Good heaven! what sorrows gloom’d that parting day, That call’d them from their native walks away; When the poor exiles, every pleasure pass’d, 365 Hung round their bowers, and fondly look’d their last, And took a long farewell, and wish’d in vain For seats like these beyond the western main; And shudd’ring still to face the distant deep, Return’d and wept, and still return’d to weep. 370 The good old sire, the first prepar’d to go To new-found worlds, and wept for others’ woe; But for himself, in conscious virtue brave, He only wish’d for worlds beyond the grave. His lovely daughter, lovlier in her tears, 375 The fond companion of his helpless years, Silent went next, neglectful of her charms, And left a lover’s for a father’s arms. With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes, And bless’d the cot where every pleasure rose 380 And kiss’d her thoughtless babes with many a tear, And clasp’d them close, in sorrow doubly dear; Whilst her fond husband strove to lend relief In all the silent manliness of grief. O Luxury! thou curs’d by Heaven’s decree, 385 How ill exchang’d are things like these for thee! How do thy potions, with insidious joy Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy! Kingdoms, by thee, to sickly greatness grown, Boast of a florid vigour not their own; 390 At every draught more large and large they grow, A bloated mass of rank unwieldy woe; Till sapp’d their strength, and every part unsound, Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round.