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But paft is all his fame. The very spot
Vain transitory splendor ! cou'd not all
Nor the coy maid, half willing to be prest,
Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen who survey 26; The rich man's joys encrease, the poor's decay, 'T'is yours to judge, how wide the limits stand Between a splendid and a happy land. Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore, And thouting Folly hails them from her shore ;
270 Hoards, ev'n beyond the miser's wish abound, And rich mien flock from all the world around. Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name That leaves our useful product still the fame. Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride, 275 Takes up a space that many poor supply'd ; Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds, Space for his horses, equipage and hounds; The robe that wraps his limbs in filken Noth, Has robb'd the neighb'ring fields of half their growth,
His feat, where solitary sports are seen,
295 In barren splendor feebly waits the fall.
As some fair female unadorn’d and plain,
300 And while he finks, without one arm to save, The country blooms—a garden, and a grave.
Where then, ah, where shall poverty reside,
If to the city sped—What waits hin there? To see profusion that he must not share ;
310 To see ten thousand baneful arts combin'd To pamper luxury, and thin mankind;
To see each joy the sons of pleasure know,
330 Now loft to all; her friends, her virtue fled, Near her betrayer's door she lays her head, And, pinch'd with cold, and flrinking from the show'r, With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour, When idly first, ambitious of the town,
335 She left her wheel and robes of country brown.
Do thine, sweet AUBURN, thine, the loveliest train, Do thy fair tribes participate her pain? Ev'n now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led, At proud mens doors they ask a little bread!
340 Ah, no. To distant climes, a dreary scene, Where half the convex world intrudes between, Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go, Where wild Altama murmurs to their wo.
Far different there from all that charm'd before,
345 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 ;
450 Those pois'nous fields with rank luxuriance crown'd, Where the dark scorpion gathers death around; Where at each step the stranger fears to wake The ratiling terrors of the vengeful snake ; Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey, 355 And favage men more murd'rous still than they; While oft in whiils the mad tornado Alies, Mingling the ravag'd landscape with the skies. Far different these from ev'ry former scene, The cooling brook, the graffy vested green, The breezy covert of the warbling grove, That only shelter'd thefts of harmless love.
Good Heav'n! what sorrowsgloom'd that parting day, That calld them from their native walks
away ; When the poor exiles, ev'ry pleasure past, 365 Hung round the bow'rs, and fondly look'd their laft, And took a long farewel, and wish'd in vain For seats like these beyond the western main ; And shudd'ring still to face the diftant deep, Return'd and wept, and still return’d to weep. 370 The good old fire, the first prepar'd to go To new-found worlds, and wept for others wo; But for himself, in conscious virtue brave, He only wish'd for worlds beyond the grave ; His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears,
375 The fond companion of his helpless years,