The National Intelligencer And Washington Advertiser

FROM THE ABBE DELILLE'S RURAL PHILOSOPHER.

IN town or country one great truth be known;
That pleasure's best, which is not all our own
Wretched or happy, man from man receives,
And lives by halves if for himself he lives.
Ye that in verdant fields no pleasures view,
Learn to do good, and pleasure will ensue.
Amidst the city, and its thronging host,
Riches and poverty alike are lost;
But where industrious want and slothful pride,
The castle and the cot, are side by side,
A contrast sad they to the mind present,
And 'gainst the wealthy rouse the indigent.
Then should thy bounty cover envy's spite,
Give life its balance, and misfortune right:
Correct the seasons, and allow the poor
That field to glean his hands has furrow'd o'er;
Fill by its gifts the long, though useful, space,
That into different ranks divides our race
Where canst thou else more strong example find,
Than in the fields, to rouse the generous mind?
There, all around by mutual kindness live;
The beasts, that graze the field, its fatness give.
Yon tree, that moisture from the soil receives,
Gives to the mother earth its dying leaves;
The mountains pour the torrent o'er the lands,
That cools the air; the air in dew expands.
All gives and takes, all serves, and all enjoys!
Man's heart alone the harmony destroys!
Observe yon heir, that rues the treacherous die,
Run e'er his forests with exacting eye;
Without a tear his rich domains betray,
And, like a burthen, cast his gold away.
Thy soul a burthen—Impudence of wealth!
Why then does Famine sap yon infant's health?
Why then yon widow'd dame, with pittance scant?
Yon dowerless maid, or sire that dies for want?
Oh! had it pleas'd the will of bounteous Heaven
To me some subject-hamlet to have given,
Full happy they'd, and worthy to be so,
Around my dome should plants and flow'rets grow:
The richest fruits should deck the teeming soil,
But most should human faces round me smile,
Never should Famine's pale and haggard mien.
Send dismal gloom athwart the happy scene.
But man should toil: the plough-share and the spade,
With sure reward, should wait th'industrious hand,
And labor banish misery from the land.
Nor that suffice; let sickness, age, & pain,
With thee a sure and ready succor gain:
Select the smallest of thy chambers vast,
Adorn'd with order, neat and decent taste;
Let it, with various med'cines amply stor'd,
To want diseas'd a constant oil afford.
Sloth, that from town-fatigue his visit pays,
Your carpet, mirrors, and saloon, may praise;
But this retreat to goodness set apart,
Is sacred only to the feeling heart.
Oft with thy bounties, too, thy presence show,
And thus enhance the blessings you bestow;
And let thy children there, with timid air,
To timid want the secret off'ring bear:
But most thy daughter, wearing on her face
The first of beauties, Virtue's modest grace,
Should to the wretched like an angel shine,
And pay her first-fruit vows at Bounty's shrine.
Thy offspring thus, with whom thy features grow,
Thy mind, and manners, shall in image show:
Their richest portion your example gives;
And, rear'd by you, their infant virtue lives.
Ye worldly men, disgust that dearly buy,
These pleasures contemplate with jealous eye!