No scenes like these in busy towns, O'erhung with constant smoky gloom; All's constant bustle on the streetsTo walk-a person scarce finds room.
The inhabitants are all engaged
About their manners and their dress;
That Nature's pleasures in their breasts,
Though trade allow'd, cannot find place.
Infected air, and dirty lanes,
Enough to set the strongest heart;
'Tis dangerous on their stairs to climb-
The country's far the better part.
Again the townsmen, in their turn,
Deride all this as foolish talk;
And wonder where the pleasure lies,
'Mongst chilly dews at morn to walk.
The lambkins play, the song of birds, They only children's pleasure call; Their hearts recoil from gloomy scenes, On river banks at drear night's fall.
How country people can subsist,
They wonder, 'mid the piercing cold;
When snowy flakes along the ground,
By howling wintry winds are roll❜d.
They, muffled up into their cloaks,
Step out to view their buildings fine;
Or see their rows of star-like lamps,
Along the crowded pavement shine.
The female beauties, finely dressed,
With all their arts of school-learn'd grace,
Are charming to their eyes:-in short,
The town is far the better place.
'Tis thus they at each other sneer,
The one's delight's the other's jeer ;
But both are in the same mistake,
Our place us cannot happy make:
Keep out contentment from the mind,
And then we'll nowhere pleasure find.
MARIA at her window sat
And saw the billows foam;
She thought on him she loved at sea,
And wish'd him safely home.
She heard the wind increasing blow,
And ocean louder roar ;
When into view a vessel hove,
Fast drifting to the shore.
Wild horror through her bosom thrill'd;
She knew it was the ship
Of which her lover master was,
Returned from her trip.
She ran unto the beach in haste,
Her anguish made her rave.
The vessel stranded, and the crew
Were wash'd into the wave!
When that she saw, from reason rent,
She plunged into the main !
A timely surge the maiden met,
And cast her out again.
That same surge threw the captain out,
He clasped Maria fair ;
O, what a happy meeting this,
On brink of fell despair!
The seamen all got safe to land,-
Mud held the vessel fast;
But she and cargo both were saved,
When the rude storm was past.
COME, Melancholy, come,
And settle round my head;
Let thy soft canopy
Be ever o'er me spread.
Let transient fits of Mirth
No more upon me gleam : For quickly they depart,
And make all darker seem.
These fits my spirit raise,
As billows of the main
Lift up the tossing bark,
To dash it down again.
Wouldst thou me close attend, We sure should well agree;
For never soul, as mine,
So much resembled thee!
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