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Condemn'd whole years in absence to deplore,
And image charms he must behold no more;
Such, if there be, who loves so long, so well,
Let him our sad, our tender story tell!
The well sung woes will sooth my pensive ghost;
He best can paint them who shall feel them most!

THE TEMPLE OF FAME.

Written in the Year: 1711.

ADVERTISEMENT.

The hint of the following piece was taken from

Chaucer's House of Fame. The design is in a manner entirely altered, the descriptions and most of the particular thoughts my own; yet I could not suffer it to be printed without this acknowledgement. The reader who would compare this with Chaucer, may begin with his third book of Fame, there being nothing in the first two

books that answers to their title. The poem is introduced in the manner of the Pro

vençal poets, whose works were for the most part visions, or pieces of imagination, and constantly descriptive. From these, Petrarch and Chaucer frequently borrowed the idea of their poems. See the Trionfi of the former, and the Dream, Flower and the Leaf, &c. of the latter. The author of this, therefore, chose the same sort of exordium.

THE TEMPLE OF FAME.

IN

that soft season, when descending showers Call forth the greens, and wake the rising

flowers; When opening buds salute the welcome day, And earth relenting feels the genial ray;

As balmy sleep had charm'd my cares to rest,
And love itself was banish'd from my breast
(What time the morn mysterious visions brings
While purer slumbers spread their golden wings),
A train of phantoms in wild order rose,
And join'd, this intellectual scene compose.

I stood, methought, betwixt earth, seas, aud skies;
The whole creation open to my eyes:
In air self-balanc'd hung the globe below,
Where mountains rise, and circling oceans flow;
Here naked rocks, and empty wastes were seen :
There tow'ring cities, and the forests green:
Here sailing ships delight thé wandering eyes ;
There trees and intermingled temples rise :
Now a clear sun the shining scene displays ;
The transient landscape now in clouds decays.

O'er the wide prospect as I gaz'd around, Sudden I heard a wild promiscuous sound, Like broken thunders that at distance roar, Or billows murmuring on the hollow shore : Then gazing up, a glorious pile beheld, Whose tow'ring summit ambient clouds conceal'd High on a rock of ice the structure lay, Steep its ascent, and slippery was the way: The wondrous rock like Parian marble slione, And seem'd, to distant sight, of solid stone. Inscriptions here of various names I view'd, The greater part by hostile time subdued; Yet wide was spread their fame in ages past, And poets once had promis'd they should last. Some fresh engrav'd appear'd of wits renown'd; I look'd again, nor could their trace be found. Critics I saw, that other name deface, And fix their own, with labour, in their place: Their own, like others, soon their place resign'd, Or disappeard, and left the first behind. Nor was the work impair'd by storms alone, But felt th' approaches of too warm a sun; For fame, impatient of extremes, decays Not more by envy, than excess of praise.

Yet part no injuries of heaven' could feel,
Like crystal faithful to the graving steel :
The rock's high summit, in the temple's shade,
Nor heat could melt, nor beating storm invade.
Their names inscrib'd unnumber'd ages past
From time's first birth, with time itself shall last;
These ever new, nor subject to decays,
Spread and grow brighter with the length of days.

So Zembla's rocks (the beauteous work of frost)
Rise white in air, and glitter o'er the coast;
Pale suns, unfelt, at distance roll away,
And on th' impassive ice the lightnings play ;
Eternal snows the growing mass supply,
Till the bright mountains prop th' incumbent sky;
As Atlas fix'd, each hoary pile appears,
The gather'd winter of a thousand years.
On this foundation Fame's high temple stands;
Stupendous pile! not rear'd by mortal hands.
Whate'er proud Rome or artful Greece beheld,
Or elder Babylon, its frame excell’d.
Four faces had the dome, and every face,
Of various structure, but of equal grace!
Four brazen gates, on columns lifted high,
Salute the different quarters of the sky,
Here fabled cbiefs in darker ages born,
Or worthies old, whom arms or arts adorn,
Who cities rais'd, or tam'd a monstrous race,
The walls in venerable order grace:
Heroes in animated marble frown,
And legislators seem to think in stone.

Westward, a sumptuous frontispiece appear'd, On Doric pillars of white marble rear'd, Crown'd with an architrave of antique mold, And sculpture rising on the roughen'd gold. In shaggy spoils here Theseus was bebeld, And Perseus dreadful with Minerva's shield: There great Alcides, stooping with his toil, Rests on his club, and holds th' Hesperian spoil: Here Orpheus sings; trees moving to the sound Start from their roots, and form a shade around :

Amphion there the loud creating lyre
Strikes, and behold a sudden Thebes aspire !
Cythæron's echoes answer to his call,
And half the mountain rolls into a wall:
There might you see the lengthening spires ascend,
The domes swell up, the widening arches bend,
The growing towers like exhalations rise,
And the huge columns heave into the skies.

The eastern front was glorious to behold,
With diamond flaming, and Barbaric gold.
There Ninus shone, who spread th' Assyrian fame,
And the great founder of the Persian name:
There in long robes the royal Magi stand,
Grave Zoroaster waves the circling wand :
The sage Chaldæans rob’d in white appear'd,
And Brachmans, deep in desert woods rever'd.
These stopt the moun, and call'd th’unbody'd shades
To midnight banquets in the glimmering glades;
Made visionary fabrics round them rise,
And airy spectres skim before their eyes;
Of talismans and sigils knew the power,
And careful watch'd the planetary hour.
Superior, and alone, Confucius stood,
Who taught that useful science, to be good.

But on the south, a long majestic race Of Egypt's priests the gilded niches grace, Who measur'd earth, describ'd the starry spheres, And trac'd the long records of lunar years. High on his car Sesostris struck my view, Whom sceptr’d slaves in golden harness drew: His hands a bow and pointed javelia hold; His giant limbs are arin'd in scales of gold. Between the stautes obelisks were plac'd, And the learp'd walls with hieroglyphics grac'd.

Of Gothic structure was the northern side, O'erwrought with ornaments of barbarous pride. There huge Colosses rose, with trophies crown'd, And Runic characters were grav'd around. There sat Zamolxis with erected eyes, And Odin here in mimic trances dies.

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