Admir'd Salopia! that with venial pride
Eyes her bright form in Severn's ambient wave,
Fam'd for her loyal cares in perils try'd, (310
Her daughters lovely, and her ftriplings brave:
Ah! midst the rest, may flowers adorn his grave,
Whose art did first these dulcet cates display!
A motive fair to learning's imps he gave,

Who chearless o'er her darkling region stray ; Till reason's morn arise, and light them on their way.




O you that bathe in courtlye blyffe,

Or toyle in fortune's giddy spheare ; Do not too rashlye deeme amyise

Of him that bydes contented here.

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Nor yet disdeigne the ruffet stoale,

Which o'er each carelesse lymbe he flyngs : Nor yet deryde the beechen bowle,

In whyche he quaifs the lympid springs.

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Forgive him, if at eve or dawne,

Devoide of worldlye cark he stray :
Or all beside some flowerye lawne,

He waste his inoffensive daye.


So may he pardonne fraud and strife,

If such in courtlye haunt he fee :
For faults there beene in busye life,

From whyche these peaceful glennes are free.

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A Il sacred stream, whose waters roll
Immortal thro' the classic page!
To Thee the Muse-devoted foal,

Tho' destin'd to a later age
And less indulgent clime, to thee,

Nor thou disdain, in Runic lays
Weak mimic of true harmony,

His grateful homage pays.
Far other strains thine elder ear
With pleas’d attention wont to hear,
When he, who strung the Latian lyre,
And he, who led th’ Aonian quire

* Born 1715; dyed 1785.


From Mantua’s reedy lakes with ofiers crown'd, Taught echo from thy banks with transport to re

Thy banks alas, is this the boasted scene, 15
This dreary, wide, uncultivated plain,
Where fick’ning Nature wears a fainter green,
And Desolation spreads her torpid reign?

Is this the scene where Freedom breath’d,
Her copious horn where Plenty wreath'd, 20

And health at opening day
Bade all her roseate breezes fly,
To wake the sons of industry,

And make their fields more gay?




Where is the villa's rural pride,

The swelling dome's imperial gleam,
Which lov’d to grace thy verdant fide,

And tremble in thy golden stream?
Where are the bold, the busy throngs,

That rush'd impatient to the war,
Or tun’d to peace triumphal songs,

And hail'd the passing car?
Along the fo'itary - road,
Th' eternal flint by Consuls trod,
We mufe, and mark the fad decays
Of mighty works, and mighty days !


* The Flaminian way.

For those vile waftes, we cry, had Fate decreed That Veii's sons should strive, for these CAMIL

LUS bleed?
Did here, in after-times of Roman pride,

The musing hepherd from Soracte's height 40
See towns extend where'er thy waters glide,
And temples rise, and peopled farms unite ?

They did. For this deserted plain
The hero strove, nor strore in vain ;
And here the shepherd saw

Unnumber'd towns and temples spread,
While Rome majestic rear'd her head,

the nations law.


Yes, Thou and Latium once were great.

And fill, ye first of human things, 50
Beyond the grasp of time or fate,

Her fame and thine triumphant springs.
What tho the mould'ring columns fall,

And strow the desart earth beneath,
Tho' ivy round each nodding wall

Entwine it's fatal wreath,
Yet say, can Rhine or Danube boast
The numerous glories thou haft loft?
Can ev'o Euphrates' palmy shore,
Or Nile, with all his mystic lore,

60 Produce from old records of genuine fame Such herocs, poets, kings, or emulate thy name?

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