Child of the Sun, why droops thy withering head, While high in Leo flames thy radiant Sire; With Egypt's glory is thy glory fled? And with her genius quench'd thy native fire? For, direr than her desert's burning wind, Gaul's furious legions sweep yon ravag'd vale; Death stalks before, grim Famine howls behind, And screams of horror load the tainted gale. Nile's crimson'd waves with blood polluted roll, Her groves, her fanes, devouring fire consumes; But mark-slow rising near the distant pole, A sudden splendour all her shores illumes! Fatal to Gaul-'tis Britain's rising star, That in the South the bright ascendant gains; Resplendent! as her Sirius shines from far, And with new fervors fires the Lybian plains. A race, as Egypt's ancient warriors brave, For her insulted sons indignant glows, Defies the tropic storm, the faithless wave, And hurls destruction on their haughty foes. Exulting to his source old Nilus hears The deepening thunder of the British line; Again its lovely head the Lotos rears, Again the fields in rainbow glories shine. Still wider, beauteous Plant! thy leaves extend, Nor dread the eye of an admiring Muse; In union with the rising song ascend, Spread all thy charms, and all thy sweets diffuse. Of that bold race beneath the Pleïads born, To chaunt thy praise a northern bard aspires, Nor with more ardour, erst, at early dawn. The Theban harpists smote their votive lyres. For oh! can climes th' excursive genius bound, Four thousand summers have thy pride survey'd, Still 'mid these ruin'd towers, admired, revered, Wave high thy foliage, and secure expand; These vast but crumbling piles by man were rear'd, But thou wert form'd by an Immortal hand! With Natures' charms alone thy charms shall fade, With Being's self thy beauteous tribe declineOh! living, may thy flow'rs my temples shade, And decorate, when dead, my envied shrine! EPIGRAM. How well has Heaven proportion'd Sylla's whole: A little body to a little soul! R. A. D. ODE ON SIMPLICITY IN WORKS OF GENIUS. BY MRS. LOVETT. • SIMPLICITY, when thee of yore And still on thee her fav'rite child Hence of her works the choicest part Still to the inmost last retreat, Dost thou assert thine ample pow'r, For as the time-coeval rock, But dost thou shift the tragic scene, Alike by each fond parent grac'd, Thy Sire, to bless thy natal hour, When early Greece thy sway confest, Fair Poësy led on the band, Sculpture and Painting hand in hand, With Music join'd the train. Safe 'midst wide raging War's alarms, This Macedonian Philip knew, In vain did Freedom's matchless son For though her thunders arm'd his tongue, Torn from thy native place of rest, Save when thou didst at parting trace 'Twas first upon the Latian coast (Of Rome, as late of Greece the boast,) Thou didst resume thy state; The frighted Arts soon met thee there, * Demosthenes. |