Boast of a florid vigour not their own:
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t every draught more large and large they grow, A bloated mass of rank unwieldy woe; {044} Till, sapp'd their strength, and every part unsound, Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round. E'en now the devastation is begun, And half the business of destruction done; E'en now, methinks, as pondering here I stand, I see the rural virtues leave the land. Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail, That idly waiting flaps with every gale; [Illustration: 0087] Downward they move, a melancholy band, Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand. Contented toil, and hospitable care, And kind connubial tenderness, are there; And piety, with wishes placed above, And steady loyalty, and faithful love. {045} And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid, Still first to fly where sensual joys invade, Unfit, in these degenerate times of shame, To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame; Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried, My shame in crowds, my solitary pride; Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe, That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so; [Illustration: 0090] Thou guide, by which the nobler arts excel, Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well! Farewell! and oh! where'er thy voice be tried, On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side, Whether where equinoctial fervors glow, Or winter wraps the polar world in snow, {046} Still let thy voice, prevailing over time,
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