So bless'd a life these thoughtless realms display; Thus idly busy rolls their world away. Theirs are those arts that mind to mind endear, For honor forms the social temper here: Honor, that praise which real merit gains, Or even imaginary worth obtains, Here passes current--paid from hand to hand, It shifts, in 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 bless'd, 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 unbless'd, Leans for all pleasure on another's breast. Hence ostentation here, with tawdry art, Pants for the vulgar praise which fools impart; Here vanity assumes her pert grimace, And trims her robes of frieze with copper lace; Here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer, To boast one splendid banquet once a year: The mind still turns where shifting fashion draws, Nor weighs the solid worth of self-applause. [Illustration: EMBOSOM'D IN THE DEEP WHERE HOLLAND LIES] To men of other minds my fancy flies, Embosom'd in the deep where Holland lies. 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. Onward, methinks, and diligently slow, The firm, connected bulwark seems to grow, Spreads its long arms amid the watery roar, Scoops out an empire, and usurps the shore-- While the pent ocean, 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, The crowded mart, the cultivated plain-- A new creation rescued from his reign. Thus, while around the wave-subjected soil Impels the native to repeated toil, Industrious habits in each bosom reign, And industry begets a love of gain. Hence all the good from opulence that springs, With all those ills superfluous treasure brings, Are here display'd. Their much lov'd wealth imparts Convenience, plenty, elegance, and arts; But view them closer, 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 dishonorable graves; And, calmly bent, to servitude conform, Dull as their lakes that slumber in the storm. Heavens! how unlike their Belgic sires of old-- Rough, poor, content, ungovernably bold, War in each breast, and freedom on each brow;