In emerald groves, and shadowy glades, In furzy moors, or musky-smelling meads. Truth, in her liquid glass serene,
To him explains each moral scene: Oft, in the downward skies, a train Of tinsel insect he surveys,
Or glow-worm, with fallacious blaze, Just emblem of court greatness, frail and vain.
Oft in his woodland walk he stops to mark The spirited and youthful lark,
Warn'd by the dawning in the dappled east, Lift his melodious flight thro' upper air; Late the low tenant of the rushy nest
Now sings unrivall❜d in his radiant sphere. The pondering Hermit then sees Merit roam, Above the nurslings of the courtly dome, On Glory's sparkling wheels, rais'd from its hum- ble dome.
First of the families of fame,
That Rome's imperial city grace, From rural huts and hamlets came
The Fabian and Fabrician race; With that firm judge that could contemn And banish the proud diadem.
To Sabine fields she owes the vine,
Whose tendrils yet round Virtue's column twine; Which braves Oppression's wintry breath, And stand the icy touch of Death.
The leafless flock, that Fortune dooms
To wither, with returning spring
(While the glad flocks of Freedom sing) Profuse of promis'd sweets, with double vigour blooms.
Hark! hark! 'tis Brutus' name I hear, Join'd with his fair, heroic bride; To Honour's hallow'd fane they steer Along the favourable tide; To her and Safety there to place The tablet, vow'd to human race : Blow, every kind and gentle gale Of gratitude, and fan the swelling sail. High on a fleecy couch reclin'd, Of white and amber clouds confin'd, Rome's genius lifts his august head; Now slow descending nearer draws, Hail'd with the popular applause, And bids the solemn pageantry proceed. Go, the triumphal ornaments display: Ye sacred Salii lead the way:
Next led the order of Patrician blood,
In awful march a num'rous train compose, And follow'd by the jubilating crowd; As Cybelé thro' Phrygian cities goes, Majestic, and with golden turrets crown'd: A hundred gods her gorgeous car surround, A thousand tongues acclaim; the clanging cymbals sound.
EXPATIATE long in nice debate, On Chance, Necessity, and Fate: With learn'd Lucretius stray In Epicurus' magic grove,
Where the self-motion'd atoms rove In mazy mystic play.
Some vain hypothesis admit,
The specious cobweb-work of wit;
And daringly deny
What every object round avows, What every act of Reason shews, An All-wise Deity.
The clearest evidence contest, Divinely stampt on every breast,
Since Time was taught to roll ; In Errors gloomy coverts stray, From Truth's indisputable ray Remote, as pole from pole.
So shuts the moping bird of night Her feeble eyes against the light, That glads the cheerful day; And when prevailing darkness reigns, Thro' groves obscene, or dreary plains, She wings her dubious way.
Consult the blue expanse on high,
The blush that paints the morning sky, The cloud that nimbly rides, The orbs that mark with lustre bright The spangled mantle of the night, Who there supreme resides.
Question the gaudy flowers around, That scent the air, or paint the ground, Whose influence they obey:
Whose hand imparts the various dyes, At whose command they bud and rise, At whose command decay.
Say ye, on down, or mountain steep, That stately tread, or lowly creep;
And ye aerial throng,
That cheer the woodland scene and fields With vocal strains; whose bounty yields, Or sustenance or song:
Who, in the ocean's waste domain,
The tenants of the watry plain
With liberal hand supplies?
The floods in icy fetters binds,
Smooths the rough surge, and lulls the winds, Or bids the tempest rise?
Nature in every mystic scene Declares a plastic author's reign :
Above the morning's wings, Beyond the sea's remotest tides, Beneath the daedal earth resides
Th' Almighty King of Kings.
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