The fountain's fall, the river's flow,
The woody vallies, warm and low;
The windy fummit, wild and high,
Roughly rufhing on the sky!
The pleasant feat, the ruin'd tow'r,
The naked rock, the fhady bow'r ;
The town and village, dome and farm,
Each give each a double charm,
As pearls upon an Æthiop'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 streaks of meadows crofs the eye!
A step methinks may pafs the ftream,
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 coarfe way,
The prefent's still a cloudy day.
O may I with myself agree,
And never covet what I fee!
Content me with an humble shade,
My paflions tam'd, my wifhes 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.
Now, ev'n now, my joys run high,
As on the mountain-turf I lie;
While the wanton Zephyr fings,
And in the vale perfumes his wings;
While the waters murmur deep;
While the shepherd charms his sheep;
While the birds unbounded fly,
And with mufic 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,
you fearch, fhe 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, clofe ally'd,
Ever by each other's fide:
And often, by the murm'ring rill,
Hears the thrufh, while all is ftill,
Within the groves of Grongar Hill.
Afpice murorum moles, præruptaque faxa,
Obrutaque horrenti vafta theatra fitu :
Hæc funt Roma. Viden' velut ipfa cadavera tantæ
Urbis adhuc fpirent imperiofa minas ?
ENOUGH of Grongar, and the shady dales
Of winding Towy, Merlin's fabled haunt,
I fung inglorious. Now the love of arts,
And what in metal or in ftone 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 wafte,
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!
Fall'n, 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 duft;
Ev'n yet majestical; the folemn scene
Elates the foul, while now the rifing fun
Flames on the ruins in the purer air
Tow'ring aloft, upon the glitt'ring plain,
Like broken rocks, a vast circumference ;
Rent palaces, crush'd columns, rifted moles,
Fanes roll'd on fanes, and tombs on buried tombs.
Deep lies in duft the Theban obelifc,
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, unwieldly, his ifland length appears
Above the foamy flood. Globose and huge,
Grey-mould'ring temples fwell, and wide o'ercaft
The folitary landskip, hills and woods,
And boundless wilds; while the vine-mantled brows
The pendent goats unveil, regardless they
Of hourly peril, though the clefted domes
Tremble to every wind. The pilgrim oft
At dead of night, 'mid his oraifon hears
Aghaft the voice of time, difparting tow'rs,
Tumbling all precipitate down-dash'd,
Rattling around, loud thund'ring to the moon :
While murmurs footh each aweful interval
Of ever-falling waters; fhrouded Nile 2,
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.
Yet here advent'rous 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 spiry cypress groves, and tow'ring pine,
Waving aloft o'er the big ruins brows,
On num'rous arches rear'd: and frequent stopp'd,
The funk ground ftartles me with dreadful chafm,
Breathing forth darkness from the vast profound
Of ifles and halls, within the mountain's womb.
Nor these the nether works; all thefe beneath,
And all beneath the vales and hills around,
Extend the cavern'd fewers, maffy, firm,
As the Sibyline grot befide the dead
Lake of Avernus; fuch the fewers huge,
Whither the great Tarquinian genius dooms
a Fountains at Rome adorned with the ftatues of thofe rivers.
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