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ROM Latian fields, the mansions of Renown,
Where fix'd the Warrior God his fated feat; Where infant Heroes learnt the martial frown,
And little hearts for genuine glory beat;
What for my friend, my foldier, fhall I frame ?
What nobly-glowing verfe that breathes of arms, To point his radiant path to deathless fame,
By great examples, and terrific charms?
Quirinus first, with bold, collected bands,
The finewy sons of strength, for empire trove ; Beneath his thunder bow'd th' astonish'd lands,
And temples rose to Mars, and to Feretrian Jove.
War taught contempt of death, contempt of pain
And hence the Fabii, hence the Decii come :
Stern War, the rugged nurse of virtuous Rome.
But not from antique fables will I draw;
To fire thy feeling soul, a dubious aid,
By Poets or Historians facred made.
Nor yet to thee the babling Muse hall tell
What mighty Kings with all their legions wrought,
When Cæsar, Titus, or when Trajan fought,
Whilst o’er yon hill th’ exalted a Trophy shows
The great, the self-ennobled Marius role.
From steep Arpinum's rock-invested thade,
From hardy Virtue's emulative school
And by obeying nobly learnt to rule.
Abash'd, confounded, ftern Iberia groan'd,
And Afric trembled to lier utmost coafts ;
In the new Consul, and his veteran hosts.
Yet Chiefs are madmen, and Ambition weak,
And mean the joys the laurel'd harvests yield, If Virtue fail. Let Fame, let Envy speak
Of Capfa’s walls, and Sextia’s watry field. But sink for ever, in oblivion caft,
Dishoneft triumphs, and ignoble spoils. Minturnæ's Marsh severely paid at last
The guilty glories gain'd in civil broils.
Nor yet his vain contempt the Muse shall praise
For scenes of polish'd life, and letter'd worth; The steel-rib'd Warrior wants not Envy's ways
To darken theirs, or call his merits forth,
Cimbrian Trophies !-Marius, there
upper air, and scorns a middle sky.
Thence too thy country claim'd thee for her own,
And bade the Sculptor's toil thy acts adorn, To teach in characters of living stone
Eternal lessons to the youth unborn.
For wisely Rome her warlike Sons rewards
With the sweet labours of her Artists' hands; He wakes her Graces, who her empire guards,
And loth Minervas join in willing bands.
O why, Britannia, why untrophied pass
„The patriot deeds thy godlike Sons display, Why breathes on high no monumental brass,
Why swells no Arc to grace Culloden's Day!
Wait we till faithless France submissive bow
Beneath that Hero's delegated spear,
And scatter'd her vile rout with horror in the rear ?
O Land of Freedom, Land of Arts, assume
That graceful dignity thy merits claim;
And build their virtues on their love of fame.
So shall the modest worth, which checks my friend,
Forget its blush when rous'd by Glory's charms;
And fill new trophies rise, at once, to Arts, and Arms,
'T Whofeinaval Form divides
the Tuscan food,
WAS in this ifte, O Wright indulge my lay,
Whofe naval form divides the Tuscan food, In the bright dawn of her illustrious day
Rome fix'd her Temple to the healing God.
Here ftood his altars, here his arm he bared,
And round his mystic staff the ferpent twind, Through crowded portals hymns of praise were heard,
And victims bled, and sacred seers divin'd.
On every breathing wall, on every round
Of column, swelling with proportion'd grace, Its stated feat fome votive tablet found,
And storied wonders dignified the place.
o The Insula Tiberina, where there are still some small remaiss of the famous temple of Æfculapius.