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That on its public shows unpleopled Rome,
And held, uncrowded, nations in its womb:
Here pillars rough with sculpture pierce the skies,
And here the proud triumphal arches tise,
Where the old Romans deathlefs, acts difplay'd
Their bafe degen'rate progeny upbraid :
Whole rivers here forfake the fields below,
And wond'ring at their height thro'airy channels flow.
Still to new fcenes my wand'ring Muse retires,
And the dumb fhow of breathing rocks admires,
Where the smooth chiffel all its force has shown, 85
And foften'd into flesh the rugged stone.

In folemn filence, a majestic band,

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

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While the bright dames, to whom they humbly fu'd, Still fhow the charms that their proud hearts fubdu'd.

Fain would I Raphael's godlike art rehearse,

And fhow th immortal labours in my verse,
Where from the mingled strength of shade and light
A new creation rises to my fight;

Such heav'nly figures from his pencil flow,

So warm with life his blended colours glow,
From theme to theme with fecret pleasure toft,
Amidst the foft variety I'm loft.

Here pleasing airs my ravish'd foul confound
With circling notes and labyrinths of sound;

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Here domes and temples rife in distant views,
And op'ning palaces invite my Muse.

How has kind Heav'n adorn'd the happy land, 10S
And scatter'd blessings with a wasteful hand!
But what avail her unexhausted stores,

Her blooming mountains and her funny shores,
With all the gifts that heav'n and earth impart,
The fmiles of Nature and the charms of Art,
While proud oppreffion in her vallies reigns,
And Tyranny ufurps her happy plains?
The poor inhabitant beholds in vain
The redd'ning orange and the swelling grain ;
Joylefs he fees the growing oils and wines,
And in the myrtle's fragrant shade repines
Starves, in the midst of Nature's bounty curâ,
And in the loaden vineyard dies for thirst.

Oh, Liberty! thou goddess heav'nly bright,
Profufe of bliss, and pregnant with delight!
Eternal pleasures in thy presence reign,
And smiling Plenty leads thy wanton train ;
Eas'd of her load Subjection grows more light,
And Poverty looks cheerful in thy fight;
Thou mak'ft the gloomy face of Nature gay,
Giv'st beauty to the fun, and pleasure to the day.

Thee, Goddess! thee Britannia's ifle adores;

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How has the oft' exhausted all her stores,
How oft' in fields of death thy prefence fought,
Nor thinks the mighty prize too dearly bought! 130

On foreign mountains may the fun réfine
The grape's foft juice, and mellow it to wine,
With citron groves adorn a distant foil,

e;

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[fmile.

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 coarsenefs of our heav'n repine,
Tho' o'er our heads the frozen Pleiads shine
'Tis Liberty that crowns Britannia's ifle,
And makes her barren rocks and her bleak mountains
Others with tow'ring piles may please the fight, 141
And in their proud aspiring domes delight,
A nicer touch to the stretch'd canvass give,
Or teach their animated rocks to live;

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'Tis Britain's care to watch o'er Europe's fate, 145
And hold in balance each contending state;
To threaten bold prefumptuous kings with war,
And answer her afflicted neighbours' pray'r.
The Dane and Swede, rous'd up by fierce alarms,
Blefs the wife conduct of her pious arms;
Soon as her fleets appear their terrors cease,
And all the Northern world lies hush'd in peace.
Th' ambitious Gaul beholds with fecret dread
Her thunder aim'd at his aspiring head,
And fain her godlike fons would difunite

By foreign gold, or by domestic spite;
But ftrives in vain to conquer or divide
Whom Naffau's arms defend and counfels guide.

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Fir'd with the name which I fo oft' have found The distant climes and diff'rent 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 adventʼrous song :
My humble verfe demands a fofter theme,

A painted meadow or a purling stream;
Unfit for heroes, whom immortal lays,

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And lines like Virgil's, or like your's, should praise.

PROLOGUE

TO PHEDRA AND HIPPOLITUS

Spoken by Mr. Wilks.

LONG has a race of heroes fill'd the stage,
That rant by note, and thro' the gamut rage;
In fongs and airs express their martial fire,
Combat in trills, and in a feuge expire;
While lull'd by found, and undisturb'd by wit,
Calm and ferene you indolently fit,

And from the dull fatigue of thinking free,
Hear the facetious fiddles repartee:

Our home-spun authors must forfake the field,
And Shakespeare to the soft Scarletti yield.

To your new tafte the poet of this day
Was by a friend advis'd to form his play.
Had Valentini, musically coy,

Shunn'd Phædra's arms, and scorn'd the proffer'd joy,
It had not mov'd your wonder to have feen
An eunuch fly from an enamour'd queen :

How would it please should fhe in English speak,
And could Hippolitus reply in Greek?

But he, a stranger to your modish way,
By your old rules must stand or fall to-day,
And hopes you will your foreign taste command
To bear, for once, with what you understand.

A Tragedy, written by Mr. Edmund Smith.

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