THE TRAVELLER, OR A PROSPECT of SOCIETY.
[]REMOTE, unfriended, melancholy, ſlow,
Or by the lazy Scheld, or wandering Po;
Or onward, where the rude Carinthian boor
Againſt the houſeleſs ſtranger ſhuts the door;
Or where Campania's plain forſaken lies,
A weary waſte expanded to the ſkies.
[2]Where'er I roam, whatever realms to ſee,
My heart untravell'd fondly turns to thee;
Still to my brother turns, with ceaſeleſs pain,
And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.
Eternal bleſſings crown my earlieſt friend,
And round his dwelling guardian ſaints attend;
Bleſt be that ſpot, where chearful gueſts retire
To pauſe from toil, and trim their evening fire;
Bleſt that abode, where want and pain repair,
And every ſtranger finds a ready chair;
Bleſt be thoſe feaſts where mirth and peace abound,
Where all the ruddy family around
Laugh at the jeſts or pranks that never fail,
Or ſigh with pity at ſome mournful tale,
Or preſs the baſhful ſtranger to his food,
And learn the luxury of doing good.
But me, not deſtin'd ſuch delights to ſhare,
My prime of life in wand'ring ſpent and care:
Impell'd with ſteps, unceaſing to purſue
Some fleeting good, that mocks me with the view;
[3]That, like the circle bounding earth and ſkies,
Allures from far, yet, as I follow, flies;
My fortune leads to traverſe realms alone,
And find no ſpot of all the world my own.
Even now, where Alpine ſolitudes aſcend,
I ſit me down a penſive hour to ſpend;
And, plac'd on high above the ſtorm's career,
Look downward where an hundred realms appear;
Lakes, foreſts, cities, plains extended wide,
The pomp of kings, the ſhepherd's humbler pride.
When thus Creation's charms around combine,
Amidſt the ſtore, 'twere thankleſs to repine.
'Twere affectation all, and ſchool-taught pride,
To ſpurn the ſplendid things by heaven ſupply'd.
Let ſchool-taught pride diſſemble all it can,
Theſe little things are great to little man;
And wiſer he, whoſe ſympathetic mind
Exults in all the good of all mankind.
Ye glittering towns, with wealth and ſplendour crown'd,
Ye fields, where ſummer ſpreads profuſion round,
[4]Ye lakes, whoſe veſſels catch the buſy gale,
Ye bending ſwains, that dreſs the flow'ry vale,
For me your tributary ſtores combine;
Creation's heir, the world, the world is mine.
As ſome lone miſer viſiting his ſtore,
Bends at his treaſure, counts, recounts it o'er;
Hoards after hoards his riſing raptures fill,
Yet ſtill he ſighs, for hoards are wanting ſtill:
Thus to my breaſt alternate paſſions riſe,
Pleas'd with each good that heaven to man ſupplies:
Yet oft a ſigh prevails, and ſorrows fall,
To ſee the ſum of human bliſs ſo ſmall;
And oft I wiſh, amidſt the ſcene, to find
Some ſpot to real happineſs conſign'd,
Where my worn ſoul, each wand'ring hope at reſt,
May gather bliſs to ſee my fellows bleſt.
Yet, where to find that happieſt ſpot below,
Who can direct, when all pretend to know?
The ſhudd'ring tenant of the frigid zone
Boldly aſſerts that country for his own,
[5]Extols the treaſures of his ſtormy ſeas,
And live-long nights of revelry and eaſe;
The naked Negro, panting at the line,
Boaſts of his golden ſands and palmy wine,
Baſks in the glare, or ſtems the tepid wave,
And thanks his Gods for all the good they gave.
Nor leſs the patriot's boaſt, where'er we roam,
His firſt beſt country ever is at home.
And yet, perhaps, if ſtates with ſtates we ſcan,
Or eſtimate their bliſs on Reaſon's plan,
Though patriots flatter, and though fools contend,
We ſtill ſhall find uncertainty ſuſpend,
Find that each good, by Art or Nature given,
To theſe or thoſe, but makes the balance even:
Find that the bliſs of all is much the ſame,
And patrioric boaſting reaſon's ſhame.
Nature, a mother kind alike to all,
Still grants her bliſs at Labour's earneſt call;
And though rough rocks or gloomy ſummits frown,
Theſe rocks, by cuſtom, turn to beds of down.
[6]From Art more various are the bleſſings ſent;
Wealth, ſplendours, honor, liberty, content:
Yet theſe each other's power ſo ſtrong conteſt,
That either ſeems deſtructive of the reſt.
Hence every ſtate, to one lov'd 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 view theſe truths with cloſer eyes,
And trace them through the proſpect as it lies:
Here for a while my proper cares reſign'd,
Here let me ſit in ſorrow for mankind,
Like yon neglected ſhrub, at random caſt,
That ſhades the ſteep, and ſighs at every blaſt.
Far to the right, where Appennine aſcends,
Bright as the ſummer, Italy extends;
Her uplands ſloping deck the mountain's ſide,
Woods over woods, in gay theatric pride;
[7]While oft ſome temple's mould'ring top between,
With venerable grandeur marks 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 this nation knows.
In florid beauty groves and fields appear,
Men ſeem the only growth that dwindles here.
Contraſted faults through all their manners reign,
Though poor, luxurious, though ſubmiſſive, vain,
[8]Though grave, yet trifling, zealous, yet untrue,
And even in penance planning ſins anew.
All evils here contaminate the mind,
That opulence departed, leaves behind;
For wealth was theirs, nor far remov'd the date,
When commerce proudly flouriſh'd through the ſtate:
At her command the palace learnt to riſe,
Again the long-fall'n column ſought the ſkies;
The canvaſs glow'd beyond even Nature warm,
The pregnant quarry teem'd with human form.
But, more unſteady than the ſouthern gale,
Soon Commerce turn'd on other ſhores her ſail;
And late the nation found, with fruitleſs ſkill,
Their former ſtrength was now plethoric ill.
Yet, though to fortune loſt, here ſtill abide
Some ſplendid arts, the wrecks of former pride;
From which the feeble heart and long fall'n mind
An eaſy compenſation ſeem to find.
Here may be ſeen, in bloodleſs pomp array'd,
The paſte-board triumph and the cavalcade;
[9]Proceſſions form'd for piety and love,
A miſtreſs or a ſaint in every grove.
By ſports like theſe are all their cares beguil'd,
The ſports of children ſatisfy the child;
At ſports like theſe, while foreign arms advance,
In paſſive eaſe they leave the world to chance.
When ſtruggling Virtue ſinks by long controul,
She leaves at laſt, or feebly mans the ſoul;
While low delights, ſucceeding faſt behind,
In happier meanneſs occupy the mind:
As in thoſe domes, where Caeſars once bore ſway,
Defac'd by time and tottering in decay,
Amidſt the ruin, heedleſs of the dead,
The ſhelter-ſeeking peaſant builds his ſhed,
And, wond'ring man could want the larger pile,
Exults, and owns his cottage with a ſmile.
My ſoul turn from them, turn we to ſurvey
Where rougher climes a nobler race diſplay,
Where the bleak Swiſs their ſtormy manſions tread,
And force a churliſh ſoil for ſcanty bread;
[10]No product here the barren hills afford,
But man and ſteel, the ſoldier and his ſword.
No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array,
But winter lingering chills the lap of May;
No Zephyr fondly ſooths the mountain's breaſt,
But meteors glare, and ſtormy glooms inveſt.
Yet ſtill, even here, content can ſpread a charm,
Redreſs the clime, and all its rage diſarm.
Though poor the peaſant's hut, his feaſts though ſmall,
He ſees his little lot, the lot of all;
Sees no contiguous palace rear its head
To ſhame the meanneſs of his humble ſhed;
No coſtly lord the ſumptuous banquet deal
To make him loath his vegetable meal;
But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil,
Each wiſh contracting, fits him to the ſoil.
Chearful at morn he wakes from ſhort repoſe,
Breaſts the keen air, and carrols as he goes;
With patient angle trolls the finny deep,
Or drives his vent'rous plow-ſhare to the ſteep;
Or ſeeks the den where ſnow tracks mark the way,
And drags the ſtruggling ſavage into day.
[11]At night returning, every labour ſped,
He ſits him down the monarch of a ſhed;
Smiles by his chearful fire, and round ſurveys
His childrens looks, that brighten at the blaze:
While his lov'd partner boaſtful of her hoard,
Diſplays the cleanly platter on the board;
And haply too ſome pilgrim, thither led,
With many a tale repays the nightly bed.
Thus every good his native wilds impart,
Imprints the patriot paſſion on his heart.
Dear is that ſhed to which his ſoul conforms,
And dear that hill which lifts him to the ſtorms;
And as a babe, when ſcaring ſounds moleſt,
Clings cloſe and cloſer to the mother's breaſt;
So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar,
But bind him to his native mountains more.
Theſe are the charms to barren ſtates aſſign'd;
Their wants are few, their wiſhes all confin'd.
Yet let them only ſhare the praiſes due,
If few their wants, their pleaſures are but few;
[12]Since every want, that ſtimulates the breaſt,
Becomes a ſource of pleaſure when redreſt.
Hence from ſuch lands each pleaſing ſcience flies,
That firſt excites deſire, and then ſupplies;
Unknown to them, when ſenſual pleaſures cloy,
To fill the languid pauſe with finer joy;
Unknown thoſe powers that raiſe the ſoul to flame,
Catch every nerve, and vibrate through the frame.
Their level life is but a ſmould'ring fire,
Nor quench'd by want, nor fan'd by ſtrong deſire;
Unfit for raptures, or, if raptures cheer
On ſome high feſtival of once a year,
In wild exceſs the vulgar breaſt takes fire,
Till, buried in debauch, the bliſs expire.
But not their joys alone thus coarſly flow:
Their morals, like their pleaſures, are but low.
For, as refinement ſtops, from ſire to ſon
Unalter'd, unimprov'd their manners run,
And love's and friendſhip's finely pointed dart
Fall blunted from each indurated heart,
[13]Some ſterner virtues o'er the mountain's breaſt
May ſit, like falcons cow'ring on the neſt;
But all the gentler morals, ſuch as play
Through life's more cultur'd walks, and charm our way,
Theſe far diſpers'd, on timorous pinions fly,
To ſport and flutter in a kinder ſky.
To kinder ſkies, where gentler manners reign,
We turn; and France diſplays her bright domain.
Gay ſprightly land of mirth and ſocial eaſe,
Pleas'd with thyſelf, whom all the world can pleaſe,
How often have I led thy ſportive choir,
With tuneleſs pipe, beſide the murmuring Loire?
Where ſhading elms along the margin grew,
And freſhen'd from the wave the Zephyr flew;
And haply, tho' my harſh touch faltering ſtill,
But mock'd all tune, and marr'd the dancer's ſkill;
Yet would the village praiſe my wond'rous power,
And dance, forgetful of the noon-tide hour.
Alike all ages. Dames of ancient days
Have led their children through the mirthful maze,
[14]And the gay grandſire, ſkill'd in geſtic lore,
Has friſk'd beneath the burthen of threeſcore.
So bleſt a life theſe thoughtleſs realms diſplay,
Thus idly buſy rolls their world away:
Theirs are thoſe arts that mind to mind endear,
For honour forms the ſocial temper here.
Honour, that praiſe which real merit gains,
Or even imaginary worth obtains,
Here paſſes current; paid from hand to hand,
It ſhifts in ſplendid traffic round the land:
From courts to camps, to cottages it ſtrays,
And all are taught an avarice of praiſe;
They pleaſe, are pleas'd, they give to get eſteem,
Till, ſeeming bleſt, they grow to what they ſeem.
But while this ſofter art their bliſs ſupplies,
It gives their follies alſo room to riſe;
For praiſe too dearly lov'd, or warmly ſought,
Enfeebles all internal ſtrength of thought,
And the weak ſoul, within itſelf unbleſt,
Leans for all pleaſure on another's breaſt.
[15]Hence oſtentation here, with tawdry art,
Pants for the vulgar praiſe which fools impart;
Here vanity aſſumes her pert grimace,
And trims her robes of frize with copper lace,
Here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer,
To boaſt one ſplendid banquet once a year;
The mind ſtill turns where ſhifting faſhion draws,
Nor weighs the ſolid worth of ſelf applauſe.
To men of other minds my fancy flies,
Emboſom'd in the deep where Holland lies,
Methinks her patient ſons before me ſtand,
Where the broad ocean leans againſt the land,
And, ſedulous to ſtop the coming tide,
Lift the tall rampire's artificial pride,
That ſpreads its arms amidſt the watry roar,
Scoops out an empire, and uſurps the ſhore.
Onward methinks, and diligently ſlow
The firm connected bulwark ſeems to go;
While ocean pent, and riſing o'er the pile,
Sees an amphibious world beneath him ſmile.
[16]The ſlow canal, the yellow bloſſom'd vale,
The willow tufted bank, the gliding ſail,
The crowded mart, the cultivated plain,
A new creation reſcu'd from his reign.
Thus, while around, the wave-ſubjected ſoil
Impels the native to repeated toil,
Induſtrious habits in each breaſt obtain,
And induſtry begets a love of gain.
Hence all the good from opulence that ſprings,
With all thoſe ills ſuperfluous treaſure brings,
Are here diſplay'd. Their much-lov'd wealth imparts
Convenience, plenty, elegance, and arts;
But view them cloſer, craft and fraud appear,
Even liberty itſelf is barter'd here.
At gold's ſuperior charms all freedom flies,
The needy ſell it, and the rich man buys:
A land of tyrants, and a den of ſlaves,
Here wretches ſeek diſhonourable graves,
And calmly bent, to ſervitude conform,
Dull as their lakes that ſleep beneath the ſtorm.
[17]
Heavens! how unlike their Belgic ſires of old!
Rough, poor, content, ungovernably bold;
War in each breaſt, and freedom on each brow;
How much unlike the ſons of Britain now!
Fir'd at the ſound, my genius ſpreads her wing,
And flies where Britain broods the weſtern ſpring;
Where lawns extend that ſcorn Arcadian pride,
And brighter ſtreams than fam'd Hydaſpis glide,
There all around the gentleſt breezes ſtray,
There gentle muſic melts on every ſpray;
Creation's mildeſt charms are there combin'd,
Extremes are only in the maſter's mind;
Stern o'er each boſom reaſon holds her ſtate.
With daring aims, irregularly great,
I ſee the lords of human kind paſs by
Pride in their port, defiance in their eye,
Intent on high deſigns, a thoughtful band,
By forms unfaſhion'd, freſh from Nature's hand;
Fierce in a native hardineſs of ſoul,
True to imagin'd right above controul,
[18]While even the peaſant boaſts theſe rights to ſcan,
And learns to venerate himſelf as man.
Thine, Freedom, thine the bleſſings pictur'd here,
Thine are thoſe charms that dazzle and endear;
Too bleſt indeed, were ſuch without alloy,
But foſter'd even by Freedom ills annoy:
That independence Britons prize too high,
Keeps man from man, and breaks the ſocial tie;
See, though by circling deeps together held,
Minds combat minds, repelling and repell'd;
Ferments ariſe, impriſon'd factions roar,
Repreſt ambition ſtruggles round her ſhore,
Whilſt over-wrought, the general ſyſtem feels
Its motions ſtopt, or phrenzy fires the wheels.
Nor this the worſt. As ſocial bonds decay,
As duty, love, and honour fail to ſway,
Fictitious bonds, the bonds of wealth and law,
Still gather ſtrength, and force unwilling awe.
Hence all obedience bows to theſe alone,
And talent ſinks, and merit weeps unknown;
[19]Till Time may come, when, ſtript of all her charms,
That land of ſcholars, and that nurſe of arms;
Where noble ſtems tranſmit the patriot flame,
And monarchs toil, and poets pant for fame;
One ſink of level avarice ſhall lie,
And ſcholars, ſoldiers, kings unhonor'd die.
Yet think not thus, when Freedom's ills I ſtate,
I mean to flatter kings, or court the great;
Periſh the wiſh; for, inly ſatisfy'd,
Above their pomps I hold my ragged pride.
But when contending chiefs blockade the throne,
Contracting regal power to ſtretch their own,
When I behold a factious band agree
To call it freedom, when themſelves are free;
Each wanton judge new penal ſtatutes draw,
Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law;
The wealth of climes, where ſavage nations roam,
Pillag'd from ſlaves, to purchaſe ſlaves at home;
Fear, pity, juſtice, indignation ſtart,
Tear off reſerve, and bare my ſwelling heart;
[20]'Till half a patriot, half a coward grown,
I fly from petty tyrants to the throne.
Yes, brother, curſe with me that baleful hour,
When firſt ambition ſtruck at regal power;
And thus, polluting honour in its ſource,
Gave wealth to ſway the mind with double force.
Have we not ſeen, round Britain's peopled ſhore,
Her uſeful ſons exchang'd for uſeleſs ore?
Seen all her triumphs but deſtruction haſte,
Like flaring tapers brightening as they waſte;
Seen opulence, her grandeur to maintain,
Lead ſtern depopulation in her train,
And over fields, where ſcatter'd hamlets roſe,
In barren ſolitary pomp repoſe?
Have we not ſeen, at pleaſure's lordly call,
The ſmiling long-frequented village fall;
Beheld the duteous ſon, the fire decay'd,
The modeſt matron, and the bluſhing maid,
Forc'd from their homes, a melancholy train,
To traverſe climes beyond the weſtern main;
[21]Where wild Oſwego ſpreads her ſwamps around,
And Niagara ſtuns with thund'ring ſound?
Even now, perhaps, as there ſome pilgrim ſtrays
Through tangled foreſts, and through dangerous ways;
Where beaſts with man divided empire claim,
And the brown Indian takes a deadly aim;
There, while above the giddy tempeſt flies,
And all around diſtreſsful yells ariſe,
The penſive exile, bending with his woe,
To ſtop too fearful, and too faint to go,
Caſts a fond look where England's glories ſhine,
And bids his boſom ſympathize with mine.
Vain, very vain, my weary ſearch to find
That bliſs which only centers in the mind:
Why have I ſtray'd, from pleaſure and repoſe,
To ſeek a good each government beſtows?
In every government, though terrors reign,
Though tyrant kings, or tyrant laws reſtrain,
How ſmall, of all that human hearts endure,
That part which laws or kings can cauſe or cure.
[22]Still to ourſelves in every place conſign'd,
Our own felicity we make or find:
With ſecret courſe, which no loud ſtorms annoy,
Glides the ſmooth current of domeſtic joy.
The lifted ax, the agonizing wheel,
Luke's iron crown, and Damien's bed of ſteel,
To men remote from power but rarely known,
Leave reaſon, faith and conſcience all our own.
THE END.