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, 285 Lift the tall rampire’s artificial pride. Onward, methinks, and diligently slow, The firm-connected bulwark seems to grow; Spreads its long arms amidst the wat’ry roar, Scoops out an empire, and usurps the shore; 290 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, 295 A new creation rescu’d 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. 300 Hence all the good from opulence that springs, With all those ills superfluous treasure brings, Are here displayed. Their much-lov’d wealth imparts Convenience, plenty, elegance, and arts; But view them closer, craft and fraud appear, 305 E’en 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 dishonourable graves, 310 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; 315 How much unlike the sons of Britain now! Fir’d at the sound, my genius spreads her wing, And flies where Britain courts the western spring; Where lawns extend that scorn Arcadian pride, And brighter streams than fam’d Hydaspes glide. 320 There all around the gentlest breezes stray, There gentle music melts on ev’ry spray; Creation’s mildest charms are there combin’d, Extremes are only in the master’s mind! Stern o’er each bosom reason holds her state, 325 With daring aims irregularly great; Pride in their port, defiance in their eye, I see the lords of human kind pass by, Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band, By forms unfashion’d, fresh from Nature’s hand; 330 Fierce in their native hardiness of soul, True to imagin’d right, above control, While e’en the peasant boasts these rights to scan, And learns to venerate himself as man.