See Phrygia's lawns in flowery verdure gay, A thousand herds on rich Emathia low, Save where yon Fanes in mouldering beauty rise; He form'd the Eagle's rapid wing for flight, Curv'd his strong beak, and clear'd his piercing sight; He bade the timid Ostrich scour the plain; He fring'd with gold the Peacock's painted train. The Halcyon's plume is His; and every song Sad Philomela pours her plaintive lay; The blue Jay roving o'er the thymy vale, Drops his spread wing and drinks the thrilling tale. The thoughtless tenants of the noon-tide ray. And the lythe antlers waving o'er his head; How firm the threads that bind each springy limb! How beams that eye which one short hour shall dim! Immense profusion, which could thus array A worm, a mite, to frolick for a day! Nor less old Ocean's azure fields declare Or ride exulting on the roaring wave! For every form is there; they float, they swim, There is the slimy Seal, the unwieldy Whale; There the huge Porpoise floats, while sportive round Oft by those shores, where stretch'd in slumber lay Or far on western seas with side-long sail The Sun's full beams a prouder lustre shed; Joy play'd around them, Pleasure blythe and strong That my sad heart has leap'd, though press'd with pain, 1 Oh! then, what gladness wak'd the Sage's soul, Whose ardent thought survey'd the amazing whole! From sea, from shore, tall cliff, and lowly dell, He heard Creation's choral anthem swell; The high Hosanna, borne upon the gale, Breath'd through each grove, and stream'd from every vale; Bright Arno's waves responsive murmurs sung, Dark Ida's heights with echoing rapture rung; And air and ocean, as it swept along, Raised a glad shout to swell the general song. LINES Written at the Fountain of Arethusa, on the road "Lives there one who worships now. "Arethusa's slighted wave? "Still beside my sacred stream, "None the song of joy renew, "Silent springs the morning beam, "Sad descends the evening dew. "Not such was Freedom's early day, 66 By haunted stream and hallow'd grove, "When rapture poured the festive lay, "When rung the lyre to mirth and love; 66 And youths in Fancy's wizard hour "Would on this favour'd marge recline, "And maidens hung the votive flower, "An offering at my virgin shrine. "But fierce around this lowly dell, "The flames of war and conquest spread, 66 My sons for freedom fought and fell, 66 My frighted maidens wept and fled. "Ah! woe betide the cruel sword, "That swept my children all away. "Now strangers hold this classic bower, 66 My meads, my groves, my altars spurn, "And rudely crush each hallowed flower, "That lightly wreathed my agate urn. |