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No more the virgins fhall delight to rove
By Sargis' banks, or Irwan's fhady grove ;
On Tarkie's mountain catch the cooling gale,
Or breathe the fweets of Aly's flowery vale:
Fair scenes! but, ah! no more with peace poffeft,
With ease alluring, and with plenty bleft.
No more the shepherd's whitening tents appear,
Nor the kind products of a bounteous year;
No more the date, with snowy blossoms crown'd!
But ruin fpreads her baleful fires around.

SE CAN DER.

In vain Circaffia boasts her spicy groves,
For ever fam'd for pure and happy loves :
In vain the boafts her faireft of the fair,
Their eye's blue languish, and their golden hair!-
Thofe eyes in tears their fruitless grief muft fend ;
Thofe hairs the Tartar's cruel hand shall rend.

AGI B.

Ye Georgian fwains that piteous learn from far Circaffi's ruin, and the wafte of war;

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Some weightier arms than crooks and staffs prepare;
To fhield your harvests, and defend your fair :
The Turk and Tartar like designs pursue,
Fix'd to deftroy, and ftedfaft to undo..
Wild as his land, in native deserts bred,

By luft incited, or by malice led,

!

The

The villain Arab, as he prowls for prey,

Oft marks with blood and wafting flames the way; Yet none fo cruel as the Tartar foe,

To death inur'd, and nurs'd in scenes of woe.

He faid; when loud along the vale was heard A fhriller fhriek, and nearer fires appear'd: Th' affrighted fhepherds thro' the dews of night, Wide o'er the moon-light hills renew'd their flight.

A LET

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HILE you, my lord, the rural fhades admire,

Wand from

WH And from Britannia's public posts retire,

Nor longer, her ungrateful fons to please,
For their advantage facrifice your ease;
Me into foreign realms my fate conveys,
Through nations fruitful of immortal lays,
Where the soft season and inviting clime
Confpire to trouble your repofe 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 feem to tread on claffic ground;
For here the muse so oft her harp has ftrung,
That not a mountain rears its head unfung,
Renown'd in verse each fhady thicket grows,
And ev'ry ftream in heav'nly numbers flows.

How

How am I pleas'd to fearch the hills and woods For rifing springs and celebrated floods!

To view the Nar, tumultuous in his courfe,
And trace the fmooth Clitumnus to his fource;
To fee the Mincio draw his watry ftore
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 furvey
Eridanus through flow'ry meadows ftray,
The king of floods! that rolling o'er the plains
The tow'ring Alps of half their moisture drains,
And proudly swoln with a whole winter's fnows,
Diftributes wealth and plenty where he flows.
Sometimes, mifguided by the tuneful throng,
I look for ftreams 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 fhores admire,
That deftitute of ftrength derives its course.
From thrifty urns and an unfruitful fource;
Yet fung fo often in poetic lays,
With fcorn the Danube and the Nile furveys;
So high the deathless muse exalts her theme!
Such was the Boyn, a poor inglorious ftream,

That

That in Hibernian vales obfcurely ftray'd,
And unobferv'd in wild Meanders play'd;
Till by your lines and Naffau's fword renown'd,
Its rifing billows through the world refound,
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 shou'd shine,
And Virgil's Italy fhould yield to mine!

See how the golden groves around me smile, That fhun the coaft of Britain's ftormy ifle, Or when tranfplanted and preferv'd with care, Curfe the cold clime, and starve in northern air. Here kindly warmth their mounting juice ferments To nobler taftes, and more exalted fcents: 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 feats, Or cover me in Umbria's green retreats ; Where western gales eternally refide, And all the feasons lavish all their pride: Bloffoms, and fruits, and flowers together rife, And the whole year. in gay confufion lies.

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

An

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