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HENCE to some Convent's gloomy aisles,
Where cheerful dayliglit never smiles: Tyrant! from Albion haste, to slavish Rome; There by dim tapers' livid light,
At the still solemn hours of night, In pensivemusings walk o'er many a sounding tomb.
Thy clanking chains, thy crimson steel,
Thy venom'd darts, and barbarous wheel, Malignant fiend, bear from this isle away,
Nor dare in error's fetters bind
One active, freeborn, British mind; [sway. That strongly strives to spring indignant from thy
Thou bad'st grim Moloch's frowning priest
Snatch screaming infants from the breast, Regardless of the frantic mother's woes; Thou led'st the ruthless sons of Spain
To wondering India's gulden plain, From deluges of blood where tenfold harvests rose.
But lo! how swiftly art thou fled,
When Reason lifts his radiant head;
Blind Ignorance, thy doting sire,
Thy daughter, trembling Fear, retire;
So by the Magi hail'd from far,
The shrieking ghosts to their dark charnels flock;
The full gorg'd wolves retreat; no more
[rock. But hasten with their prey to some deep-cavern'd
Hail then, ye friends of Reason, hail !
Ye foes to Mystery's odious veil,
Where Clarke and Wollaston reside,
With Locke and Newton by their side, While Plato sits above enthron'd in endless light.
TO A GENTLEMAN,
UPON HIS TRAVELS THROUGH ITALY.
While I with fond officious care,
For you my chorded shell prepare, And not unmindful frame an humble lay;
Where shall this verse my Cynthio find,
Wnar scene of art now charms your mind, Say, on what sacred spot of Roman ground you
Perhaps you cull each valley's bloom;
To strew o'er Virgil's laurelld tomb, Whence oft at midnight echoing voices sound;
For at that hour of silence, there
The shades of ancient bards repair, To join in choral song his hallow'd urn around;
Or wander in the cooling shade
And oft repeat, in eager thought elate,
(As round in classic search you trace)
With curious eye the pleasing place, [sate.' 'This fount he lov’d, and there beneath that oak he
How longs my raptur'd breast with you,
Great Raphael's magic strokes to view, To whose bless'd hand each charm the Graces gave!
Whence each fair form with beauty glows,
Like that of Venus, when she rose Naked in blushing charms from oceau's hoary wave.
As oft by roving fancy led,
To smooth Clitumnus' banks you tread, What awful thoughts bis fabled waters raise!
While the low-thoughted swain, whose flock
Grazes around, from some steep rock,
Now through the ruin'd domes my Muse
Your steps with eager flight pursues, That their cleft piles on Tyber's plains present ;
Among whose hollow-winding cells,
Forlorn and wild, Rome's Genius dwells ; His golden sceptre broke, and purple mantle rent.
Oft to those mossy mouldering walls,
Those caverns dark, and silent halls, Let me repair by midnight's paly fires;
There muse on Empire's fallen state,
And frail Ambition's hapless fate, [inspires. While more than mortal thoughts the solemn scene
What lust of power from the cold North
Fair Italy, thy vine-clad vales to waste?
Whose hands profane, with hostile blade,
Thy storied temples dar'd invade,
They, weeping Art in fetters bound,
And gord her breast with many a wound, And veild her charms in clouds of thickest night;
Sad Poësy, much injur'd maid,
They drove to some dim convent's shade, And quench'd in gloomy mist her lamp's resplendent
There long she wept to darkness doom'd,
Till Cosmo's hand her light relum'd, That once again in lofty Tasso shone ;
Since has sweet Spenser caught lier fire,
She breathed once inore in Milton's lyre, And warm'd the soul divine of Shakspeare, Fancy's
Nor she, mild queen, will cease to smile
On her Britannia's much-lov'd isle, Where these her best, her favourite Three were born,
While Theron' warbles Grecian strains,
Or polish'd Dodington remains, The drooping train of arts to cherish and adorn.
FAREWELL, thou dimpled cherub Joy,
far from human eye,