Behold that bright unfullied smile, And wisdom speaking in her mien : Yet (she so artless all the while, So little ftudious to be seen)
We nought but inftant gladness know, Nor think to whom the gift we owe.
Of youth and mirth and frolick cheer, Add half that funshine to the hours, Or make life's prospect half so clear, As memory brings it to the eye From scenes where Amoret was by.
Yet nor a fatirift could there
Or fault or indifcretion find; Nor any prouder fage declare
One virtue, pictur❜d in his mind, Whose form with lovelier colours glows Than Amoret's demeanor shows.
This fure is beauty's happiest part : This gives the most unbounded sway: This fhall inchant the subject heart When rose and lily fade away; And She be still, in spite of time, Sweet Amoret in all her prime.
On entering the CAMPANIA of ROME, at OTRICOLI, MDCCLV.
'AIL facred Stream, whofe waters roll
Immortal thro' the claffic page!
To Thee the Mufe-devoted foul,
Tho' deftin'd to a later age And lefs indulgent clime, to Thee, Nor thou difdain, in runic lays Weak mimic of true harmony,
His grateful homage pays.
Far other strains thine elder ear With pleas'd attention wont to hear, When he, who ftrung the Latian lyre, And he, who led th' Aonian quire
From Mantua's reedy lakes with ofiers crown'd, Taught Echo from thy banks with transport to refound. Thy banks-alas, is this the boafted fcene, This dreary, wide, uncultivated plain, Where fick'ning Nature wears a fainter green, And Defolation spreads her torpid reign?
In this the fcene where Freedom breath'd, Her copious horn where Plenty wreath'd, And Health at opening day
Bade all her rofeate breezes fly,
To wake the fons of Industry,
And make their fields more gay?
Where is the villa's rural pride,
The fwelling dome's imperial gleam, Which lov'd to grace thy verdant fide, And tremble in thy golden ftream? Where are the bold, the busy throngs, That rush'd impatient to the war, Or tun'd to peace triumphal fongs, And hail'd the pafling car?
Along the folitary * road,
Th' eternal flint by Confuls trod,
We mufe, and mark the fad decays
Of mighty works, and mighty days!
For these vile waftes, we cry, had Fate decreed
That Veii's fons fhould ftrive, for these Camillus bleed?
Did here, in after-times of Roman pride, The mufing shepherd from Sóracte's height See towns extend where'er thy waters glide, And temples rise, and peopled farms unite ? They did. For this deserted plain The Hero ftrove, nor ftrove in vain ; And here the fhepherd faw
Unnumber'd towns and temples spread, While Rome majestic rear'd her head, gave the nations law.
Yes, Thou and Latium once were great. And ftill, ye firft of human things, Beyond the grafp of time or fate
Her fame and thine triumphant springs. What tho' the mould'ring columns fall, And ftrow the defart earth beneath, Tho' ivy round each nodding wall Entwine its fatal wreath,
Yet fay, can Rhine or Danube boast The numerous glories thou haft loft? Can ev'n Euphrates' palmy fhore, Or Nile, with all his mystic lore, Produce from old records of genuine fame Such heroes, poets, kings, or emulate thy name? Ev'n now the Muse, the conscious Mufe is here; From every ruin's formidable shade
Eternal Mufic breathes on Fancy's ear,
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