The Traveller; or, A Prospect of Society

OR

A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY

REMOTE, unfriended, melancholy, slow, Or by the lazy Scheldt, 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 expanding to the skies: Where’er I roam, whatever realms to see, My heart untravell’d fondly turns to thee; Still to my brother turns with ceaseless pain, And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.

Eternal blessings crown my earliest friend, And round his dwelling guardian saints attend: Bless’d be that spot, where cheerful guests retire To pause from toil, and trim their ev’ning fire; Bless’d that abode, where want and pain repair, And every stranger finds a ready chair; Bless’d be those feasts with simple plenty crown’d, 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.