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| Her unctuous olives, and her purple vines,
(Unfelt the fury of those bursting mines, BOADICEA:
The peasant's hopes, and not in vain, assurd,
In peace upon her sloping sides matur'd.
When on a day, like that of the last doom,
A conflagration lab'ring in her womb,
She teem'd and heav'd with an infernal birth, Bleeding froin the Roman rods,
That shook the circling seas and solid earth. Sought, with an indignant mien,
Dark and voluminous the vapours rise, Counsel of her country's gods,
And hang their horrours in the neighb'ring skies, Sage beneath the spreading oak
While through the Stygian veil, that blots the day,
In dazzling streaks the vivid lightnings play. Sat the Druid, hoary chief;
But oh! what muse, and in what pow'rs of song, Ev'ry burning word he spoke
Can trace the torrent as it burns along? Full of rage, and full of grief.
Havoc and devastation in the van,
It marches o'er the prostrate works of man, “ Princess! if our aged eyes
Vines, olives, herbage, forests disappear, Weep upon thy matchless wrongs,
And all the charms of a Sicilian year. 'T is because resentment ties
Revolving seasons, fruitless as they pass, All the terrours of our tongues.
See it an uninform'd and idle mass;
Without a soil t' invite the tiller's care, “ Rome shall perish — write that word
Or blade, that might redeem it from despair. In the blood that she has spilt ;
Yet time at length (what will not time achieve") Perish, hopeless and abhorr'd, Deep in ruin as in guilt.
Clothes it with earth, and bids the produce live.
Once more the spiry myrtle crowns the glade, « Rome, for empire far renown'd,
And ruminating flocks enjoy the shade.
() bliss precarious, and unsafe retreats, Tramples on a thousand states;
() charming Paradise of short-liv'd sweets! Soon her pride shall kiss the ground Hark! the Gaul is at her gates!
The self-same gale, that wafts the fragrance round,
Brings to the distant ear a sullen sound: 6 Other Romans shall arise,
Again the mountain feels th' imprison'd foe,
.I gain pours ruin on the vale below. Heedless of a soldier's name;
Ton thousand swains the wasted scene deplore, Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize,
That only future ages can restore. Harmony the path to fame.
Ye monarchs, whom the lure of honour draws, " Then the progeny that springs
Who write in blood the merits of your cause,
Who strike the blow, then plead your own defence, Arın'd with thunder, clad with wings,
Glory your aim, but justice your pretence; Shall a wider world command.
Behold in Ætna's emblematic fires
The mischiefs your ambitious pride inspires! « Regions Cæsar never knew
l'ast by the stream, that bounds your just domain, Tby posterity shall sway;
And tells you where ye have a right to reign, Where his eagles never Aew,
A nation dwells, not envious of your throne,
Studious of peace, their neighbours', and their own.
| 11l-fated race ! how deeply must they rue Such the bard's prophetic words,
Their only crime, vicinity to you !
The trumpet sounds, your legions swarm abroad, Bending as he swept the chords
Through the ripe harvest lies their destin'd rud; Of his sweet but aweful lyre.
At every step beneath their feet they tread
The life of multitudes, a nation's bread!
Earth seems a garden in it's loveliest dress
Before them, and behind a wilderness.
Famine, and Pestilence, her first-born son,
Attend to finish what the sword begun;
And echoing praises, such as fiends might earn, “ Ruffians, pitiless as proud,
And Folly pays, resound at your return.
A calin succeeds — but Plenty, with her train Empire is on us bestow'd,
Of heart-felt joys, succeeds not soon again,
And years of pining indigence must show
Yet man, laborious man, by slow degrees,
(Such is his thirst of opulence and ease,) HEROISM.
Plies all the sinews of industrious toil,
Gleans up the refuse of the gen'ral spoil, THERE was a time when Ætna's silent fire
Rebuilds the tow'rs, that smok'd upon the plain, Slept unperceiv'd, the mountain yet entire ; And the Sun gilds the shining spires again. When, conscious of no danger from below,
Increasing commerce and reviving art She tower'd a cloud-capt pyramid of snow.
Renow the quarrel on the conqu'rors part; No thunders shook with deep intestine sound And the sad lesson must be learn'd once more, The blooming groves, that girdled her around. | That wealth within is ruin at the door.
What are ye, monarchs, laurell'a heroes, say, Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapp'd But Etnas of the suff’ring world ye sway? In scarlet-mantle warm, and velvet cap, . Sweet Nature, stripp'd of her embroider'd robe, 'T is now become a luist'ry little known, Deplores the wasted regions of her globe;
That once we call'd the past'ral house our own. And stands a witness at Truth's aweful bar, Short-liv'd possession ! but the record fair, To prove you there destroyers as ye are.
That mem'ry keeps of all thy kindness there, () place me in some Heav'n-protected isle, Still outlives many a storm, that has effac'd Where Peace, and Equity, and Freedom smile ; A thousand other themes less deeply trac'd. Where no volcano pours his fiery food,
Thy nightly visits to my chamber made, No crested warrior dips his pluine in blood; That thou mightst know ine safe and warmly laid ; Where Pow'r secures what Industry has won; Thy morning bounties ere I left my home, Where to succeed is not to be undone ;
The biscuit, or confectionary plum; A land, that distant tyrants hate in vain,
The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestow'd in Britain's isle, beneath a George's reign! By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and glow'd!
All this, and more endearing still than all,
That humour interpos'd too often makes;
All this still legible in mem'ry's page, NORFOLK, THE GIFT OF MY COUSIN ANN BODHAM. And still to be so to my latest age,
| Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay O that those lips had language ! Life has pass'd | Such honours to thee as my numbers may; With me but roughly since I heard thee last. Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere, Those lips are thine — thy own sweet smile I see, Not scorn'd in Heav'n, though little notic'd here. The same, that oft in childhood solac'd me;
Could Time, his flight revers'd, restore the hours, Voice only fails, else how distinct they say, When, playing with thy vesture's tissu'd flow'rs, * Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away!" | The violet, the pink, and jessamine, The meek intelligence of those dear eyes
I prick'd them into paper with a pin, (Blest be the art that can immortalize,
(And thou wast happier than myself the while, The art that baffles Time's tyrannic claim
Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head, and smile,) To quench it,) here shines on me still the same. Could those few pleasant days again appear, (here? Faithful remembrancer of one so dear,
Might one wish bring them, would I wish them O welcome guest, though unexpected here ! I would not trust my heart - the dear delight Who bidd'st me honour with an artless song, Seems so to be desir'd, perhaps I might. Affectionate, a mother lost so long.
But no- what here we call our life is such, I will obey, not willingly alone,
So little to be lov'd, and thou so much, But gladly, as the precept were her own:
That I should ill requite thee to constrain And, while that face renews my filial grief,
Thy unbound spirit into bonds again. Fancy shall weave a charın for my relief,
Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast Shall steep me in Elysian reverie,
(The storms all weather'd and the ocean cross'd) A momentary dream that thou art she.
Shoots into port at some well-haven'd isle, Vy mother! when I learn'd that thou wast dead, Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile, Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed? There sits quiescent on the floods, that show Hover'd thy spirit o'er thy sorr'wing son,
Her beauteous form reflected clear below, Wretch even then, life's journey just begun? While airs impregnated with incense play Perhaps thou gav'st me, though unfelt, a kiss; Around her, fanning light her streamers gay; Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss
So thou, with sails how swift! hast reach'd the shore, Ah that maternal smile! it answers - Yes
“ Where tempests never beat nor billows roar," I heard the bell toll'd on thy burial day,
And thy lov'd consort on the dang 'rous tide
Always from port withheld, always distress'd-
That thought is joy, arrive what may to me. What ardently I wish'd, I long believ'd,
My boast is not, that I deduce my birth And, disappointed still, was still deceiv'd.
From loins enthron'd, and rulers of the Earth; By expectation ev'ry day beguil'd,
But higher far my proud pretensions rise Dupe of to-morrow even from a child.
The son of parents pass'd into the skies. Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went, And now, farewell - Time unrevok'd has run Till, all my stock of infant-sorrow spent,
His wonted course, yet what I wish'd is done. I learn'd at last submission to my lot,
By contemplation's help, not sought in vain, But, though I less deplor'd thee, ne'er forgot. I seem t' have liv'd my childhood o'er again;
Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more, To have renew'd the joys that once were mine, Children not thine have trod my nurs'ry floor; Without the sin of violating thine; And where the gard'ner Robin, day by day, Drew me to school along the public way,
And, while the wings of Fancy still are free,
But will sincerity suffice ? And I can view this mimic show of thee,
It is indeed above all price, Time has but half succeeded in his theft —
And must be made the basis;
But ev'ry virtue of the soul
All shining in their places.
That secrets are a sacred trust,
That constancy behits them,
And all the world admits them.
But 't is not timber, lead, and stone,
To finish a fine building -
The carving and the gilding.
How he esteems your merit,
To pardon or to bear it.
............studiis florens ignobilis oti.
Virg. Georg. lib. iv. HACKNEY'D in business, wearied at that oar, Which thousands, once fast chain’d to, quit no more, But which, when life at ebb runs weak and low, All wish, or seem to wish, they could forego; The statesman, lawyer, merchant, man of trade, Pants for the refuge of some rural shade, Where, all his long anxieties forgot Amid the charms of a sequester'd spot, Or recollected only to gild o'er, And add a smile to what was sweet before, He may possess the joys he thinks he sees, Lay his old age upon the lap of Ease, Improve the remnant of his wasted span, And, having liv'd a trifler, die a man,
Thus Conscience pleads her cause within the breast, At such a sight to catch the poet's flame,
Thine, and upheld by thy paternal care,
This universal frame, thus wondrous fair; From cities humming with a restless crowd, Thy pow'r divine, and bounty beyond thought, Sordid as active, ignorant as loud,
Ador'd and prais'd in all that thou hast wrougtii. Whose highest praise is that they live in vain, Absorb’d in that immensity I see, The dupes of pleasure, or the slaves of gain, I shrink abas'd, and yet aspire to thee; Where works of man are cluster'd close around, Instruct me, guide me to that heav'nly day, And works of God are hardly to be found,
Thy words, more clearly than thy works, display, To regions where, in spite of sin and woe,
That, while thy truths my grosser thoughts refine, Traces of Eden are still seen below,
I may resemble thee, and call thee mine.”
The recompense that arts or arms can yield,
The bar, the senate, or the tented field. True wisdom will attend his feeble call,
Compar’d with this sublimest life below, And grace his action ere the curtain fall.
Ye kings and rulers, what have courts to show ? Souls, that have long despis'd their heav'nly birth, Thus studied, us'd and consecrated thus, Their wishes all impregnated with Earth,
On Earth what is, seems form'd indeed for us: For threescore years employ'd with ceaseless care Not as the plaything of a froward child, In catching smoke and feeding upon air,
Fretful unless diverted and beguild, Conversant only with the ways of man,
Much less to feed and fan the fatal fires Rarely redeem the short remaining ten,
Of pride, ambition, or impure desires, Invet'rate habits choke th' unfruitful heart, But as a scale, by which the soul ascends Their fibres penetrate it's tend'rest part,
From mighty means to more important ends, And, draining it's nutritious pow’rs to feed Securely, though by steps but rarely trod, Their noxious growth, starve ev'ry better seed. Mounts from inferior beings up to God,
Happy, if full of days — but happier far, And sees by no fallacious light or dim, If, ere we yet discern life's ev’ning star,
Earth made for man, and man himself for him Sick of the service of a world, that feeds
Not that I mean t' approve, or would enforce
Truth is not local, God alike pervades
And may be fear'd amidst the busiest scenes, (Infinite skill) in all that he has made !
Or scoru'd where business never intervencs To trace in Nature's most minute design
But 't is not easy with a mind like ours. The signature and stamp of power divine,
Conscious of weakness in it's noblest pow'rs, Contrivance intricate, express'd with ease,
And in a world, where, other ills apart, Where unassisted sight no beauty secs,
The roving eye misleads the careless heart, The shapely limb and lubricated joint,
To limit thought, by nature prone to stray Within the small dimensions of a point,
Wherever freakish Fancy points the way;
To bid the pleadings of Self-love be still,
To spread the page of Scripture, and compare
Our conduct with the laws engraven there;
To measure all that passes in the breast,
Ourselves, and our recov'ry from our fall.
The point of int'rest, or the post of pow'r, Then with a glance of fancy to survey,
A soul serene, and equally retir'd Far as the faculty can stretch a way,
From objects too much dreaded or desir'd, Ten thousand rivers pour'd at his command Safe from the clamours of perverse dispute, From urns, that never fail, through ev'ry land; At least are friendly to the great pursuit. These like a deluge with impetuous force,
Up'ning the map of God's extensive plan, Those winding modestly a silent course;
We find a little isle this life of man; The cloud-surmounting Alps, the fruitful vales; Eternity's unknown expanse appears Seas, on which ev'ry nation spreads her sails; Circling around and limiting his years, The Sun, a world whence other worlds drink light, The busy race examine and explore The crescent Moon, the diadem of night; | Each creek and cavern of the dang 'rous shore, Stars countless, cach in his appointed place,
With care collect what in their eyes cxcels, Last anchord in the deep abyss of space - | Some shining pebbles, and some words and shalls;