A PROSPECT of SOCIETY.
[]ONE ſink of level avarice ſhall lie,
And even the worth of kings unhonor'd die.
Yet think not, thus when freedom's iſles I ſtate,
I mean to flatter kings, or court the great;
Think not I mean to ſap my country's good;
I would not, heaven be witneſs! if I could.
[2] But when I ſee contention hem the throne,
A bridging kingly power to ſtretch her own,
When I behold a factious band agree
To call it freedom, when themſelves are free;
Senates in blood the code of juſtic draw,
Laws grind the poor, and opulence the law;
The wealth of climes, where ſavage nations roam,
Pillag'd from ſlaves, to purchaſe ſlaves at home;
I can't forbear, but all my paſſions ſtart
To tear the barb that grides my ſwelling heart;
I can't forbear: but, half a coward grown,
I wiſh to ſhrink from tyrants to the throne.
Yes, my lov'd brother, curſed be that hour
When firſt ambition toil'd for foreign power;
When Britons learnt to ſwell beyond their ſhore,
And barter uſeful men for uſeleſs ore,
To ſhine with ſplendors that deſtruction haſte,
Like flaring tapers brightening as they waſte.
Have we not ſeen, at pleaſure's lordly call,
An hundred villages in ruin fall?
[3] Beheld the duteous ſon, the ſire decay'd,
The modeſt matron, and the bluſhing maid,
Forc'd from their homes, a melancholy train,
To traverſe climes beyond the weſtern main;
Where wild Oſwego ſpreads her ſwamps around,
And Niagara ſtuns with thund'ring ſound?
Even now, perhaps, as there ſome pilgrim ſtrays
Through tangling ſoreſts, and through dangerous ways;
Through woods, where beaſts divided empire claim,
And the brown Indian takes a deadly aim;
There, while above the forceful tempeſt flies,
And all around diſtreſsful yellings riſe,
The famiſh'd exile bends beneath his woe,
And faintly fainter, fainter ſeems to go;
Caſts a fond look where Britain's ſhores recline,
And gives his griefs to ſympathize with mine.
War in each breaſt, and freedom on each brow;
How much unlike the ſons of Britain now!
Fluſh'd at the ſound, my genius ſpreads her wing,
And flies where Britain broods the weſtern ſpring;
[4] Where lawns extend that ſpurn Arcadian pride,
And brighter ſtreams than fam'd Campaſpe 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 mankind paſs me by
With haughty 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 hardihood of ſoul,
True to imagin'd right whate'er controul,
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;
Happy indeed, were ſuch without alloy,
But even from Freedom iſſuing ills annoy:
[5] That independence Britons prize too high,
Keeps man from man, and cuts the ſocial tie;
There, 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 fire the wheels.
Nor reſt their ills. 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 diſtinction's paid to theſe alone,
Talent muſt ſink, and merit weep unknown;
Till Time may come, when, ſtript of all her charms,
That land of ſcholars, and that nurſe of arms;
Where anceſtry avows the noble claim,
And ſtateſmen toil, and poets pant for fame;
To men of other minds my fancy flies,
Emboſom'd in the deep where Holland lies,
[6] 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 ſwelling main,
And ſcoops an empire from the watry reign.
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.
The ſlow canal, the yellow bloſſom'd vale,
The willow tufted bank▪ the gliding ſail,
Plains, foreſts, town [...], in gay profuſion dreſt,
A new creation raviſh [...] from his breaſt.
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,
[7] Are here diſplay'd. Their much-lov'd wealth imparts
Convenience, plenty, elegance, and arts;
But turn the medal, 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 calm beneath their injuries conform,
Dull as their lakes, quieſcent in a ſtorm.
Heavens! how unlike their Belgic ſires of old!
Rough, poor, content, ungovernably bold;
Where ſhading elms beſide the margin grew,
And freſhen'd from the waves the Zephyr blew;
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,
[8] 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 ſtrenuous 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 its 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.
[9] Hence oſtentation here, with tawdry art,
Pants for the vulgar praiſe which fools impart;
Here vanity aſſumes the pert grimace,
And trims her robes of frize with copper lace,
Here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer,
To boaſt one ſplendid diſh for once a year;
And ſcarce a man is found, who rightly weighs
The ſolid tranſports of internal praiſe.
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;
Since every want, that ſtimulates the breaſt,
Becomes a means of pleaſure when poſſeſt.
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;
[10] 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
Manners in one unmending track will run,
And love and friendſhip's finely pointed dart
Fall blunted from each indurated heart,
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 diſperſe, on timorous pinions fly,
To ſport and flutter in a kinder ſky.
To kinder ſkies, where gentler manners reign,
We turn, where France diſplays her bright domain.
Thou ſprightly land of mirth and ſocial eaſe,
Pleas'd with thyſelf, whom all the world can pleaſe,
[11] How often have I led thy ſportive choir,
With tuneleſs pipe, along the ſliding Loire?
No vernal bloom their torpid rocks diſplay,
But winter lingering chills the lap of May;
No Zephyr fondly ſooths the mountain's breaſt,
But meteors glare, and frowning ſtorms 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;
See 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.
[12] 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 at his heart.
Dear in 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.
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 with animation warm,
The pregnant quarry teem'd with human form.
[] But, more unſtable than the ſouthern gale,
Soon Commerce turn'd on other ſhores her ſail;
And late the nation ſound, with fruitleſs ſkill,
Their former ſtrength was now plethoric ill.
Yet, though to fortune loſt, there ſtill abide
Some ſplendid arts, the wrecks of former pride;
From which the ſeeble heart and long fall'n mind
An eaſy compenſation ſeems to find.
Here may be ſeen, in bloodleſs pomp array'd,
The paſte-board triumph and the cavalcade;
Proceſſions form'd for piety and love,
A miſtreſs or a ſaint in every grove.
At ſports like theſe are all their cares beguil'd,
The ſports of children ſatisfy the child;
At ſports like theſe, while foreign arms advance,
They proudly ſwell, and leave the world to chance.
When ſtrenuous aims have ſuffer'd long controul,
They leave at laſt, or feebly man the ſoul;
While low delights, ſucceeding faſt behind,
In happier meanneſs occupy the mind:
[] As in thoſe domes, where Caeſars once bore ſway,
But now by time diſmantled 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;
No product here the barren hills afford,
But man and ſteel, the ſoldier and his ſword.
Far to the right, where Appenine aſcends,
Bright as the ſummer, Italy extends;
Her uplands ſloping deck the mountain's ſide,
Woods over woods, in gay theatric pride;
While oft ſome temples mould'ring tops 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,
That dreſs in bright ſucceſſion round the year;
Whatever ſweets ſalute the northern ſky
With vernal leaves that bloſſom but to die;
Theſe here diſporting, own the kindred ſoil,
Nor aſk luxuriance from the planter's toil;
While ſea-borne 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 the nation knows.
In rich luxuriance plants and flowers appear,
Men ſeem the only growth that dwindles here.
Contraſted faults through all their manners reign,
Though poor, luxurious, though ſubmiſſive, vain,
Though grave, yet trifling, zealous, yet untrue,
And even in penance planning ſins anew.
All ills are here to pejorate the mind,
That opulence departed leaves behind;
[] 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 the doubtful ſcale depend;
Find that each good, by Art or Nature given,
To theſe or thoſe, but makes the balance even.
Nature, a mother kind alike to all,
Still grants her bleſſings at Induſtry's call;
And though the rigid clime or rough rocks frown,
Theſe rocks, by cuſtom, turn to beds of down.
From Art more various are the bleſſings ſent;
Wealth, ſplendours, freedom, honor, and content:
Yet theſe each other's power ſo ſtrong conteſt,
That either ſeems ſubverſive of the reſt.
Hence e'ery ſtate, to one lov'd bleſſing prone,
Chiefly conforms itſelf to that alone.