75 O'er the young shoot the charlock' throws a shade,

And clasping tares1 cling round the sickly blade;

With mingled tints the rocky coasts

abound,

And a sad splendor vainly shines around. So looks the nymph whom wretched arts adorn,

80 Betray'd by man, then left for man to scorn;

85

Whose cheek in vain assumes the mimic

rose,

To load the ready steed with guilty haste,

To fly in terror o'er the pathless waste, 105 Or, when detected, in their straggling

course,

To foil their foes by cunning or by force;

Or, yielding part (which equal knaves demand),

To gain a lawless passport through the land.

Here, wand'ring long, amid these frowning fields,

On the tost vessel bend their eager eye, Which to their coast directs its vent 'rous way,

Theirs, or the ocean's, miserable prey. As on their neighboring beach yon swallows stand,

120 And wait for favoring winds to leave the land,

While still for flight the ready wing is

spread,

So waited I the favoring hour, and fledFled from these shores where guilt and famine reign,

And cried, Ah! hapless they who still remain ;

125 Who still remain to hear the ocean roar, Whose greedy waves devour the lessening shore;

around

Till some fierce tide, with more imperious

sway,

Sweeps the low hut and all it holds away; When the sad tenant weeps from door to door,

And begs a poor protection from the poor!

But these are scenes where Nature's niggard hand

Gave a spare portion to the famish'd land;

Hers is the fault, if here mankind complain

Of fruitless toil and labor spent in vain; But yet in other scenes more fair in view, Where Plenty smiles-alas! she smiles

for few

1 bribe given at the septennial elections of members of Parliament

Oft hear him murmur to the winds that
blow

O'er his white locks and bury them in
snow,

When, roused by rage and muttering in
the morn,

205 He mends the broken hedge with icy 240 thorn:

"Why do I live, when I desire to be

At once from life and life's long labor
free?

Like leaves in spring, the young are
blown away,

Without the sorrows of a slow decay; 210 I, like yon wither'd leaf, remain behind, Nipp'd by the frost, and shivering in 245 the wind;

There it abides till younger buds come on, As I, now all my fellow-swains are gone; Then, from the rising generation thrust, 215 It falls, like me, unnoticed, to the dust. "These fruitful fields, these numerous flocks I see,

Are others' gain, but killing cares to me;
To me the children of my youth are

lords,

Cool in their looks, but hasty in their words:

220 Wants of their own demand their care; and who

Feels his own want and succors others too?

250

A lonely, wretched man, in pain I go, None need my help, and none relieve my 255 wo;

Then let my bones beneath the turf be laid,

225 And men forget the wretch they would

Save

one dull pane, that, coarsely patch'd, gives way

To the rude tempest, yet excludes the day:

Here, on a matted flock,1 with dust o'erspread,

1 A bed filled with flocks of coarse wool.

A jovial youth, who thinks his Sunday's task

As much as God or man can fairly ask; The rest he gives to loves and labors light,

To fields the morning, and to feasts the night;

None better skill'd the noisy pack to guide,

To urge their chase, to cheer them or to chide;

A sportsman keen, he shoots through half the day,

And, skill'd at whist, devotes the night to play:

Then, while such honors bloom around his head,

315 Shall he sit sadly by the sick man's bed,

320

To raise the hope he feels not, or with zeal

To combat fears that e'en the pious feel? Now once again the gloomy scene ex

plore,

Less gloomy now; the bitter hour is o'er,
The man of many sorrows sighs no more.
Up yonder hill, behold how sadly slow
The bier moves winding from the vale
below;

There lie the happy dead, from trouble
free,

And the glad parish pays the frugal fee: 325 No more, O Death! thy victim starts to hear