16
THE TRAVELLER.
The slow canal, the yellow blossom'd vale,The willow tufted bank, the gliding sail,The crowded mart, the cultivated plain,A new creation rescu'd from his reign.
Thus, while around, the wave-subjected soilImpels the native to repeated toil,Industrious habits in each breast obtain,And industry begets a love of gain.Hence all the good from opulence that springs,With all those ills superfluous treasure brings,Are here display'd. Their much-lov'd wealth impartsConvenience, plenty, elegance, and arts;But view them closer, craft and fraud appear,Even liberty itself is barter'd here.At gold's superior charms all freedom flies,The needy sell it, and the rich man buys:A land of tyrants, and a den of slaves,Here wretches seek dishonourable graves,And calmly bent, to servitude conform,Dull as their lakes that sleep beneath the storm.
Heavens!
