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See his generous patriot breast
By all his country's wrongs opprest.
See him with haughty fix'd disdain
Lament his dastard sons in vain!
To fairer happier climes belong
The painter's tints, the poet's song.
Lol conscious of approaching night,
Where Picture wings her destin'd fight:
Behold dejected Sculpture stand
Prepar'd to leave our desert land.
Yet, Goddess, yet thy secret fire
With wond'ring rapture we admire.
By thee 'mid rugged rocks we find
Each speaking passion of the mind.
With awful horror we behold
Th’immense Alcides' monstrous mould:
While Venus, queen of soft desires,
Each tender, gentler thought inspires.

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O Alexander! not alone
The warrior's skill to thee was known;
Fair Science, heaven-descended maid,
Confesses thy propitious aid :
To thee the grateful Arts shall raise
Eternal monuments of praise.
Behold with thee they die away,
To Roman ignorance a prey,
And lo! again in conquering Rome
With all their usual vigour bloom ;


Again they feel the fatal blow,
And sink beneath the Vandal foe.
Once more the arts began to spread,
Once more gay Science rear'd her head;
Alas! in vain she strove t' assuage
The enthusiast zealot's bigot rage.
Wilt thou, O Taste, again appear,
Protectress of each circling year!
Wilt thou in all thy wonted prime
Review this lost unhallow'd clime?
Or where far distant regions lie,
'Mid dreary deserts bloom and die?
Say, shall the stern Olympian god
No more in living marble nod ?
Shall never Raphael charm the heart,
Shall never Nature yield to art,
Shall never Maro's beauties shine,
Except in Armstrong's classic line ?
And does no Leo now remain,
Who yet shall clear thy drooping train?
There are, who still thy aid implore,
Who still thy sovereign power adore;
Thy relicts with religious fear
Fond Italy shall yet revere.

Sweet Power ! in simple pomp array'd Be all thy native charms display'd. Again reviving Sculpture breathes ; Fair Science trims her blasted wreaths ;

With suppliant willing hand to thee
The pencil Picture shall decree ;
With one consent the Muse's choir
To thee shall dedicate the lyre.

Come, Goddess, feast my longing sight,
Let me direct thy pleasing flight :
Whate’er voluptuous slaves could boast
On fair Phaeacia's sunny coast,
Whate'er the poet's fancy taught,
Or imag'd to his wanton thought :
For thee a happier fate remains;
You still shall view more blissful plains,
Where the soft guardian of thy charms
Expects thee to his longing arms:
He shall with fixt attention gaze,
Shall crown thee with immortal bays,
With lenient hand thy cares assuage,
Protect thee from Time's lawless rage,
The taunt of Scorn, the dark revile,
The languid, faint-approving smile,
The noise of Mirth, the plaintive sigh,
And simpering Folly's heedless eye.

Wouldst thou with Innocence reside,
Behold the temple's modest pride ;
Or in the darksome cavern'd cell
With solitary hermits dwell:
Wouldst thou with faint desponding air

To melancholy vaults repair,
With aching, sicken'd, cold review,
Bid every sorrow stream anew;
Here may'st thou weep thy favourite Rome,
Sad-sighing o’er each martyr's tomb:
Meek Pity, Attic maid, shall join
Her tender social tears with thine,
O’er every urn fresh laurels strow,
And fondly emulate thy woe.
Or wouldst thou newer worlds survey,
Where darkness holds her barren sway;
Where ne'er the Muse's chaplet blew;
Where Learning's laurel never grew;
Where Nature to our wond'ring eyes
Each salutary herb supplies;
Where flowers their fragrant sweets diffuse ;
Where trees distil their kindly dews;
And, blest with ev'ry power to heal,
Soft slumbers o'er the senses steal.
In such enchanting, artless scenes,
'Mid bowery mazes, spreading greens,
Sooth'd by the breezy western gale,
In scented grove, or rocky dale,
Or wand'ring from the russet cot,
To seek the deep-embosom'd grot,
Beneath the orange shade inclos'd,
Or in the myrtle bower repos’d,
Or where the flaunting flowers have wove
With mingled sweets the high alcove,

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Each Indian wooes his favourite mate;
What Nature dictates they relate :
No youths by love's cold arts are won,
Nor maids by easy faith undone ;
With eye uprais'd the simple swain
Dreads not the tortures of disdain,
But, kneeling at his fair one's feet,
Breathes vows unconscious of deceit :
Each pleasing sound she sighs to hear
Repeated on her longing ear;
Amaz'd, nor anxious to control
The mutual wishes of her soul,
Attests each unknown power above,
As witness of her spotless love;
Yet, rack'd by fond distrustful fears,
Pours out her aching heart in tears,
And tells to her admiring youth
Sweet tales of innocence and truth.

Fancy such raptures shall suggest,
Lov'd inmate of thy ravish'd breast;
Shall point where wanton zephyrs stray,
And o'er th' unruffled ocean play ;
Or snatch thee to some wave-worn shore,
Where fierce Atlantic surges roar:
Where Plata with resistless force
Thro’ deserts rolls his rapid course,
Or where Maranan proudly laves
Waste regions with his circling waves :

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