Here the proud prince, and favourite yet prouder, His sovereign's keeper, and the people's scourge, Are huddled out of sight.--Here lie abash'd The great negotiators of the earth, And celebrated masters of the balance, Deep read in stratagems, and wiles of courts. Now vain their treaty skill: death scorns to treat. 500 Here the o'er-loaded slave flings down his burden From his gall'd shoulders;--and when the cruel tyrant, With all his guards and tools of power about him, Is meditating new unheard-of hardships, Mocks his short arm,--and, quick as thought, escapes Where tyrants vex not, and the weary rest. Here the warm lover, leaving the cool shade, The tell-tale echo, and the babbling stream (Time out of mind the favourite seats of love), Fast by his gentle mistress lays him down, 510 Unblasted by foul tongue.--Here friends and foes Lie close; unmindful of their former feuds. The lawn-robed prelate and plain presbyter, Erewhile that stood aloof, as shy to meet, Familiar mingle here, like sister streams That some rude interposing rock had split. Here is the large-limb'd peasant;--here the child Of a span long, that never saw the sun, Nor press'd the nipple, strangled in life's porch. Here is the mother, with her sons and daughters; 520 The barren wife; the long-demurring maid, Whose lonely unappropriated sweets Smiled like yon knot of cowslips on the cliff, Not to be come at by the willing hand. Here are the prude severe, and gay coquette, The sober widow, and the young green virgin, Cropp'd like a rose before 'tis fully blown, Or half its worth disclosed. Strange medley here! Here garrulous old age winds up his tale; And jovial youth, of lightsome vacant heart, 530 Whose every day was made of melody, Hears not the voice of mirth.--The shrill-tongued shrew, Meek as the turtle-dove, forgets her chiding. Here are the wise, the generous, and the brave; The just, the good, the worthless, the profane; The downright clown, and perfectly well-bred; The fool, the churl, the scoundrel, and the mean; The supple statesman, and the patriot stern; The wrecks of nations, and the spoils of time, With all the lumber of six thousand years. 540 Poor man!--how happy once in thy first state! When yet but warm from thy great Maker's hand, He stamp'd thee with his image, and, well pleased, Smiled on his last fair work.--Then all was well. Sound was the body, and the soul serene; Like two sweet instruments, ne'er out of tune, That play their several parts.--Nor head, nor heart, Offer'd to ache: nor was there cause they should; For all was pure within: no fell remorse, Nor anxious casting-up of what might be, 550 Alarm'd his peaceful bosom.--Summer seas Show not more smooth, when kiss'd by southern winds Just ready to expire.--Scarce importuned,