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SEE diftant mountains leave their valleys dry,
FULL in the centre of thefe wondrous works,
HER Forum fee, warm, popular, and loud, In trembling wonder hush'd, when the two * SIRES, As they the private father greatly quell'd, Stood up the public fathers of the state. See Juftice judging there, in human shape. Hark! how with freedom's voice it thunders high, Or in foft murmurs finks to TULLY's tongue.
HER Tribes, her Cenfus, fee; her generous troops, Whofe pay was glory, and their best reward
* L. J. BRUTUS, and VIRGINIUS.
Free for their country and for ME to die;
MARK, as the purple triumph waves along, The highest pomp and lowest fall of life.
HER feftive games, the school of heroes, fee; 95 Her Circus, ardent with contending youth; Her ftreets, her temples, palaces, and baths, Full of fair forms, of Beauty's eldest born, And of a people cast in virtue's mold. While sculpture lives around, and Afian hills Lend their best stores to heave the pillar'd dome : All that to Roman ftrength the fofter touch. Of Grecian art can join. But language fails To paint this fun, this center of mankind; Where every virtue, glory, treasure, art, Attracted strong, in heightened luftre met.
NEED I the contrast mark? unjoyous view!
ARE thefe the vales, that, once, exulting states In their warm bofom fed? The mountains these, On whofe high-blooming fides my fons, of old, I bred to glory? Thefe dejected towns, Where, mean, and fordid, life can scarce fubfist, The scenes of antient opulence, and pomp?
COME! by whatever facred name difguis'd, OPPRESSION, Come! and in thy works rejoice! See nature's richest plains to putrid fens 125 Turn'd by thy fury. From their chearful bounds, See raz'd th' enlivening village, farm, and seat. First, rural toil, by thy rapacious hand Robb'd of his poor reward, refign'd the plow; And now he dares not turn the noxious glebe. 130 'Tis thine intire. The lonely fwain himself, Who loves at large along the graffy downs His ftocks to pafture, thy drear champian flies. Far as the fickening eye can fweep around, 'Tis all one defart, defolate, and grey, Graz'd by the fullen bufalo alone; And where the rank uncultivated growth Of rotting ages taints the paffing gale. Beneath the baleful blast the city pines, Or finks infeebled, or infected burns. Beneath it mourns the folitary road, Roll'd in rude mazes o'er th' abandon'd waste; While antient ways, ingulph'd, are feen no more.
SUCH thy dire plains, thou felf-destroyer! Foe, To human-kind! Thy mountains too, profuse, 145 Where favage Nature blooms, feem their fad plaint To raise against thy defolating rod.
There on the breezy brow, where thriving ftates,
Draw the bright thread in vain, and idly toil.
NOR half thy triumph this: caft, from brute fields,
With views of fortune-madness all to them!
BUT chief let Rome, the mighty city! speak