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And from her wild sequester'd seat,

In notes by distance made more sweet, Pour'd thro' the mellow horn her pensive soul, And clashing soft from rocks around Bubbling runnells join'd the sound;

Thro' glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, Or o'er some haunted streams with fond delay, Round an holy calm diffusing,

Love of peace and lonely musing,

In hollow murmurs dy'd away.

But, O! how alter'd was its sprightly tone!
When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue,
Her bow across her shoulder hung,

Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew,
Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung,
The Hunter's call, to Fawn and Dryad known;
The oak-crown'd sisters and their chaste-ey'd queen,
Satyrs and sylvan boys were seen

Peeping from forth their alleys green;

Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear,

And Sport leap'd up, and seiz'd his beechen spear.

Last came Joy's ecstatic trial:
He, with viny crown advancing,

First to the lively pipe his hand address'd;
But soon he saw the brisk, awakening viol,
Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best.
They would have thought, who heard the strain,
They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids,
Amidst the festal sounding shades,

To some unweary'd minstrel dancing,
While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings,
Love fram'd with Mirth a gay fantastic round;
Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound:
And he, amidst his frolic play,

As if he would the charming air repay,
Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.

O Music! sphere-descended maid,
Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid,
Why, Goddess! why to us deny'd?
Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside ?
As in that lov'd Athenian bow'r
You learn'd an all-commanding pow'r,

Thy mimic soul, O nymph endear'd!
Can well recall what then it heard.
Where is thy native simple heart,
Devote to virtue, fancy, art?
Arise, as in that elder time!
Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime!
Thy wonders in that god-like age
Fill thy recording sister's page-
'Tis said, and I believe the tale,
Thy humblest reed could more prevail,
Had more of strength, diviner rage,
Than all which charms this laggard age,
Ev'n all at once together found
Cæcilia's mingled world of sound-
O bid our vain endeavours cease,
Revive the just designs of Greeces
Return in all thy simple state;
Confirm the tales her sons relate.



THE great Republic see! that glow'd sublime,
With the mix'd freedom of a thousand states;
Rais'd on the thrones of kings her Curule Chair,
And by her Fasces aw'd the subject world.
See busy millions quick'ning all the land,
With cities throng'd, and teeming culture high:
For Nature then smil'd on her free-born sons,
And pour'd the plenty that belongs to Men.
Behold, the country cheering, villas rise,
In lively prospect; by the secret lapse

Of brooks now lost, and streams renown'd in song:
In Umbria's closing vales, or on the brow

Of her brown hills, that breathe the scented gale:
On Baia's viny coast; where peaceful seas,
Fann'd by kind Zephyrs, ever kiss the shore;
And suns unclouded shine, thro' purest air:
Or in the spacious neighbourhood of Rome;
Far-shining upward to the Sabine hills,
To Anio's roar, and Tibur's olive shade;
To where Præneste lifts her airy brow;
Or downward spreading to the sunny shore,
Where Alba breathes the freshness of the main.

See distant mountains leave their valleys dry,
And o'er the proud arcade their tribute pour,
To lave imperial Rome. For ages laid
Deep, massy, firm, diverging every way,
With tombs of heroes sacred, see her roads:
By various nations trod, and suppliant kings;
With legions flaming, or with triumph gay.

Full in the centre of these wond'rous works,
The pride of earth! Rome in her glory see!
Behold her demi-gods, in senate met;

All head to counsel, and all heart to act :
The commonweal inspiring every tongue
With fervent eloquence, unbrib'd, and bold;
Ere tame Corruption taught the servile herd
To rank obedient to a master's voice.

Her Forum see, warm, popular, and loud,
In trembling wonder hush'd, when the two Sires,
As they the private father greatly quell'd,
Stood up the public fathers of the state.
See Justice judging there, in human shape.
Hark! how with freedom's voice it thunders high,
Or in soft murmurs sinks to Tully's tongue.

Her Tribes, her Census, see; her generous troops, Whose pay was glory, and their best reward Free for their country and for me* to die; Ere mercenary murder grew a trade.

Mark, as the purple triumph waves along,
The highest pomp and lowest fall of life.

Her festive games, the school of heroes, see;
Her Circus, ardent with contending youth;
Her streets, her temples, palaces, and baths,
Full of fair forms, of Beauty's eldest born,
And of a people cast in Virtue's mould.
While sculpture lives around, and Asian hills
Lend their best stores to heave the pillar'd dome:
All that to Roman strength the softer touch
Of Grecian art can join. But language fails
To paint this sun, this centre of mankind;
Where every virtue, glory, treasure, art,
Attracted strong, in heighten'd lustre met.

* Liberty is speaking.



O GREECE! thou sapient nurse of Finer Arts!
Which to bright science blooming fancy bore,
Be this thy praise, that Thou, and Thou alone,
In these hast led the way, in these excell'd,
Crown'd with the laurel of assenting Time.
In thy full language, speaking mighty things;
Like a clear torrent close, or else diffus'd
A broad majestic stream, and rolling on
Thro' all the winding harmony of sound:
In it the power of Eloquence, at large,
Breath'd the persuasive or pathetic soul;
Still'd by degrees the democratic storm,
Or bade it threat' ning rise, and tyrants shook,
Flush'd at the head of their victorious troops.
In it the Muse, her fury never quench'd
By mean unyielding phrase, or jarring sound,
Her unconfin'd divinity display'd;

And, still harmonious, form'd it to her will:
Or soft depress'd it to the shepherd's moan,
Or rais'd it swelling to the tongue of Gods.

Heroic Song was thine; the Fountain-Bard,
Whence each poetic stream derives its course.
Thine the dread Moral Scene, thy chief delight!
Where idle Fancy durst not mix her voice,
When Reason spoke august; the fervent heart
Or 'plain'd, or storm'd; and in th' impassion'd man,
Concealing art with art, the poet sunk.

This potent school of manners, but when left
To loose neglect, a land-corrupting plague,
Was not unworthy deem'd of public care,
And boundless cost, by thee; whose every son,
Even last mechanic, the true taste possess'd
Of what had flavour to the nourish'd soul.

The sweet enforcer of the poet's strain,
Thine was the meaning music of the heart.
Not the vain trill, that, void of passion, runs
In giddy mazes, tickling idle ears;

But that deep-searching voice, and artful hand,
To which respondent shakes the varied soul.
Thy fair ideas, thy delightful forms,
By Love imagin'd, by the Graces touch'd,

The boast of well-pleas'd Nature! Sculpture seiz`d,
And bade them ever smile in Parian stone.
Selecting Beauty's choice, and that again
Exalting, blending in a perfect whole,

Thy workmen left even Nature's self behind.
From those far different, whose prolific hand
Peoples a nation; they for years on years,
By the cool touches of judicious toil,
Their rapid genius curbing, pour'd it all
Thro' the live features of one breathing stone.
There, beaming full, it shone; expressing Gods:
Jove's awful brow, Apollo's air divine,
The fierce atrocious frown of sinewed Mars,
Or the sly graces of the Cyprian queen.
Minutely perfect all! Each dimple sunk,
And every muscle swell'd, as Nature taught.
In tresses, braided gay, the marble wav'd;
Flow'd in loose robes, or thin transparent veils;
Sprung into motion; soften'd into flesh;
Was fir'd to passion, or refin'd to soul.

Nor less thy Pencil, with creative touch,
Shed mimic life, when all thy brightest dames
Assembled, Zeuxis in his Helen mix'd.
And when Apelles, who peculiar knew
To give a grace that more than mortal smil'd,
The Soul of Beauty! call'd the Queen of Love
Fresh from the billows, blushing orient charms.
Even such enchantment then thy pencil pour'd,
That cruel-thoughted War th' impatient torch
Dash'd to the ground; and, rather than destroy
The patriot picture, let the city 'scape.

First elder Sculpture taught her Sister Art
Correct design; where great ideas shone,
And in the secret trace expression spoke :
Taught her the graceful attitude; the turn,
And beauteous airs of head; the native act,
Or bold, or easy; and, cast free behind,
The swelling mantle's well-adjusted flow.
Then the bright Muse, their elder Sister, came;
And bade her follow where she led the way;
Bade earth, and sea, and air, in colours rise;
And copious action on the canvas glow :
Gave her gay Fable; spread Invention's store;
Enlarg'd her View; taught Composition high,

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