Rich industry sits smiling on the plains, And peace and plenty tell a Stuart[39] reigns. Not thus the land appear'd in ages past, A dreary desert, and a gloomy waste, To savage beasts and savage laws[40] a prey, And kings more furious and severe than they; Who claim'd the skies, dispeopled air and floods, The lonely lords of empty wilds and woods: Cities laid waste, they storm'd the dens and caves, (For wiser brutes were backward to be slaves). 50 What could be free, when lawless beasts obey'd, And even the elements a tyrant sway'd? In vain kind seasons swell'd the teeming grain, Soft showers distill'd, and suns grew warm in vain; The swain with tears his frustrate labour yields, And famish'd dies amidst his ripen'd fields. What wonder, then, a beast or subject slain Were equal crimes in a despotic reign? Both doom'd alike, for sportive tyrants bled, But while the subject starved, the beast was fed. 60 Proud Nimrod first the bloody chase began, A mighty hunter, and his prey was man: Our haughty Norman boasts that barbarous name, And makes his trembling slaves the royal game. The fields are ravish'd[41] from the industrious swains, From men their cities, and from gods their fanes: The levell'd towns with weeds lie cover'd o'er; The hollow winds through naked temples roar; Round broken columns clasping ivy twined; O'er heaps of ruin stalk'd the stately hind; 70 The fox obscene to gaping tombs retires, And savage howlings fill the sacred choirs. Awed by his Nobles, by his Commons cursed, The oppressor ruled tyrannic where he durst, Stretch'd o'er the poor and Church his iron rod, And served alike his vassals and his God. Whom even the Saxon spared, and bloody Dane, The wanton victims of his sport remain. But see, the man who spacious regions gave A waste for beasts, himself denied a grave![42] 80 Stretch'd on the lawn, his second hope[43] survey, At once the chaser, and at once the prey: Lo Rufus, tugging at the deadly dart, Bleeds in the forest like a wounded hart. Succeeding monarchs heard the subjects' cries, Nor saw displeased the peaceful cottage rise. Then gathering flocks on unknown mountains fed, O'er sandy wilds were yellow harvests spread, The forests wonder'd at the unusual grain, And secret transport touch'd the conscious swain. 90 Fair Liberty, Britannia's goddess, rears Her cheerful head, and leads the golden years.