Imágenes de páginas

And oft they interpose improving talk,
Divu'ging each to other knowledge rare,
Sparks, from experience that sometimes arise;
Till night weighs down the sense, or morning's
Rouses to labour, man to labour born.


Then the sleek brightening lock, from hand to hand,

Renews its circling course: this feels the card;
That, in the comb, admires its growing length;
This, blanch'd, emerges from the oily wave;
And that, the amber tint, or ruby, drinks.

For it suffices not, in flowery vales,
Only to tend the flock, and shear soft wool:
Gums must be stor'd of Guinea's arid coast;
Méxican woods, and India's brightening salts;
Fruits, herbage, sulphurs, minerals to stain
The fleece prepar'd, which oil-imbibing earth
Of Wooburn blanches, and keen alum-waves
Intenerate. With curious eye observe,
In what variety the tribe of sales,
Gums, ores, and liquors, eye-delighting hues
Produce, abstersive or restringent; how
Steel casts the sable; how pale pewter, fus'd
In fluid spirit'ous, the scarlet dye;
And how each tint is made, or mix'd, or chang'd,
By mediums colourless: why is the fume
Of sulphur kind to white and azure hues,
Pernicious else: why no materials yield
Singly their colours, those except that shine
With topaz, sapphire, and cornelian rays:
And why, though Nature's face is cloth'd in green,
No green is found to beautify the fleece,
But what repeated toil by mixture gives.

To find effects, while causes lie conceal'd,
Reason uncertain tries: howe'er kind chance
Oft with equivalent discovery pays

Its wandering efforts; thus the German sage,
Diligent Drebet, o'er alchemic fire,
Seeking the secret source of gold, receiv'd
Of alter'd cochineal the crimson store.
Tyrian Melcartus thus (the first who brought
Tin's useful ore from Albion's distant isle,
And, for unwearied toils and arts, the name
Of Hercules acquir'd) when o'er the mouth
Of his attendant sheep-dog he beheld
The wounded murex strike a purple stain,
The purple stain on fleecy woofs he spread,
Which lur'd the eye, adorning many a nymph,
And drew the pomp of trade to rising Tyre.

Our valleys yield not. or but sparing yield,
The dyer's gay materials. Only weld,
Or root of madder, here or purple woad,
By which our naked ancestors obscur'd
Their hardy limbs, inwrought with mystic forms,
Like Egypt's obelisks. The powerful Sun
Hot India's zone with gaudy pencil paints,
And drops delicious tints o'er hill and dale,
Which trade to us conveys. Not tints alone,
Trade to the good physician gives his balms;
Gives cheering cordials to th' afflicted heart;
Gives, to the wealthy, delicacies high;
Gives, to the curious, works of Nature rare;
And when the priest displays, in just discourse,
Hi, the all-wise Creator, and declares
His presence, power, and goodness, unconfin'd,
'T is Trade, attentive voyager, who fills
His lips with argument. To censure Trade,
Or hold her busy people in contempt,
Let none presume. The dignity, and grace,
And weal, of human life, their fountains owe

To seeming imperfections, to vain wants,
Or real exigencies; passions swift
Forerunning reason; strong contrarious bents,
The steps of men dispersing wide abroad
O'er realms and seas. There in the solemn scene,
Infinite wonders glare before their eyes,
Humiliating the mind enlarg'd; for they
The clearest sense of Deity receive,
Who view the widest prospect of his works,
Ranging the globe with Trade through various climes:
Who see the signatures of boundless love,
Nor less the judgments of Almighty Power,
That warn the wicked and the wretch who 'scapes
From human justice: who, astonish'd, view
Etna's loud thunders and tempestuous fires;
The dust of Carthage; desert shores of Nile;
Or Tyre's abandon'd summit, crown'd of old
With stately towers; whose merchants, from their

And radiant thrones, assembled in her marts; Whicher Arabia, whither Kedar brought

Their shaggy goats, their flocks and bleating lambs; Where rich Damascus pil'd his fleeces white, Prepar'd, and thirsty for the double tint.

And flowering shuttle. While th' admiring world
Crowded her streets; ah! then the hand of Pride
Sow'd imperceptible his poisonous weed,
Which crept destructive up her lofty domes,
As ivy creeps around the graceful trunk
Of some tall oak. Her lofty domes no more,
Not e'en the ruins of her pomp remain;
Not e'en the dust they sunk in; by the breath
Of the Omnipotent, offended, hurl'd
Down to the bottom of the stormy deep:
Only the solitary rock remains,

Her ancient site; a monument to those,
Who toil and wealth exchange for sloth and pride.



Introduction. Recommendation of labour. The several methods of spinning. Description of the loom, and of weaving. Variety of looms. The fulling-mill described, and the progress of the manufacture. Dyeing of cloth, and the excellence of the French in that art. Frequent negligence of our artificers. The ill consequences of idleness. Country-workhouses proposed; with a description of one. Good effects of industry exemplified in the prospect of Burstal and Leeds; and the cloth-market there described. Preference of the labours of the loom to other manufactures, illustrated by some comparisons. History of the art of weaving; its removal from the Netherlands, and settlement in several parts of England. Censure of those who would reject the persecuted and the stranger. Our trade and prosperity owing to them. Of the manufacture of tapestry, taught us by the Saracens. Tapestries of Blenheim described. Different arts, procuring wealth to different countries. Numerous inhabitants, and their industry, the surest source of it. Hence a wish, that our country were open to all men. View of the roads and rivers, through which our manufactures are conveyed. Our navigations not far from the seats of OLE

manufactures: other countries less happy. The difficult work of Egypt in joining the Nile to the Red Sea; and of France in attempting, by canals, a communication between the Ocean and the Mediterranean. Such junctions may more easily be performed in England, and the Trent and Severn united to the Thames. Description of the Thames, and the port of London.

PROCEED, Arcadian Muse; resume the pipe
Of Hermes, long disus'd, though sweet the tone,
And to the songs of Nature's choristers
Harmonious. Audience pure be thy delight,
Though few for every note which Virtue wounds,
However pleasing to the vulgar herd,
To the purg'd ear is discord. Yet too oft
Has false dissembling Vice to amorous airs
The reed apply'd, and heedless youth allur'd:
Too oft, with bolder sound, enflam'd the rage
Of horrid war. Let now the fleecy looms
Direct our rural numbers, as of old,
When plains and sheepfolds were the Muse's haunts.
So thou, the friend of every virtuous deed
And aim, though feeble, shalt these rural lays
Approve, O Heathcote, whose benevolence
Visits our valleys; where the pasture spreads,
And where the bramble; and would justly act
True charity, by teaching idle Want
And Vice the inclination to do good,

Good to themselves, and in themselves to all,
Through grateful toil. E'en Nature lives by toil:
Beast, bird, air, fire, the heavens, and rolling worlds,
All live by action: nothing lies at rest,
But death and ruin: man is born to care;
Fashion'd, improv'd by labour. This of old,
Wise states observing, gave that happy law,
Which doom'd the rich and needy, every rank,
To manual occupation: and oft call'd
Their chieftains from the spade, or furrowing plough,
Or bleating sheepfold. Hence utility
Through all conditions; hence the joys of health;
Hence strength of arm, and clear judicious thought;
Hence corn, and wine, and oil, and all in life
Delectable. What simple Nature yields
(And Nature does her part) are only rude
Materials, cumbers on the thorny ground; [fleece
'T is toil that makes them wealth; that makes the
(Yet useless, rising in unshapen heaps)
Anon, in curious woofs of beauteous hue,
A vesture usefully succinct snd warm,
Or, trailing in the length of graceful folds,
A royal mantle. Come, ye village nymphs,
The scatter'd mists reveal the dusky hills;
Grey dawn appears; the 'golden morn ascends,
And paints the glittering rocks, and purple woods,
And flaming spires; arise, begin your toils;
Behold the fleece beneath the spiky comb
Drop its long locks, or, from the mingling card,
Spread in soft flakes, and swell the whiten'd floor.
Come, village nymphs, ye matrons, and ye maids,
Receive the soft material: with light step
Whether ye turn around the spacious wheel,
Or, patient sitting, that revolve, which forms
A narrower circle. On the brittle work
Point your quick eye; and let the hand assist
To guide and stretch the gently lessening thread:
E'en, unknotted twine will praise your skill.
A different spinning every different web
Asks from your glowing fingers: some require

The more compact, and some the looser wreath;
The last for softness, to delight the touch
Of chamber'd delicacy: scarce the cirque
Need turn around, or twine the lengthening flake.
There are, to speed their labour, who prefer
Wheels double-spol'd, which yield to either hand
A several line, and many yet adhere
To th' ancient distaff, at the bosom fix'd,
Casting the whirling spindle as they walk:
At home, or in the sheepfold, or the mart,
Alike the work proceeds. This method still
Norvicum favours, and th' Icenian 33 towns:
It yields their airy stuffs an apter thread.
This was of old, in no inglorious days,
The mode of spinning, when th' Egyptian prince
A golden distaff gave that beauteous nymph,
Too-beauteous Helen: no uncourtly gift
Then, when each gay diversion of the fair
Led to ingenious use. But patient Art,
That on experience works, from hour to hour,
Sagacious, has a spiral engine 34 form'd,
Which, on an hundred spoles, a hundred threads,
With one huge wheel, by lapse of water twines,
Few hands requiring; easy-tended work,
That copiously supplies the greedy loom.

Nor hence, ye nymphs, let anger cloud your brows:
The more is wrought, the more is still requir'd:
Blithe o'er your toils, with wonted song, proceed:
Fear not surcharge; your hands will ever find
Ample employment. In the strife of trade,
These curious instruments of speed obtain
Various advantage, and the diligent
Supply with exercise, as fountains sure,
Which, ever-gliding, feed the flowery lawn.
Nor, should the careful state, severely kind,
In every province, to the house of toil
Compel the vagrant, and each implement
Of ruder art, the comb, the card, the wheel,
Teach their unwilling hands, nor yet complain.
Yours, with the public good, shall ever rise,
Ever, while o'er the lawns, and airy downs,
The bleating sheep and shepherd's pipe are heard;
While in the brook ye blanch the glistening fleeee,
And th' amorous youth, delighted with your toils,
Quavers the choicest of his sonnets, warm'd
By growing traffic, friend to wedded love.

The amorous youth, with various hopes inflam'd, Now on the busy stage see him step forth, With beating breast: high-honour'd he beholds Rich Industry. First he bespeaks a loom : From some thick wood the carpenter selects A slender oak, or beech of glossy trunk, Or saplin ash he shapes the sturdy beam, The posts, and treadles; and the frame combines. The smith, with iron-screws, and plated hoops, Confirms the strong machine, and gives the bolt. That strains the roll. To these the turner's lathe, And graver's knife, the hollow shuttle add. Various professions in the work unite: For each on each depends. Thus he acquires The curious engine, work of subtle skill; Howe'er, in vulgar use around the globe Frequent observ'd, of high antiquity No doubtful mark: th' adventurous voyager, Tost over ocean to remotest shores, Hears on remotest shores the murmuring loom; Sees the deep-furrowing plough, and harrow'd field,

33 The Iceni were the inhabitants of Suffolk. 34 Paul's engine for cotton and fine wool.

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The wheel-mov'd waggon, and the discipline
Of strong-yok'd steers. What needful art is new?
Next, the industrious youth employs his care
To store soft yarn; and now he strains the warp
Along the garden-walk, or highway-side,
Smoothing each thread; now fits it to the loom,
And sits before the work: from hand to hand
The thready shuttle glides along the lines,
Which open to the woof, and shut altern:
And ever and anon, to firm the work,
Against the web is driven the noisy frame,
That o'er the level rushes, like a surge,
Which, often dashing on the sandy beach,
Compacts the traveller's road: from hand to hand
Again, across the lines oft opening, glides
The thready shuttle, while the web apace
Increases, as the light of eastern skies,
Spread by the rosy fingers of the Morn;
And all the fair expanse with beauty glows.

Or, if the broader mantle be the task,
He chooses some companion to his toil.
From side to side, with amicable aim,
Each to the other darts the nimble bolt,
While friendly converse, prompted by the work,
Kindles improvement in the opening mind.

What need we name the several kinds of looms? Those delicate, to whose fair-colour'd threads Hang figur'd weights, whose various numbers guide The artist's hand: he, unseen flowers, and trees, And vales, and azure hills, unerring works. Or that, whose numerous needles, glittering bright, Weave the warm hose to cover tender limbs: Modern invention: modern is the want.

Next, from the slacken'd beam the woof unroll'd, Near some clear sliding river, Aire or Stroud, Is by the noisy fulling-mill receiv'd ; Where tumbling waters turn enormous wheels, And hammers, rising and descending, learn To imitate the industry of man.

Oft the wet web is steep'd, and often rais'd, Fast-dripping, to the river's grassy bank; And sinewy arms of men, with full-strain'd strength, Wring out the latent water: then, up-hung On rugged tenters, to the fervid Sun Its level surface, reeking, it expands; Still brightening in each rigid discipline, And gathering worth; as human life, in pains, Conflicts, and troubles. Soon the clothier's shears. And burler's thistle, skim the surface sheen. The round of work goes on, from day to day, Season to season. So the husbandman Pursues his cares; his plongh divides the glebe; The seed is sown; rough rattle o'er the clods The harrow's teeth; quick weeds his hoe subdues; The sickle labours, and the slow team strains; Till grateful harvest-home rewards his toils.

Th' ingenious artist, learn'd in drugs, bestows The last improvement; for th' unlabour'd fleece Rare is permitted to imbibe the dye. In penetrating waves of boiling vats The snowy web is steep'd, with grain of weld, Fustic, or logwood, mixed, or cochineal, Or the dark purple pulp of Pictish woad, Of stain tenacious, deep as summer skies, Like those that canopy the bowers of Stowe After soft rains, when birds their notes attune, Ere the melodious nightingale begins.

From yon broad vase behold the saffron woofs Beauteous emerge from these the azure rise; This glows with crimson; that the auburn holds;


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That stain alone is good, which bears unchang'd Dissolving water's, and calcining sun's, And thieving air's attacks. How great the need, With utmost caution to prepare the woof, To seek the best-adapted dyes, and salts, And purest gums! since your whole skill consists In opening well the fibres of the woof, For the reception of the beauteous dye, And wedging every grain in every pore, Firm as a diamond in rich gold enchas'd.

But what the powers, which lock them in the web; Whether incrusting salts. or weight of air, Or fountain-water's cold contracting wave, Or all combin'd, it well befits to know. Ah! wherefore have we lost our old repute? And who inquires the cause, why Gallia's sons In depth and brilliancy of hues excel? Yet yield not, Britons; grasp in every art The foremost name. Let others tamely view, On crowded Smyrna's and Byzantium's stand, The haughty Turk despise their proffer'd bales.

Now see, o'er vales, and peopled mountain-tops, The welcome traders, gathering every web; Industrious, every web too few. Alas! Successless oft their industry, when cease The loom and shuttle in the troubled streets; Their motion stopt by wild Intemperance, Toil's scoffing foe, who lures the giddy rout To scorn their task-work, and to vagrant life Turns their rude steps; while Misery, among The cries of infants, haunts their mouldering huts.

O when, through every province, shall be rais'd
Houses of labour, seats of kind constraint,
For those who now delight in fruitless sports,
More than in cheerful works of virtuous trade,
Which honest wealth would yield, and portion due
Of public welfare? Ho, ye poor, who seek,
Among the dwellings of the diligent,

For sustenance unearn'd; who stroll abroad
From house to house, with mischievous intent,
Feigning misfortune: Ho, ye lame, ye blind;
Ye languid limbs, with real want oppress'd,
Who tread the rough highways, and mountains
Through storins, and rains, and bitterness of heart;
Ye children of affliction, be compell'd

To happiness: the long-wish'd day-light dawns,
When charitable Rigour shall detain

Your step-bruis'd feet. E'en now the sons of Trade,
Where'er their cultivated hamlets smile,
Erect the mansion 35: here soft fleeces shine;
The card awaits you, and the comb, and wheel :
Here shroud you from the thunder of the storm;
No rain shall wet your pillow: here abounds
Pure beverage, here your viands are prepar'd;
To heal each sickness the physician waits,
And priest entreats to give your Maker praise.

Behold, in Calder's 36 vale, where wide around Unnumber'd villas creep the shrubby hills, A spacious dome for this fair purpose rise.

35 This alludes to the workhouses at Bristol, Birmingham, &c.

36 A river in Yorkshire, which runs below Halifax, and passes by Wakefield,


High o'er the gates, with gracious air,
Eliza's image stands. By gentle steps
Up-rais'd, from room to room we slowly walk,
And view with wonder, and with silent joy,
The sprightly scene; where many a busy hand,
Where spoles, cards, wheels, and looms, with motion

And ever-murmuring sound, th' unwonted sense
Wrap in surprise. To see them all employ'd,
All blithe, it gives the spreading heart delight,
As neither meats, nor drinks, nor aught of joy
Corporeal, can bestow. Nor less they gain
Virtue than wealth, while, on their useful works
From day to day intent, in their full minds
Evil no place can find. With equal scale
Some deal abroad the well-assorted fleece;
These card the short, those comb the longer flake;
Others the harsh and clotted lock receive,
Yet sever and refine with patient toil,
And bring to proper use. Flax too, and hemp,
Excite their diligence. The younger hands
Ply at the easy work of winding yarn
On swiftly-circling engines, and their notes
Warble together, as a choir of larks;
Such joy arises in the mind employ'd.
Another scene displays the more robust,
Rasping or grinding tough Brasilian woods,
And what Campeachy's disputable shore
Copious affords to tinge the thirsty web;
And the Caribbee isles, whose dulcet canes
Equal the honeycomb. We next are shown
A circular machine 37, of new design,
In conic shape: it draws and spins a thread
Without the tedious toil of needless hands.
A wheel, invisible, beneath the floor,
To every member of th' harmonious frame
Gives necessary motion. One, intent
O'erlooks the work: the carded wool, he says,
Is smoothly lapp'd around those cylinders,
Which, gently turning, yield it to yon cirque
Of upright spindles, which, with rapid whirl,
Spin out, in long extent, an even twine.

From this delightful mansion (if we seek Still more to view the gifts which honest toil Distributes) take we now our eastward course, To the rich fields of Burstal. Wide around, Hillock and valley, farm and village, smile: And ruddy roofs, and chimney-tops appear, Of busy Leeds, up-wafting to the clouds The incense of thanksgiving: all is joy; Aud trade and business guide the living scene, Roll the full cars, adown the winding Aire Load the slow-sailing barges, pile the pack On the long tinkling train of slow-pac'd steeds. As, when a sunny day invites abroad The sedulous ants, they issue from their cells In bands umnumber'd, cager for their work; O'er high, o'er low, they lift, they draw, they haste With warm affection to each other's aid; Repeat their virtuous efforts, and succeed. Thus all is here in motion, all is life:

The creaking wain brings copious store of corn:
The grazier's sleeky kine obstruct the roads:
The neat-dress'd housewives, for the festal board
Crown'd with full baskets, in the field-way paths
Come tripping on; the echoing hills repeat

37 A most curious machine, invented by Mr. Paul. It is at present contrived to spm cotton; but it may be made to spin fine carded wool.

The stroke of ax and hammer; scaffolds rise,
And growing edifices; heaps of stone,
Beneath the chisel, beauteous shapes assume
Of frieze and column. Some, with even line,
New streets are marking in the neighbouring

And sacred domes of worship. Industry,
Which dignifies the artist, lifts the swain,
And the straw cottage to a palace turns,
Over the work presides. Such was the scene
Of hurrying Carthage, when the Trojan chief
First view'd her growing turrets.
So appear
Th' increasing walls of busy Manchester,
Sheffield, and Birmingham, whose reddening

Rise and enlarge their suburbs. Lo, in throngs,
For every realm, the careful factors meet,
Whispering each other. In long ranks the bales,
Like War's bright files, beyond the sight extend.
Straight, ere the sounding bell the signal strikes,
Which ends the hour of traffic, they conclude
The speedy compact; and, well-pleas'd, transfer,
With mutual benefit, superior wealth

To many a kingdom's rent, or tyrant's hoard.
Whate'er is excellent in art proceeds
From labour and endurance: deep the oak
Must sink in stubborn earth its roots obscure,
That hopes to lift its branches to the skies:
Gold cannot gold appear, until man's toil
Discloses wide the mountain's hidden ribs,
And digs the dusky ore, and breaks and grinds
Its gritty parts, and laves in limpid streams,
With oft-repeated toil, and oft in fire
The metal purifies: with the fatigue,
And tedious process of its painful works,
The lusty sicken, and the feeble die.

But cheerful are the labours of the loom,
By health and ease accompany'd: they bring
Superior treasures speedier to the state,
Than those of deep Peruvian mines, where slaves
(Wretched requital) drink, with trembling hand,
Pale Palsy's baneful cup. Our happy swains
Behold arising, in their fattening flocks,

A double wealth; more rich than Belgium's boast,
Who tends the culture of the flaxen reed;
Or the Cathayan's, whose ignobler care
Nurses the silk-worm; or of India's sons,
Who plant the cotton-grove by Ganges' stream
Nor do their toils and products furnish more,
Than gauds and dresses, of fantastic web,
To the luxurious: but our kinder toils
Give clothing to necessity; keep warm
Th' unhappy wanderer, on the mountain wild
Benighted, while the tempest beats around.

No, ye soft sons of Ganges, and of Ind,
Ye feebly delicate, life little needs
Your feminine toys, nor asks your nerveless arm
To cast the strong-flung shuttle, or the spear.
Can ye defend your country from the storm
Of strong invasion? Can ye want endure
In the besieged fort, with courage firm?
Can ye the weather-beaten vessel steer,
Climb the tall mast, direct the stubborn helm,
Mid wild discordant waves, with steady course?
Can ye lead out, to distant colonies,
Th' o'erflowings of a people, or your wrong'd
Brethren, by impious persecution driven,
And arm their breasts with fortitude to try
New regions; climes, though barren, yet beyond
The baneful power of tyrants? These are deeds

To which their hardy labours well prepare
The sinewy arm of Albion's sons. Pursue,
Ye sons of Albion, with a yielding heart,
Your hardy labours: let the sounding loom
Mix with the melody of every vale; ̧
The loom, that long-renown'd, wide-cnvy'd gift
Of wealthy Flandria, who the boon receiv'd
From fair Venetia; she from Grecian nymphs;
They from Phenice, who obtain'd the dole
From old Ægyptus. Thus around the globe
The golden-footed Sciences their path
Mark, like the Sun, enkindling life and joy;
And follow'd close by Ignorance and Pride,
Lead Day and Night o'er realms. Our day arose
When Alva's tyranny the weaving arts
Drove from the fertile valleys of the Scheld.
With speedy wing, and scatter'd course, they fled,
Like a community of bees, disturb'd
By some relentless swain's rapacious hand;
While good Eliza to the fugitives
Gave gracious welcome; as wise Egypt erst
To troubled Nilus, whose nutritious flood
With annual gratitude enrich'd her meads.
Then, from fair Antwerp, an industrious train
Cross'd the smooth channel of our smiling seas;
And in the vales of Cantium, on the banks
Of Stour alighted, and the naval wave
Of spacious Medway: some on gentle Yare,
And fertile Waveney, pitch'd; and made their seats
Pleasant Norvicum, and Colcestria's towers:
Some to the Darent sped their happy way:
Berghem, and Sluys, and elder Bruges, chose
Antona's chalky plains, and stretch'd their tents
Down to Clausentum, and that bay supine
Beneath the shade of Vecta's cliffy isle.
Soon o'er the hospitable realm they spread,
With cheer reviv'd; and in Sabrina's flood,
And the Silurian Tame, their textures blanch'd:
Not undelighted with Vigornia's spires,
Nor those, by Vaga's stream, from ruins rais'd
Of ancient Ariconium; nor less pleas'd
With Salop's various scenes; and that soft tract
Of Cambria, deep-embay'd Dimetian land,
By green hills fenc'd, by ocean's murmur lull'd;
Nurse of the rustic bard, who now resounds
The fortunes of the fleece; whose ancestors
Were fugitives from Superstition's rage,
And erst, from Devon, thither brought the loom;
Where ivy'd walls of old Kidwelly's towers,
Nodding, still on their gloomy brows project
Lancastria's arms, emboss'd in mouldering stone.

Thus, then, on Albion's coast, the exil'd band, From rich Menapian towns, and the green banks Of Scheld, alighted; and, alighting, sang Grateful thanksgiving. Yet, at times, they shift Their habitations, when the hand of Pride, Restraint, or southern Luxury, disturbs Their industry, and urges them to vales Of the Brigantes; where, with happier care Inspirited, their art improves the fleece, Which occupation erst, and wealth immense, Gave Brabant's swarming habitants, what time We were their shepherds only; from which state, With friendly arm, they rais'd us: nathless some Among our old and stubborn swains misdeem'd, And envy'd, who enrich'd them; envy'd those, Whose virtues taught the varletry of towns To useful toil to turn the pilfering hand.

And still, when Bigotry's black clouds arise, (For oft they sudden in papal realis),

They, from their isle, as from some ark secure,
Careless, unpitying, view the fiery bolts
Of Superstition, and tyrannic rage,
And all the fury of the rolling storm,
Which fierce pursues the sufferers in their flight.
Shall not our gates, shall not Britannia's arms,
Spread ever open to receive their flight?
A virtuous people, by distresses oft
(Distresses for the sake of Truth endur'd)
Corrected, dignify'd; creating good
Wherever they inhabit: this our isle
Has oft experienc'd; witness, all ye realms
Of either hemisphere where commerce flows:
Th' important truth is stampt on every bale;
Each glossy cloth, and drape of mantle warm,
Receives th' impression; every airy woof,
Cheyney, and bayse, and serge, and alepine,
Tammy, and crape, and the long countless list
Of woollen webs; and every work of steel;
And that crystalline metal, blown or fus'd,
Limpid as water dropping from the clefts
Of mossy marble: not to name the aids
Their wit has given the fleece, now taught to link
With flax, or cotton, or the silkworm's thread,
And gain the graces of variety:
Whether to form the matron's decent robe,
Or the thin-shading trail for Agra's 38 nymphs;
Or solemn curtains, whose long gloomy folds
Surround the soft pavilions of the rich.

They too the many-colour'd arras taught
To mimic Nature, and the airy shapes
Of sportive Fancy: such as oft appear
In old Mosaic pavements, when the plough
Up-turns the crumbling glebe of Weldon field;
Or that, o'ershaded erst by Woodstock's bower,
Now grac'd by Blenheim, in whose stately rooms
Rise glowing tapestries, that lure the eye
With Marlborough's, wars: here Schellenbergh

Behind surrounding hills of ramparts steep
And vales of trenches dark; each hideous pass
Armies defend; yet on the hero leads
His Britons, like a torrent, o'er the mounds.
Another scene is Blenheim's glorious field,
And the red Danube. Here, the rescued states
Crowding beneath his shield: there, Ramillies'
Important battle: next, the tenfold chain
Of Arleux burst, and th' adamantine gates
Of Gaul flung open to the tyrant's throne.
A shade obscures the rest-Ah, then, what power
Invidious from the lifted sickle snatch'd
The harvest of the plain? So lively glows
The fair delusion, that our passions rise
In the beholding, and the glories share
Of visionary battle. This bright art
Did zealous Europe learn of pagan hands
While she assay'd, with rage of holy war,
To desolate their fields: but old the skill:
Long were the Phrygians' picturing looms renown'd;
Tyre also, wealthy seat of arts, excell'd,
And elder Sidon, in th' historic web.

Far-distant Tibet in her gloomy woods Rears the gay tent, of blended wool unwoven, And glutinous materials: the Chinese Their porcelain, Japan its varnish boasts.

38 There is woven at Manchester, for the East Indies, a very thin stuff, of thread and cotton; which is cooler than the manufactures of that country, where the material is only cotton.

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