Who struck with matchless force the bounding ball, Or made the pond'rous quoit obliquely fall; While some huge Ajax, terrible and strong, Engaged some artful stripling of the throng, And fell beneath him, foil'd, while far around Hoarse triumph rose, and rocks return'd the sound? 100 Where now are these?--Beneath yon cliff they stand, To show the freighted pinnace where to land; To load the ready steed with guilty haste; To fly in terror o'er the pathless waste; 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, I sought the simple life that Nature yields; 110 Rapine and Wrong and Fear usurp'd her place, And a bold, artful, surly, savage race; Who, only skill'd to take the finny tribe, The yearly dinner, or septennial bribe, Wait on the shore, and, as the waves run high, On the tost vessel bend their eager eye, Which to their coast directs its vent'rous way; [Their], or the ocean's, miserable prey. As on their neighbouring beach yon swallows stand, And wait for favouring winds to leave the land, 120 While still for flight the ready wing is spread: So waited I the favouring hour, and fled-- Fled from these shores where guilt and famine reign, And cried, Ah! hapless they who still remain; Who still remain to hear the ocean roar, Whose greedy waves devour the lessening shore; 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! 130 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 labour spent in vain. But yet in other scenes, more fair in view, Where Plenty smiles--alas! she smiles for few-- And those who taste not, yet behold her store, } Are as the slaves that dig the golden ore, } The wealth around them makes them doubly poor } Or will you deem them amply paid in health, 140 Labour's fair child, that languishes with wealth? Go, then! and see them rising with the sun, Through a long course of daily toil to run; See them beneath the dog-star's raging heat, When the knees tremble and the temples beat; Behold them, leaning on their scythes, look o'er The labour past, and toils to come explore; See them alternate suns and showers engage, And hoard up aches and anguish for their age; Through fens and marshy moors their steps pursue, 150 When their warm pores imbibe the evening dew; Then own that labour may as fatal be