Beyond the reach of chance or pain
Secure, th' historian and the bard.
By them the heroe's generous rage
Still warm in youth immortal lives;
And in their adamantine page
Thy glory still survives.
Through deep Savannahs wild and vast,
Unheard, unknown through ages past,
Beneath the sun's directer beams
What copious torrents pour their streams!
No fame have they, no fond pretence to mourn,
No annals swell their pride, or grace their storied urn.
Whilst Thou, with Rome's exalted genius join'd,
Her spear yet lifted, and her corslet brac'd,
Canst tell the waves, canst tell the passing wind,
Thy wondrous tale, and cheer the list'ning waste.
Though from his caves th' unfeeling North
Pour'd all his legion'd tempests forth,
Yet still thy laurels bloom:
One deathless glory still remains,
Thy stream has roll'd through LATIAN plains,
Has wash'd the walls of ROME.
MONTAUBAN IN FRANCE, 1750.
BY THE REV. JOSEPH WARTON, D.D.
TARN, how delightful wind thy willow'd waves,
But ah! they fructify a land of slaves!
In vain thy bare-foot, sun-burnt peasants hide
With luscious grapes yon hill's romantic side;
No cups nectareous shall their toils repay,
The priest's, the soldier's, and the fermier's prey:
Vain glows this sun in cloudless glory drest,
That strikes fresh vigour through the pining breast;
Give me, beneath a colder, changeful sky,
My soul's best, only pleasure, LIBERTY!
What millions perish'd near thy mournful flood
When the red papal tyrant cry'd out-' Blood!'
Less fierce the Saracen, and quiver'd Moor,
That dash'd thy infants 'gainst the stones of yore.
Be warn'd, ye nations round; and trembling see
Dire superstition quench humanity!
By all the chiefs in Freedom's battles lost;
By wise and virtuous ALFRED's awful ghost;
By old GALGACUS' scythed, iron car,
That, swiftly whirling through the walks of war, Dash'd Roman blood, and crush'd the foreign throngs;
By holy Druids' courage-breathing songs;
By fierce BONDUCA's shield, and foaming steeds; By the bold peers that met on Thames's meads; By the fifth HENRY's helm, and lightning spear; O LIBERTY, my warm petition hear;
Be ALBION still thy joy! with her remain,
Long as the surge shall lash her oak-crown'd plain §
THE EDEN,
A RIVER IN WESTMORELAND.
DELIGHTFUL Eden! parent stream,
Yet shall the maids of Mem'ry say,
When, led by Fancy's fairy dream,
My young steps trac'd thy winding way; How oft along thy mazy shore,
Where slowly wav'd the willows hoar,
In pensive thought their poet stray'd; Or, dozing near thy meadow'd side, Beheld thy dimply waters glide,
Bright through the trembling shade.
Yet shall they paint those scenes again, Where once with infant-joy he play'd,
And bending o'er thy liquid plain,
The azure worlds below survey'd : Led by the rosy-handed Hours, When Time tript o'er that bank of flowers,
Which in thy crystal bosom smil'd;
Though old the God, yet light and gay,
He flung his glass, his scythe away,
And seem'd himself a child.
The poplar tall, that waving near
Wou'd whisper to thy murmurs free;
Yet rustling seems to sooth mine ear,
And trembles when I sigh for thee.
Yet seated on thy shelving brim,
Can Fancy see the Naiads trim
Burnish their green locks in the sun;
Or at the last lone hour of day,
To chase the lightly glancing jay,
In airy circles run.
But, Fancy, can thy mimic power
Again those happy moments bring? Canst thou restore that golden hour,
When young Joy wav'd his laughing wing?
When first in Eden's rosy vale,
My full heart pour'd the lover's tale,
The vow sincere, devoid of guile!
While Delia in her panting breast,
With sighs, the tender thought supprest,
And look'd as angels smile.
O Goddess of the crystal brow,
That dwell'st the golden meads among; Whose streams still fair in memory flow, Whose murmurs melodize my song!
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