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How am I pleas'd to fearch the hills and woods For rifing fprings and celebrated floods!

To view the Nar, tumultuous in his courfe,
And trace the smooth Clitumnus to his fource;
To fee the Mincio draw his watry ftore

Through the long windings of a fruitful fhore,
And hoary Albula's infected tide

O'er the warm bed of fmoking fulphur glide.
Fir'd with a thousand raptures I furvey
Eridanus through flow'ry meadows ftray,
The king of floods! that rolling o'er the plains
The tow'ring Alps of half their moisture drains,
And proudly fwoln with a whole winter's fnows,
Distributes wealth and plenty where he flows.
Sometimes, mifguided by the tuneful throng,
I look for ftreams immortaliz'd in fong,
That loft in filence and oblivion lie,

(Dumb are their fountains, and their channels dry). Yet run for ever by the mufe's skill,

And in the smooth description murmur still.
Sometimes to gentle Tiber I retire,
And the fam'd river's empty fhores admire,
That deftitute of strength derives its course
From thrifty urns and an unfruitful fource;
Yet fung so often in poetic lays,

With fcorn the Danube and the Nile furveys;
So high the deathless muse exalts her theme!
Such was the Boyn, a poor inglorious ftream,


That in Hibernian vales obfcurely ftray'd,
And unobferv'd in wild Meanders play'd;
Till by your lines and Naffau's fword renown'd, -
Its rifing billows through the world refound,
Where'er the hero's godlike acts can pierce,
Or where the fame of an immortal verse.

Oh cou'd the muse ravish'd my breast inspire ·
With warmth like yours, and raise an equal fire,
Unnumber'd beauties in my verse shou'd shine,
And Virgil's Italy fhould yield to mine!

See how the golden groves around me smile; That fhun the coaft of Britain's stormy isle, Or when tranfplanted and preferv'd with care, Curfe the cold clime, and starve in northern air. Here kindly warmth their mounting juice ferments To nobler taftes, and more exalted scents: Ev'n the rough rocks with tender myrtle bloom, And trodden weeds send out a rich perfume. Bear me, fome God, to Baia's gentle feats, Or cover me in Umbria's green retreats; Where western gales eternally refide, And all the feasons lavish all their pride: Bloffoms, and fruits, and flowers together rife, And the whole year in gay confusion 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 ruin lie.



An amphitheatre's amazing height

Here fills my eye with terror and delight,
That on its public shows 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 deathless acts display'd,
Their bafe degenerate progeny upbraid :

Whole rivers here forfake the fields below,

And wond'ring at their height thro' airy channels,


Still to new scenes my wand'ring muse retires,
And the dumb show of breathing rocks admires;
Where the smooth chiffel all its force has shown,,
And foften'd into flesh the rugged stone..
In folemn filence, a majestic band,

Heroes, and Gods, and Roman confuls ftand,
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 wou'd I Raphael's godlike art rehearse,

And fhow th' immortal labours in my verse, Where from the mingled ftrength of fhade 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 tost,
Amidst the soft 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 mufe.

How has kind heav'n adorn'd the happy land,
And scatter'd bleffings with a wasteful hand!
But what avail her unexhausted stores,

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,
While proud oppreffion in her vallies reigns,
And tyranny ufurps her happy plains?


poor inhabitant beholds in vain

The red'ning orange and the swelling grain =
Joyless he fees the growing oils and wines,
And in the myrtle's fragrant fhade repines:
Starves, in the midft of nature's bounty curft,
And in the loaden vineyard dies for thirst.

Oh liberty, thou Goddefs, heavenly bright,
Profuse of bliss, and pregnant with delight!
Eternal pleasures in thy prefence reign,
And fmiling plenty leads thy wanton train;
Eas'd of her load fubjection grows more light,
And poverty looks chearful in thy fight;
Thou mak'ft. the gloomy face of nature gay,
Giv'ft beauty to the fun, and pleasure to the day.


Thee, Goddefs, thee, Britannia's isle adores ;
How has fhe oft exhausted all her ftores,
How oft in fields of death thy presence 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 soil,
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 shine :

'Tis Liberty that crowns Britannia's ifle,

And makes her barren rocks and her bleak mountains 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 anfwer her afflicted neighbours' pray'r.
The Dane and Swede, rouz'd up by fierce alarms,
Blefs the wife conduct of her pious arms:

Soon as her fleets appear, their terrors cease,
And all the northern world lies hush'd in peace.

Th' ambitious Gaul beholds with fecret dread
Her thunder aim'd at his afpiring head,


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