Earth’s Decay
Bk. II. vv. 1145-1175
Ah! the good times, when Earth was young and new,
And, day by day, in strength and beauty grew;
When out of her bountiful bosom sprang
Each instant, some fresh wonder into view.
Instead, the mournful change! now, day by day,
The rule for the old Mother is decay.
Ill is the continual drain supplied,
As used particles rarefy away.
It is not as in the primeval age.
Nought mattered it to her that at this stage,
In the gay effervescence of her youth,
Blind forces beat on her; she mocked their rage.
Her garrison lacks food for its support.
Pounded by batteries of ev’ry sort,
The walls already are a pile of dust.
No hope to hold longer the great World-fort.
Futurity has ceased to be for Earth
As in her prime of jollity and mirth.
She is worn out, and weak with motherhood;
No more, as once, has vigour to give birth
To all kinds of being, race after race,
Creatures monstrous in size, perfect in grace;
All her own make; by no gold cord let down
With glory on them from a higher place,
Or cast up by the lashing, wailing tide.—
She bears not, as when laughed on ev’ry side
Cattle, corn, pastures, vines, to make hearts glad,
Earth’s gifts to Man, her glory, and her pride.
A changed scene ours; no longer Nature heaps
The barns with sheaves; well, if the farmer keeps,
After cost of labour and grain he sowed,
A balance from the harvest that he reaps.
His land in ancient days required no toil,
Except to clear the corn from off the soil;
Much less, an armoury of tools, with beeves,
And a train of hirelings to drudge and moil.
Some aged ploughman will be heard complain,
That “labour as he may, how small the gain!
Harder times these than those his father knew;
A grateful task to be God-fearing then!
True, that, man for man, a husbandman’s plot
Might seem, in measurement, a smaller plot
Than is now allowed; but reckon by yield,
And how unequal is the present lot!”
Not without cause the impulse to repine
That we live in times of weakness—decline
Throughout—in wisdom, honest cheer, and worth—
Ev’n in fruitfulness of a shrivelled vine.
But look at home ere you begin to ring
Changes on offence from without; to bring
Indictments against Fortune and the Gods;
While none’s in fault but Earth herself—poor thing!