THE TRAVELLER: OR, A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY.

THE TRAVELLER : OR , A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY .

TO THE REV. HENRY GOLDSMITH . DEAR SIR ,

I AM sensible that the friendship between us can acquire no new force from the ceremonies of a Dedication ; and , perhaps , it demands an excuse thus to prefix your name to my attempts , which you decline giving with your own . But as a part of this poem was formerly written to you from Switzerland , the whole can now , with propriety , be only inscribed to you . It will also throw a light upon many parts of it , when the reader understands , that it is addressed to a man , who , despising fame and fortune , has retired early to happiness and obscurity , with an income of forty pounds a year .

I now perceive , my dear brother , the wisdom of your humble choice . You have entered upon a sacred office , where the harvest is great , and the labourers are but few ; while you have left the field of ambition , where the labourers are many , and the harvest not worth carrying away . But of all kinds of ambition , as things are now circumstanced , perhaps that which pursues poetical fame is the wildest . What from the increased refinement of the times , from the diversity of judgments produced by opposing systems of criticism , and from the more prevalent divisions of opinion influenced by party , the strongest and happiest efforts can expect to please but in a very narrow circle .

Poetry makes a principal amusement among unpolished nations ; but in a country verging to the extremes of refinement , Painting and Music come in for a share . And as they offer the feeble mind a less laborious entertainment , they at first rival Poetry , and at length supplant her ; they engross all favour to themselves , and though but younger sisters , seize upon the elder's birth-right .

Yet , however this art may be neglected by the powerful , it is still in greater danger from the mistaken efforts of the learned to improve it . What criticisms have we not heard of late in favour of blank verse , and Pindaric odes , chorusses , anapests and iambics , alliterative care and happy negligence ! Every absurdity has now a champion to defend it , and as he is generally much in the wrong , so he has always much to say ; for error is ever talkative .

But there is an enemy to this art still more dangerous , I mean party . Party entirely distorts the judgment , and destroys the taste . A mind capable of relishing general beauty , when once infected with this disease , can only find pleasure in what contributes to increase the distemper . Like the tyger that seldom desists from pursuing man after having once preyed upon human flesh , the reader , who has once gratified his appetite with calumny , makes , ever after , the most agreeable feast upon murdered reputation . Such readers generally admire some half-witted thing , who wants to be thought a bold man , having lost the character of a wise one . Him they dignify with the name of poet ; his lampoons are called satires , his turbulence is said to be force , and his phrenzy fire .

What reception a poem may find , which has neither abuse , party , nor blank verse to support it , I cannot tell , nor am I much solicitous to know . My aims are right . Without espousing the cause of any party , I have attempted to moderate the rage of all . I have endeavoured to shew , that there may be equal happiness in other states , though differently governed from our own ; that each state has a particular principle of happiness , and that this principle in each state , and in our own in particular , may be carried to a mischievous excess . There are few can judge , better than yourself , how far these positions are illustrated in this poem .

I AM , SIR , YOUR MOST AFFECTIONATE BROTHER , OLIVER GOLDSMITH .

THE TRAVELLER : OR , A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY . REMOTE , unfriended , melancholy , slow , Or by the lazy Scheld or wandering Po ; Or onward , where the rude Carinthian boor Against the houseless stranger shuts the door ; Or where Campania's plain forsaken lies , A weary waste expanded to the skies : Where'er I roam , whatever realm to see , My heart untravell'd fondly turns to thee ; Still to my brother turns , with ceaseless pain , Or drags at each remove a lengthening chain . Eternal blessings crown my earliest friend , And round his dwelling guardian saints attend ; Blest be that spot , where cheerful guests retire To pause from toil , and trim their evening fire ; Blest that abode , where want and pain repair , And every stranger finds a ready chair ; Blest be those feasts where mirth and peace abound , Where all the ruddy family around Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail , Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale , Or press the bashful stranger to his food , And learn the luxury of doing good . But me , not destin'd such delights to share , My prime of life in wand'ring spent and care ! Impell'd , with steps unceasing , to pursue Some fleeting good , that mocks me with the view ; That , like the circle bounding earth and skies , Allures from far , yet , as I follow , flies ; My fortune leads to traverse realms alone , And find no spot of all the world my own . Ev'n now , where Alpine solitudes ascend , I sit me down a pensive hour to spend ; And , plac'd on high above the storm's career , Look downward where an hundred realms appear ; Lakes , forests , cities , plains extended wide , The pomp of kings , the shepherd's humbler pride . When thus creation's charms around combine , Amidst the store , should thankless pride repine ? Say , should the philosophic mind disdain That good , which makes each humbler bosom vain ? Let school-taught pride dissemble all it can , These little things are great to little man ; And wiser he , whose sympathetic mind Exults in all the good of all mankind . Ye glitt'ring towns , with wealth and splendour crown'd , Ye fields , where summer spreads profusion round , Ye lakes , whose vessels catch the busy gale , Ye bending swains , that dress the flow'ry vale , For me your tributary stores combine ; Creation's tenant , all the world is mine . As some lone miser visiting his store , Bends at his treasure , counts , recounts it o'er ; Hoards after hoards his rising raptures fill , Yet still he sighs , for hoards are wanting still : Thus to my breast alternate passions rise , Pleas'd with each good that heaven to man supplies : Yet oft a sigh prevails , and sorrows fall , To see the sum of human bliss so small ; And oft I wish , amidst the scene , to find Some spot to real happiness consign'd , Where my worn soul , each wand'ring hope at rest , May gather bliss to see my fellows blest . Yet , where to find that happiest spot below , Who can direct , when all pretend to know ? The shudd'ring tenant of the frigid zone Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own , Extols the treasures of his stormy seas , And his long night of revelry and ease ; The naked savage , panting at the line , Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine , Basks in the glare , or stems the tepid wave , And thanks his gods for all the good they gave . Nor less the patriot's boast where'er we roam , His first , best country , ever is , at home . And yet , perhaps , if countries we compare , And estimate the blessings which they share ; Though patriots flatter , still shall wisdom find An equal portion dealt to all mankind , As different good , by Art or Nature given To different nations , makes their blessings even . Nature , a mother kind alike to all , Still grants her bliss at Labour's earnest call ; With food as well the peasant is supply'd On Idra's cliff as Arno's shelvy side ; And though the rocky crested summits frown , These rocks , by custom , turn to beds of down . From Art more various are the blessings sent ; Wealth , splendors , honour , liberty , content : Yet these each other's power so strong contest , That either seems destructive of the rest . Hence every state to one lov'd blessing prone , Conforms and models life to that alone . Each to the favourite happiness attends , And spurns the plan that aims at other ends ; 'Till , carried to excess in each domain , This favourite good begets peculiar pain . But let us try these truths with closer eyes , And trace them through the prospect as it lies : Here for a while , my proper cares resign'd , Here let me sit in sorrow for mankind ; Like yon neglected shrub at random cast , That shades the steep , and sighs at every blast . Far to the right , where Appennine ascends , Bright as the summer , Italy extends : Her uplands sloping deck the mountain's side , Woods over woods in gay theatric pride ; While oft some temple's mould'ring top between , With venerable grandeur marks the scene . Could Nature's bounty satisfy the breast , The sons of Italy were surely blest . Whatever fruits in different climes are found , That proudly rise or humbly court the ground ; Whatever blooms in torrid tracts appear , Whose bright succession decks the varied year ; Whatever sweets salute the northern sky With vernal lives that blossom but to die ; These here disporting own the kindred soil , Nor ask luxuriance from the planter's toil ; While sea-born gales their gelid wings expand To winnow fragrance round the smiling land . But small the bliss that sense alone bestows , And sensual bliss is all this nation knows . In florid beauty groves and fields appear , Men seem the only growth that dwindles here . Contrasted faults through all their manners reign , Though poor , luxurious ; though submissive , vain ; Though grave , yet trifling ; zealous , yet untrue ; And even in penance planning sins anew . All evils here contaminate the mind , That opulence departed leaves behind ; For wealth was theirs ; nor far remov'd the date , When Commerce proudly flourish'd through the state ; At her command the palace learnt to rise , Again the long-fall'n colomn sought the skies ; The canvass glow'd beyond even nature warm , The pregnant quarry teem'd with human form . But , more unsteady than the southern gale , Soon Commerce turn'd on other shores her sail ; While nought remain'd of all that riches gave , But towns unmann'd , and lords without a slave . Yet still the loss of wealth is here supply'd By arts , the splendid wrecks of former pride ; From these the feeble heart and long-fall'n mind An easy compensation seem to find . Here may be seen , in bloodless pomp array'd , The paste-board triumph and the cavalcade ; Processions form'd for piety and love , A mistress or a saint in every grove . By sports like these are all their cares beguil'd , The sports of children satisfy the child ; At sports like these , while foreign arms advance , In passive ease they leave the world to chance . When noble aims have suffer'd long controul , They sink at last , or feebly man the soul ; While low delights , succeeding fast behind , In happier meanness occupy the mind : As in those domes , where Caesars once bore sway , Defac'd by time and tottering in decay , Amidst the ruin , heedless of the dead , The shelter-seeking peasant builds his shed , And , wond'ring man could want the larger pile , Exults , and owns his cottage with a smile . My soul turn from them ; turn we to survey Where rougher climes a nobler race display , Where the bleak Swiss their stormy mansions tread , And force a churlish soil for scanty bread ; No product here the barren hills afford , But man and steel , the soldier and his sword . No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array , But winter lingering chills the lap of May ; No zephyr fondly foothes the mountain's breast , But meteors glare , and stormy glooms invest . Yet still , ev'n here , content can spread a charm , Redress the clime , and all its rage disarm . Though poor the peasant's hut , his feasts though small , He sees his little lot the lot of all ; Sees no contiguous palace rear its head To shame the meanness of his humble shed ; No costly lord the sumptuous banquet deal To make him loath his vegetable meal ; But calm , and bred in ignorance and toil , Each wish contracting , fits him to the soil . Cheerful at morn he wakes from short repose , Breasts the keen air , and carrols as he goes ; With patient angle trolls the sinny deep , Or drives his vent'rous plough-share to the steep ; Or seeks the den where snow-tracks mark the way , And drags the struggling savage into day . At night returning , every labour sped , He sits him down , the monarch of a shed ; Smiles by his cheerful fire , and round surveys His childrens looks , that brighten at the blaze ; While his lov'd partner , boastful of her hoard , Displays the cleanly platter on the board : And haply too some pilgrim , thither led , With many a tale repays the nightly bed . Thus every good his native wilds impart , Imprints the patriot passion on his heart ; And ev'n those hills that round his mansion rise Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies . Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms , And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms ; And as a babe , when scaring sounds molest , Clings close and closer to the mother's breast , So the loud torrent , and the whirlwind's roar , But bind him to his native mountains more . These are the charms to barren states assign'd , Their wants are few , their wishes all confin'd . Yet let them only share the praises due , If few their wants , their pleasures are but few ; Since every want that stimulates the breast , Becomes a source of pleasure when redrest . Hence from such lands each pleasing science flies , That first excites desire , and then supplies ; Unknown to them , when sensual pleasures cloy , To fill the languid pause with finer joy ; Unknown those powers that raise the soul to flame , Catch every nerve , and vibrate through the frame . Their level life is but a smould'ring fire , Nor quench'd by want , nor fann'd by strong desire ; Unfit for raptures , or , if raptures cheer On some high festival of once a year , In wild excess the vulgar breast takes fire , 'Till , buried in debauch , the bliss expire . But not their joys alone thus coarsely flow ; Their morals , like their pleasures , are but low : For , as refinement stops , from sire to son , Unalter'd , unimprov'd , their manners run ; And love's and friendship's finely pointed dart Fall blunted from each indurated heart : Some sterner virtues o'er the mountain's breast May sit , like falcons cow'ring on the nest , But all the gentler morals , such as play Through life's more cultur'd walks , and charm our way , These far dispers'd , on timorous pinions fly , To sport and flutter in a kinder sky . To kinder skies , where gentler manners reign , We turn ; and France displays her bright domain . Gay sprightly land of mirth and social ease , Pleas'd with thyself , whom all the world can please , How often have I led thy sportive choir , With tuneless pipe , beside the murmuring Loire ! Where shading elms along the margin grew , And freshen'd from the wave the zephyr flew ; And haply , though my harsh touch faultering still , But mock'd all tune , and marr'd the dancer's skill ; Yet would the village praise my wond'rous power , And dance , forgetful of the noon-tide hour . Alike all ages . Dames of ancient days Have led their children through the mirthful maze , And the gay grandsire , skill'd in gestic lore , Has frisk'd beneath the burden of threescore . So bright a life these thoughtless realms display ; Thus idly busy rolls their world away : Theirs are those arts that mind to mind endear , For honour forms the social temper here . Honour , that praise which real merit gains , Or ev'n imaginary worth obtains , Here passes current ; paid from hand to hand , It shifts in splendid traffic round the land : From courts to camps , to cottages it strays , And all are taught an avarice of praise ; They please , are pleas'd , they give to get esteem , 'Till , seeming blest , they grow to what they seem . But while this softer art their bliss supplies , It gives their follies also room to rise ; For praise too dearly lov'd or warmly sought , Enfeebles all internal strength of thought : And the weak soul , within itself unblest , Leans for all pleasure on another's breast . Hence Ostentation here , with taudry art , Pants for the vulgar praise which fools impart ; Here Vanity assumes her pert grimace , And trims her robes of frieze with copper lace ; Here beggar Pride defrauds her daily cheer , To boast one splendid banquet once a year ; The mind still turns where shifting fashion draws , Nor weighs the solid worth of self-applause . To men of other minds my fancy flies , Embosom'd in the deep where Holland lies ; Methinks her patient sons before me stand , Where the broad ocean leans against the land , And , sedulous to stop the coming tide , Lift the tall rampire's artificial pride ; Onward methinks , and diligently slow , The firm connected bulwark seems to go ; Spreads its long arms amidst the watry roar , Scoops out an empire , and usurps the shore : While the pent Ocean rising o'er the pile , Sees an amphibious world beneath him smile ; 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 soil Impels the native to repeated toil , Industrious habits in each bosom reign , 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 imparts Convenience , plenty , elegance , and arts ; But view them closer , craft and fraud appear , Ev'n 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 ! how unlike their Belgic sires of old ! Rough , poor , content , ungovernably bold ; War in each breast , and freedom on each brow ; How much unlike the sons of Britain now ! Fir'd at the sound , my genius spreads her wing , And flies where Britain courts the western spring ; Where lawns extend that scorn Arcadian pride , And brighter streams than fam'd Hydaspis glide . There all around the gentlest breezes stray , There gentle music melts on every spray ; Creation's mildest charms are there combin'd , Extremes are only in the master's mind . Stern o'er each bosom Reason holds her state , With daring aims irregularly great ; Pride in their port , defiance in their eye , I see the lords of human kind pass by , Intent on high designs , a thoughtful band , By forms unfashion'd , fresh from Nature's hand ; Fierce in their native hardiness of soul , True to imagin'd right , above controul , While ev'n the peasant boasts these rights to scan , And learns to venerate himself as man . Thine , Freedom , thine the blessings pictur'd here , Thine are those charms that dazzle and endear ; Too blest , indeed , were such without alloy , But , foster'd ev'n by Freedom , ills annoy : That independence Britons prize too high , Keeps man from man , and breaks the social tie ; The self-dependent lordlings stand alone , All kindred claims that soften life unknown : Here by the bonds of nature feebly held , Minds combat minds , repelling and repell'd ; Ferments arise , imprison'd factions roar , Represt ambition struggles round her shore , Whilst over-wrought , the general system feels Its motions stopt , or phrenzy fires the wheels . Nor this the worst . As social bonds decay , As duty , love , and honour fail to sway , Fictitious bonds , the bonds of wealth and law , Still gather strength and force unwilling awe . Hence all obedience bows to these alone , And talent sinks , and merit weeps unknown ; Till time may come , when stript of all her charms , That land of scholars , and that nurse of arms , Where noble stems transmit the patriot claim , And monarchs toil , and poets pant for fame , One sink of level avarice shall lie , And scholars , soldiers , kings , unhonour'd die . Yet think not , thus when freedom's ills I state , I mean to flatter kings , or court the great ; Ye powers of truth that bid my soul aspire , Far from my bosom drive the low desire ! And thou , fair Freedom , taught alike to feel The rabble's rage , and tyrant's angry steel ; Thou transitory flower , alike undone By cold contempt , or favour's fostering sun , Still may thy blooms the changeful clime endure , I only would repress them to secure : For just experience tells in every soil , That those who think must govern those that toil ; And all that freedom's highest aims can reach , Is but to lay proportion'd loads on each ; Much on the low , the rest , as rank supplies , Should in columnar diminution rise ; While , should one order disproportion'd grow , Its double weight must ruin all below . O then how blind to all that truth requires , Who think it freedom when a part aspires ! Calm is my soul , nor apt to rise in arms , Except when fast approaching danger warms : But when contending chiefs blockade the throne , Contracting regal power to stretch their own ; When I behold a factious band agree To call it freedom when themselves are free ; Each wanton judge new penal statutes draw , Laws grind the poor , and rich men rule the law ; The wealth of climes , where savage nations roam , Pillag'd from slaves to purchase slaves at home ; Fear , pity , justice , indignation start , Tear off reserve , and bare my swelling heart ; 'Till half a patriot , half a coward grown , I fly from petty tyrants to the throne . Yes , brother , curse with me that baleful hour , When first ambition struck at regal power ; And thus polluting honour in its source , Gave wealth to sway the mind with double force . Have we not seen , round Britain's peopled shore , Her useful sons exchang'd for useless ore ? Seen all her triumphs but destruction haste , Like flaring tapers brightening as they waste ; Seen Opulence , her grandeur to maintain , Lead stern Depopulation in her train , And , over fields where scatter'd hamlets rose , In barren solitary pomp repose ? Have we not seen , at Pleasure's lordly call , The smiling long-frequented village fall ; Beheld the duteous son , the sire decay'd , The modest matron , and the blushing maid , Forc'd from their homes , a melancholy train , To traverse climes beyond the western main ; Where wild Oswego spreads her swamps around , And Niagara stuns with thund'ring sound ? Ev'n now , perhaps , as there some pilgrim strays Through tangled forests , and through dangerous ways ; Where beasts with men divided empire claim , And the brown Indian takes a deadly aim ; There , while above the giddy tempest flies , And all around distressful yells arise , The pensive exile , bending with his woe , To stop too fearful , and too faint to go , Casts a fond look where England's glories shine , And bids his bosom sympathize with mine . Vain , very vain , my weary search to find That bliss which only centers in the mind : Why have I stray'd from pleasure and repose , To seek a good each government bestows ? In every government , though terrors reign , Though tyrant kings , or tyrant laws restrain , How small of all that human hearts endure , That part which laws or kings can cause or cure . Still to ourselves in every place consign'd , Our own felicity we make or find : With secret course , which no loud storms annoy , Glides the smooth current of domestic joy . The lifted ax , the agonizing wheel , Luke's iron crown , and Damien's bed of steel , To men remote from power but rarely known , Leave reason , faith , and conscience , all our own .