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Hence, should one order disproportion'd grow,
O then how blind to all that truth requires,
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 brightning 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?
Even now perhaps, as there soine pilgrim strays Through tangled forests, and through dangerous
Where beasts with man divided empire claim,
Vain, very vain, my weary search to find
SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.
have no expectations in an address of this kiod, either to add to your reputation, or to establish my own. You can gain nothing from my admiration, as I am ignorant of that art in which you are said to excel; and I may lose much by the severity of your judgement, as few have a juster taste in poetry than you. Setting interest there. fore aside, to which I vever paid much attention, I must be indulged at present in following my affections. The only dedication I ever made was to my brother, because I loved hiin better than most other men. He is since dead. Permit me to ipscribe this poem to you.
How far you may be pleased with the versifica. tion and mere mechanical parts of this atternpt, I do not pretend to inquire : but I know you will object (and indeed several of our best and wisest friends concur iu the opinion) that the depopulation it dem plores is no where to be seen, and the disorders ic laments are only to be found in the poet's own imagination. To this I can scarle make any other answer than that I sincerely believe what I have write ten; that I have taken all possible pains, in my coun