Classic Poem

Happy the savage of those early times,
Ere Europe’s sons were known, and Europe’s crimes!
Gold, cursed gold! slept in the womb of earth,
Unfelt its mischiefs, as unknown its worth;
In full content he found the truest wealth;
In toil he found diversion, food, and health;
Stranger to ease and luxury of courts,
His sports were labours, and his labours sports
His youth was hardy, and his old age green;
Life’s morn was vigorous, and her eve serene;
No rules he held, but what were made for use,
No arts he learn’d, nor ills which arts produce;
False lights he follow’d, but believed them true;
He knew not much, but lived to what he knew.

Happy, thrice happy, now the savage race,
Since Europe took their gold, and gave them grace!
Pastors she sends to help them in their need,
Some who can’t write, with others who can’t read;
And on sure grounds the Gospel pile to rear,
Sends missionary felons every year;
Our vices, with more zeal than holy prayers,
She teaches them, and in return takes theirs:
Her rank oppressions give them cause to rise;
Her want of prudence, means and arms supplies,
Whilst her brave rage, not satisfied with life,
Rising in blood, adopts the scalping-knife:
Knowledge she gives, enough to make them know
How abject is their state, how deep their woe;
The worth of freedom strongly she explains,
Whilst she bows down and loads their necks with chains:
Faith, too, she plants, for her own ends imprest,
To make them bear the worst and hope the best;
And whilst she teaches, on vile interest’s plan,
As laws of God, the wild decrees of man,
Like Pharisees, of whom the Scriptures tell,
She makes them ten times more the sons of Hell.