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Ye who amid this feverish world would wear Convulsive yawnings, lassitude, and pains A body free of pain, of cares a mind;
That sting the burden'd brows, fatigue the loins, Fly the rank city, shun its turbid air ;
And rack the joints, and every torpid limb; Breathe not the chaos of eternal smoke
Then parching heat succeeds, till copious sweats And volatile corruption, from the dead,
O'erflow: a short relief from former ills The dying, sick’ning, and the living world
Beneath repeated shocks the wretches pine, Exhal'd, to sully Heaven's transparent dome The vigour sinks, the habit melts away: With dim mortality. It is not air
The cheerful, pure, and animated bloom
Devour'd, in sallow melancholy clad.
The bloated Hydrops, and the yellow Fiend It is not air, but floats a nauseous mass
Ting'd with her own accumulated gall. Of all obscene, corrupt, offensive things.
In quest of sites, avoid the mournful plain Much moisture hurts; but here a sordid bath, Where osiers thrive, and trees that love the lake; With oily rancour fraught, relaxes more
Where many lazy muddy rivers flow : The solid frame than simple moisture can.
Nor for the wealth that all the Indies roll Besides, immur'd in many a sullen bay
Fix near the marshy margin of the main. That never felt the freshness of the breeze,
For from the humid soil and wat'ry reign This slumb’ring deep remains, and ranker grows Eternal vapours rise; the spongy air With sickly rest : and (though the lungs abhor For ever weeps : or, turgid with the weight To drink the dun fuliginous abyss)
Of waters, pours a sounding deluge down. Did not the acid vigour of the mine,
Skies such as these let every mortal shun Roll'd from so many thundering chimnies, tame Who dreads the dropsy, palsy, or the gout, The putrid steams that overswarm the sky; Tertian, corrosive scurvy, or moist catarrh; This caustic venom would perhaps corrode Or any other injury that grows Those tender cells that draw the vital air,
From raw-spun fibres idle and unstrung, In vain with all the unctuous rills bedew'd; Skin ill-perspiring, and the purple flood Or by the drunken venous tubes, that yawn In languid eddies loitering into phlegm. In countless pores o'er all the pervious skin
Yet not alone from humid skies we pine ; Imbib'd, would poison the balsamic blood,
For air may be too dry. The subtle Heaven, And rouse the heart to every fever's rage.
That winnows into dust the blasted downs While yet you breathe, away; the rural wilds Bare and extended wide without a stream, Invite; the mountains call you, and the vales; Too fast imbibes th' attenuated lymph The woods, the streams, and each ambrosial breeze Which, by the surface, from the blood exhales That fans the ever-undulating sky;
The lungs grow rigid, and with toil essay
Their tender ever-moving structure thaws.
That slow as Lethe wanders through the veins;
Unfit to lead its pitchy current through See where enthron’d in adamantine state,
The secret mazy channels of the brain. Proud of her bards, imperial Windsor sits;
The melancholic fiend (that worst despair Where choose thy seat in some aspiring grove Of physic) hence the rust-complexion'd man Fast by the slowly-winding Thames; or where Pursues, whose blood is dry, whose fibres gain Broader she laves fair Richmond's green retreats, Too stretch'd a tone ; and hence in climes adust (Richmond that sees an hundred villas rise
So sudden tumults seize the trembling nerves, Rural or gay.! O! from the summer's rage,
And burning fevers glow with double rage. 0! wrap me in the friendly gloom that hides
Fly, if you can, these violent extremes Umbrageous Ham! — But if the busy town Of air ; the wholesome is nor moist nor dry. Attract thee still to toil for power of gold,
But as the power of choosing is deny'd Sweetly thou mnay'st thy vacant hours possess To half mankind, a further task ensues; In Hampstead, courted by the western wind; How best to mitigate these fell extremes, Or Greenwich, waving o'er the winding flood; How breathe unhurt the withering element, Or lose the world amid the sylvan wilds
Or hazy atmosphere ; though custom moulds Of Dulwiclı, yet by barbarous arts unspoil'd. To every clime the soft Promethean clay ; Green rise the Kentish lills in cheerful air ; And he who first the fogs of Essex breath'd But on the marshy plains that Lincoln spreads (So kind is native air) may in the fens Build not, nor rest too long thy wandering feet. Of Essex from inveterate ills revive For on a rustic throne of dewy turf,
At pure Montpelier or Bermuda caught. With baneful fogs her aching temples bound, But if the raw and oozy Heaven offend; Quartana there presides; a meagre fiend
Correct the soil, and dry the sources up Begot by Eurus, when his brutal force
Of wat’ry exhalation : wide and deep Compress’d the slothful Naiad of the fens.
Conduct your trenches through the quaking tog; From such a mixture sprung, this titful pest Solicitous, with all your winding arts, With fev'rish blasts subdues the sick’ning land: Betray the unwilling lake into the stream ; Cold tremours come, with mighty love of resti And weed the forest, and invoke the winds
To break the toils where strangled vapours lie; Meantime, the moist malignity to shun (paign
And thyme, the love of bees, perfume the air ; With solid roast or bak'd; or what the herds And where the cynorthodon * with the rose Of tamer breed supply; or what the wilds
For fragrance vies; for in the thirsty soil Yield to the toilsome pleasures of the chase. Most fragrant breathe the aromatic tribes, Generous your wine, the boast of ripening years; There bid thy roofs high on the basking steep But frugal be your cups : the languid frame, Ascend, there light thy hospitable fires, Vapid and sunk from yesterday's debauch,
And let them see the winter morn arise, Shrinks from the cold embrace of wat’ry Heavens. The summer evening blushing in the West : But neither these nor all Apollo's arts,
While with umbrageous oaks the ridge behind Disarm the dangers of the dropping sky,
O’erhung, defends you from the blust'ring North, Unless with exercise and manly toil [blood. And bleak affliction of the peevish East. You brace your nerves, and spur the lagging Oh! when the growling winds contend, and all The fatt’ning clime let all the sons of ease
The sounding forest fluctuates in the storm ; Avoid ; if indolence would wish to live,
To sink in warm repose, and hear the din Go, yawn and loiter out the long slow year Howl o'er the steady battlements, delights In fairer skies. If droughty regions parch (blood; Above the luxury of vulgar sleep. The skin and lungs, and bake the thickening The murmuring rivulet, and the hoarser strain Deep in the waving forest choose your seat, Of waters rushing o'er the slippery rocks, Where fuming trees refresh the thirsty air;
Will nightly lull you to ambrosial rest. And wake the fountains from their secret beds, To please the fancy is no trifling good, And into lakes dilate their rapid stream.
Where health is studied; for whatever moves Here spread your gardens wide; and let the cool, The mind with calm delight, promotes the just The moist relaxing vegetable store
And natural movements of th' harmonious frame. Prevail in each repast: your food supply'd Besides, the sportive brook for ever shakes By bleeding life, be gently wasted down,
The trembling air, that floats from hill to hill, By soft decoction and a mellowing heat,
From vale to mountain, with incessant change To liquid balm ; or, if the solid mass
Of purest element, refreshing still
High on the breezy ridge, whose lofty sides
Th' ethereal deep with endless billows chafes. Its nectar acid or benign will pour
His purer mansion nor contagious years To drown your thirst; or let the mantling bowl Shall reach, nor deadly putrid airs annoy. Of keen sherbet the fickle taste relieve.
But may no fogs, from lake or fenny plain, For with the viscous blood the simple stream Involve my hill! and wheresoe'er you build, Will hardly mingle; and fermented cups
Whether on sun-burnt Epsom, or the plains
At every window drink the liquid sky.
More than the torrid noon? How sickly grow, The fancy of the year.. Our fathers talk
How pale, the plants in those ill-fated vales, Of summers, balmy air, and skies serene.
That, circled round with the gigantic heap Good Heaven ! for what unexpiated crimes Of mountains, never felt, nor ever hope This dismal change! the brooding elements, To feel, the genial vigour of the Sun! Do they, your powerful ministers of wrath, While on the neighbouring hill the rose inflames Prepare some fierce exterminating plague ? The verdant spring; in virgin beauty blows Or is it fix'd in the decrees above
The tender lily, languishingly sweet : That lofty Albion melt into the main ?
O'er every hedge the wanton woodbine roves, Indulgent Nature ! O dissolve this gloom! And autumn ripens in the summer's ray. Bind in eternal adamant the winds
Nor less the warmer living tribes demand That drown or wither; give the genial West The fost'ring Sun, whose energy divine To breathe, and in its turn the sprightly North : And may once more the circling seasons rule * The wild rose, or that which grows on the The year ; not mix monstrous day.
| common brier.
Dwells not in mortal fire; whose gen'rous heat Readiest obeys th' assimilating powers;
The stedfast earth, or cleave the green abyss, We court thy beams, great majesty of day! Or pathless sky. And if the steer must fall, If not the soul, the regent of this world,
In youth and sanguine vigour let him die; First-born of Heaven, and only less than God! Nor stay till rigid age, or heavy ails,
Absolve him ill-requited from the yoke.
Some with high forage, and luxuriant ease,
Indulge the veteran ox; but wiser thou,
From the bald mountain or the barren downs DIET.
Expect the flocks by frugal Nature fed;
A race of purer blood, with exercise Enough of air. A desert subject now,
Refin’d and scanty fare : for, old or young, Rougher and wilder, rises to my sight.
The stall’d are never healthy ; nor the crammid A barren waste, where not a garland grows Not all the culinary arts can tame To bind the Muse's brow; not ev'n a proud To wholesome food, the abominable growth Stupendous solitude frowns o'er the heath,
Of rest and gluttony; the prudent taste To rouse a noble horrour in the soul :
Rejects like bane such loathsome lusciousness But rugged paths fatigue, and errour leads The languid stomach curses even the pure Through endless labyrinths the devious feet. Delicious fat, and all the race of oil : Farewell, ethereal fields! the humbler arts
For more the oily aliments relax Of life; the table and the homely gods
Its feeble tone ; and with the eager lymph Demand my song. Elysian gales, adieu !
(Fond to incorporate with all it meets) The blood, the fountain whence the spirits flow, Coyly they mix, and shun with slippery wiles The generous stream that waters every part, The woo'd embrace. Th' irresoluble oil, And motion, vigour, and warm life conveys So gentle late and blandishing, in floods To every particle that moves or lives;
Of rancid bile o'erflows: what tumults hence, This vital fluid, through unnumber'd tubes What horrours rise, were nauseous to relate. Pour'd by the heart, and to the heart again Choose leaner viands, ye whose jovial make Refunded ; scourg'd for ever round and round; Too fast the gummy nutriment imbibes : Enrag'd with heat and toil, at last forgets
Choose sober meals; and rouse to active life Its balmy nature; virulent and thin
Your cumbrous clay; nor on the enfeebling down, It grows; and now, but that a thousand gates Irresolute, protract the morning hours. Are open to its flight, it would destroy
But let the man whose bones are thinly clad, The parts it cherish'd and repair'd before.
With cheerful ease and succulent repast Besides, the flexible and tender tubes
Improve his habit if he can ; for each Melt in the mildest most nectareous tide
Extreme departs from perfect sanity. That ripening Nature rolls; as in the stream
I could relate what table this demands, Its crumbling banks; but what the force
Or that complexion : what the various powers Of plastic fluids hourly batters down,
Of various foods : but fifty years would roll, That very force, those plastic particles
And fifty more before the tale were done. Rebuild : so mutable the state of man.
Besides, there often lurks some nameless, strange, For this the watchful appetite was given,
Peculiar thing ; nor on the skin display'd, Daily with fresh materials to repair
Felt in the pulse, nor in the habit seen ; This unavoidable expense of life,
Which finds a poison in the food that most This necessary waste of Aesh and blood.
The temp'rature affects. There are, whose blood Hence, the concoctive powers, with various art, Impetuous rages through the turgid veins, Subdue the cruder aliments to chyle ;
Who better bear the fiery fruits of India The chyle to blood; the foamy purple tide Than the moist melon, or pale cucumber. To liquors, which through finer arteries
Of chilly nature others tly the board To different parts their winding course pursue ; Supply'd with slaughter, and the vernal powers To try new changes, and new forms put on, For cooler, kinder sustenance implore. Or for the public, or some private use.
Some even the generous nutriment detest Nothing so foreign but th' athletic hind
Which, in the shell, the sleeping embryo rears Can labour into blood. The hungry meal Some, more unhappy still, repent the gifts Alone he fears, or aliments too thin ;
Of Pales; soft, delicious and benign: By violent powers too easily subdu'd,
The balmy quintessence of every flower, Too soon expell'd. His daily labour thaws, And every grateful herb that decks the spring: To friendly chyle, the most rebellious mass The fost'ring dew of tender sprouting life ; That salt can harden, or the smoke of years; The best refection of declining age; Nor does his gorge the luscious bacon rue,
The kind restorative of those who lie Nor that which Cestria sends, tenacious paste Half dead and panting, from the doubtful strife Of solid miik. But ye of softer clay,
Of nature struggling in the grasp of death.
Try all the bounties of this fertile globe,
As suits with every stomach. But (except,
Amid the mingled mass of fish and fowl, Grov: wiser, lesson'd by the dropping reeth. Ard boil'd and bakid, vou hesitate by which Half subtiliz'd to chyle, the liquid food
You sunk opp
der not by all)
Taught by experience soon you may discern For want of use the kindest aliment
Of poison to mild amity with life.
So Heaven has form'd us to the general taste Burn in the palms, and parch the rough’ning Of all its gifts : so custom has improv'd tongue;
This bent of nature ; that few simple foods, Or much diminish or too much increase
Of all that earth, or air, or ocean yield, Th' expense, which Nature's wise economy, But by excess offend. Beyond the sense Without or waste or avarice, maintains.
Of light refection, at the genial board Such cates abjur'd, let prowling hunger loose, Indulge not often; nor protract the feast And bid the curious palate roam at will ;
To dull satiety ; till soft and slow
Led by sagacious taste, the ruthless king The stomach, urg'd beyond its active tone,
The softest food : unfinish'd and deprav'd, Would at the manger starve; of milder seeds The chyle, in all its future wanderings, owns The generous horse to herbage and to grain Its turbid fountain ; not by purer streams Confines his wish ; though fabling Greece resound So to be clear’d, but foulness will remain. The Thracian steeds with human carnage wild. To sparkling wine what ferment can exalt Prompted by instinct's never-erring power, Th' unripen'd grape ? or what mechanic skill Each creature knows its proper aliment;
From the crude ore can spin the ductile gold ? But man, th' inhabitant of every clime,
Gross riot treasures up a wealthy fund With all the commoners of Nature feeds.
Of plagues : but more immedicable ills Directed, bounded, by this power within,
Attend the lean extreme. For physic knows Their cravings are well aim'd: voluptuous man How to disburthen the too tumid veins, Is by superior faculties misled;
Even how to ripen the half-labour'd blood : Misled from pleasure even in quest of joy,
But to unlock the elemental tubes, Sated with Nature's boons, what thousands seek, Collaps'd and shrunk with long inanity, With dishes tortur'd from their native taste,
And with balsamic nutriment repair And mad variety, to spur beyond
The dried and worn-out habit, were to bid Its wiser will the jaded appetite !
Old age grow green, and wear a second spring; Is this for pleasure ? Learn a juster taste !
Or the tall ash, long ravish'd from the soil, And know that temperance is true luxury:
Through wither'd veins imbibe the vernal dew. Or is it pride ? Pursue some nobler aim,
When hunger calls, obey ; not often wait Dismiss your parasites who praise for hire; Till hunger sharpen to corrosive pain : And earn the fair esteem of honest men, [yours, For the keen appetite will feast beyond Whose praise is fame. Form'd of such clay as What nature well can bear : and one extreme The sick, the needy, shiver at your gates.
Ne'er without danger meets its own reverse. Even modest want may bless your hand unseen, Too greedily th' exhausted veins absorb Though hush'd in patient wretchedness at home. The recent chyle, and load enfeebled powers Is there no virgin, grac'd with ev'ry charm
Oft to th' extinction of the vital flame. But that which binds the mercenary vow ?
To the pale cities, by the firm-set siege No youth of genius, whose neglected bloom And famine humbled, may this verse be borne; Unfoster'd sickens in the barren shade?
And hear, ye hardiest sons that Albion breeds, No worthy man by fortune's random blows, Long toss'd and famish’d on the wintry main; Or by a heart too generous and humane,
The war shook off, or hospitable shore Constrain'd to leave his happy natal seat,
Attain'd, with temperance bear the shock of joy; And sigh for wants more bitter than his own? Nor crown with festive rites th' auspicious day : There are, while human miseries abound,
Such feasts might prove more fatal than the waves, A thousand ways to waste superfluous wealth, Than war or famine. While the vital fire Without one fool or flatterer at your board,
Burns feebly, heap not the green fuel on; Without one hour of sickness or disgust.
But prudently foment the wandering spark But other ills th' ambiguous feast pursue,
With what the soonest feeds its kindest touch : Besides provoking the lascivious taste.
Be frugal ev’n of that: a little give
Till, by deliberate nourishing, the flame
But though the two (the full and the jejune) Th' unbounded taste I mean not to contine
Extremes have each their vice; it much avails To hermit's diet needlessly severe.
Ever with gentle tide to ebb and flow
May bring. Besides, a meagre day subdues
The cruder clods by sloth or luxury
Collected, and unloads the wheels of life.
Then is the time to shun the tempting board, With caution fruits you never tried before. Were it your natal or your nuptial day
Perhaps a fast so seasonable starvés
A generous pulp: the cocoa swells on high The latent seeds of woe, which rooted once With milky riches; and in horrid mail Might cost you labour. But the day return'd The crisp ananas wraps its poignant sweets. Of festal luxury, the wise indulge
Earth's vaunted progeny ; in ruder air Most in the tender vegetable breed :
Too coy to flourish, even too proud to live ; Then chiefly when the summer beams inflame Or hardly rais'd by artificial fire The brazen Heavens; or angry Sirius sheds To vapid life. Here with a mother's smile A feverish taint through the still gulph of air. Glad Amalthea pours her copious horn. The moist cool viands then, and flowing cup Here buxom Ceres reigns : the autumnal ses From the fresh dairy-virgin's liberal hand, [world! In boundless billows fluctuates o'er their plains Will save your head from harm, though round the What suits the climate best, what suits the men, The dreaded causos * roll his wasteful fires.
Nature profuses most and most the taste Pale humid Winter loves the generous board, Demands. The fountain, edg'd with racy wine The meal more copious, and the warmer fare ; Or acid fruit, bedews their thirsty souls. And longs with old wood and old wine to cheer The breeze eternal breathing round their limbs His quaking heart. The seasons which divide Supports in else intolerable air : Th' empires of heat and cold ; by neither claim'd, While the cool palm, the plantain, and the grote Influenc'd by both; a middle regimen
That waves on gloomy Lebanon, assuage Impose. Through Autumn's languishing domain The torrid Hell that beams upon their heads Descending, Nature by degrees invites
Now come, ye Naiads, to the fountains lead; To glowing luxury. But from the depth
Now let me wander through your gelid reign. or Winter, when th' invigorated year
I burn to view th' enthusiastic wilds Emerges; when Favonius, flush'd with love, By mortal else untrod. I hear the din Toyful and young, in every breeze descends Of waters thund'ring o'er the ruin'd cliffs More warm and wanton on his kindling bride; With holy reverence I approach the rocks Then, shepherds, then begin to spare your flocks; Whence glide the streams renown'd in ancient song. And learn with wise humanity, to check
Here from the desert down the rumbling steep The lust of blood. Now pregnant earth commits First springs the Nile; here bursts the sounding Po A various offspring to the indulgent sky:
In angry waves; Euphrates hence devolves Now bounteous Nature feeds with lavish hand A mighty food to water half the East : The prone creation ; yields what once suffic'd And there, in Gothic solitude reclin'd, Their dainty sovereign, when the world was young; The cheerless Tanais pours his hoary urn. Ere yet the barbarous thirst of blood had seiz'd What solemn twilight! what stupendous shades The human breast. — Each rolling month matures Enwrap these infant floods! through every nerve The food that suits it most; so does each clime. A sacred horrour thrills, a pleasing fear
Far in the horrid realms of Winter, where Glides o'er my frame. The forest deepens round; Th' establish'd ocean heaps a monstrous waste And more gigantic still th' impending trees Of shining rocks and mountains to the Pole, Stretch their extravagant arms athwart the gloons There lives a hardy race, whose plainest wants Are these the confines of some fairy world ? Relentless Earth, their cruel step-mother,
A land of genii ? Say, beyond these wilds Regards not. On the waste of iron fields,
What unknown nations ? if, indeed, beyond Untam'd, intractable, no harvests wave:
Aught habitable lies. And whither leads, Pomona hates them, and the clownish god To what strange regions, or of bliss or pain, Who tends the garden. In this frozen world That subterraneous way? Propitious maids, Such cooling gifts were vain : a fitter meal Conduct me, while with fearful steps I tread Is earn’d with ease; for here the fruitful spawn This trembling ground. The task remains to sing Of ocean swarms, and heaps their genial board Your gifts (so Pæon, so the powers of health With generous fare and luxury profuse.
Command) to praise your crystal element : These are their bread, the only bread they know : The chief ingredient in Heaven's various works: These, and their willing slave the deer that crops Whose flexile genius sparkles in the gem, The shrubby herbage on their meagre hills. Grows firm in oak, and fugitive in wine; Girt by the burning zone, not thus the South The vehicle, the source, of nutriment Her swarthy sons in either Ind maintains : And life, to all that vegetate or live. Or thirsty Libya ; from whose fervid loins
O comfortable streams! with eager lips The lion bursts, and every fiend that roams And trembling hand the languid thirsty quaff Th’ affrighted wilderness. The mountain-herd, New life in you ; fresh vigour fills their veins. Adust and dry, no sweet repast affords;
No warmer cups the rural ages knew; Nor does the tepid main such kinds produce, None warmer sought the sires of human kinde So perfect, so delicious, as the shoals
Happy in temperate peace! their equal days Of icy Zembla. Rashly where the blood (tain | Felt not th' alternate fits of feverish mirth, Brews feverish frays ; where scarce the tubes sus And sick dejection. Still serene and pleas'd Its tumid fervour, and tempestuous course ; They knew no pains but what the tender soul Kind Nature tempts not to such gifts as these. With pleasure yields to, and would ne'er forget But here in livid ripeness melts the grape :
Blest with divine immunity from ails, Here, finish'd by invigorating suns,
Long centuries they liv’d; their only fate Through the green shade the golden orange glows: Was ripe old age, and rather sleep than death. Spontaneous here the turgid melon yields
Oh! could those worthies from the world of goals
Return to visit their degenerate sons, • The burning fever.
How would they scorn the joys of modern time,