The plum all azure, and the nut all brown,
And here, each season, do thofe cakes abide,
Whofe honour'd names th' inventive city own,
Rend'ring thro' Britain's ifle Salopia's praises known.
Admir'd Salopia! that, with venial pride,
Eyes her bright form in Severn's ambient wave,
Fam'd for her loyal cares in perils try'd,
Her daughters lovely, and her ftriplings brave:
Ah! midft the reft, may flow'rs adorn his grave,
Whofe art did firft thefe dulcet cates difplay!
A motive fair to learning's imps he gave,
Who chearlefs o'er her darkling region ftray!
'Till reafon's morn arife, and light them on their way..
A LETTER from ITALY, to the Right Honourable CHARLES LORD HALIFAX, in the Year 1701.. [ADDIS.ON.]
Wand from Britannia's public pofts retire,
7HILE you, my lord, the rural fhades admire,,
Nor longer, her ungrateful fons to please,
For their advantage facrifice your cafe;
Me into foreign realms my fate conveys,
Through nations fruitful of immortal lays,
Where the foft feafon and inviting clime
Confpire to trouble your repofe with rhime.
For wherefoe'er I turn my ravifh'd eyes,
Gay gilded fcenes and fhining profpects rife,
Poetic fields encompass me around,
And ftill I feem to tread on Claffic ground;
For here the Mufe fo oft her harp has ftrung,
That not a mountain rears its head unfung,
Renown'd in verfe each fhady thicket grows,
And ev'ry ftream in heav'nly numbers flows.
How am I pleas'd to fearch the hills and woods
For rifing fprings and celebrated floods!
To view the Nar, tumultuous to his courfe,.
And trace the fmooth Clitumnus to his fource
To fee the Mincio draw his wat❜ry ftore
Through the long windings of a fruitful fhore,
And hoary Albula's infected tide
O'er the warm bed of fmoking fulphur glide.
Fir'd with a thousand raptures I furvey
Eridanus through flow'ry meadows ftray,,
The king of foods! that rolling o'er the plains
The tow'ring Alps of half. their moiffure drains,,
And proudly fwoln with a whole winter's fnows,
Diftributes wealth and plenty, where he flows.
Sometimes,. mifguided by the tuneful throng,,
I look for ftreams immortaliz'd in song,
That loft in filence and oblivion lie,
(Dumb are their fountains and their channels dry}
Yet run for ever by the Mufe's skill,
And in the fmooth defcription murmur ftill..
Sometimes to gentle Tiber I retire,
And the fam'd river's empty fhores admire,
That, deftitute of ftrength, derives its courfe
From thrifty urns and an unfruitful fource;
Yet fung fo often in poetic lays,.
With fcorn the Danube and the Nile furveys;
So high the deathless mufe exalts her theme!
Such was the Boyne, a poor inglorious ftream,.
That in Hibernian vales obfcurely ftray'd,
And, unobferv'd, in wild meanders play'd,
Till by your lines and Naffau's fword renown'd';
Its rifing billows through the world refound,
Where'er the Hero's godlike acts can pierce,
Or where the fame of an immortal verfe.
Oh cou'd the Mufe my ravifh'd breast inspire
With warmth like yours, and raife an equal fire,
Unnumber'd beauties in my verfe fhould fhine,
And Virgil's Italy fhou'd yield to mine!
See how the golden groves around me fmile,.
That fhun the coaft of Britain's ftormy ifle,
Or, when tranfplanted and preferv'd with care,
Curfe the cold clime, and ftarve in northern air.
Here kindly warmth their mounting juice ferments:
To nobler taftes, and more exalted scents:
E'en the rough rocks with tender myrtle bloom,
And trodden weeds fend out a rich perfume.
Bear me, fome God, to Baia's gentle feats,
Or cover me in Umbria's green retreats;.
Where western gales eternally refide,
And all the feafons lavish all their pride:
Bloffoms, and fruits, and flow'rs together rife,
And the whole year in gay confufion lies.
Immortal glories in my mind revive,
And in my foul a thoufand paffions ftrive,
When Rome's exalted beauties I defcry,
Magnificent in piles of ruin lie.
An amphitheatre's amazing height
Here fills my eye with terror and delight,
That on its public fhews unpeopled Rome,
And held uncrowded nations in its womb:
Here pillars rough with fculpture pierce the fkies:
And here the proud triumphal arches rife,
Where the old Romans deathlefs acts difplay'd,
Their bafe degenerate progeny upbraid:
Whole rivers here forfake the fields below,
And, wond'ring at their height, through airy channels
Still to new fcenes my wand'ring Mufe retire And the dumb fhow of breathing rocks admires; Where the fmooth chifel all its force has fhown, And foften'd into flesh the rugged ftone.
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;
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 verfe,
Where, from the mingled ftrength of fhade and light,
A new creation rifes 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 pleafing airs my ravifh'd foul confound:
With circling notes and labyrinths of found:
Here domes and temples rife in diftant views,
And opening palaces invite my Mufe.
How has kind Heav'n adorn'd the happy land,.
And scatter'd bleffings with a wasteful hand!
But what avail her unexhaufted ftores,
Her blooming mountains, and her funny fhores,
With all the gifts that Heav'n and earth impart,
The fmiles of nature, and the charms of art,
While proud Oppreffion in her valleys reigns,
And Tyranny ufurps her happy plains?
The poor inhabitant beholds in vain
The redd'ning Orange and the fwelling grain:
Joylefs he fees the growing oils and wines,
And in the Myrtle's fragrant fhade repines:
Starves, in the midft of nature's bounty curft,
And in the loaden vineyard dies for thirft.
Oh Liberty, thou goddess heav'nly bright,
Profufe of blifs, and pregnant with delight!
Eternal pleasures in thy prefence reign,
And fmiling Plenty leads thy wanton train;
Eas'd of her load Subjection grows more light,
And Poverty looks chearful in thy fight;
Thou mak'it the gloomy face of Nature gay,
Giv'ft beauty to the Sun, and pleasure to the Day.
Thee, goddefs, thee, Britannia's ifle adores;
How has the oft exhausted 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 Sun refine
The grape's foft juice, and mellow it to wine,
With Citron groves adorn a diftant foil,
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 coarfenefs of our Heav'n repine,
Tho' o'er our heads the frozen Pleiads fhine:
'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,
And in their proud afpiring domes delight;
A nicer touch to the ftretch'd convafs 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 ftate;
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 ceafe,
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 Arive 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 Mufe with pain,
That longs to launch into a bolder strain.
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 your's, fhou'd praise.
[PHILIPS.]
Copenhagen, March 9, 1709.
From ftreams which northern winds forbid to flow, What prefent fhall the Mufe to Dorfet bring, Or how, fo near the Pole, attempt to fing? The hoary winter here conceals from fight All pleafing objects which to verfe invite. The hills and dales, and the delightful woods, The flow'ry plains, and filver-ftreaming floods, By fnow difguis'd, in bright confufion lie, And with one dazzling wafte fatigue the eye.
No gentle breathing breeze prepares the fpring,
No birds within the defart region fing.
The fhips, unmoor'd, the boift'rous winds defy,.
While rattling chariots o'er the ocean. fly.
The vaft Leviathan wants room to play,
And fpout his waters in the face of day.
The ftarving wolves along the main fea prowl,
And to the moon in icy valleys howl.d
O'er many a fhining league the level main
Here fpreads itself into a glaffy plain::
There folid billows of enormous fize,
Alps of green ice, in wild diforder rife.
And yet but lately have I feen, ev'n here,
The winter in a lovely drefs appear,
Ere yet the clouds let fall the treafur'd fnow,
Or winds begun through hazy skies to blow,
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