Have we not seen at pleasure's lordly call,
The smiling long-frequented village fall?
Beheld the duteous fon, the fire decay'd,
The modeft matron, and the blushing maid,
Forc'd from their homes, a melancholy train,
To traverse climes beyond the western main;
Where wild Ofwego spreads her swamps around,
And Niagara ftuns with thund'ring found?
Even now, perhaps, as there fome pilgrim ftrays Through tangled forefts, and through dangerous ways; Where beasts with man divided empire claim,
And the brown Indian marks with murd'rous aim;
There, while above the giddy tempest flies,
And all around diftressful yells arise,
The penfive exile, bending with his woe,
To stop too fearful, and too faint to go,
Cafts a long look where England's glories fhine,
And bids his bofom fympathife with mine,
Vain, very vain, my weary fearch to find
That bliss which only centers in the mind:
Why have I ftray'd from pleasure and repose,
To feek a good each government bestows?
In every government, though terrors reign,
Though tyrant kings, or tyrant laws restrain,
How fmall of all that human hearts endure,
That part which laws or kings can cause or cure.
Still to ourselves in every place confign'd,
Our own felicity we make or find :