35 The Queen of Ifles, the Miftrefs of the Main. Mine are these wonders, all thou feeft is Mine; 40 The Great Republic fee! that glow'd, fublime, 45 Of brooks now loft and ftreams renown'd in fong: 55 60 Far-fhining upward to the Sabine hills, Full in the centre of these wondrous works, 65 70 75 80 To rank obedient to a master's voice. Her Forum fee, warm, popular, and loud, In trembling wonder hush'd, when the two Sires *, As they the private father greatly quell'd, Stood up the public fathers of the state. 85 See Juftice judging there in human shape! Hark! how with Freedom's voice it thunders high, Or in foft murmurs finks to Tully's tongue. L. J. Brutus, and Virginius, Her Tribes her Cenfus fee; her generous troops, Whofe pay was glory, and their best reward go Free for their country and for Me to die, Mark, as the purple triumph waves along, The highest pomp and lowest fall of life. Her feftive games, the school of heroes, fee; 95 Her Circus, ardent with contending youth; Her streets, her temples, palaces, and baths, Full of fair forms, of Beauty's eldest born, And of a people cast in Virtue's mould: While Sculpture lives around, and Afian hills 100 Lend their beft ftores to heave the pillar'd dome; All that to Roman ftrength the fofter touch Of Grecian art can join. But language fails To paint this fun, this centre of mankind, Where every virtue, glory, treasure, art, Attracted ftrong, in heightened luftre met. 105 110 Need I the contrast mark? unjoyous view! A land in all, in government and arts, In virtue, genius, earth, and heaven, revers'd. Who but these far-fam'd ruins to behold, Proofs of a people whofe heroic aims Soar'd far above the little selfish sphere Of doubting modern life; who but inflam'd With claffic zeal, these confecrated scenes Of men and deeds to trace, unhappy Land! Would truft thy wilds, and cities loofe of fway? 115 Are these the vales that, once, exulting ftates In their warm bofom fed? the mountains these On whose high-blooming fides My fons, of old, I bred to glory? these dejected towns, Where, mean and fordid, life can fcarce fubfift, The scenes of ancient opulence and pomp? 120 125 Come! by whatever facred name difguis'd, Oppreffion! come, and in thy works rejoice! See Nature's richest plains to putrid fens Turn'd by thy fury. From their cheerful bounds See raz'd th' enlivening village, farm, and feat. First rural Toil, by thy rapacious hand Robb'd of his poor reward, refign'd the plow, And now he dares not turn the noxious glebe: 130 'Tis thine entire. The lonely fwain himself, Who loves at large along the graffy downs His flocks to pafture, thy drear champain flies. Far as the fickening eye can sweep around, 'Tis all one defert, defolate, and gray, Graz'd by the fullen buffalo alone; And where the rank uncultivated growth Of rotting ages taints the paffing gale. Beneath the baleful blaft the city pines, Or finks enfeebled, or infected burns. Beneath it mourns the folitary road, 135 149 Roll'd in rude mazes o'er th' abandon'd waste, While ancient ways, ingulf'd, are feen no more, Such thy dire plains, thou Self-deftroyer! foe To human-kind! Thy mountains, too, profuse, 145 Where favage Nature blooms, feem their fad plaint To raise against thy defolating rod. 150 There on the breezy brow, where thriving ftates 155 160 Of orchard reddens in the warmest ray. To weedy wildness run, no rural wealth (Such as dictators fed) the garden pours. Crude the wild olive flows, and foul the vine; Streams life and joy, fave in the Mufe's bowl. 165 Draw the bright thread in vain, and idly toil. |