

 Where half the convex world intrudes between, 

 Through torrid tracks with fainting steps they go, 

 Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe. 

 Far different there from all that charmed before, 

 The various terrors of that horrid shore ; 

 Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray, 

 And fiercely shed intolerable day ; 

 Those matted woods where birds forget to sing, 

 But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling ; 

 Those poisonous fields with rank luxuriance crowned, 

 Where the dark scorpion gathers death around ; 

 Where at each step the stranger fears to wake 

 The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake ; 

 Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey, 

 And savage men more murderous still than they ; 

 While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies, 

 Mingling the ravaged landscape with the skies. 

 Far different these from every former scene, 

 The cooling brook, the grassy-vested green, 

 The breezy covert of the warbling grove, 

 That only sheltered thefts of harmless love. 



Good heaven ! what sorrows gloomed that parting day, 

 That called them from their native walks away ; 

 When the poor exiles, every pleasure past, 

 Hung round the bowers, and fondly looked their last, 

 And took a long farewell, and wished in vain 

 For seats like these beyond the western main; 

 And, shuddering still to face the distant deep, 

 Returned and wept, and still returned to weep. 

 The good old sire, the first prepared to go 

 To new-found worlds, and wept for others' woe ; 

 But for himself, in conscious virtue brave, 

 He only wished for worlds beyond the grave. 

 His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears, 

 The fond companion of his helpless years, 

 Silent went next, neglectful of her charms, 

 And left a lover's for a father's arms. 

 With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes, 

 And blessed the cot where every pleasure rose ; 

 And kissed her thoughtless babes with many a tear, 

 And clasped them close, in sorrow doubly dear; 

 Whilst her fund husband strove to lend relief 



In all the silent manliness of grief. 



O, luxury ! thou cursed by heaven's decree, 

 How ill exchanged are things like these for thee ! 

 How do thy potions, with insidious joy, 

 Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy ! 

 Kingdoms by thee, to sickly greatness grown, 

 Boast of a florid vigour not their own. 

 At every draught large and more large they grow, 

 A bloated mass of rank unwieldy woe ; 

 Till sapped their strength, and every part unsound, 

 Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round. 



E'en now the devastation is begun, 

 And half the business of destruction done ; 

 E'en now, methinks, as pondering here I stand, 

 I see the rural virtues leave the land. 

 Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail, 

 That idly waiting flaps with every gale, 

 Downward they move, a melancholy band, 

 Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand. 

 Contented toil, and hospitable care, 

 And kind connubial tenderness, are there ; 

 And piety, with wishes placed above," 

 And steady loyalty, and faithful love. 

 And thou, sweet poetry, thou loveliest maid, 

 Still first to fly where sensual joys invade; 

 Unfit, in these degenerate times of shame, 

 To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame ; 

 Dear charming nymph ! neglected and decried, 

 My shame in crowds, my solitary pride. 

 Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe, 

 That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so; 

 Thou guide, by which the nobler arts excel, 

 Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well ; 

 Farewell, and O ! where'er thy voice be tried, 

 On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side, 

 Whether where equinoctial fervours glow, 

 Or winter wraps the polar world in snow, 

 Still let thy voice, prevailing over time, 

 Redress the rigours of the inclement clime ; 

 Aid slighted truth, with thy persuasive strain ; 

 Teach erring man (o spurn the rage of gain ; 

 Teach him, that states of native strength possessed, 

 Though very poor, may still be very blessed ; 

 That trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay, 

 As ocean sweeps the laboured mole away ; 

 While self-dependent power can time defy, 

 As rock resist the billows and the sky. 



