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By what rosy fetters bound,
By what spell in witchcraft found;
Kneel before thy gaudy shrines ?
Whence derived that unknown charm,
Which e'en Avrice can disarm ;
And with ridicule combin'd,
Almost shakes the firmest mind ?
Not alone the courtly dame,
Throthy influence hopes for fame;
In the distant hamlet see,
Some poor milk-maid worship thee.
Thy commands, howe’er unjust,
View the rash, advent'rous boy,
Lurd by ev'ry gilded toy;
Madly squander hard-earn'd wealth,
“What with rapture more can thrill, “When at midnight all is still, “ Than the tale of Troy divine, “ Or the Mantuan's polish'd line.
“What to pleasure more give birth,
“ Than the sound of infant mirth;
66 Than the soft domestic hour,
“ Natal feast, or nuptial bower?
Manly virtue then recall, “ To each grey, paternal hall;
- Make our nobles, as of old,
“ Hardy, gen’rous, frank, and bold;
“ Make us, if th' Almighty's will, “ Rise in arms, triumphant still;
“ In the gentler arts of peace,
“Rival Italy, or Greece.”
SONNET UPON A VINE,
BROUGHT FROM THE TEMPLE OF ISIS, AT POMPEII, AND
PLANTED IN THE AUTHOR'S GARDEN.
“ All good grow with thee !
How many a vision fills the mind,
And many a thought recalls !
In quick succession falls.
Brought from Italia's sunny clime,
And Baia's fertile shore;
Forgive the Minstrel's feeble rhyme,
(Whom folly tempts to soar.)
Who fondly wishes to survey,
Parthenope's rich plain ; Recall Sorrento’s lovely bay,
And far-fam'd tideless main.
O’er ruin'd Isis' mould'ring shrine,
(Tho' ages now long past,) Where Egypt's Seer-miscall'd divine,
Foretold the awful blast.
Foretold the mountain's fiery stream,
With voice profane and loud;
"Till woke from superstition's dream,
He perish'd in the crowd.
Thy parent boughs conceal'd the fair,
(By great Osiris taught ;) When fresh as morn and light as air,
The sacred dome they sought.