Taking a view of the country from his retirement, he is led to meditate on the character of the ancient BRIWritten at the time of a rumoured tax upon TONS. luxury. 1746. TH Hus DAMON fung-What tho' unknown to praise Umbrageous coverts hide my muse and me; Or mid the rural fhepherds, flow my days, Amid the rural fhepherds, I am free. To view fleek vaffals crowd a stately hall, Lord of my time my devious path I bend, And hail the scene by nature's pencil drawn. Thanks be to fate-tho' nor the racy vine, Here Here if my vista point the mould'ring pile, Pleas'd, if the glowing landskip wave with corn; Or the tall oaks, my country's bulwark, rise; Pleas'd, if mine eye, o'er thousand vallies borne, Difcern the Cambrian hills fupport the skies. And fee PLINLIMMON! ev'n the youthful fight Bleak, joyless regions! where, by science fir'd, Yet for those mountains, clad with lasting fnow, Then if a chief perform'd a patriot's part, Above or Perfian luxe, or Attic art, The rude majestic monument arose. Progreffive Sires, to his praise, attun'd their children's tongue; The hoary druid fed the generous flame, While, in fuch strains, the reverend 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 inftant 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 mystic songs; Hark! from the facred oak that crowns the groves Theirs was the fcience 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, Then if foft concord lull'd their fears to fleep, Now the fleek courtier, indolent and vain, Leave then, O luxury! this happy foil! * Alludes to a tax upon luxury, then in debate. ELEGY ELE GY XXII. Written in the year when the rights of fepulture were fo frequently violated. SAY, gentle fleep, that lov'ft the gloom of night, Whence my late vifion thus endures the light; The filent moon had scal'd the vaulted skies, And anxious care refign'd my limbs to reft; A fudden luftre struck my wond'ring eyes, And SILVIA stood before my couch confeft. Ah! not the nymph fo blooming and fo gay, Intomb'd beneath the grafs-green fod was laid. No more her eyes their wonted radiance cast; 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 fhroud! VOL. I. G Yet |