Whatever fruits in different climes were 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 the nation knows; In florid beauty groves and fields appear-- Man seems the only growth that dwindles here! Contrasted faults through all his manners reign: Though poor, luxurious; though submissive, vain; 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 learn'd to rise, Again the long fallen column sought the skies, The canvas glow'd beyond even nature warm, The pregnant quarry teem'd with human form; Till, more unsteady than the southern gale, Commerce on other shores display'd her sail, While naught remain'd of all that riches gave, But towns unmann'd and lords without a slave-- And late the nation found, with fruitless skill, Its former strength was but plethoric ill. [Illustration: THE SPORTS OF CHILDREN SATISFY THE CHILD] Yet, still the loss of wealth is here supplied By arts, the splendid wrecks of former pride: From these the feeble heart and long fallen mind An easy compensation seem to find. Here may be seen, in bloodless pomp array'd, The pasteboard triumph and the cavalcade; 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. Each nobler aim, repress'd by long control, Now sinks at last, or feebly mans the soul; While low delights, succeeding fast behind, In happier meanness occupy the mind. As in those domes, where Cæsars once bore sway Defac'd by time and tottering in decay, There in the ruin, heedless of the dead, The shelter-seeking peasant builds his shed; And, wondering man could want the larger pile, Exults, and owns his cottage with a smile. [Illustration: THE SWISS THEIR STORMY MANSIONS TREAD]