Poetic fields encompass me around; And still I seem to tread on classic ground! For here, the Muse so oft her harp has strung, That not a mountain rears its head unsung ! Renowned in Verse each shady thicket grows, And ev'ry stream in heavenly Numbers flows! How am I pleased to search the hills and woods For rising springs and celebrated floods! To view the Nar, tumultuous in his course; And trace the smooth Clitumnus to his source! To see the Mincio draw his wat'ry store Through the long windings of a fruitful shore; And hoary Albula's infected tide, O'er the warm bed of smoking sulphur glide! Fired with a thousand raptures, I survey Eridanus through flow'ry meadows stray! The King of Floods! that, rolling o'er the plains, The tow'ring Alps of half their moisture drains; And, proudly swollen with a whole Winter's snows, Distributes wealth and plenty where he flows! Sometimes, misguided by the tuneful throng, I look for streams immortalized in Song, That lost in silence and oblivion lie (Dumb are their fountains, and their channels dry): Yet run for ever, by the Muses' skill; And in the smooth description murmur still! Sometimes, to gentle Tiber I retire, And the famed river's empty shores admire; With scorn the Danube and the Nile surveys ! O, could the Muse, my ravished breast inspire With warmth like yours, and raise an equal fire; Unnumbered beauties in my Verse should shine, And VIRGIL'S Italy should yield to mine! See, how the golden groves around me smile! That shun the coast of Britain's stormy isle : Or, when transplanted and preserved with care, Curse the cold clime; and starve in northern air! Here, kindly warmth their mounting juice ferments To nobler tastes, and more exalted scents! Ev'n the rough rocks with tender myrtle bloom; And trodden weeds send out a rich perfume! Bear me, some God! to Baja's gentle seats; Or cover me in Umbria's green retreats! Where western gales eternally reside, Immortal glories in my mind revive, An Amphitheatre's amazing height Here fills my eye with terror and delight! Whole rivers here, forsake the fields below; Still to new scenes my wand'ring Muse retires, And the dumb show of breathing rocks admires : Where the smooth chisel all its force has shown, And softened into flesh the rugged stone! In solemn silence, a majestic band, Heroes, and Gods, and Roman Consuls, stand. Stern tyrants, whom their cruelties renown, And Emperors, in Parian marble frown; While the bright Dames, to whom they humbly sued, Still show the charms that their proud hearts subdued. Fain would I RAPHAEL'S Godlike art rehearse; Such heavenly figures from his pencil flow, Here, pleasing Airs my ravished soul confound Here, Domes and Temples rise in distant views; How has kind Heaven adorned the happy land; Her blooming mountains, and her sunny shores; O, LIBERTY! thou Goddess heavenly bright! Profuse of bliss, and pregnant with delight! Eternal pleasures in thy presence reign; And smiling Plenty leads thy wanton Train! Eased of her load, Subjection grows more light; And Poverty looks cheerful in thy sight! Thou mak'st the gloomy face of Nature gay; Giv'st beauty to the sun, and pleasure to the day! Thee, Goddess! Thee, BRITANNIA's Isle adores ! How has she oft exhausted all her stores! How oft, in Fields of Death, thy presence sought; Nor thinks the mighty prize too dearly bought! On foreign mountains may the sun refine And makes her barren rocks and her bleak mountains smile! Others with tow'ring Piles may please the sight; And in their proud aspiring Domes delight! A nicer touch to the stretched canvas give; |