An amphitheatre's amazing height
Here fills my eye with terror and delight,
That on its public fhows unpeopled Rome,
And held uncrowded nations in its womb:
Here pillars rough with sculpture pierce the fkies
And here the proud triumphal arches rife,
Where the old Romans deathless acts display'd,
Their base degenerate progeny upbraid:
Whole rivers here forfake 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 chiffel all its force has fhown,,
And soften'd into flesh the rugged stone.
In folemn filence, a majestic band,
Heroes, and Gods, and Roman confuls ftand,
Stern tyrants, whom their cruelties renown,
And emperors in Parian marble frown;
While the bright dames, to whom they humbly fu’d,
Still fhow the charms that their proud hearts fubdu’d.
Fain wou'd I Raphael's godlike art rehearse,
And fhow th' immortal labours in my verse,
Where from the mingled ftrength of fhade and
light
A new creation rifes to my fight,.
Such heav'nly figures from his pencil flow,
So warm with life his blended colours glow,
From theme to theme with fecret pleasure toft,
Amidst the soft variety I'm loft:
Here pleafing airs my ravisht soul confound
With circling notes and labyrinths of found;
Here domes and temples rise in distant views,
And opening palaces invite my mufe.
How has kind heav'n adorn'd the happy land,
And scatter'd bleffings with a wasteful hand!
But what avail her unexhausted stores,
Her blooming mountains, and her funny shores,
With all the gifts that heav'n and earth impart,
The smiles of nature, and the charms of art,
While proud oppreffion in her vallies reigns,
And tyranny ufurps her happy plains ?
poor inhabitant beholds in vain
The red'ning orange and the fwelling grain =
Joylefs he fees the growing oils and wines,
And in the myrtle's fragrant fhade repines:
Starves, in the midft 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 prefence 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 fun, and pleasure to the day.
Thee, Goddefs, thee, Britannia's ifle adores;
How has fhe oft exhausted all her ftores,
How oft in fields of death thy presence fought,
Nor thinks the mighty prize too dearly bought!
On foreign mountains may the fun refine
The grape's foft juice, and mellow it to wine,
With citron groves adorn a distant soil,
And the fat olive fwell with floods of oil:
We envy not the warmer clime, that lies
In ten degrees of more indulgent skies,
Nor at the coarseness of our heav'n repine,
Tho' o'er our heads the frozen pleiads shine :
'Tis Liberty that crowns Britannia's isle,
And makes her barren rocks and her bleak mountains fmile.
Others with tow'ring piles may please the fight,
And in their proud aspiring domes delight;
A nicer touch to the stretcht canvas give,
Or teach their animated rocks to live:
'Tis Britain's care to watch o'er Europe's fate,
And hold in balance each contending state;
To threaten bold presumptuous kings with war,
And answer her afflicted neighbours' pray'r.
The Dane and Swede, rouz'd up by fierce alarms,
Blefs the wife conduct of her pious arms:
Soon as her fleets appear, their terrors cease,
And all the northern world lies hush'd in peace.
Th' ambitious Gaul beholds with fecret dread
Her thunder aim'd at his afpiring head,
And fain her godlike fons wou'd difunite
By foreign gold, or by domestic spite;
But strives in vain to conquer or divide,
Whom Naffau's arms defend and counfels guide.
Fir'd with the name, which I fo oft have found
The diftant climes and diff'rent tongues refound
I bridle in my struggling muse with pain,
That longs to launch into a bolder strain.
But I've already troubled you too long, Nor dare attempt a more advent'rous fong.. My humble verse demands a fofter theme, A painted meadow, or a purling ftream; Unfit for heroes; whom immortal lays,,
And lines like Virgil's, or like yours, fhou'd praise..
"The Hiftory of JOHN GILPIN,
Of CHEAP SID E.
A DROLL STORY, read by Mr. HENDERSON, with great Applause, at Free Mafon's Tavern.
OHN GIL PIN was a citizen
Of credit and renown;
A train-band captain eke was he
Of famous London town.
John Gilpin's fpoufe faid to her dear
Though wedded we have been
These twice ten tedious years, yet we
"No holiday have seen.
To-morrow is our wedding-day, "And we will then repair Unto the Bell at Edmonton, "All in a chaise and pair.
My fifter and my fister's child,
Myself and children three,
* Will fill the chaife; so you must ride
"On horfeback after we."
He foon reply'd-" I do admire
"Of womankind but one;
And you are fhe, my dearest dear,
Therefore it fhall be done.
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