Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, These simple blessings of the lowly train-- To me more dear, congenial to my heart, One native charm, than all the gloss of art. Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play, The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway-- Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, Unenvied, unmolested, unconfin'd; But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, With all the freaks of wanton wealth array'd, In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain, The toiling pleasure sickens into pain-- And, even while fashion's brightest arts decoy, The heart distrusting asks, if this be joy. Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen who survey The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay-- 'Tis yours to judge how wide the limits stand Between a splendid and an happy land Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore, And shouting folly hails them from her shore; Hoards even beyond the miser's wish abound, And rich men flock from all the world around; Yet count our gains: this wealth is but a name That leaves our useful product still the same. Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride Takes up a space that many poor supplied-- Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds, Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds; The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth Has robbed the neighboring fields of half their growth; His seat where solitary sports are seen, Indignant spurns the cottage from the green; Around the world each needful product flies, For all the luxuries the world supplies; While thus the land adorn'd for pleasure--all In barren splendor feebly waits the fall. As some fair female unadorn'd and plain, Secure to please while youth confirms her reign Slights every borrow'd charm that dress supplies, Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes-- But when those charms are pass'd, for charms are frail, When time advances, and when lovers fail-- She then shines forth, solicitous to bless, In all the glaring impotence of dress. Thus fares the land, by luxury betray'd: In nature's simplest charms at first array'd-- But verging to decline, its splendors rise, Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise; While, scourg'd by famine, from the smiling land The mournful peasant leads his humble band-- And while he sinks, without one arm to save, The country blooms--a garden and a grave. [Illustration: As some fair female unadorned and plain] Where then, ah! where shall poverty reside, To 'scape the pressure of contiguous pride? If to some common's fenceless limits stray'd He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade, Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide, And even the bare-worn common is denied. [Illustration: Here, while the courtier glitters in brocade]