Still o'er their fav'rite's monument they mourn,
And with poetic trophies grace his urn:

Have placed the shield and martial trumpet here;
The fhepherd's pipe, and rural honours there :
Fancy had deck'd the confecrated ground,
And scatter'd never-fading rofes round.
And now my bold romantic thought aspires
To hear the echo of celeftial lyres;

Then catch fome found to bear delighted home,
And boast I learnt the verse at Virgil's tomb;
Or ftretch'd beneath thy myrtle's fragrant shade,
With dreams extatic hov'ring o'er my head,
See forms august, and laurel'd ghosts ascend,
And with thyfelf, perhaps, the long proceffion end.
I came but foon the phantoms disappear'd;

Far other scenes, than wanton Hope had rear'd;
No faery rites, no funeral pomp I found;
No trophied walls with wreaths of laurel round:
A mean unhonour'd ruin faintly fhow'd
The spot where once thy maufoleum stood:
Hardly the form remain'd; a nodding dome
O'ergrown with mofs is now all Virgil's tomb.
'Twas fuch a scene as gave a kind relief
To memory, in sweetly-penfive grief:

Gloomy,

Gloomy, unpleafing images it wrought;
No mufing, foft complacency of thought:
For Time had canker'd all, and worn away
Ev'n the last, mournful graces of decay:
Oblivion, hateful goddess, fate before,
And cover'd with her dufky wings the door :
No filver harps I heard, no Muse's voice,
But birds obfcene in horrid notes rejoice:
Fancy recoil'd, and with his tinfel train,
Forfook the chearless scene; no more remain
The warm ambitious hopes of airy youth;
Severe Reflection came, and frowning Truth:
Away each glitt'ring gay idea fled,

And bade a melancholy train fucceed,

That form'd, or feem'd to form, a mournful call

In feeble echoes mutt'ring round the wall.

Seek not the Mufes here! th' affrighted maids
Have fled Parthenope's polluted fhades:
Her happy fhores, the feats of joy and ease,
Their fav'rite manfions once, no longer please:
No longer, as of old, in transport loft,

The fifters rove along th' enchanted coast;

They turn with horror from each much-lov'd stream, And loath the fields that were their darling theme :

The

The tuneful names themfelves once fondly gave
To every fwelling hill, and moffy cave,

So pleafing then, are only heard with fighs;
And each fad echo bids their forrow rife.

Yet Nature fmiles, as when their Virgil fung,
Nor 'midst a fairer fcene his lyre was ftrung;
Still bloom the fweets of his elyfium here,
And the fame charms in every grove appear.
But ah! in vain indulgent funs prevail;
Health and delight in every balmy gale

Are wafted now in vain: fmall comfort bring

To weeping eyes the beauties of the fpring.
To groaning flaves those fragrant meads belong,
Where Tully dictated, and Maro fung.

Long fince, alas! those golden days are flown,
Where here each Science wore its proper crown;
Pale Tyranny had laid their altars low,

And rent the laurel from the Mufe's brow:

What wonder then 'midft fuch a scene to fee
The Arts expire with bleeding Liberty?

Penfive and fad, each fair angelic form

Droops, like the wearied dove beneath a storm:
Far other views the poet's thought engage,
Than the warm glories of th' Auguftan age.

Can

Can mis'ry bid th' imagination glow?
Or genius brighten 'midst domestic woe?
To fee desponding wretches round him pine,
Horace had wept beneath the Alban vine.
Sad fits the bard amidft his country's tears,
And fighs, regardless of the wreaths he wears.
Did ever Want and Famine fweetly fing?
The fetter'd hand uncouthly strikes the string.
Lo! ftern Oppreffion lifts her iron rod,
And Ruin waits th' imperious harpy's nod:
Black Defolation, and deftructive War,
Rife at the fignal, and attend her car.
From the dire pomp th' affrighted fhepherd flies,
And leaves his flock the rav'nous foldier's prize.
Where now are all the nymphs that bleft the plains?
Where the full chorus of contented fwains?

The fongs of love, of liberty and peace,

Are heard no more; the dance and tabor cease:
To the foft oaten pipe, and paft'ral reed,

The din of arms, and clarion's blaft fucceed: .
Dire shapes appear in every op'ning glade ;
And Furies howl where once the Muses stray'd?
Is this the queen of realms, for arts renown'd?

This captive maid, that weeps upon the ground!

Alas!

Alas! how chang'd! - dejected and forlorn!
The mistress of the world become the fcorn!
Around stand Rapine, Horror and Despair;
And Ign'rance, dark ally of barb'rous War:
She, at th' ufurping Vandal's dread command,
Displays her gloomy banner o'er the land:
Beneath its chilling fhade neglected lies
Each fifter Art; and unlamented dies.
Lo! Sculpture lets her useless chissel fall;
While on fome ruin'd temple's broken wall
Sad Architecture fits; and fees with fhame
Mif-shapen piles ufurp her injur'd name:
Mufic and Verfe, unhappy twins! belong
To antique Mafque, and weak unmanly Song:
The gath'ring deluge fwells on every side,
And monkish Superftition fwells the tide.
By the refiftless torrent overborn

Floats every Virtue, from its bafis torn :

Fair Learning droops, the fick'ning Arts decay;
And every laurel fades, and every bay.

All is confus'd, no traces now are seen

To fhew what wretched Italy has been.

Thus once Vefuvius, crown'd with circling wood, Parthenope, thy beauteous neighbour stood:

Perpetual