Where weftern gales eternally refide,
And all the seasons lavish all their pride:
Bloffoms, and fruits, and flowers together rise,
And the whole year in gay confufion lies.
Immortal glories in my mind revive, And in my foul a thousand passions strive, When Rome's exalted beauties I defcry Magnificent in piles of ruine lie. An amphitheater's amazing height Here fills my eye with terror and delight, That on its public fhows unpeopled Rome, And held uncrowded nations in its womb: Here pillars rough with sculpture pierce the skies; And here the proud triumphal arches rise, Where the old Romans deathlefs acts difplay'd, Their base degenerate progeny upbraid:
Whole rivers here forfake the fields below, And wond'ring at their height through airy channels flow.
Still to new scenes my wand'ring Muse retires;
And the dumb fhow of breathing rocks admires;
Where the fmooth chifel all its force has shown,
And soften'd into flesh the rugged ftone.
In folemn filence, a majestic band,
Heroes, and gods, and Roman confuls stand,
Stern tyrants, whom their cruelties renown,
And emperors in Parian marble frown;
While the bright dames, to whom they humbly fu'd, Still fhow the charms that their proud hearts fubdu'd.
Fain would I Raphael's godlike art rehearse, And fhow th' immortal labours in my verfe, Where from the mingled ftrength of shade and light A new creation rifes to my fight,
Such heav'nly figures from his pencil flow,
So warm with life his blended colours glow.
From theme to theme with fecret pleasure toft,
Amidst the foft variety I'm loft:
Here pleafing airs my ravisht foul confound
With circling notes and labyrinths of found;
Here domes and temples rife in distant views,
And opening palaces invite my Muse.
How has kind heav'n adorn'd the happy land,
And scatter'd bleffings with a wasteful hand!
But what avail her unexhaufted ftores,
Her blooming mountains, and her funny fhores,
With all the gifts that heav'n and earth impart,
The fmiles of nature, and the charms of art, 110
While proud Oppreffion in her valleys reigns,
And Tyranny ufurps her happy plains?
The poor inhabitant beholds in vain
The red'ning orange and the fwelling grain :
Joylefs he fees the growing oils and wines,
And in the myrtle's fragrant fhade repines:
Starves, in the midst of nature's bounty curft,
And in the loaden vineyard dies for thirst.
Oh Liberty, thou goddess heav'nly bright, Profufe of blifs, and pregnant with delight! 120 Eternal pleasures in thy prefence reign,
And fmiling Plenty leads thy wanton train;
Eas'd of her load Subjection grows more light,
And Poverty looks chearful in thy fight;
Thou mak'ft the gloomy face of Nature gay, 125
Giv'ft beauty to the fun, and pleasure to the day.
Thee, goddess, thee, Britannia's isle adores;
How has fhe oft exhaufted all her ftores,
How oft in fields of death thy prefence fought,
Nor thinks the mighty prize too dearly bought!
On foreign mountains may the fun refine
The grape's foft juice, and mellow it to wine,
With citron groves adorn a distant foil,
And the fat olive fwell with floods of oil:
We envy not the warmer clime, that lies
In ten degrees of more indulgent skies,
Nor at the coarseness of our heav'n repine,
Tho' o'er our heads the frozen Pleiads fhine:
'Tis Liberty that crown's Britannia's isle,
And makes her barren rocks and her bleak moun-
tains fmile.
Others with tow'ring piles may please the fight,
And in their proud afpiring domes delight;
A nicer touch to the stretcht canvas give,
Or teach their animated rocks to live:
'Tis Britain's care to watch o'er Europe's fate,
And hold in balance each contending state,
To threaten bold prefumptuous kings with war,
And answer her afflicted neighbour's pray'r.
The Dane and Swede, rous'd up by fierce alarms,
Bless the wife conduct of her pious arms: 150
Soon as her fleets appear, their terrors cease,
And all the northern world lies hufh'd in peace.
Th' ambitious Gaul beholds with fecret dread Her thunder aim'd at his afpiring head,
And fain her godlike fons would difunite
By foreign gold or by domestic spite:
But strives in vain to conquer or divide,
Whom Naffau's arms defend and counfels guide.
Fir'd with the name, which I fo oft have found
The diftant climes and diff'rent tongues refound,
I bridle in my struggling Muse with pain,
That longs to lanch into a bolder strain.
But I've already troubled you too long, Nor dare attempt a more advent❜rous fong. My humble verse demands a softer theme, A painted meadow, or a purling stream; Unfit for heroes; whom immortal lays,
And lines like Virgil's, or like yours, fhou'd praise.
TO HIS PERJUR'D MISTRESS.
Nox erat, & cælo fulgebat luna fereno, &c.
IT
IT was one evening, when the rifing moon
Amidft her train of stars diftinctly shone;
Serene and calm was the inviting night,
And heav'n appear'd in all its luftre bright;
When you, Neæra, you, my perjur'd fair, 5
Did, to abuse the gods and me prepare.
'Twas then you swore, remember, faithless maid,
With what indearing arts you then betray'd:
Remember all the tender things that past,
When round my neck your willing arms were caft;
The circling ivys when with oaks they join, 11
Seem loose, and coy, to those fond arms of thine.
Believe, you cry'd, this folemn vow believe,
The nobleft pledge that love and I can give;
Or if there's ought more facred here below,
Let that confirm my oath to heav'n and you.
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