A LETTER FROM ITALY

TO THE RT. HON. CHARLES MONTAGU, LORD HALIFAX,

1701.

Salve magna parens frugum Saturnia tellus,
Magna Virum! tibi res antiquæ laudis et artis
Aggredior, sanctos ausus recludere fontes.

VIRGIL, Georgics, II.

WHILE you, my Lord! the rural shades admire, And from BRITANNIA'S Public Posts retire; Nor longer, her ungrateful sons to please, For their advantage, sacrifice your ease: Me into foreign realms my fate conveys, Through nations fruitful of immortal Lays; Where the soft season and inviting clime Conspire to trouble your repose with rhyme.

For wheresoe'er I turn my ravished eyes, Gay gilded scenes and shining prospects rise!

Poetic fields encompass me around;

And still I seem to tread on classic ground! For here, the Muse so oft her harp has strung, That not a mountain rears its head unsung! Renowned in Verse each shady thicket grows, And ev'ry stream in heavenly Numbers flows!

How am I pleased to search the hills and woods For rising springs and celebrated floods! To view the Nar, tumultuous in his course; And trace the smooth Clitumnus to his source! To see the Mincio draw his wat'ry store Through the long windings of a fruitful shore; And hoary Albula's infected tide,

O'er the warm bed of smoking sulphur glide!

Fired with a thousand raptures, I survey Eridanus through flow'ry meadows stray! The King of Floods! that, rolling o'er the plains, The tow'ring Alps of half their moisture drains; And, proudly swollen with a whole Winter's snows, Distributes wealth and plenty where he flows!

Sometimes, misguided by the tuneful throng, I look for streams immortalized in Song, That lost in silence and oblivion lie

(Dumb are their fountains, and their channels dry): Yet run for ever, by the Muses' skill;

And in the smooth description murmur still!

Sometimes, to gentle Tiber I retire,
And the famed river's empty shores admire;
That, destitute of strength, derives its course
From thrifty urns and an unfruitful source:
Yet, sung so often in poetic Lays,

With scorn the Danube and the Nile surveys !
So high the deathless Muse exalts her theme!
Such was the Boyne! a poor inglorious stream
That in Hibernian vales obscurely strayed,
And unobserved in wild meanders played,
Till by your lines and NASSAU's sword renowned,
Its rising billows through the World resound,
Where'er the Hero's Godlike acts can pierce;
Or where the fame of an immortal Verse!

O, could the Muse, my ravished breast inspire With warmth like yours, and raise an equal fire; Unnumbered 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 transplanted and preserved with care, Curse 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 send out a rich perfume!

Bear me, some God! to Baja's gentle seats; Or cover me in Umbria's green retreats!

Where western gales eternally reside,
And all the Seasons lavish all their pride.
Blossoms, and fruits, and flowers together rise;
And the whole year, in gay confusion lies!

Immortal glories in my mind revive,
And in my soul a thousand Passions strive,
When Rome's exalted beauties I descry
Magnificent in piles of ruin lie.

An Amphitheatre's amazing height

Here fills my eye with terror and delight!
That, on its Public Shows, unpeopled Rome;
And held uncrowded nations in its womb!
Here, pillars rough with sculpture pierce the skies;
And here, the proud Triumphal Arches rise :
Where the old Romans' deathless acts displayed,
Their base degenerate progeny upbraid!

Whole rivers here, forsake the fields below;

And, wond'ring at their height, through airy channels flow!

Still to new scenes my wand'ring Muse retires,
And the dumb show of breathing rocks admires :
Where the smooth chisel all its force has shown,
And softened into flesh the rugged stone!
In solemn silence, a majestic band,

Heroes, and Gods, and Roman Consuls, stand.
Stern tyrants, whom their cruelties renown,
And Emperors, in Parian marble frown;

While the bright Dames, to whom they humbly sued, Still show the charms that their proud hearts subdued.

Fain would I RAPHAEL'S Godlike art rehearse; And show th' immortal labours in my Verse! Where, from the mingled strength of shade and light, A new creation rises to my sight!

Such heavenly figures from his pencil flow,
So warm with life his blended colours glow,
From theme to theme with secret pleasure tost,
Amidst the soft variety I'm lost!

Here, pleasing Airs my ravished soul confound With circling notes and labyrinths of sound!

Here, Domes and Temples rise in distant views; And opening Palaces invite my Muse!

How has kind Heaven adorned the happy land; And scattered blessings with a wasteful hand! But what avail her unexhausted stores,

Her blooming mountains, and her sunny shores; With all the gifts that Heaven and Earth impart, The smiles of Nature, and the charms of Art; While proud Oppression in her valleys reigns, And Tyranny usurps her happy plains?

The poor inhabitant beholds in vain

The redd'ning orange and the swelling grain;
Joyless he sees the growing oils and wines,
And in the myrtle's fragrant shade repines;
Starves in the midst of Nature's bounty curst,
And in the loaden vineyard dies for thirst!