For here the Mufe fo oft her Harp has ftrung,
That not a Mountain rears its Head unfung,
Renown'd in Verfe each fhady Thicket grows,
And ev'ry Stream in Heav'nly Numbers flows.
How am I pleas'd to fearch the Hills and Woods
For rifing Springs and celebrated Floods!
To view the Nar, tumultuous in his Course,
And trace the fmooth Clitumnus to his Sourse,
To fee 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 fmoaking Sulphur 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 fwoln with a whole Winter's Snows,
Diftributes Wealth and Plenty where he flows.
Sometimes mifguided by the tuneful Throng,
I look for Streams immortaliz'd in Song,
That loft in Silence and Oblivion lye,

(Dumb are their Fountains and their Channels dry) Yet run for ever by the Mufes skill,

And in the smooth Description murmur ftill.
Sometimes to gentle Tiber I retire,

And the fam'd River's empty Shores admire,
That deftitute of strength derives its Course
From thrifty Urns and an unfruitful Sourse;
Yet fung fo often in Foetick Lays,

With fcorn the Danube and the Nile furveys.
So high the deathlefs Mufe exalts her Theme!
Such was the Boin, a poor inglorious Stream,
That in Hibernian Vales obfcurely ftray'd,
And unobferv'd in wild Meanders play'd;
Till by Tour Lines and Nassau's Sword renown'd,
Its rifing Billows through the World refound,
Where e'er the Heroe's Godlike A&ts can pierce,
Or where the Fame of an Immortal Verse.

Oh cou'd the Muse my ravifht Breast inspire With Warmth like yours, and raise an equal Fire, Unnumber'd Beauties in my Verse shou'd shine, And Virgil's Italy fhou'd yield to mine!

See how the Golden Groves around me fmile, That fhun the Coaft of Britain's stormy Ifle; Or when tranfplanted and preferv'd with Care, Curfe the Cold Clime, and ftarve in Northern Air. Here kindly Warmth their mounting Juice ferments To nobler Taftes, 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 Baja's gentle Seats, Or cover me in Umbria's Green Retreats; Where Western Gales eternally refide, And all the Seafons lavish all their Pride, Blossoms, and Fruits, and Flowers together rife, And the whole Year in gay Confusion lies. Immortal Glories in my Mind revive, And in my Soul a thousand Paffions strive, When Rome's exalted Beauties I descry Magnificent in Piles of Ruin lye: An Amphitheater's amazing height Here fills my Eye with Terror and Delight, That on its publick 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 bafe degenerate Progeny upbraid.

Whole Rivers here forfake the Fields below,

And wondring at their height through airy Channels flow.

Still to new Scenes my wandring Muse retires, And the dumb fhow of breathing Rocks admires; Where the smooth Chiffel all its Force has shown, And soften'd into Flesh the rugged Stone.

In folemn Silence, a Majestick 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 show th' Immortal Labours in my Verfe.

Where from the mingled ftrength of Shade and Light
A new Creation rifes to my Sight.

Such Heav'nly Figures from his Pencil flow,
So warm with Life his blended Colours glow.
From Theme to Theme with fecret Pleasure toft,
Amidft the foft Variety I'm loft :

Here pleafing Airs my ravifht Soul confound
With circling Notes and Labyrinths of Sound;
Here Domes and Temples rife in diftant Views,
And opening Palaces invite my Muse.

How has kind Heav'n adorn'd the happy Land,
And fcatter'd Bleffings with a wastful Hand!
But what avail her unexhaufted Stores,

Her blooming Mountains and her funny Shores,
With all the Gifts that Heaven 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?
The poor Inhabitant beholds in vain
The red'ning Orange and the swelling Grain:
Joylefs he fees the growing Oils and Wines,
And in the Myrtles fragrant Shade repines:
Starves in the midft of Nature's Bounty curft,
And in the loaden Vineyard dies for Thirft.

Oh Liberty, thou Goddefs Heav'nly bright,
Profufe of Blifs, 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'ft Beauty to the Sun, and Pleasure to the Day.
Thee, Goddess, Thee, Britannia's Ifle adores;
How has the oft exhaufted all her Stores,
How oft in Fields of Death thy Prefence fought
Nor thinks the mighty Prize too dearly bought:
On Foreign Mountains may the Sun refine
The Grapes foft Juice, and mellow it to Wine,
With Citron Groves adorn a diftant 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 Coarfenefs of our Heav'n repine,
Tho' o'er our Heads the frozen Pleiads fhine:
'Tis Liberty that Crowns Britannia's Ille,
And makes her barren Rocks and her bleak Moun
tains smile.

Others with Tow'ring Piles may please the fight,
And in their proud afpiring Domes delight;
A nicer Touch to the ftretcht 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 prefumptuous Kings with War,
And answer her afflicted Neighbour's 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 hufh'd in Peace.
Th'ambitious Gaul beholds with fecret dread
Her Thunder aim'd at his aspiring Head,
And fain her Godlike Sons wou'd difunite
By Foreign Gold, or by Domestick Spite;
But ftrives in vain to Conquer or Divide,
Whom Nalan's Arms defend and Counfels guide.

Fir'd with the Name, which I fo oft have found The diftant Climes and different Tongues resound; I bridle in my ftruggling Mufe 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 song. My humble Verse demands a softer Theme, A painted Meadow or a purling Stream, Unfit for Heroes; whom Immortal Lays, And Lines like Virgil's, or like yours fhou'd praise.

On the Death of AMYNTAS: A Paftoral ELEGY.

Written by Mr. DRYDEN.

Was on a Joylefs and a Gloomy Morn,

Wet was the Grafs, and hung with Pearls the When Damon, who defign'd to pafs the Day [Thorn; With Hounds and Horns, and chafe the flying Prey, Rofe early from his Bed; but foon he found The Welkin pitch'd with fullen Clouds around, An Eastern Wind, and Dew upon the Ground. Thus while he ftood, and fighing did furvey The Fields, and curs'd th' ill Omens of the Day, He faw Menalcas come with heavy pace; Wet were his Eyes, and chearless was his Face: He wrung his Hands, diftracted with his Care, And fent his Voice before him from afar. Return, he cry'd, return unhappy Swain, The fpungy Clouds are fill'd with gath'ring Rain; The Promife of the Day not only cross'd, But ev'n the Spring, the Spring itself is loft. Amyntas,Oh! he cou'd not speak the reft, Nor needed, for prefaging Damon guess'd. Equal with Heav'n young Damon lov'd the Boy; The boast of Nature, both his Parents Joy.