Deplore their fortune, yet sustain their parts;
Then shall I dare these real ills to hide
In tinsel trappings of poetic pride?

No; cast by Fortune on a frowning coast, Which neither groves nor happy valleys boast; Where other cares than those the Muse relates,

51

And other shepherds dwell with other mates;
By such examples taught, I paint the cot,

As Truth will paint it, and as bards will not:
Nor you, ye poor, of lettered scorn complain, 55
To you the smoothest song is smooth in vain:
O'ercome by labour, and bow'd down by time,
Feel you the barren flattery of a rhyme?
Can poets soothe you, when you pine for bread,
By winding myrtles round your ruin'd shed? 60
Can their light tales your weighty griefs o'er-
power,

Or glad with airy mirth the toilsome hour?

Lo! where the heath, with withering brake grown o'er,

Lends the light turf that warms the neighbouring poor;

From thence a length of burning sand appears, Where the thin harvest waves its wither'd ears;

66

70

Rank weeds, that every art and care defy,
Reign o'er the land, and rob the blighted rye:
There thistles stretch their prickly arms afar
And to the ragged infant threaten war;
There poppies nodding, mock the hope of toil;
There the blue bugloss paints the sterile soil;
Hardy and high, above the slender sheaf,
The slimy mallow waves her silky leaf;
O'er the young shoot the charlock throws a
shade,

75

And clasping tares cling round the sickly blade;

2 Stephen Duck, d. 1756, a self-taught and obscure versifier, of humble origin, who gave a truthful picture of the farmer's life in a poem called the Thresher's Labour, v. Southey's Lives and Works of our Uneducated Poets.

Or made the pond'rous quoit obliquely fall; While some huge Ajax, terrible and strong, Engaged some artful stripling of the throng, And fell beneath him, foil'd, while far around Hoarse triumph rose, and rocks return'd the sound?

100

Where now are these?-Beneath yon cliff they stand,

To show the freighted pinnace where to land;
To load the ready steed with guilty haste,
To fly in terror o'er the pathless waste,
Or, when detected, in their straggling course, 105
To foil their foes by cunning or by force;
Or, yielding part (which equal knaves demand),
To gain a lawless passport through the land.
Here, wand'ring long, amid these frowning
fields,

I sought the simple life that Nature yields; 110 Rapine and Wrong and Fear usurp'd her place,

And a bold, artful, surly, savage race;
Who, only skill'd to take the finny tribe,
The yearly dinner, or septennial bribe,3

Wait on the shore, and, as the waves run

high,

116

On the tost vessel bend their eager eye. Which to their coast directs its vent'rous way;

Theirs, or the ocean's, miserable prey.

As on their neighbouring beach yon swallows stand,

And wait for favouring winds to leave the land;

While still for flight the ready wing is spread; 121
So waited I the favouring hour, and fled;
Fled from these shores where guilt and famine
reign,

And cried, Ah! hapless they who still remain;
Who still remain to hear the ocean roar,
125
Whose greedy waves devour the lessening

shore,

Till some fierce tide, with more imperious sway,

Sweeps the low hut and all it holds away; When the sad tennant weeps from door to door,

And begs a poor protection from the poor. . .

3i. e., the bribe given for their votes at a Parliamentary election. By the Act of 1716, a new Parliament had to be elected at least once in every seven years.

And the loud bittern, from the bull-rush home, Gave from the salt-ditch side the bellowing boom:

He nursed the feelings these dull scenes produce

And loved to stop beside the opening sluice; 100 Where the small stream, confined in narrowing bound,

Ran with a dull, unvaried, sadd'ning sound;
Where all, presented to the eye or ear,
Oppress'd the soul with misery, grief and fear.
Besides these objects, there were places
three,

105

Which Peter seemed with certain dread to see;

1 Peter Grimes is a fisherman, ignorant, lawless, avaricious, and cruel, from his youth. He gets from London a workhouse-boy to help him in his labors, receiving a small sum of money for giving the boy a home. The boy dies from brutality and neglect, and Peter procures another, thus gaining a second fee. This boy also dies, and after that a third boy, in a way that arouses the gravest suspicion. The murder is not proved, but Peter is forbidden to employ another boy, and warned that if he should be again accused he will find no mercy.

2 A sea-duck.

FARMER MOSS'S DAUGHTER

(From Tales in Verse, 1812)

To farmer Moss, in Langar Vale, came down
His only daughter, from her school in town;
A tender, timid maid! who knew not how
To pass a pig-sty, or to face a cow:
Smiling she came, with petty talents graced, 5
A fair complexion, and a slender waist.

10

Used to spare meals, disposed in manner pure, Her father's kitchen she could ill endure; Where by the steaming beef he hungry sat, And laid at once a pound upon his plate; Hot from the field, her eager brother seized An equal part, and hunger's rage appeased; The air, surcharged with moisture, flagg'd around,

And the offended damsel sighed and frowned; The swelling fat in lumps conglomerate laid, 15 And fancy's sickness seized the loathing maid: But when the men beside their station took, The maidens with them, and with these the cook;

20

When one huge wooden bowl before them stood,
Fill'd with huge balls of farinaceous food;
With bacon, mass saline, where never lean
Beneath the brown and bristly rind was seen;
When from a single horn the party drew
Their copious draughts of heavy ale and new;
When the coarse cloth she saw, with many a
stain,

25

Soil'd by rude hinds1 who cut and come again—
She could not breathe, but with a heavy sigh,
Rein'd the fair neck, and shut th' offended eye;
She minced the sanguine flesh in frustums2 fine,
And wonder'd much to see the creatures dine;30
When she resolved her father's heart to move,
If hearts of farmers were alive to love.
She now entreated by herself to sit
In the small parlour, if papa thought fit,
And there to dine, to read, to work alone:
"No," said the farmer in an angry tone;
"These are your school-taught airs; your
mother's pride

35

Would send you there; but I am now your guide.

Arise betimes, our early meal prepare,

And this despatch'd, let business be your