Thus fares the land by luxury betrayed,
In nature's simplest charms at first arrayed;
But verging to decline, its splendors rise,
Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise;
While, scourged by famine from the smiling land,
The mournful peasant leads his humble band,
And while he sinks without one arm to save,
The country blooms, a garden and a grave.
— OLIVER GOLDSMITH, The Deserted Village.
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