Page:The Poems of John Dyer (1903).djvu/118

 And fill'd with plenty, tho' dry sandy wastes Spread naked round; so great the power of trade. Persia few ports : more happy Indostan Beholds Surat and Goa on her coasts, And Bombay's wealthy isle, and harbour fam'd, Supine beneath the shade of cocoa groves. But what avails or many ports or few, Where wild Ambition frequent from his lair Starts up, while fell Revenge and Famine lead To havoc, reckless of the tyrant's whip, Which clanks along the vallies ? Oft in vain The merchant seeks upon the strand whom erst, Associated by trade, he deck'd and cloath'd : In vain whom rage or famine has devour'd He seeks, and with increas'd affection thinks On Britain. Still howe'er Bombaya's wharfs Pile up blue indigo, and, of frequent use, Pungent salt-petre, woods of purple grain, And many-colour'd saps from leaf and flower, And various gums ; the cloathier knows their worth ; And wool resembling cotton, shorn from trees, Nor to the Fleece unfriendly, whether mix'd In warp or woof, or with the line of flax, Or softer silk's material, tho' its aid To vulgar eyes appears not. Let none deem The Fleece in any traffic unconcern'd ; By every traffic aided, while each work Of art yields wealth to exercise the loom, And every loom employs each hand of art. Nor is there wheel in the machine of trade Which Leeds or Cairo, Lima or Bombay, Helps not, with harmony, to turn around, Tho' all unconscious of the union act. Few the peculiars of Canara's realm, Or sultry Malabar, where it behoves