Here if my vifta point the mould'ring pile,
Where hood and cowl devotion's aspect wore,
I trace the tott'ring reliques with a smile,
To think the mental bondage is no more!

Pleas'd, if the glowing landscape wave with corn;
Or the tall oaks, my country's bulwark, rife;
Pleas'd, if mine eye, o'er thousand vallies borne,
Difcern the Cambrian hills support the skies.

And fee PLINLIMMON! ev'n the youthful fight
Scales the proud hill's etherial cliffs with pain!
Such, CAER-CARADOC! thy ftupendous height,
Whose ample shade obfcures th' Iernian main.

Bleak, joyless regions! where, by fcience fir'd,
Some prying fage his lonely ftep may bend;
There, by the love of novel plants infpir'd,
Invidious view the clamb'ring goats afcend.

Yet for thofe mountains, clad with lafting fnow,
The freeborn BRITON left his greeneft mead;
Receding fullen from his mightier foe,

For here he faw fair liberty recede.

Then if a chief perform'd a patriot's part,
Suftain'd her drooping fons, repell'd her foes,

Above or Perfian luxe, or Attic art,
The rude majestic monument arose.

F4

Progreffive

Progreffive ages carol'd forth his fame;

Sires, to his praise, attun'd their children's tongue; The hoary druid fed the gen'rous flame,

While, in fuch strains, the rev'rend wizard fung.

"Go forth, my fons !-for what is vital breath,
Your gods expell'd, your liberty refign'd?
Go forth, my fons !-for what is instant death
To fouls fecure perennial joys to find?

For scenes there are, unknown to war or pain,
Where drops the balm that heals a tyrant's wound;
Where patriots, bleft with boundless freedom, reign,
With misletoe's myfterious garlands crown'd.

Such are the names that grace your myftic fongs;
Your folemn woods refound their martial fire;
To you, my fons, the ritual meed belongs,
If in the cause you vanquish, or expire.

Hark! from the facred oak that crowns the groves,
What aweful voice my raptur'd bofom warms;

This is the favour'd moment heav'n approves,
Sound the fhrill trump; this inftant, found, to arms."

Theirs was the science of a martial race,

To shape the lance, or decorate the shield; Ev'n the fair virgin ftain'd her native grace,

To give new horrors to the tented field.

Now,

Now, for fome cheek where guilty blushes glow,
For fome falfe FLORIMEL'S impure disguise,
The lifted youth, nor war's loud fignal know,

Nor virtue's call, nor fame's imperial prize.

Then if foft concord lull'd their fears to fleep,
Inert and filent slept the manly car;

But rufh'd horrific o'er the fearful steep,
If freedom's aweful clarion breath'd to war.

Now the fleek courtier, indolent and vain,
Thron'd in the fplendid carriage glides fupine;
To taint his virtue with a foreign ftrain,
Or at a fav'rite's board, his faith refign.

Leave then, O luxury! this happy foil!
Chafe her, BRITANNIA, to fome hoftile fhore!
Or fleece the baneful peft with annual spoil,
And let thy virtuous offspring weep no more!

ELEGY XXII.

Written in the year

SA

when the rights of fepulture were fo frequently violated.

AY, gentle Sleep, that lov'ft the gloom of night, Parent of dreams! thou great magician, say, Whence my late vifion thus endures the light; Thus haunts my fancy thro' the glare of day.

* Alludes to a tax upon Luxury, then in debate.

The

The filent moon had fcal'd the vaulted skies,
And anxious care refign'd my limbs to rest;
A fudden luftre ftruck my wond'ring eyes,
And SILVIA ftood before my couch confeft.

Ah! not the nymph fo blooming and fo gay,
That led the dance beneath the festive shade!
But the that, in the morning of her day,

Intomb'd beneath the grafs-green fod was laid.

No more her eyes their wonted radiance caft;
No more her breast inspir'd the lover's flame,
No more her cheek the Pæftan rose surpast;
Yet feem'd her lip's etherial smile the same.

Nor fuch her hair as deck'd her living face;

Nor fuch her voice as charm'd the lift'ning crowd; Nor fuch her drefs as heighten'd ev'ry grace;

Alas! all vanish'd for the mournful shroud!

Yet feem'd her lip's etherial charm the fame;
That dear diftinction every doubt remov'd;
Perish the lover, whofe imperfect flame

Forgets one feature of the nymph he lov'd.

"DAMON, fhe said, mine hour allotted flies;

Oh do not wafte it with a fruitless tear!
Tho' griev'd to fee thy SILVIA's pale difguife,
Sufpend thy forrow, and attentive hear.

So

So may thy mufe with virtuous fame be bleft!
So be thy love with mutual love repaid!
So may thy bones in facred filence reft,

Faft by the reliques of fome happier maid!

Thou know'ft, how ling'ring on a diftant fhore
Disease invidious nipt my flow'ry prime;

And oh ! what pangs my tender bofom tore,
To think I ne'er muft view my native clime!

No friend was near to raise my drooping head;
No dear companion wept to see me die ;
Lodge me within my native foil, I faid;
There my fond parents' honour'd reliques lie.

Tho' now debarr'd of each domestic tear,
Unknown, forgot, I meet the fatal blow;
There many a friend shall grace my woeful bier,
And many a figh fhall rife, and tear fhall flow.

I fpoke, nor faté forbore his trembling spoil;
Some venal mourner lent his careless aid;
And foon they bore me to my native foil,
Where my fond parents' dear remains were laid.

'Twas then the youths from ev'ry plain and grove, Adorn'd with mournful verfe thy SILVIA's bier; "Twas then the nymphs their votive garlands wove,

And firew'd the fragrance of the youthful year.

But