Then sleep was undisturbed by fear, unscared By drunken howlings; and the chilling tale Of midnight murder was a wonder heard With doubtful credit, told to frighten babes But farewell now to unsuspicious nights, And slumbers unalarmed. Now, ere you sleep, See that your polished arms be primed with care, And drop the night-bolt. Ruffians are abroad, And the first larum of the cock's shrill throat May prove a trumpet, summoning your ear To horrid sounds of hostile feet within.
Even daylight has its dangers; and the walk Through pathless wastes and woods, unconscious once Of other tenants than melodious birds, Or harmless flocks, is hazardous and bold.
Lamented change! to which full many a cause Inveterate, hopeless of a cure, conspires.
The course of human things from good to ill, From ill to worse, is fatal, never fails.
Increase of power begets increase of wealth;Wealth luxury, and luxury excess;Excess, the scrofulous and itchy plague That seizes first the opulent, descends To the next rank contagious, and in time Taints downward all the graduated scale Of order, from the chariot to the plough.
The rich, and they that have an arm to check The licence of the lowest in degree, Desert their office; and themselves, intent On pleasure, haunt the capital, and thus To all the violence of lawless hands Resign the scenes their presence might protect.
Authority itself not seldom sleeps, Though resident, and witness of the wrong.
The plump convivial parson often bears The magisterial sword in vain, and lays His reverence and his worship both to rest On the same cushion of habitual sloth.
Perhaps timidity restrains his arm, When he should strike he trembles, and sets free, Himself enslaved by terror of the band, The audacious convict whom he dares not bind.
Perhaps, though by profession ghostly pure, He, too, may have his vice, and sometimes prove Less dainty than becomes his grave outside In lucrative concerns. Examine well His milk-white hand. The palm is hardly clean--But here and there an ugly smutch appears.
Foh! 'twas a bribe that left it. He has touched Corruption. Whoso seeks an audit here Propitious, pays his tribute, game or fish, Wildfowl or venison, and his errand speeds.
But faster far and more than all the rest A noble cause, which none who bears a spark Of public virtue ever wished removed, Works the deplored and mischievous effect.
'Tis universal soldiership has stabbed The heart of merit in the meaner class.
Arms, through the vanity and brainless rage Of those that bear them, in whatever cause, Seem most at variance with all moral good, And incompatible with serious thought.
The clown, the child of nature, without guile, Blest with an infant's ignorance of all But his own simple pleasures, now and then A wrestling match, a foot-race, or a fair, Is balloted, and trembles at the news.
Sheepish he doffs his hat, and mumbling swears A Bible-oath to be whate'er they please, To do he knows not what. The task performed, That instant he becomes the serjeant's care, His pupil, and his torment, and his jest;His awkward gait, his introverted toes, Bent knees, round shoulders, and dejected looks, Procure him many a curse. By slow degrees, Unapt to learn and formed of stubborn stuff, He yet by slow degrees puts off himself, Grows conscious of a change, and likes it well.
He stands erect, his slouch becomes a walk, He steps right onward, martial in his air, His form and movement; is as smart above As meal and larded locks can make him: wears His hat or his plumed helmet with a grace, And, his three years of heroship expired, Returns indignant to the slighted plough.
He hates the field in which no fife or drum Attends him, drives his cattle to a march, And sighs for the smart comrades he has left.
'Twere well if his exterior change were all--But with his clumsy port the wretch has lost His ignorance and harmless manners too.
To swear, to game, to drink, to show at home By lewdness, idleness, and Sabbath-breach, The great proficiency he made abroad, To astonish and to grieve his gazing friends, To break some maiden's and his mother's heart, To be a pest where he was useful once, Are his sole aim, and all his glory now!
Man in society is like a flower Blown in its native bed. 'Tis there alone His faculties expanded in full bloom Shine out, there only reach their proper use.
But man associated and leagued with man By regal warrant, or self-joined by bond For interest sake, or swarming into clans Beneath one head for purposes of war, Like flowers selected from the rest, and bound And bundled close to fill some crowded vase, Fades rapidly, and by compression marred Contracts defilement not to be endured.
Hence chartered boroughs are such public plagues, And burghers, men immaculate perhaps In all their private functions, once combined, Become a loathsome body, only fit For dissolution, hurtful to the main.
Hence merchants, unimpeachable of sin Against the charities of domestic life, Incorporated, seem at once to lose Their nature, and, disclaiming all regard For mercy and the common rights of man, Build factories with blood, conducting trade At the sword's point, and dyeing the white robe Of innocent commercial justice red.
Hence too the field of glory, as the world Misdeems it, dazzled by its bright array, With all the majesty of thundering pomp, Enchanting music and immortal wreaths, Is but a school where thoughtlessness is taught On principle, where foppery atones For folly, gallantry for every vice.
But slighted as it is, and by the great Abandoned, and, which still I more regret, Infected with the manners and the modes It knew not once, the country wins me still.
I never framed a wish or formed a plan That flattered me with hopes of earthly bliss, But there I laid the scene. There early strayed My fancy, ere yet liberty of choice Had found me, or the hope of being free.
