When idly first, ambitious of the town, She left her wheel, and robes of country brown. Do thine, sweet AUBURN! thine, the loveliest train, Do thy fair tribes participate her pain? Even now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led, Ah, no! To distant climes, a dreary scene, Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray, And fiercely shed intolerable day— Those matted woods where birds forget to sing, Mingling the ravag'd landscape with the skies. 340 350 Far different these from every former scene; That only shelter'd thefts of harmless love. 360 When the poor exiles, every pleasure pass'd, Hung round their bowers, and fondly look'd their last And took a long farewell, and wish'd in vain To new-found worlds, and wept for others' woe- But for himself, in conscious virtue brave, He only wish'd 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, In all the silent manliness of grief. O luxury thou curs'd by Heaven's decree, How ill exchang'd are things like these for thee ; How do thy potions, with insidious joy, Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy ! 370 380 At every draught more large and large they grow, Till sapp'd their strength, and every part unsound, And half the business of destruction done; Even now, methinks, as pondering here I stand, I see the rural virtues leave the land: Down, where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail, Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand; Contented toil, and hospitable care, And kind connubial tenderness are there And piety with wishes plac'd above, And steady loyalty, and faithful love. And thou, sweet poetry! thou loveliest maid, Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe, 400 410 |