But
where to find that happiest spot below
#29
Who can
direct, when all pretend to know?
The shudd'ring
tenant of the frigid zone
Boldly
proclaims that happiest spot his own,
Extols
the treasures of his stormy seas,
And his
long nights of revelry and ease:
The naked
negro, panting at the Line,
Boasts
of his golden sands and palmy wine,
Basks
in the glare, or stems the tepid wave
And thanks
his gods for all the good they gave.
Such is
the patriot's boast where'er we roam,
His first,
best country, ever is at home.
And yet,
perhaps, if countries we compare,
And estimate
the blessings which they share,
Though
patriots flatter, still shall wisdom find
An equal
portion dealt to all mankind;
As different
good, by art or nature given,
To different
nations makes their blessing even.
--Oliver Goldsmith
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#30
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