The Cambro-Briton

A FRAGMENT .

[From the MSS. of about 1735.]

T HERE'S yet the thing on earth we virtue call,
Of old so much admired. Who seeks recess,
Among the fields afar, at close of eve,
The creature may discern. I knew a man,
Within the vales of Cambria, far withdrawn
From life's flagitious stage, at humble ease:
Through the green reed he sends the voice of love
After his warfare. Pure and meek his life,
And primitive of taste, as men were wont
In ancient days to live. So little pleased
His uncorrupted mind: so few his wants:
Yet where he could abound I could not learn,
Unless Content has some mysterious wealth,
And that were his. I wished to be his friend:
I wished I was: and much he taught my mind.
Howe'er good will survives; he took the pipe,
And all the voice of love melodious flowed
Through the green reed. Alas! my countryman!
Can a mean swain augment the public good?
Behold the Iberian; lo, the Gaul exult
Thunders . . . . .