Where'er the Hero's godlike acts can pierce,

Or where the fame of an immortal verfe.

Oh could the Muse my ravish'd breast inspire
With warmth like yours, and raise an equal fire,
Unnumber'd 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 tranfplanted and preferv'd with care,
Curfe 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 fend out a rich perfume.
Bear me, fome God, to Baia's gentle feats,
Or cover me in Umbria's green retreats;
Where western gales eternally refide,
And all the feafons lavish all their pride :
Bloffoms, and fruits, and flowers together rife,
And the whole year in gay confufion lies.
Immortal glories in my mind revive,
And in my foul a thousand paffions strive,
When Rome's exalted beauties I defery
Magnificent in piles of ruin lie.

An amphitheatre's amazing height
Here fills my eye with terror and delight,
That on its public fhows unpeopled Rome,
And held uncrowded nations in its womb:
Here pillars rough with fculpture pierce the skies,
And here the proud triumphal arches rise,

Where

Where the old Romans deathlefs acts display'd,
Their bafe degenerate progeny upbraid:

Whole rivers here forfake the fields below,

And wondering at their height through airy channels flow.
Still to new fcenes my wandering Mufe retires,
And the dumb show of breathing rocks admires;
Where the smooth chifel all its force has shown,
And foften'd into flesh the rugged stone.
In folemn filence, a majestic band,

Heroes, and Gods, and Roman confuls stand,
Stern tyrants, whom their cruelties renown,
And emperors in Parian marble frown;

While the bright dames, to whom they humbly fued,
Still fhow the charms that their proud hearts subdued.
Fain would I Raphael's godlike art rehearse,

And fhow th' immortal labours in my verfe,
Where from the mingled strength of shade and light
A new creation rifes to my fight,

Such heavenly figures from his pencil flow,
So warm with life his blended colours glow.
From theme to theme with fecret pleasure toft,
Amidft the foft variety I 'm loft:

Here pleafing airs my ravish'd foul confound
With circling notes and labyrinths of found;
Here domes and temples rise in distant views,
And opening palaces invite my Mufe.

How has kind heaven adorn'd the happy land,
And scatter'd bleffings with a wasteful hand!
But what avail her unexhausted stores,

Her blooming mountains, and her funny fhores,

With all the gifts that heaven and earth impart,
The finiles of nature, and the charms of art,
While proud oppreffion in her valleys reigns,
And tyranny ufurps her happy plains?
The poor inhabitant beholds in vain

The reddening orange and the fwelling grain :
Joyless he sees the growing oils and wines,
And in the myrtle's fragrant fhade repines :
Starves, in the midst of nature's bounty curft,
And in the loaden vineyard dies for thirst.

Oh Liberty, thou goddess heavenly bright, Profufe of blifs, and pregnant with delight! Eternal pleasures in thy prefence reign, And smiling plenty leads thy wanton train Eas'd of her load subjection grows more light, And poverty looks chearful in thy fight; Thou mak'ft the gloomy face of nature gay, Giv'ft beauty to the fun, and pleasure to the day. Thee, goddess, Thee, Britannia's ifle adores; How has fhe oft exhausted all her ftores, How oft in fields of death thy prefence fought, Nor thinks the mighty prize too dearly bought! On foreign mountains may the fun refine The grape's foft juice, and mellow it to wine, With citron groves adorn a distant foil, And the fat olive fwell with floods of oil: We envy not the warmer clime, that lies

In ten degrees of more indulgent skies,

Nor at the coarseness of our heaven repine, Though o'er our heads the frozen Pleiads fhine:

'Tis Liberty that crowns Britannia's isle,

And makes her barren rocks and her bleak mountains

fmile.

Others with towering piles may please the sight, And in their proud afpiring domes delight;

A nicer touch to the stretcht canvas give,

Or teach their animated rocks to live:

'Tis Britain's care to watch o'er Europe's fate,
And hold in balance each contending ftate,
To threaten bold prefumptuous kings with war,
And answer her afflicted neighbour's prayer.
The Dane and Swede, rous'd up by fierce alarms,
Blefs the wife conduct of her picus arms:
Soon as her fleets appear, their terrors cease,
And all the northern world lies hufh'd in peace.
Th' ambitious Gaul beholds with fecret dread
Her thunder aim'd at his afpiring head,
And fain her godlike fons would disunite
By foreign gold, or by domeftic fpite :
But ftrives in vain to conquer or divide,
Whom Nassau's arms defend and counsels guide.
Fir'd with the name, which I so oft have found
The diftant climes and different tongues refound,
I bridle-in my struggling Mufe with pain,
That longs to launch into a bolder strain.

But I've already troubled you too long,
Nor dare attempt a more adventurous fong.
My humble verfe demands a fofter theme,
A painted meadow, or a purling ftream;
Unfit for Heroes: whom immortal lays,

And lines like Virgil's, or like yours, should praife. MILTON'S

MILTON's STYLE IMITATED,

IN A TRANSLATION

OF

A STORY OUT OF THE THIRD ÆNEID.

OST in the gloomy horror of the night

count lies,

Horrid and waste, its entrails fraught with fire,
That now cafts out dark fumes and pitchy clouds,
Vaft showers of afhes hovering in the fmoke;
Now belches molten ftones and ruddy flame
Incenft, or tears up mountains by the roots,
Or flings a broken rock aloft in air.

The bottom works with fmother'd fire, involv'd
In peftilential vapours, ftench and smoke.

'Tis faid, that thunder-ftruck Enceladus
Groveling beneath th' incumbent mountain's weight
Lies ftretch'd fupine, eternal prey of flames;
And when he heaves against the burning load,
Reluctant, to invert his broiling limbs,

A fudden earthquake shoots through all the ifle,
And Ætna thunders dreadful under ground,
Then pours out fmoke in wreathing curls convolv'd,
And fhades the fun's bright orb, and blots out day.
Here in the fhelter of the woods we lodg'd,
And frighted heard ftrange founds and difinal yells
Nor faw from whence they came; for all the night
A murky storm deep louring o'er our heads
Hung imminent, that with impervious gloom
Oppos'd itself to Cynthia's filver ray,

And