And groves, unvisited by bard or sage. Amid the towery ruins, huge, supreme, Th' enormous amphitheatre behold, Mountainous pile! o'er whose capacious womb Pours the broad firmament its varied light; While from the central floor the seats ascend Round above round, slow-widening to the verge A circuit vast and high; nor less had held Imperial Rome, and her attendant realms, When drunk with rule she will'd the fierce delight, And op'd the gloomy caverns, whence out-rush'd Before th' innumerable shouting crowd The fiery, madded, tyrants of the wilds, Lions and tygers, wolves and elephants, And desperate men, more fell.
By frequent converse with familiar death, To kindle brutal daring apt for war;
To lock the breast, and steel th' obdurate heart Amid the piercing cries of sore distress
Behold yon steepy cliff; the modern pile Perchance may now delight, while that *, rever'd In ancient days, the page alone declares, Or narrow coin through dim cerulean rust. The fane was Jove's, its spacious golden roof, O'er thick-surrounding temples beaming wide, Appear'd, as when above the morning hills Half the round Sun ascends; and tower'd aloft, Sustain'd by columns huge, innumerous As cedars proud on Canaan's verdant heights
Darkening their idols, when Astarte lur'd Too-prosperous Israel from his living strength. And next regard yon venerable dome, Which virtuous Latium, with erroneous aim, Rais'd to her various deities, and nam'd Pantheon; plain and round; of this our world Majestic emblem; with peculiar grace Before its ample orb, projected stands The many-pillar'd portal: noblest work Of human skill: here, curious architect, If thou essay'st, ambitious, to surpass Palladius, Angelus, or British Jones, On these fair walls extend the certain scale, And turn th' instructive compass: careful mark How far in hidden art, the noble plain
Extends, and where the lovely forms commence Of flowing sculpture: nor neglect to note How range the taper columns, and what weight Their leafy brows sustain: fair Corinth first Boasted their order, which Callimachus (Reclining studious on Asopus' banks Beneath an urn of some lamented nymph) Haply compos'd; the urn with foliage curl'd Thinly conceal'd, the chapiter inform'd.
See the tall obelisks from Memphis old, One stone enormous each, or Thebes convey'd ; Like Albion's spires they rush into the skies. And there the temple *, where the summon'd state In deep of night conven'd: e'en yet methinks
* The Temple of Concord, where the senate met on Catiline's conspiracy.
The vehement orator in rent attire
Persuasion pours, Ambition sinks her crest; And lo the villain, like a troubled sea,
That tosses up her mire! Ever disguis'd,
Shall Treason walk? Shall proud Oppression yoke The neck of Virtue? Lo the wretch, abaslı'd, Self-betray'd Catiline!
Parent of Happiness, celestial-born;
When the first man became a living soul, His sacred genius thou; -be Britain's care; With her, secure, prolong thy lov'd retreat; Thence bless mankind; while yet among her sons, E'en yet there are, to shield thine equal laws, Whose bosoms kindle at the sacred names Of Cecil, Raleigh, Walsingham, and Drake. May others more delight in tuneful airs; In masque and dance excel; to sculptur'd stone Give with superior skill the living look ; More pompous piles erect, or pencil soft With warmer touch the visionary board : But thou, thy nobler Britons teach to rule; To check the ravage of tyrannic sway;
To quell the proud; to spread the joys of peace, And various blessings of ingenious trade. Be these our arts; and ever may we guard, Ever defend thee with undaunted heart! Inestimable good! who giv'st us Truth, Whose hand upleads to light, divinest Truth, Array'd in every charm: whose hand benign Teaches unwearied Toil to clothe the fields, And on his various fruits inscribes the name Of Property: O nobly hail'd of old
By thy majestic daughters, Judah fair,
And Tyrus and Sidonia, lovely nymphs,
And Libya bright, and all-enchanting Greece, Whose numerous towns and isles, and peopled seas, Rejoic'd around her lyre; th' heroic note
(Smit with sublime delight) Ausonia caught, And plann'd imperial Rome. Thy hand benign
Rear'd up her towery battlements in strength; Bent her wide bridges o'er the swelling stream Of Tuscan Tiber; thine those solemn domes Devoted to the voice of humbler prayer! And thine those piles * undeck'd, capacious, vast, In days of dearth where tender Charity Dispens'd her timely succours to the poor. Thine too those musically falling founts, To slake the clammy lip; adown they fall, Musical ever; while from yon blue hills Dim in the clouds, the radiant aqueducts Turn their innumerable arches o'er
The spacious desert, brightening in the Sun, Proud and more proud in their august approach: High o'er irriguous vales and woods and towns, Glide the soft whispering waters in the wind, And here united pour their silver streams Among the figur'd rocks, in murmuring falls, Musical ever. These thy beauteous works: And what beside felicity could tell
Of human benefit: more late the rest; At various times their turrets chanc'd to rise, When impious Tyranny vouchsaf'd to smile.
Behold by Tiber's flood, where modern Rome" Couches beneath the ruins: there of old
With arms and trophies gleam'd the field of Mars: There to their daily sports the noble youth Rush'd emulous; to fling the pointed lance; To vault the steed; or with the kindling wheel In dusty whirlwinds sweep the trembling goal; Or, wrestling, cope with adverse swelling breasts, Strong grappling arms, close heads, and distant feet; Or clash the lifted gauntlets: there they form'd Their ardent virtues: in the bossy piles, The proud triumphal arches; all their wars, Their conquests, honours, in the sculptures live. And see from every gate those ancient roads, With tombs high verg'd, the solemn paths of Fame: Deserve they not regard? O'er whose broad flints Such crowds have roll'd, so many storms of war; So many pomps; so many wondering realms : Yet still through mountains pierc'd, o'er valleys rais'd,
In even state, to distant seas around, They stretch their pavements. Lo, the fane of Built by that prince, who to the trust of power Was honest, the delight of human-kind.
Three nodding aisles remain; the rest a heap Of sand and weeds; her shrines, her radiant roofs, And columns proud, that from her spacious floor, As from a shining sea, majestic rose
* Modern Rome stands chiefly on the old Campus Martius.
+ Begun by Vespasian, and finished by Titus.
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