Nor yet his vain contempt the Muse shall praise

For fcenes of polish'd life, and letter'd worth; The steel-rib'd Warrior wants not Envy's ways

To darken theirs, or call his merits forth,

yon

Witness Cimbrian Trophies! — Marius, there
Thy ample pinion found a space to fly;
As the plum'd eagle foaring fails in air,

In upper air, and fcorns a middle sky.

Thence too thy country claim'd thee for her own,
And bade the Sculptor's toil thy acts adorn,
To teach in characters of living stone
Eternal leffons to the youth unborn.

For wifely Rome her warlike Sons rewards
With the sweet labours of her Artifts' hands;
He wakes her Graces, who her empire guards,
And both Minervas join in willing bands.

O why, Britannia, why untrophied pafs
The patriot deeds thy godlike Sons display,
Why breathes on high no monumental brass,

Why fwells no Arc to grace Culloden's Day?

Wait we 'till faithless France fubmiffive bow
Beneath that Hero's delegated fpear,

Whofe light'ning fmote Rebellion's haughty brow,

And scatter'd her vile rout with horror in the rear?

O Land of Freedom, Land of Arts, affume
That graceful dignity thy merits claim
Exalt thy Heroes like imperial Rome,

And build their virtues on their love of fame.

friend,

So fhall the modeft worth, which checks my
Forget its blush when rous'd by Glory's charms;
From breast to breast the generous warmth defcend,
And still new trophies rise, at once, to Arts, and Arms.

Written at ROME, 1756.

WAS in this ifle, O Wright indulge my lay,

"TW

Whofe naval form divides the Tuscan flood,

In the bright dawn of her illuftrious day

Rome fix'd her Temple to the healing God.

The Infula Tiberina, where there are still some small remains of the famous temple of Æfculapius.

VOL. VI.

E

Here

Here stood his altars, here his arm he bared,

And round his mystic staff the ferpent twin'd, Through crowded portals hymns of praise were heard, And victims bled, and facred feers divin'd.

On every breathing wall, on every round
Of column, fwelling with proportion'd grace,
Its ftated feat fome votive tablet found,
And storied wonders dignified the place.

Oft from the balmy bleffings of repofe,

And the cool ftillness of the night's deep shade, To light and health th' exulting Votarist rose, Whilft fancy work'd with med'cine's powerful aid.

Oft in his dreams (no longer clogg'd with fears
Of fome broad torrent, or fome headlong steep,
With each dire form Imagination wears

When harrass'd Nature finks in turbid sleep)

Oft in his dreams he faw diffufive day

Through bursting glooms its cheerful beams extend;

On billowy clouds faw sportive Genii play,
And bright Hygeia from her heaven defcend.

What

What marvel then, that man's o'erflowing mind Should wreath-bound columns raise, and altars fair, And grateful offerings pay, to Powers fo kind, Though fancy-form'd, and creatures of the Air.

Who that has writh'd beneath the scourge of pain,
Or felt the burthen'd languor of disease,
But would with joy the flightest respite gain,

And idolize the hand which lent him ease?

To Thee, my friend, unwillingly to thee
For truths like these the anxious Mufe appeals.
Can Memory answer from affliction free,

Or fpeaks the fufferer what, I fear, he feels?

No, let me hope ere this in Romely grove
Hygeia revels with the blooming Spring,
Ere this the vocal feats the Muses love

With hymns of praife, like Pæon's temple, ring.

It was not written in the book of Fate

That, wand'ring far from-Albion's fea-girt plain, Thy diftant Friend fhould mourn thy fhorter date, And tell to alien woods and ftreams his pain.

It was not written. Many a year fhall roll,
If aught th' inspiring Muse aright presage,
Of blameless intercourse from Soul to Soul,
And friendship well matur'd from Youth to Age.

EL EGY VI.

To another FRIEND.

Written at ROME, 1756.

EHOLD, my friend, to this fmall orb confin'd

BE

The genuine features of Aurelius' face;

The father, friend, and lover of his kind,

Shrunk to a narrow coin's contracted space.

Not fo his fame; for erst did heaven ordain

Whilft feas should waft us, and whilft funs fhould warm, On tongues of men, the friend of man fhould reign, And in the arts he lov'd the patron charm.

Oft as amidst the mould'ring fpoils of Age,
His mofs-grown monuments my steps pursue ;

Oft as my eye revolves the hiftoric page,
Where pass his generous acts in fair review,

The medal of Marcus Aurelius.

Imagi