And more unpitying Men, the garden feeks,
Urg'd on by fearless want. The bleating kind
Eye the bleak heaven, and next the glistening earth,
With looks of dumb defpair; then, fad difpers'd,
Dig for the wither'd herb thro' heaps of fnow. 264
Now, fhepherds, to your helpless charge be kind, Baffle the raging year, and fill their pens With food at will; lodge them below the storm, And watch them ftrict: for from the bellowing east, In this dire feason, oft the whirlwind's wing Sweeps up the burthen of whole wintry plains 270 At one wide waft, and o'er the hapless flocks, Hid in the hollow of two neighbouring hills, The billowy tempeft whelms; 'till, upward urg'd,. The valley to a fhining mountain fwells,
Tipt with a wreath, high-curling in the sky. 275
As thus the fnows arife; and foul, and fierce,
All Winter drives along the darkened air;
In his own loose-revolving fields, the swain
Difafter'd ftands; fees other hills ascend,
Of unknown joylefs brow; and other fcenes,.
Of horrid prospect, fhag the trackless plain :
Nor finds the river, nor the forest, hid
Beneath the formless wild; but wanders on
From hill to dale, ftill more and more astray ;
Impatient flouncing thro' the drifted heaps,
Stung with the thoughts of home; the thoughts of
Rush on his nerves, and call their vigour forth
In many
a vain attempt. How finks his foul!
What black despair, what horror fills his heart!
When for the dusky fpot, which fancy feign'd
His tufted cottage rifing thro' the snow,
He meets the roughness of the middle wafte,
Far from the track, and blest abode of Man;
While round him night refiftlefs closes fast,
And every tempest, howling o'er his head,
Renders the favage wilderness more wild,
Then throng the bufy fhapes into his mind,
Of cover'd pits, unfathomably deep,
A dire defcent! beyond the power of frost,
Of faithlefs bogs; of precipices huge
Smooth'd up with fnow; and what is land unknown,
What water, of the still unfrozen spring,
In the loofe marsh or folitary lake,
Where the fresh fountain from the bottom boils. 304
These check his fearful steps; and down he finks
Beneath the shelter of the fhapeless drift,
Thinking o'er all the bitterness of death,
Mix'd with the tender anguifh Nature shoots
Thro' the wrung bofom of the dying Man,
His wife, his children, and his friends unfeen.
In vain for him th' officious wife prepares
The fire fair-blazing, and the vestment warm;
In vain his little children, peeping out
Into the mingling storm, demand their fire,
With tears of artlefs innocence. Alas!
Nor wife, nor children, more fhall he behold,
Nor friends, nor facred home. On every nerve
The deadly Winter feizes; fhuts up fenfe ;
And, o'er his inmoft vitals creeping cold,
Lays him along the fnows, a stiffened corfe,
Stretch'd out, and bleaching in the northern blast.
AH little think the gay licentious proud,
Whom pleasure, power, and affluence surround;
They, who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth,
And wanton, often cruel, riot waste;
Ah little think they, while they dance along,
How many feel, this very moment, death
And all the fad variety of pain.
How many fink in the devouring flood,
Or more devouring flame. How many bleed,
By shameful variance betwixt Man and Man.
How many pine in want, and dungeon glooms;
Shut from the common air, and common use
Of their own limbs. How many drink the cup
Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread
Of mifery. Sore pierc'd by wintry winds,
How many fhrink into the fordid hut
Of cheerlefs poverty. How many shake
With all the fiercer tortures of the mind,
Unbounded paffion, madnefs, guilt, remorfe;
Whence tumbled headlong from the height of life, They furnish matter for the tragic muse.
Even in the vale, where wisdom loves to dwell,
With friendship, peace, and contemplation join'd,
How many, rack'd with honeft paffions, droop 345
In deep retir'd distress. How many ftand
Around the death-bed of their dearest friends,
And point the parting anguish. Thought fond Man
Of these, and all the thousand nameless ills,
'That one inceffant ftruggle render life,
One fcene of toil, of fuffering, and of fate,
Vice in his high career would stand appall'd,
And heedlefs rambling Impulfe learn to think;
The confcious heart of charity would warm,
And her wide with benevolence dilate;
The focial tear would rife, the focial figh;
And into clear perfection, gradual bliss,
Refining ftill, the focial paffions work,
AND here can I forget the generous ** band, Who, touch'd with human woe, redreffive fearch'd Into the horrors of the gloomy jail ?
Unpity'd, and unheard, where misery moans;
Where fickness pines; where thirst and hunger burn,
misfortune feels the lath of vice.
While in the land of liberty, the land
Whose every street and public meeting glow
*The Jail Committee, in the Year 1729..
With open freedom, little tyrants rag'd;
Snatch'd the lean morfel from the ftarving mouth;
Tore from cold wintry limbs the tatter'd weed;
Even robb'd them of the last of comforts, fleep; 370
The free-born BRITON to the dungeon chain'd,
Or, as the luft of cruelty prevail'd,
At pleasure mark'd him with inglorious ftripes;
And crush'd out lives, by fecret barbarous ways,
That for their country would have toil'd, or bled. 375
O great defign! if executed well,
With patient care, and wisdom-temper❜d zeal.
Ye fons of mercy! yet refume the fearch;
Drag forth the legal monsters into light,
Wrench from their hands oppreffion's iron rod, 380
And bid the cruel feel the pains they give..
Much ftill untouch'd remains; in this rank age,
Much is the patriot's weeding hand requir'd.
The toils of law, (what dark infidious Men
Have cumbrous added to perplex the truth, 385
And lengthen fimple juftice into trade)
How glorious were the day! that faw these broke,
And every Man within the reach of right..
By wintry famine rous'd, from all the tract
Of horrid mountains which the fhining Alps,
And wavy Appenine, and Pyrenees,
Branch out stupendous into diftant lands;
Cruel as death, and hungry as the grave!
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