The red'ning orange and the fwelling grain':
Joyless he fees 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 heav'nly bright,
Profufe of blifs, and pregnant with delight!
Eternal pleasures in thy presence reign,

And smiling plenty leads thy wanton train;
Eas'd of her load fubjection grows more light,
And poverty looks chearful in thy fight;
Thou mak'ft the gloomy face of nature gay,
Giv'st beauty to the fun, and pleasure to the day.
Thee, goddefs, thee, Britannia's ifle adores ;
How has fhe oft exhaufted 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 fkies,
Nor at the coarfenefs of our heav'n repine,
Tho' o'er our heads the frozen Pleiads fhine:

VOL. I.

E

'Tis

Corona libertà la Britann' isola,
E fa fue fteril bianche rupi ridere.

Le torreggianti moli altrui dilettino,
E le fuperbe ambiziofe cupolo,
Un gentil colpo a una vil tela dare,
Od infegnar faffi animati a vivere.
D'Europa ful deftin vegliar Britannia
Ha cura, e bilanciar gli emuli ftati;
Di guerra minacciare arditi regi ;
Degli afflitti vicini udire i preghi.
Dano, e Suecco attaccati in fiere allarme
Di lor armi pietofe benedicono

La prudente condotta, e 'l buon governo.
Tefto che poi le noftre flotte appaiono,
Ceffano tutti i lor Spaventi, e in pace
Tutto il fettentrional mondo fi giace.
L'ambiziofo Gallo con fegretto.
Tremito vede all' afpirante fua
Tefta mirar di lei il gran tonante,
E volentieri i fuoi divini figli
Vorrebbe difuniti per ftraniero
Oro, o pur per domeftica contefa.
Ma acquifiare, o dividere in van provafi,
Cui l'arme di Nafso, e' fenno guida.

Del nome accefo, cui fovente ho trovo
Remoti climi, e lingue rifonare,
Con pena imbriglio mia lottante Mufa,
Che ama lanciarfi in piu ardita prova.

Ma

'Tis Liberty that crowns Britannia's isle,

And makes her barren rocks and her bleak mountains fmile. Others with tow'ring piles may please the fight,

And in their proud afpiring domes delight;

A nicer touch to the ftretch'd 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 state,
To threaten bold prefumptuous kings with war,
And answer her afflicted neighbour's 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 hufh'd in peace.

Th' ambitious Gaul beholds with fecret dread
Her thunder aim'd at his afpiring head,
And fain her godlike fons wou'd difunite
By foreign gold, or by domeftic fpite:
But ftrives in vain to conquer or divide,
Whom Naffau's arms defend and counfels guide.
Fir'd with the name, which I fo oft have found
The diftant climes and diff'rent tongues refound,
I bridle in my ftruggling Muse with pain,
That longs to launch into a bolder ftrain.

Ma io di già bovvi turbato assai,

Ne tentar ofo un piu fublime canto.

Più dolce thema il baffo verfo chiedemi,
Fioriti prati, o gorgoglianti rivi,

Mal proprio per gli eroi: che i carmi eterni

Qual di Virgilio, o voftri onorar debbono.

But I've already troubled you too long,
Nor dare attempt a more advent'rous 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, fhou'd praise.