All, all the charms; but not alike to alf
'Tis given to revel in her blissful bower;
Coercive ties, and Reason's powerful call

Bid fome but tafte the sweets, which fome devour.

When Naturé gövern'd, and when Man was young,
Perhaps at will th' untutor❜d Savage rov'd,
Where waters murmur'd, and where clusters hung
He fed, and slept beneath the fhade he lov'd.

But fince the Sage's more fagacious mind,

By Heaven's permiffion, or by Heaven's command,
To polish'd states has social laws affign'd,
And general good on partial duties plann'd,

Not for ourselves our vagrant steps we bend
As heedlefs Chance, or wanton Choice ordain ;
On various ftations various tasks attend,

And Men are born to trifle or to reign.

As chaunts the woodman, whilst the Dryads weep,
And falling forefts fear th' uplifted blow,
As chaunts the fhepherd, whilst he tends his sheep,
Or weaves to pliant forms the ofier bough,

To me 'tis given, whom Fortune loves to lead
Thro' humbler toils to life's fequefter'd bowers,
To me 'tis given to wake th' amusive reed,
And footh with fong the folitary hours.

But

But Thee fuperior foberer toils demand,

Severer paths are thine of patriot fame;

Thy birth, thy friends, thy king, thy native land,
Have given thee honors, and have each their claim.

Then nerve with fortitude thy feeling breaft
Each wish to combat, and each pain to bear;
purn with disdain th' inglorious love of reft,
Nor let the fyren Eafe approach thine ear.

Beneath yon cypress fhade's eternal green

See proftrate Rome her wond'rous ftory tell, Mark how she rose the world's imperial queen, And tremble at the profpect how fhe fell!

Not that my rigid precepts would require
A painful ftrugling with each adverse gale,
Forbid thee liften to th' enchanting Lyre,

Or turn thy fteps from Fancy's flowery vale.

Whate'er of Greece in fculptur'd brafs furvives,
Whate'er of Rome in mould'ring arcs remains,
Whate'er of Genius on the canvass lives,

Or flows in polifh'd verfe, or airy ftrains,

Be these thy leifure; to the chofen few,
Who dare excel, thy foft'ring aid afford;

Their arts, their magic powers with honors due

Exalt; but be thyself what they record.

VOL. VI.

D

ELEGY

F

the

Where fix'd the Warrior God his fated feat; Where infant Heroes learnt the martial frown, And little hearts for genuine glory beat;

What for my friend, my foldier, fhall I frame?
What nobly-glowing verfe that breathes of arms,
To point his radiant path to deathless fame,
By great examples, and terrific charms ?

Quirinus firft, with bold, collected bands,

The finewy fons of strength, for empire strove;
Beneath his thunder bow'd th' aftonish'd lands,
And temples rose to Mars, and to Feretrian Jove.

War

War taught contempt of death, contempt of pain,
And hence the Fabii, hence the Decii come :
War urg'd the flaughter, tho' fhe wept the flain,
Stern War, the rugged nurse of virtuous Rome.

But not from antique fables will I draw,

To fire thy feeling foul, a dubious aid,
Tho' now, ev'n now, they strike with rev'rent awe,
By Poets or Hiftorians facred made.

Nor yet to thee the babling Muse shall tell

What mighty Kings with all their legions wrought, What cities funk, and ftoried nations fell

When Cæfar, Titus, or when Trajan fought,

From private worth, and Fortune's private ways
Whilft o'er yon hill th' exalted a Trophy shows
To what vaft heights of incorrupted praise
The great, the self-ennobled Marius rofe.

From steep Arpinum's rock-invefted shade,
From hardy Virtue's emulative school
His daring flight th' expanding Genius made,
And by obeying nobly learnt to rule.

Abafh'd, confounded, ftern Iberia groan'd,
And Afric trembled to her utmost coasts;
When the proud land its deftin'd Conqueror own'd
In the new Conful, and his veteran hofts.

a The trophies of Marius, now erected before the Capitol.

Yet Chiefs are madmen, and Ambition weak,
And mean the joys the laurel'd harvests yield,
If Virtue fail. Let Fame, let Envy speak
Of Capfa's walls, and Sextia's watry field.

But fink for ever, in oblivion caft,

Dishonest triumphs, and ignoble spoils. Minturnæ's Marsh severely paid at last The guilty glories gain'd in civil broils.

Nor yet his vain contempt the Muse shall praise
For scenes of polish'd life, and letter'd worth ;
The steel-rib'd Warrior wants not Envy's ways
To darken theirs, or call his merits forth,

Witness yon Cimbrian Trophies !—Marius, there
Thy ample pinion found a space to fly
As the plum'd eagle foaring fails in air,

In upper air, and scorns a middle fky.

Thence too thy Country claim'd thee for her own,
And bade the Sculptor's toil thy acts adorn,
To teach in characters of living stone
Eternal leffons to the youth unborn.

For wifely Rome her warlike Sons rewards

With the sweet labours of her Artists' hands; He wakes her Graces, who her empire guards,

And both Minervas join in willing bands.

O why,