Dyer.

1

Grongar-Hill invites my fong,
Draw the landskip bright and strong;
Grongar, in whofe mofly' cells
Sweetly-mufing Quiet dwells;
Grongar, in whose silent shade,
For the modeft Mufes made,
So oft I have, 'the even still,
At the fountain of a rill,
Sate upon a flow'ry bed

With my hand beneath my head;
And stray'd my eyes o'er Towy's flood,

Over mead, and over wood,

From houfe to houfe, from hill to hill,
'Till Contemplation had her fill.

About his chequer'd fides I wind,
And leave his brooks and meads behind,
And leave his brooks

And viftoes fhooting beams of day:
Wider and wider fpreads the vale;
As circles on a smooth canal:

The mountains round, unhappy fate!
Sooner or later, of all height,

Withdraw their fummits from the fkies,

And leffen as the others rife:

Still the profpect wider spreads,

Adds a thousand woods and meads,

Still it widens, widens ftill,

And finks the newly-rifen hill.

Now, I gain the mountain's brow,

What a landi kip lies below!

No clouds, no vapours intervene,

But the gay, the open

fcene

Does the face of nature fhow,

In all the hues of heaven's bow!
And, fwelling to embrace the light,
Spreads around beneath the fight.
Old caftles on the cliffs arife,
Proudly tow'ring in the fkies!

Rufhing

Rufhing from the woods, the fpires
Seem from hence afcending fires!
Half his beams Apollo fheds
On the yellow mountain-heads!
Gilds the fleeces of the flocks;
And glitters on the broken rocks!

Below me trees unnumber'd rife
Beautiful in various dyes:

The gloomy pine, the poplar blue,
The yellow beech, the fable yew,
The flender fir, that taper grows,
The sturdy oak with broad-spread boughs.
And beyond the purple grove,
Haunt of Phillis, queen of love!
Gaudy as the op'ning dawn,
Lies a long and level lawn,

On which a dark hill, fteep and high,
Holds and charms the wand'ring eye!
Deep are his feet in Towy's flood,
His fides are cloath'd with waving wood,
And ancient towers crown his brow,
That caft an awful look below;
Whofe ragged walls the ivy creeps,
And with her arms from falling keeps;
So both a fafety from the wind
On mutual dependence find.

'Tis now the raven's bleak abode
'Tis now th' apartment of the toad;
And there the fox fecurely feeds;
And there the pois'nous adder breeds,
Conceal'd in ruins, mofs and weeds:
While, ever and anon, there falls
Huge heaps of hoary moulder'd walls
Yet time has feen, that lifts the low,
And level lays the lofty brow,
Has feen this broken pile compleat,
Big with the vanity of state;
But tranfient is the fmile of fate!

Dyer.

A little rule, a little fway,..
A fun-beam in a winter's day,
Is all the proud and mighty have
Between the cradle and the grave.

And fee the rivers how they run,
Thro' woods and meads, in fhade and fun,
Sometimes fwift, and fometimes flow,
Wave fucceeding wave, they go
A various journey to the deep,
Like human life to endless fleep!
Thus is nature's vesture wrought,
To inftruct our wand'ring thought;
Thus fhe dreffes green and gay,
To disperse our cares away.

Ever charming, ever new,

When will the landskip tire the view?
The fountain's fall, the rivers flow,
The woody vallies, warm and low;
The windy fummit, wild and high,
Roughly rufhing on the fky!
The pleafant feat, the ruin'd tow'r,
The naked rock, the fhady bow'r;
The town and village, dome and farm,
Each give each a double charm,
As pearls upon an Aethiop's arm.

See on the mountains fouthern fide,
Where the prospect opens wide,
Where the evening gilds the tide ;
How clofe and fmall the hedges lie!
What ftreaks of meadows crois the eye!
A ftep methinks may pafs the stream,
So little diftant dangers feem;

So we mistake the future's face,
Ey'd thro' hope's deluding glafs;
As yon fummits foft and fair,
Clad in colours of the air,

Which to those who journey near,
Barren, and brown, and rough appear;

Still we tread the fame coarfe way,

Dyer.

The prefent's still a cloudy day.

O may I with myself agree,

And never covet what I fee:
Content me with an humble fhade,
My paffions tam'd, my wifhes laid;
For while our wifhes wildly roll,
We banish quiet from the foul:
'Tis thus the busy beat the air;
And mifers gather wealth and carë.

Now, ev'n now, my joy runs high,

As on the mountain-turf I lie;
While the wanton Zephyr fings,
And in the vale perfumes his wings;
While the waters murmur deep
While the fhepherd charms his sheep;
While the birds unbounded fly,
And with mufick fill the fky,

Now, ev'n now, my joy runs high.

Be full, ye courts, be great who will;
Search for Peace with all your fkill:
Open wide the lofty door,-
Seek her on the marble floor,

In vain you fearch, fhe is not there;
In vain ye fearch the domes of care!
Grafs and flowers Quiet treads;
On the meads, and mountain-heads,
Along with Pleafure, clofe ally'd,
Ever by each other's fide:

And often, by the murm'ring rill,
Hears the thrufh, while all is ftill,
Within the groves of Grongar-Hill.

Dyer.

THE RUINS OF ROME.

How doth it please and fill the memory

With deeds of brave renown, while on each hand
Hiftoric urns and breathing ftatues rife,
And speaking bufts! Sweet Scipio, Marius ftern,
Pompey fuperb, the fpirit-ftirring form
Of Caefar, raptur'd with the charm of rule
And boundlefs fame; impatient for exploits,
His eager eyes upcaft, he foars in thought
Above all height: and his own Brutus fee,
Defponding Brutus, dubious of the right,
In evil days, of faith, of publick weal,
Solicitous and fad. Thy next regard
Be Tully's graceful attitude; uprais'd,
His out-ftretch'd arm he waves, in act to speak
Before the filent mafters of the world,
And eloquence arrays him. There behold
Prepar'd for combat in the front of war
The pious brothers; jealous Alba stands
In fearful expectation of the ftrife,

And youthful Rome intent: the kindred foes
Fall on each other's neck in filent tears;
In forrowful benevolence embrace

Howe'er they foon unfheath'd the flashing fword,
Their country calls to arms; now all in vain
The mother clafps the knee, and ev'n the fair
Now weeps in vain; their country calls to arms.
Such virtue Clelia, Cocles, Manlius, rous'd;
Such were the Fabii, Decii, fo infpir'd
The Scipio's battled, and the Gracchi fpoke:
So rofe the Roman ftate. Me now, of thefe
Deep mufing, high ambitious thoughts inflame
Greatly to ferve my country, distant land,
And build me virtuous fame; nor fhall the dust
Of thefe fall'n piles with fhew of lad decay
Avert the good refolve, mean argument,

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