Then let me, sequester'd fair,
To your Sibyl grot repair,
On yon hanging cliff it stands
Scoop'd by Nature's salvage hands,
Bosom'd in the gloomy shade
Of cypress, not with age decay'd.
Where the owl still hooting fits,

W the bat incessant sits,

Blest power! whose charms alone dispense
A keener rapture to each sense :
If Melody enchant my breast,
Or sooth my soften'd soul to rest,
By thee may every strain be crown'd,
May'st thou still harmonize each sound.
If blooming colours seem to live,
May you fresh life and vigour give;
May you restrain each poet's rage,
Or animate his purer page.

Dost thou his savage wrath appease,
Ev'n Terror's giant form can please;
'Mid shadowy shapes in dead of night
That shoot across my dazzled sight;
'Mid spectres of enormous size,

'Mid ghosts that from their charnels rise,
'Mid shrouded friends who solemn stalk,
And haunt me in my midnight walk;
While wild winds blustʼring round my head,

Inspire me with poetic dread;

Thro' closing shades, o'er valleys green,
May'st thou still solemnize the scene;

And as the storms innoxious roll,

Pour thy loy'd horrors o'er

my

soul.

Yet not alone Britannia's shore
Thy fatal absence shall deplore.
See old Achaia's genius mourn,
His bosom bare, his garments torn;

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.
Lo! conscious of approaching night,
Where Picture wings her destin'd flight:
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.

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;