The windy fummit, wild and high,
Roughly rufhing on the sky!
The pleasant feat, the ruin'd tower,
The naked rock, the shady bower;
The town and village, dome and farm,
Each give each a double charm,
As pearls upon an Ethiop's arm.
See on the mountain's fouthern fide,
Where the profpect opens wide,
Where the evening gilds the tide;
How close and fmall the hedges lie!
What ftreaks of meadows cross the eye!
A ftep methinks may pafs the stream,
So little diftant dangers feem;
So we mistake the future's face,
Ey'd through Hope's deluding glass ;
As yon fummits foft and fair,
Clad in colours of the air,
Which, to those who journey near,
Barren, brown, and rough appear;
Still we tread the fame coarse way,
The prefent 's ftill a cloudy day.
O may I with myself agree,
And never covet what I fee:
Content me with an humble fhade,
My paffions tam'd, my wishes laid;
For, while our wishes wildly roll,
We banish quiet from the foul:
'Tis thus the bufy beat the air,
And mifers gather wealth and care.
B 3
Now, ev'n now, my joys run high,
As on the mountain-turf I lie;
While the wanton Zephyr sings,
And in the vale perfumes his wings;
While the waters murmur deep;
While the shepherd charms his fheep;
While the birds unbounded fly,
And with mufick fill the sky,
Now, ev'n now, my joys run high.
Be full, ye courts; be great who will;
Search for Peace with all your skill:
Open wide the lofty door,
Seek her on the marble floor,
In vain you search, she is not there ;
In vain ye fearch the domes of care!
Grafs and flowers Quiet treads,
On the meads, and mountain-heads,
Along with Pleasure, close ally'd,
Ever by each other's fide:
And often, by the murmuring rill,
Hears the thrush, while all is ftill,
Within the groves of Grongar Hill.
Obrutaque horrenti vesta theatra fitu:
"Hæc funt Roma. Viden' velut ipfa cadavera tantæ "Urbis adhuc fpirent imperiofa minas ?"
ENOUGH of Grongar, and the fhady dales
Of winding Towy, Merlin's fabled haunt
I fung inglorious. Now the love of arts,
And what in metal or in stone remains
Of proud antiquity, through various realms
And various languages and ages fam`d,
Bears me remote, o'er Gallia's woody bounds,
O'er the cloud-piercing Alps remote; beyond
The vale of Arno purpled with the vine,
Beyond the Umbrian and Etrufcan hills,
To Latium's wide champain, forlorn and waste,
Where yellow Tiber his neglected wave
Mournfully rolls. Yet once again, my Muse,
Yet once again, and foar a loftier flight;
Lo the refiftless theme, imperial Rome.
Fallin, fall'n, a filent heap; her heroes all
Sunk in their urns; behold the pride of pomp,
The throne of nations fall'n; obfcur`d in dust ;
Ev'n yet majestical: the folemn scene
Elates the foul, while now the rifing Sun
Flames on the ruins in the purer
Towering aloft, upon the glittering plain,
Like broken rocks, a vast circumference;
Rent palaces, crush'd columns, rifled moles,
Fanes roll'd on fanes, and tombs on buried tombs.
Deep lies in duft the Theban obelisk
Immenfe along the wafte; minuter art,
Gliconian forms, or Phidian, fubtly fair,
O'erwhelming; as th' immenfe Leviathan
The finny brood, when near Ierne's fhore
Out-ftretch'd, unwieldy, his ifland length appears
Above the foamy flood. Globofe and huge,
Grey-mouldering temples fwell, and wide o'ercaft
The folitary landscape, hills and woods,
And boundlefs wilds; while the vine-mantled brows
The pendent goats unveil, regardless they
Of hourly peril, though the clifted domes
Tremble to every wind. The pilgrim oft
At dead of night, 'mid his oraifon hears
Aghaft the voice of time, difparting towers,
Tumbling all precipitate down-dash'd,
Rattling around, loud thundering to the Moon;
While murmurs footh each aweful interval
Of ever-falling waters; shrouded Nile *,
Eridanus, and Tiber with his twins,
And palmy Euphrates; they with dropping locks,
Hang o'er their urns, and mournfully among
The plaintive-echoing ruins pour their streams.
*Fountains at Rome adorned with the ftatues of
Yet here, adventurous in the facred fearch
Of ancient arts, the delicate of mind,
Curious and modeft, from all climes refort,
Grateful fociety! with these I raise
The toilfome step up the proud Palatin,
Through fpiry cypress groves, and towering pine,
Waving aloft o'er the big ruins brows,
On numerous arches rear'd: and frequent stopp'd,
The funk ground startles me with dreadful chafm,
Breathing forth darkness from the vaft profound
Of ifles and halls, within the mountain's womb.
Nor these the nether works; all these beneath,
And all beneath the vales and hills around,
Extend the cavern'd fewers, maffy, firm,
As the Sibylline grot beside the dead
Lake of Avernus; fuch the fewers huge,
Whither the great Tarquinian genius dooms
Each wave impure; and proud with added rains,
Hark how the mighty billows lash their vaults,
And thunder; how they heave their rocks in vain!
Though now inceffant time has roll'd around
A thousand winters o'er the changeful world,
And yet a thousand fince, th' indignant floods
Roar loud in their firm bounds, and dash and fwell,
In vain; convey'd to Tiber's lowest waye.
Hence over airy plains, by crystal founts,
That weave their glittering waves with tuneful lapfe,
Among the fleeky pebbles, agate clear,
Cerulean ophite, and the flowery vein
Of orient jafper, pleas'd I move along,
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