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HILE you, my lord, the rural shades admire,

And from Britannia's public posts retire,
Nor longer, her ungrateful fons to please,
For their advantage sacrifice your ease;
Me into foreign realms my fate conveys,
Through nations fruitful of immortal lays,
Where the soft season and inviting clime
Conspire to trouble your repose with rhyme.
For wherefoe'er I turn my

ravish'd

eyes,
Gay gilded scenes and shining prospects rise,
Poetic fields encompass me around,
And ftill I seem to tread on classic ground;
For here the muse so oft her harp has strung,
That not a mountain rear: its head unsung,
Renown'd in verse each ih.dy thicket grows,
And ev'ry stream in heav'niy numbers flows,

How

How am I pleas'd to search the hills and woods
For rising springs and celebrated floods !
To view the Nar, tumultuous in his course,
And trace the smooth Clitumnus to his source;
To see the Mincio draw his watry store
Through the long windings of a fruitful shore,
And hoary Albula's infected tide
O'er the warm bed of smoking fulphur glide.

Fir'd with a thousand raptures I survey
Eridanus through flow'ry mcadows stray,
The king of foods ! that rolling o'er the plains
The tow'ring Alps of half their moisture drains,
And proudly fwoln with a whole winter's snows,
Distributes wealth and plenty where he flows.

Sometimes, misguided by the tuneful throng,
I look for streams immortaliz'd in song,
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 shores admire,
That destitute of strength derives its course
From thrifty urns and an unfruitful source ;
Yet fung so often in poetic lays,
With scorn the Danube and the Nile surveys ;
So high the deathless muse exalts her theme !
Such was the Boyn, a poor inglorious stream,

That

That in Hibernian vales obscurely stray'd,
And unobserv'd in wild Meanders play'd ;
Till by your lines and Nassau's sword renown'd,
Its rising billows through the world resound,
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 Thou'd shine, And Virgil's Italy should yield to mine!

See how the golden groves around me smile; That fhun the coast of Britain's stormy isle, Or when transplanted and preserv'd with care, Curse the cold clime, and itarve in northern air. Here kindly warmth their mounting juice ferments To nobler tastes, 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 seats, , Or cover me in Umbria's green retreats ; Where western gales eternally refide, And all the seasons lavish all their pride : Blossoms, and fruits, and flowers together rise, And the whole year in gay confusion lies.

Immortal glories in my mind revive, And in my soul a thousand passions strive, When Rome's exalted beauties I descry Magnificent in piles of ruin lie.

An

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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 base degenerate progeny upbraid :
Whole rivers here forsake the fields below,
And wond'ring at their height thro' airy channels

flow.
Still to new scenes my wand'ring muse retires,
And the dumb show of breathing rocks admires ;
Where the smooth chissel all its force has shown,,
And soften'd into flesh the rugged stone.,
In solemn silence, a majestic band,,
Heroes, and Gods, and Roman consuls ftand,
Stern tyrants, whom their cruelties renown,
And emperors in Parian marble frown ;,
While the bright dames, to whom they humbly-su’d,
Știll show the charms that their proud hearts subdu'd.

Fain wou'd I Raphael's godlike art rehearse,
And show th' immortal labours in my verse,
Where from the mingled strength of shade and..

light
A new creation rites to my sight;
Such heav'nly figures from his pencil flow,
So warm with life his blended colours glow.

From

From theme to theme with secret pleasure toft,
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 rise in diftant views,
And opening palaces invite my muse.

How has kind heav'n adorn’d the happy land,
And scatter'd bleflings with a wasteful hand !
But what avail her unexhausted stores,
Her blooming mountains, and her sunny shores,
With all the gifts that heav'n and earth impart,
The smiles of nature, and the charms of art,
While proud oppression in her vallies reigns,
And tyranny ufurps her happy plains ?
The poor inhabitant beholds in vain
The red'ning orange and the swelling grain :
Joyless he sees the growing oils and wines,
And in the myrtle's fragrant shade repines :
Starves, in the midst of nature's bounty curft,
And in the loaden vineyard dies for thirst.

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

Thee,

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