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And wakes to more than form th' illustrious dead.
Thy Cæsars, Scipios, Catos rise,
In solemn statę advance !
Who knew those virtues to reward
Secure, th' historian and the bard,
Still warm in youth immortal lives;
Thy glory ftill survives.
What copious torrents pour their streams!
Her spear yet lifţed, and her corslet brac'd,
Tho’ from his caves th’unfeeling North
Yet still thy laurels bloom :
Has wash'd the walls of Rome.
E LE GI E S.
By the Same.
E L E G Y I.
Written at the Convent of HAUT VILLERS in
ILENT and clear, thro' yonder peaceful vale,
While Marne's slow waters weave their mazy way, See, to th' exulting fun, and foft'ring gale,
What boundless treasures his rich banks display!
Fast by the stream, and at the mountain's base,
The lowing herds thro' living pastures rove; Wide -waving harvests crown the rising space ;
And still fuperior nods the viny grove.
High on the top, as guardian of the scene,
Imperial Sylvan spreads his umbrage wide ;
Or in the vale, or on the mountain's fide,
To mark that Man, as tenant of the whole,
Claims the just tribute of his culturing care,
The boon which Heaven accepts, of praife and prayer.
O dire effects of war! the time has been
When Desolation vaunted here her reign ;
And Marne ran purple to the frighted Seine.
Oft at his work the toilfome day to cheat
The fwain ftill talks of those disastrous times,
Taught christian zeal to authorize their crimes:
Oft to his children sportive on the grass
Does dreadful tales of worn Tradition tell,
Where Force thrice triumph'd, and where Biron fell.
O dire effects of war!-may ever more
Thro' this sweet vale the voice of discord cease!
Can with the blessings of eternal peace.
Yet say, ye monks, (beneath whose moss-grown sea,
Within whose cloifter'd cells th' indebted Muse Awhile sojourns, for meditation meet,
And these loose thoughts in pensive train pursues)
Avails it aught, that War's rude tumult spare
Yon cluster'd vineyard, or yon golden field, If niggards to yourselves, and fond of care,
You flight the joys their copious treasures yield?
Avails it aught that Nature's liberal hand
With every blessing grateful man can know Cloaths the rich bolom of yon smiling land,
The mountain's floping fide, or pendant brow,
If meagre Famine paint your pallid cheek,
If breaks the midnight bell your hours of rest, If 'midst heart-chilling damps, and winter bleak,
You fhun the cheerful bowl, and moderate feaft!
Look forth, and be convinc'd ! 'tis Nature pleads,
Her ample volume opens on your view,
Feels the glad truth, and is it hid from you?
Look forth, and be convinc'd. Yon prospects wide
To Reason's ear how forcibly they speak; Compar'd with those how dull is letter'd Pride, And Auftin's babbling Eloquence how weak!
Temp'rance, not Abftinence, in every bliss
Is Man's true joy, and therefore Heaven's command. The wretch who riots thanks his God amiss :
Who starves, rejects the bounties of his hand.
Mark, while the Marne in yon full channel glides,
How smooth his course, how Nature smiles around ! Bat should impetuous torrents swell his tides,
The fairy landskip sinks in oceans drown'd.
Nor less disastrous should his thrifty urn
Neglected leave the once well-water'd land, To dreary wastes yon paradise would turn,
Polluted ooze, or heaps of barren fand.
E L EGY II.
On * the MAUSOLEUM of AUGUSTUS,
To the Right Honourable
Written at Rome, 1756.
A where hepe
Say, shall we linger still in thought profound,
And meditate the mournful paths to fame?