Having censured the degeneracy of the modern Italians, he proceeds thus: '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. No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array, But winter lingering chills the lap of May; No Zephyr fondly soothes 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; 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.' But having found that the rural life of a Swiss has its evils as well as comforts, he turns to France. '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.-- Theirs are those arts that mind to mind endear, For honour forms the social temper here.-- 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.' Yet France has its evils: 'For praise too dearly lov'd, or warmly sought, Enfeebles all internal strength of thought, And the weak soul, within itself unblest, Leans all for pleasure on another's breast.-- The mind still turns where shifting fashion draws, Nor weighs the solid worth of self-applause.' Having then passed through Holland, he arrives in England, where, '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.' With the inconveniences that harrass [_sic_] the sons of freedom, this extract shall be concluded.