Warm'd by his rays, with wond'rous virtues blest To chase disease and pain, involv'd in mist Smoke on the plain, and tell th' inhabitants How grateful to the god their incense burns. Two days they march. The third, Verlucio's walls Again reflected from their burnish'd arms, But when six times the sun had ting'd with gold m Selwood. Down tow'rd his western goal had shap'd his course, There sheath'd in arms, with thoughts of vengeance fir'd, They found the gather'd pow'rs of Deunan's vales, Adorn'd with waving woods, where noble Orgar In after days, entranc'd in holy vision, Convers'd with heav'n; and where the Plym, now join'd With rushing Tamar, meets the ocean's foam. Oft on the margin of the flood, the Seer, Rapt in prophetic ecstasy, beheld Its future glories: lofty structures rise; And on the heaving waves ride the huge bulk The caverns of the deep with thunder's voice, Or to his wond'ring eyes confest appear'd high The awful form of Drake, on his designs Intent; on whose majestic brow were seen Deep thought and firm resolve; and at his feet Proud Spain lies prostrate; Mexico pours forth Of heathy moor, rolls his indignant course : n The Danes first landed at Tinmouth; and the French, after the action off Beachy-Head, burnt the town and some fishing vessels in the harbour. From their black ships, and their portentous standard, The magic Raven, beat the troubled air: And where, in later days, vain-glorious France When on her stormy coast the British cross Wav'd terrible, (the war brave Russell led,) And her proud navies in her havens flam'd. From Isca's banks, where the full river rolls, With all his tributary waters swell'd, And Moridunum sees her subject stream Mix with the boundless sea, the martial bands And that high promontory, which repels The foaming tempests of th' Hibernian sea, Nam'd, from th' immortal son of thund'ring Jove, The Point of Hercules, no warriors came. These with incursion swift, and vantage strong, The foe possest, and crush'd the rising war. Nor with less ardour from the blissful seats, Where, softly-breathing from the neighbouring main, Reigns the warm breeze; where laughing Summer spreads Perpetual joy, and gaily sporting throws, With lavish hand, her rosy fragrance round, While Winter frowns in vain, the youth appears. Vig'rous he seem'd, and in his sinewy grasp Brandish'd a pond'rous spear: before his host • Somersetshire has been said to have its name from the mild ness of the air, the land of Summer. |