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Admir'd Salopia! that with venial pride Eyes her bright form in Severn's ambient wave, Fam'd for her loyal cares in perils try'd, [310 Her daughters lovely, and her ftriplings brave: Ah! midst the reft, may flowers adorn his grave, Whose art did first these dulcet cates display! A motive fair to learning's imps he gave, Who chearless o'er her darkling region stray; Till reafon's morn arife, and light them on their way.

INSCRIPTION.

ON THE BACK OF A GOTHIC ALCOVE.

BY THE SAME.

O you that bathe in courtlye blyffe,
Or toyle in fortune's giddy fpheare;
Do not too rafhlye deeme amyffe

Of him that bydes contented here.

Nor yet difdeigne the ruffet ftoale,

Which o'er each careleffe lymbe he flyngs:

Nor yet deryde the beechen bowle,

In whyche he quaifs the lympid springs.

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Forgive him, if at eve or dawne,
Devoide of worldlye cark he ftray:
Or all befide fome flowerye lawne,

He waste his inoffenfive daye.

So may he pardonne fraud and ftrife,
If fuch in courtlye haunt he fee :

For faults there beene in bufye life,

From whyche these peaceful glennes are free.

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HAIL facred ftream, whofe waters roll

Immortal thro' the claffic page!

To Thee the Mufe-devoted foul,

Tho' deftin'd to a later age

And lefs indulgent clime, to thee,

Nor thou difdain, in Runic lays
Weak mimic of true harmony,

His grateful homage pays.
Far other ftrains thine elder ear
With pleas'd attention wont to hear,
When he, who ftrung the Latian lyre,
And he, who led th' Aonian quire

*Born 1715; dyed 1785.

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From Mantua's reedy lakes with offers crown'd, Taught echo from thy banks with tranfport to refound.

Thy banks-alas, is this the boafted fcene, 15 This dreary, wide, uncultivated plain,

Where fick'ning Nature wears a fainter green,
And Defolation fpreads her torpid reign?

Is this the fcene where Freedom breath'd,
Her copious horn where Plenty wreath'd, 20
And health at opening day

Bade all her rofeate breezes fly,

To wake the fons of industry,

And make their fields more gay?

II.

Where is the villa's rural pride,

The swelling dome's imperial gleam,
Which lov'd to grace thy verdant fide,
And tremble in thy golden ftream?
Where are the bold, the busy throngs,

That rush'd impatient to the war,
Or tun'd to peace triumphal fongs,

And hail'd the paffing car?
Along the folitary * road,

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Th' eternal flint by Confuls trod,

We mufe, and mark the fad decays

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Of mighty works, and mighty days!

The Flaminian way.

For thefe vile waftes, we cry, had Fate decreed That Veii's fons fhould ftrive, for thefe CAMILLUS bleed?

Did here, in after-times of Roman pride,

The mufing fhepherd from Sorate's height 40 See towns extend where'er thy waters glide, And temples rife, and peopled farms unite? They did. For this deferted plain The hero ftrove, nor ftrove in vain; And here the fhepherd faw Unnumber'd towns and temples fpread, While Rome majestic rear'd her head, gave the nations law.

And

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III.

Yes, Thou and Latium once were great.
And fill, ye firft of human things,
Beyond the grafp of time or fate,

Her fame and thine triumphant fprings.
What tho' the mould'ring columns fall,

And ftrow the defart earth beneath,
Tho' ivy round each nodding wall

Entwine it's fatal wreath,

Yet fay, can Rhine or Danube boast
The numerous glories thou haft loft ?
Can ev'n Euphrates' palmy fhore,

Or Nile, with all his myftic lore,

Produce from old records of genuine fame

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Such heroes, poets, kings, or emulate thy name?

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