Nigh where the Cestian pyramid divides P
The mould'ring wall, behold yon fabric huge,
Whose duft the folemn antiquarian turns,
And thence, in broken fculptures caft abroad
Like Sibyl's leaves, collects the builder's name
Rejoic'd, and the green medals frequent found
Doom Caracalla to perpetual fame:
The ftately pines, that fpread their branches wide
In the dun ruins of its ample halls,
Appear but tufts; as may whate'er is high
Sink in comparison, minute and vile.
These, and unnumber'd, yet their brows uplift,
Rent of their graces; as Britannia's oaks
On Merlin's mount, or Snowden's rugged fides,
Stand in the clouds, their branches fcatter'd round,
After the tempeft; Maufoleums, Cirques,
P "The pyramid of Ceftius, all built of white marble, ftands half "within, and half without the wall of Rome, near the Porta Terge"mina. There are fome antique paintings ftill within. The lower
part of this pyramid was a good deal buried, till Alexander VII. took away the earth from about it; at which time were found lying along, "the two pillars that are now fet up at the two corners of the pyramid, "within the city wall. Wright's Travels, p. 358.
9 The baths of Caracalla. Of these there are many high walls, which inclofe large fpacious courts, and feveral great arches, now standing. Wright, in his Travels, p. 352, fays there were in thefe baths fixteen hundred feats of marble, for those that bathed to fit in, in order to be cleanfed with the ftrigils, brushes, &c.
Naumachios, Forums; Trajan's ' column tall,
From whofe low base the sculptures wind aloft,
And lead through various toils, up the rough fteep,
Its hero to the fkies: and his dark tow'r',
Whofe execrable hand the city fir'd,
And while the dreadful conflagration blaz'd,
Play'd to the flames; and Phoebus' letter'd dome *,
And the rough reliques of Carina's ftreet,
Where now the fhepherd to his nibbling sheep
Sits piping with his oaten reed; as erft
There pip'd the shepherd to his nibbling sheep,
When th' humble roof Anchifes' fon explor'd
Of good Evander, wealth-defpifing king ",
Amid the thickets: fo revolves the scene;
Trajan's pillar was of white marble, or what was once fo, though time has confiderably changed its colour. The fhaft of it is above twelve foot diameter at the lower end, and ten foot and an half at the upper, and the plinth of the bafe one and twenty foot fquare. On the outfide are carved the figures in a continual spiral, going round the pillar from the bottom to the top and within is hollowed out of the folid stone, a ftair-case, winding round a folid newel or pillar of the fame ftone, left in the middle for that purpose. The lights are very narrow on the outfide, that they might break in as little as poffible upon the train of figures in the baffo relievoes, but are widened much within, fo as to diffuse what light there does come through; and 'tis fufficient to enlighten the #tairs.
So time ordains, who rolls the things of pride
From duft again to duft. Behold that heap
Of mould'ring urns (their afhes blown away,
Duft of the mighty) the fame story tell;
And at its bafe, from whence the ferpent glides
Down the green defert ftreet, yon hoary monk
Laments the fame, the vifion as he views,
The folitary, filent, folemn fcene,
Where Cæfars, heroes, peasants, hermits lie,
Blended in duft together; where the flave
Refts from his labours; where th' infulting proud
Refigns his pow'r; the mifer drops his hoard;
Where human folly fleeps.-There is a mood,
(I fing not to the vacant and the young)
There is a kindly mood of melancholy,
That wings the foul, and points her to the skies;
When tribulation cloaths the child of man,
When age defcends with forrow to the grave,
?Tis fweetly-foothing fympathy to pain,
A gently wak'ning call to health and eafe.
How mufical! when ail-devouring Time,
Here fitting on his throne of ruins hoar,
While winds and tempefts fweep his various lyre,
How fweet thy diapafon, Melancholy!
Cool ev'ning comes; the setting fun displays
His vifible great round between yon tow'rs,
As through two fhady cliffs; away, my Mufe,
Though yet the prospect pleases, ever new
In vaft variety, and yet delight
The many-figur'd fculptures of the path
Half beauteous, half effac'd; the traveller
Such antique marbles to his native land
Oft hence conveys; and every realm and state
With Rome's august remains, heroes and gods,
Deck their long galleries and winding groves;
Yet mifs we not th' innumerable thefts,
Yet ftill profuse of graces teems the waste.
Suffice it now th' Efquilian mount to reach
With weary wing, and feek the facred rests
* Of Maro's humble tenement; a low
Plain wall remains; a little fun-gilt heap,
Grotesque and wild; the gourd and olive brown
Weave the light roof; the gourd and olive fan
Their am'rous foliage, mingling with the vine,
Who drops her purple clufters through the green.
Here let me lie, with pleafing fancy footh'd:
Here flow'd his fountain; here his laurels grew;
Here oft the meek good man, the lofty bard,
Fram'd the celestial song, or social walk'd
x "I will fay nothing (fays bishop Burnet. See his Travels, letter 4) " of the Amphitheatre, or of Cicero and Virgil's houfes, for which "there is nothing but a dubious tradition. They are ancient brick "buildings of the Roman way, and the vaults of Virgil's houfe are ftill entire."
With Horace and the ruler of the world;
Happy Auguftus! who so well infpir'd
Could't throw thy pomps and royalties afide,
Attentive to the wife, the great of foul,
And dignify thy mind. Thrice glorious days,
Aufpicious to the Muses! then rever'd,
Then hallow'd was the fount, or fecret fhade,
Or open mountain, or whatever scene
The poet chose to tune th' ennobling rhime
Melodious; ev'n the rugged fons of war,
Ev'n the rude hinds rever'd the poet's name :
But now-another age, alas! is ours――
Yet will the Muse a little longer foar,
Unless the clouds of care weigh down her wing,
Since nature's flores are shut with cruel hand,
And each aggrieves his brother; fince in vain
The thirsty pilgrim at the fountain asks
Th' o'erflowing wave-Enough-the plaint difdain.
See'ft thou yon fane? ev'n now inceffant Time y
Sweeps her low mould'ring marbles to the duft;
And Phoebus' temple, nodding with its woods,
Threatens huge ruin o'er the small rotund.
'Twas there beneath a fig-tree's umbrage broad,
Th' astonish'd swains with reverend awe beheld
y The temple of Romulus and Remus under mount Palatin. It is now the church of St. Cofmus and St. Damianus. Wright says, the old brazen gates were remaining when he was at Rome,
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