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And floats the waste with waters not its own.
See there the shrivel'd cheek, or languid eye,
Swell into health, or lighten into joy ;
As eager crowding in the draught they join,
Reviving thousands bless the stroke divine.
But thou, fair damsel, with distinguish'd worth,
Emblem of filial piety, stand forth;

Forgot her own consuming inward fire,
She lifts untouch'd the vessel to her sire;
With the cool draught his heaving breast relieves,
And, as she soothes his pain, her own deceives.

With scenes too sad, Salvator strives to please,
Since what creates our wonder spoils our ease;
We give the wretched prodigal a tear,
And wish his kind forgiving father near.

As on Avernus' banks the hero stood,
Scar'd at the dreary darkness of the wood,
Till through the leaves, fair shot th' auspicious light,
And with the branching gold reliev'd his sight;

So rescued from the horrid scene we stand,
By the sweet effluence of Guido's hand.
Soft to the sight his every color flows,
As to the scent the fragrance of the rose.
Pure beams of light around the virgin play,
Clad in the brightness of celestial day;
Be as they may the broils of fierce divines,
Pure and unspotted here at least she shines.

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Thee too, Lorrain, the well-pleas'd Muse should


Nor e'er forget Domenichini's fame,

But sudden sorrow stops the flowing line,

And not one smile is found among the nine.

Behold where all the charms that Heaven could give,
Blended in one sweet form still seem to live;
Then sink to tears, nor stop the bursting groan,
When thou art told that all those charms are gone.
Relentless Death! still forcing to the grave
The good, the fair, the virtuous, and the brave,
Here the whole malice of his power put on,
And aim'd a dart that slew them all in one.
How fair, how good, how virtuous was the dame.
A thousand hearts in anguish still proclaim,
How brave her soul, against all fear how tried,
Sad, fatal, proof she gave us when she died.

Thou, then, my friend, no farther verse demand, Full swells my breast, and trembling shakes my hand; And these sad lines, conclude my mournful lay, Since we too once must fall to death a prey,

May we like Walpole meet the fatal day!




In Monmouthshire.



In Gloucestershire.


FROM where the Stroud, smooth stream, serenely


We reach the peopled Severn's rapid tides;
Stop, ere we sail; and from this point survey
The hill-encompass'd, sea-resembling bay;
See the ridg'd tide with sober grandeur heave,
And float in triumph o'er the river-wave.
Lo! where it comes, with what extensive sweep,
Like some whale, side-long rolling on the deep.
Wide and more wide, it joins the distant hills
By swift degrees, and the great bason fills.

We sail; now steadily; now gulphs inform The tumbling waves to imitate a storm.

The rising shores a thousand charms bestow,
Lawns at their feet, and forests on their brow;
The pleasing villas, neighbours to the flood,
The taper spire, and the surrounding wood.

These lines, my C**, read, and pity too The shadowing pencil to the scene untrue : See the bright image of thy thought decay'd, And all its beauties in description fade.

Where to each other the tall banks incline,
And distant cliffs dividing seem to join,
A narrow frith, our gallant Argo's way,
A door that opens to the boundless sea;
What, if some ship with strutting sails come on,
Her wanton streamers waving in the sun!
Just in the midst, as fancy would contrive,
See the proud vessel o'er the billows drive.

The streight is past the waves more strongly beat,
The prospects widen, and the shores retreat,
Tritons and Nereids! how we leave behind

Towns, palaces, and run with tide and wind!
Here, noble Stafford, thy unfinish'd dome,

And thence the long-stretch'd race of Berkeley com
Till tossing, and full-feasted more than tir'd,
We change the wilder scene for paths retir'd,
Quit the rough element, and watery strife,
As from a public to a private life,

Seek a calm coast, and up the channel ride,
Where Vaga mingles with Sabrina's tide.

The sister streams, from the same hill their source,
Deriving, took, when young, a various course,
And, many a city, many a country seen,

High towers, and walls antique, and meadows green,
Now glad to meet, nor now to part again,
Go hand in hand and slide into the main.

In spite of Time, and War, and Tempest, great,
Ascending Chepstow shows its castled seat,
Beneath slop'd hills, and by the rolling flood,
Clasp'd in a theatre of aged wood,

With air majestic, to the eye stands forth,
Towering, and, conscious of its pristine worth,
Lifts its sublime decay, in age's pride
Erect, and overlooks the climbing tide.

Pass but some moments, the returning sea Shall those high-stranded vessels sweep away; That airy bridge, whence down we look'd with fear, Will low and level with the flood appear.

The crooked bank still winds to something new,
Oars, scarcely turn'd diversify the view;
Of trees and stone an intermingled scene,
The shady precipice and rocky green,
Nature behold, to please and to surprise,
Swell into bastions, or in columns rise :

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