LIBERTY. PART I.

LIBERTY . PART I. O MY lamented TALBOT ! while with Thee The Muse gay-rov'd the glad Hesperian Round , And drew th' inspiring Breath of Ancient Arts ; Ah ! little thought she her returning Verse Should sing our Darling Subject to thy Shade . And does the Mystic Veil , from mortal Beam , Involve those Eyes where every Virtue smil'd , And all the FATHER'S candid Spirit shone ? The Light of Reason , pure , without a Cloud ; Full of the generous Heart , the mild Regard ; Unblemish'd Honour , uncorrupted Faith ; And limpid Truth , that looks the very Soul . But to the Death of mighty Nations turn'd My Strain , be there absorb'd the Private Tear . MUSING , I lay ; warm from the sacred Walks , Where at each step Imagination burns : Ten thousand Wonders rowling in my thought , As the Great Scene of deathless deeds I tread , Tread the blest Ground by more than mortals trod , And see those Skies that breath'd the Roman Soul . Mean time wide-scatter'd round , awful , and hoar , Lies a vast Monument once glorious Rome , The Tomb of Empire ! Ruins ! that efface Whate'er , of finish'd , modern Pomp can boast . Of these Ideas full , reposing Sense In slumber sunk ; and Fancy's Magic hand Led me anew o'er all the solemn Scene , Still in the Mind's pure eye more solemn drest . When strait , methought , the fair majestic POWER Of LIBERTY appear'd . Not , as of old , Extended in her hand the Cap , and Rod , Whose Slave-inlarging touch gave double life : But her bright Temples bound with British Oak , And Naval Honours nodded on her Brow . Sublime her Port . Loose o'er her Shoulder flow'd Her sea-green Robe , with Constellations gay . An Island Goddess now ; and her high care The Queen of Isles , the Mistress of the Main . My heart beat filial transport at the sight ; And , as she mov'd to speak , th' awaken'd Muse Listen'd intense . A while she look'd around , With mournful eye the well-known Ruins mark'd , And then , her Sighs repressing , thus began . Mine are these Wonders , all thou see'st is mine ; But ah how chang'd ! the falling poor Remains Of what exalted once th' Ausonian Shore . Look back thro' time ; and from the gloom disclos'd , Painting my words , behold the scatter'd Scene . The Great Republick see ! that glow'd sublime With the mixt Freedom of a thousand States ; Rais'd on the Thrones of Kings her Curule Chair , And by her Fasces aw'd the subject World . See busy Millions swarming all the Land , With Cities throng'd , and teeming Culture high : For on her free-born Sons then Nature smil'd , And pour'd the Plenty that belongs to Men . Behold , the Country chearing , Villas rise , In lively Prospect ; by the secret lapse Of Brooks now lost , and Streams renown'd in Song : In Umbria's closing Vales , or on the brow Of her brown Hills that breathe the scented gale : On Baia's viny coast ; where peaceful Seas , Fan'd by kind Zephirs , ever kiss the shore ; And Suns unclouded shine , and purest Air : Or in the spacious Neighbourhood of Rome ; Far-shining upwards to the Sabine Hills , To Anio's Roar , and Tibur's Olive Shade ; To where Preneste lifts her airy Brow ; Or downwards spreading to the sunny shore , Wav'd from the main , where Alba draws the Breeze . See distant Mountains leave their Vallies dry , And o'er the proud Arcade their Tribute pour , To lave Imperial Rome . For ages laid Deep , massy , firm , diverging every way , From sea to sea , her Public Roads behold : By various Nations trod , and suppliant Kings ; With Legions flaming , or with Triumph green . Full in the Centre of these wondrous Works , While Tombs of Heroes consecrate the way , The Pride of Earth ! Rome in her Glory see ! Behold her Demigods , in Senate met ; All Head to counsel , and all Heart to act : The Commonweal inspiring every Tongue With fervent Eloquence , unbrib'd , and bold ; Ere low Corruption taught the Servile Herd To know a Master's voice . Astonish'd , mark Her Forum , earnest , popular , and loud , In trembling wonder hush'd , when the two L. J. Brutus , and Virginius . SIRES , As they the Private Father greatly quell'd , Stood up the Public Fathers of the State . See Justice judging there in Human Shape . Hark how with Freedom's voice it thunders high , Or in soft murmurs sinks to TULLY'S tongue . Her Tribes , her Census see ; her Generous Troops , Whose Pay was Glory , and whose best Reward Free for their Country and for ME to die ; Ere Mercenary Murder grew a Trade . Mark , as the purple Triumph waves along , The highest Pomp and lowest Fall of Life . Her Festive Games , the School of Heroes , see ; Her Circus , ardent with contending Youth ; Her Streets , her Temples , Palaces , and Baths , Full of fair Forms of Beauty's eldest born , And of a Race by Plastic Virtue mark'd . While Sculpture lives around , and Asian Hills Lend their best Stores to heave the pillar'd Dome : All that to Roman Grandeur the soft Touch Of Grecian Art can join . But Language fails To paint this Sun , this Center of Mankind ; Where every Virtue , Glory , Treasure , Art , Attracted strong , in heighten'd lustre met . Need I the Contrast mark ? unjoyous View ! A Land in all , in Government , and Arts , In Virtue , Genius , Heaven and Earth revers'd . Who but these far-fam'd Ruins to behold , Proofs of a People , whose heroic Aims Soar'd far above the little selfish sphere Of doubting modern Life ; who but inflam'd With Classic Zeal , the consecrated Scenes Of Men and Deeds to trace , the Wonder , Theme , And Model of Mankind ; unhappy Land ! Would trust thy Wilds , and Cities loose of sway ? Are these the Vales , that once exulting States In their warm bosom fed ? The Mountains these , On whose high-blooming sides my Sons of old I bred to Glory ? These dejected Towns , Sordid , and mean , where Life can scarce subsist , The Scenes of Antient Opulence , and Pomp ? Come ! by whatever Sacred Name disguis'd , OPPRESSION , come ! and in thy works rejoice ! See Nature's richest Plains to putrid Fens Turn'd by thy Rage . From their unchearful bounds See raz'd th' enliv'ning Village , Farm , and Seat . First Rural Toil , by thy rapacious hand Robb'd of his poor Reward , resign'd the Plow ; And now he dares not turn the noxious Glebe . 'Tis thine intire . The lonely Swain himself , Who loves at large along the grassy Downs His flocks to pasture , Thine abhorrent flies . Far as the sickening Eye can sweep around , 'Tis all one Desart , desolate , and grey , Graz'd by the sullen Bufalo alone ; And where the rank unventilated Growth Of rotting Ages taints the passing Gale . Beneath the baleful Blast the City pines , Or sinks infeebl'd , or infected burns . Beneath it mourns the solitary Road , Roll'd in rude Mazes o'er th' abandon'd Waste ; While Antient Ways , ingulph'd , are seen no more . Such thy dire Plains , thou Self-Destroyer ! Foe To Human-kind ! Thy Mountains too , profuse Where savage Nature blooms , seem their sad plaint To raise against thy desolating Rod . There on the breezy Brow , where thriving States , And famous Cities once , to the pleas'd Sun , Far other Scenes of rising Culture spread , Pale shine thy ragged Towns . Neglected round , Each Harvest pines ; the livid , lean Produce Of heartless Labour : while thy hated Joys , Not proper Pleasure , lift the lazy hand . Better to sink in Sloth the Woes of life , Than wake their rage with unavailing Toil . Hence drooping Art almost to Nature leaves The rude , unguided Year . Thin wave the Gifts Of yellow Ceres , thin the radiant Blush Of Orchard reddens in the warmest ray . To weedy wildness run , no Rural Wealth , ( Such as Dictators fed ) the Garden pours . Crude the wild Olive flows , and foul the Vine ; Nor Juice Coecubian , nor Falernian , more Streams Life , and Joy , save in the Muse's bowl . Unseconded by Art , the spinning Race Draw the bright thread in vain , and idly toil . In vain , forlorn in wilds , the Citron blows ; And flowering Plants perfume the desart gale . Thro' the vile hedge the tender Myrtle twines . Inglorious droops the Laurel , dead to Song , And long a stranger to the Heroe's brow . Nor half thy Triumph this : cast from brute Fields Into the Haunts of Men thy ruthless eye . There buxom Plenty never turns her horn ; The Grace and Virtue of exterior Life , No clean Convenience reigns ; even Sleep itself , Least delicate of Powers , reluctant there Lays on the Bed impure his heavy head . Thy horrid Walk ! dead , empty , unadorn'd , See Streets whose Echos never know the voice Of chearful Hurry , Commerce many-tongue'd , And Art mechanic at his various task Fervent employ'd . Mark the desponding Race , Of Occupation void , as void of Hope ; Hope the glad Ray , glanc'd from ETERNAL GOOD , That Life enlivens , and exalts it's Powers , With views of Fortune — Madness all to them ! By Thee relentless seiz'd their better Joys , To the soft aid of cordial Airs they fly , A kind Oblivion breathing o'er their Woes , And Love and Music melt their Souls away . From feeble Justice see how rash Revenge , Trembling , the Ballance snatches ; and her Sword , Fearful himself , to venal Ruffians gives . See where GOD'S Altar nursing Murder stands , With the red touch of dark Assassins stain'd . But chief let Rome , the mighty City ! speak The full-exerted Genius of thy Reign . Behold Her rise amid the lifeless Waste , Expiring Nature all corrupted round ; While the lone Tyber , thro' the desart Shore , Winds his waste stores , and sullen sweeps along . Patch'd from my Fragments , in unsolid Pomp , Mark how the Temple glares ; and , artful drest , Amusive draws the superstitious Train . Mark how the Palace lifts a lying front , Concealing often , in magnific Jail , Proud Want , a deep unanimated Gloom ! And often joining to the drear abode Of Misery , whose melancholy walls Seem its voracious Grandeur to reproach . Within the City Bounds , the Desart see . See the rank Vine o'er subterranean roofs , Indecent , spread ; beneath whose fretted gold It once exulting flow'd . The People mark , Matchless , while fir'd by me ; to Public Good Inexorably firm , just , generous , brave , Afraid of nothing but unworthy Life , Elate with Glory , an Heroic Soul Known to the Vulgar Breast : behold them now A thin despairing Number , all subdu'd , The Slaves of Slaves , by Superstition fool'd , By Vice unman'd and a licentious Rule , In Guile ingenious , and in Murder brave . Such in one Land , beneath the same fair Clime , Thy Sons , OPPRESSION , are ; and such were MINE . Even with thy labour'd State , for whose vain show Deluded Thousands starve ; all age-begrim'd , Torn robb'd and scatter'd in unnumber'd Sacks , And by the Tempest of two thousand Years Continual shaken , let my Ruins vie . These Roads that yet the Roman hand assert , Beyond the weak repair of modern Toil ; These fractur'd Arches , that the chiding Stream No more delighted hear ; these rich Remains Of Marbles now unknown , where shines imbib'd Each parent ray ; these massy Columns , hew'd From Africk's farthest shore ; one Granite all , These Obelisks high-towering to the Sky , Mysterious mark'd with dark Egyptian Lore ; These endless Wonders that this Via Sacra . Sacred Way Illumine still , and consecrate to Fame ; These Fountains , Vases , Urns , and Statues , charg'd With the fine stores of Art-compleating Greece . From these too drawn , mine is thy every Boast : Thy M. ANGELO BUONAROTI , PALLADIO , and RAPHAEL D'URBINO ; the three great modern Masters in Sculpture , Architecture , and Painting . BUONAROTIS , thy PALLADIOS mine ; And mine the fair Designs , that RAPHAEL'S soul O'er the live canvass emanating breath'd . What would you say , ye Conquerors of Earth ! Ye Romans ! could you raise the laurel'd Head ; Could you the Country see , with Seas of blood , And the dread Toil of ages , won so dear ; Your Pride , your Triumph , your supreme Delight ! For whose Defence oft , in the doubtful hour , You rush'd with rapture down the gulph of Fate , Of Death ambitious ! till by awful Deeds , Virtues , and Courage , that amaze Mankind , The Queen of Nations rose ; possest of all That Nature , Art , and Glory could bestow : What would you say , deep in the last Abyss Of Slavery , Vice , and unambitious Want , Thus to behold her sunk ? Your crowded Plains , Void of their Cities ; unadorn'd your Hills ; Ungrac'd your Lakes ; your Ports to Ships unknown ; Your lawless Floods , and your abandon'd Streams ; These could you know ? these could you love again ? Thy Tibur , HORACE , could it now inspire Content , Poetic Ease , and Rural Joy , Soon bursting into Song : while thro' the Groves Of headlong Anio , dashing to the Vale , In many a tortur'd Stream , you mus'd along ? Tusculum is reckoned to have stood at a Place now called Grotta Ferrata , a Convent of Monks . Yon wild retreat , where Superstition dreams , Could , TULLY , you your Tusculum believe ? And could you deem yon naked Hills , that form , Fam'd in old Song , the Ship-forsaken The Bay of Mola ( anciently Formiae ) into which HOMER brings ULYSSES , and his Companions . Near Formiae CICERO had a Villa . Bay , Your Formian Shore ? Once the Delight of Earth , Where Art and Nature , ever-smiling , join'd On the gay Land to lavish all their Stores ; How chang'd , how vacant , VIRGIL , wide around , Would now your Naples seem ? Disaster'd less By black Vesuvius thundering o'er the Coast , His midnight Earthquakes , and his mining Fires , Than by Despotic Rage : that inward gnaws , A native Foe ; a foreign , tears without . First from your flatter'd CAESARS This begun ; Till houseless spreads , at last , the Campagna selice , adjoining to Capua . Syren Plain , That the dire Soul of HANNIBAL disarm'd ; And wrapt in Weeds the The Coast of Baia ; which was formerly adorned with the Works mentioned in the following Lines ; and where amidst many magnificent Ruins , those of a Temple erected to Venus are still to be seen . Shore of Venus lies . There Baia sees no more the joyous Throng ; Her banks all beaming with the Pride of Rome : No generous Vines now bask along the Hills , Where sport the Breezes of the Tyrrhene main : With Baths and Temples mixt , no Villas rise ; Nor , Art-sustain'd amid reluctant Waves , Draw the cool murmurs of the breathing Deep : No spreading Ports their sacred Arms extend : No mighty Moles the big intrusive Storm , From the calm Station , roll resounding back . An almost total Desolation sits , A dreary Stillness , sad'ning o'er the Coast ; All along this Coast , the antient Romans had their Winter retreats ; and several populous Cities stood . Where , when soft Suns and tepid Winters rose , Rejoicing Crowds inhal'd the balm of Peace ; Where city'd Hill to Hill reflected blaze ; And where , with Ceres , Bacchus wont to hold A genial Strife : Her youthful Form , robust , Even Nature yields ; by Fire , and Earthquake rent : Whole stately Cities in the dark Abrupt Swallow'd at once , or vile in rubbish laid , A nest for Serpents ; from the red Abyss New Hills , explosive , thrown ; the Lucrine Lake A reedy Pool ; and all to Cuma's Point , The Sea recovering his usurp'd Domain , And pour'd triumphant o'er the bury'd Dome . Hence , BRITAIN , learn ; my best-establish'd , last , And more than GREECE , or ROME , my steady Reign ; The Land where , King and People equal bound By guardian Laws , my fullest Blessings flow ; And where my jealous unsubmitting Soul , The dread of Tyrants ! burns in every breast : Learn hence , if such the miserable fate Of an heroic Race , the Masters once Of Humankind ; what , when depriv'd of ME , How grievous must be thine ? In spite of Climes , Whose Sun-enliven'd Aether wakes the Soul To higher Powers ; in spite of happy Soils , That , but by Labour's slightest aid impell'd , With Treasures teem to thy cold Clime unknown ; If there desponding fail the common Arts , And sustenance of life : could Life itself , Or , heart-consum'd , a Tyrant's rotten Pomp , Subsist with thee ? Against depressing Skies , Join'd to full-spread Oppression's cloudy Brow , How could thy Spirits hold ? where Vigour find , Forc'd Fruits to tear from their unnative Soil ? Or every Harvest storing in thy Ports , Profuse of all , to plow the dreadful Wave ? Here paus'd the GODDESS . By the Pause assur'd , In trembling accents thus I mov'd my Prayer . " Oh first , and most benevolent of Powers ! " Come from eternal Splendors , here on Earth , " Against despotic Pride , and Rage , and Lust , " To shield Mankind ; to raise them to assert " The native Rights , and Honour of their Race . " Teach me thy lowest Subject , but in Zeal " Yielding to none , the PROGRESS OF THY REIGN , " And with a Strain from THEE enrich the Muse . " For thy proud Slave , alone ; her Patron Thou , " And great Inspirer be ! then will she joy , " Tho' narrow Life her Lot , and Private Shade : " And when her Venal Voice she barters vile , " Or to thy open or thy secret Foes ; " May ne'er those sacred Raptures touch her more , " By slavish Hearts unfelt ! and may her Song " Sink in oblivion with the nameless Crew ! " Vermin of State ! to thy o'erflowing Light " That owe their Being , yet betray thy Cause . " Then , condescending kind , the HEAVENLY POWER Return'd . — " What here , suggested by the Scene , " I slight unfold , record , and sing at home , " In that blest Isle , where ( so we Spirits move ) " With one quick effort of my Will I am . " There Truth , unlicens'd , walks ; even Kings themselves " Invite her forth , the Monarchs of the Free ! " By that best Glory pierc'd , that God-like Joy , " That gay Security , that Pride of Rule ; " When Men , not Slaves , when all-performing Love , " Not sluggish Hate , and faithless Fear , obey . " Fix'd on my Rock , there an Indulgent Race " O'er BRITONS wield the Scepter of the Heart : " And , mixing Worth with Worth , the ROYAL PAIR " To steady Justice yielding Goodness join . " Nor sets the Prospect in this pleasing view ; " While there , to finish what his Sires began , " A PRINCE behold ! for ME who burns sincere , " Even with a Subject's Zeal . He my great Work " Will Parent-like sustain ; and added give " The Touch , the Graces and the Muses owe . " For BRITAIN'S Glory swells his panting Breast ; " And Antient Arts He emulous revolves : " His Pride to let the smiling Heart abroad , " Thro' Clouds of Pomp , that but conceal the Man ; " To please his Pleasure ; Bounty his Delight ; " And all the Soul of TITUS dwells in Him . " Hail glorious Theme ! But how alas ! shall Verse , From the crude Stores of mortal Language drawn , How faint and tedious , sing , what , piercing deep , The GODDESS flash'd at once upon my Soul . For , clear Precision all , the Tongue of Gods Is Harmony itself ; to every Ear Familiar known , like Light to every Eye . Mean time disclosing Ages , as She spoke , In dread Succession pour'd their Empires forth ; Scene after Scene , the Human Drama spread ; And still th'embody'd Picture rush'd to sight . Oh THOU ! to whom the Muses owe their flame ; Who bid'st beneath the Pole Parnassus rise , And Hippocrenè flow ; with thy bold Ease The striking Force , the Lightning of thy Thought , And thy strong Phrase , that rowls profound , and clear ; Oh gracious GODDESS ! reinspire my Song : While I , to nobler than Poetic Fame Aspiring , thy Commands to BRITONS bear .