VIRGIL's Tomb. NAPLES 1741. Joseph Trapp Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T131163 K104099.004 Dodsley, Robert, 1703-1764. A Collection of Poems in Six Volumes. By Several Hands. Vol. IV. London printed by J. Hughs, for R. and J. Dodsley 1763 [1st ed. 1758] pp. 110-115. 6v.: music; 8⁰.

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VIRGIL's Tomb . NAPLES 1741. — Tenues ignavo Pollio chordas Pulso ; Maroneique redens in margine templi Suae animum , & magni tumulis adcanto magistri . Stat. I Came , great bard , to gaze upon thy shrine , And o'er thy relicks wait th' inspiring Nine : For sure , I said , where Maro's ashes sleep , The weeping Muses must their vigils keep : Still o'er their fav'rite's monument they mourn , And with poetic trophies grace his urn : Have placed the shield and martial trumpet here ; The shepherd's pipe , and rural honours there : Fancy had deck'd the consecrated ground , And scatter'd never-fading roses round . And now my bold romantic thought aspires To hear the echo of celestial lyres ; Then catch some sound to bear delighted home , And boast I learnt the verse at Virgil's tomb ; Or stretch'd beneath thy myrtle's fragrant shade , With dreams extatic hov'ring o'er my head , See forms august , and laurel'd ghosts ascend , And with thyself , perhaps , the long procession end . I came — but soon the phantoms disappear'd ; Far other scenes , than wanton Hope had rear'd ; No faery rites , no funeral pomp I found ; No trophied walls with wreaths of laurel round : A mean unhonour'd ruin faintly show'd The spot where once thy mausoleum stood : Hardly the form remain'd ; a nodding dome O'ergrown with moss is now all Virgil's tomb . 'Twas such a scene as gave a kind relief To memory , in sweetly-pensive grief : Gloomy , unpleasing images it wrought ; No musing , soft complacency of thought : For Time had canker'd all , and worn away Ev'n the last , mournful graces of decay : Oblivion , hateful goddess , sate before , And cover'd with her dusky wings the door : No silver harps I heard , no Muse's voice , But birds obscene in horrid notes rejoice : Fancy recoil'd , and with his tinsel train , Forsook the chearless scene ; no more remain The warm ambitious hopes of airy youth ; Severe Reflection came , and frowning Truth : Away each glitt'ring gay idea fled , And bade a melancholy train succeed , That form'd , or seem'd to form , a mournful call In feeble echoes mutt'ring round the wall . Seek not the Muses here ! th' affrighted maids Have fled Parthenope's polluted shades : Her happy shores , the seats of joy and ease , Their fav'rite mansions once , no longer please : No longer , as of old , in transport lost , The sisters rove along th' enchanted coast ; They turn with horror from each much-lov'd stream , And loath the fields that were their darling theme : The tuneful names themselves once fondly gave To ev'ry swelling hill , and mossy cave , So pleasing then , are only heard with sighs ; And each sad echo bids their sorrow rise . Yet Nature smiles , as when their Virgil sung , Nor 'midst a fairer scene his lyre was strung ; Still bloom the sweets of his elysium here , And the same charms in ev'ry grove appear . But ah ! in vain indulgent suns prevail ; Health and delight in ev'ry balmy gale Are wafted now in vain : small comfort bring To weeping eyes the beauties of the spring . To groaning slaves those fragrant meads belong , Where Tully dictated , and Maro sung . Long since , alas ! those golden days are flown , Where here each Science wore its proper crown ; Pale Tyranny had laid their altars low , And rent the laurel from the Muse's brow : What wonder then 'midst such a scene to see The Arts expire with bleeding Liberty ? Pensive and sad , each fair angelic form Droops , like the wearied dove beneath a storm : Far other views the poet's thought engage , Than the warm glories of th' Augustan age . Can mis'ry bid th' imagination glow ? Or genius brighten 'midst domestic woe ? To see desponding wretches round him pine , Horace had wept beneath the Alban vine . Sad sits the bard amidst his country's tears , And sighs , regardless of the wreaths he wears . Did ever Want and Famine sweetly sing ? The fetter'd hand uncouthly strikes the string . Lo ! stern Oppression lifts her iron rod , And Ruin waits th' imperious harpy's nod : Black Desolation , and destructive War , Rise at the signal , and attend her car . From the dire pomp th' affrighted shepherd flies , And leaves his flock the rav'nous soldier's prize . Where now are all the nymphs that blest the plains ? Where , the full chorus of contented swains ? The songs of love , of liberty and peace , Are heard no more ; the dance and tabor cease : To the soft oaten pipe , and past'ral reed , The din of arms , and clarion's blast succeed : Dire shapes appear in ev'ry op'ning glade ; And Furies howl where once the Muses stray'd ? Is this the queen of realms , for arts renown'd ? This captive maid , that weeps upon the ground ! Alas ! how chang'd ! — dejected and forlorn ! The mistress of the world become the scorn ! Around stand Rapine , Horror and Despair ; And Ign'rance , dark ally of barb'rous War : She , at th' usurping Vandal's dread command , Displays her gloomy banner o'er the land : Beneath its chilling shade neglected lies Each sister Art ; and unlamented dies . Lo ! Sculpture lets her useless chissel fall ; While on some ruin'd temple's broken wall Sad Architecture sits ; and sees with shame Mis-shapen piles usurp her injur'd name : Music and Verse , unhappy twins ! belong To antique Masque , and weak unmanly Song : The gath'ring deluge swells on ev'ry side , And monkish Superstition swells the tide . By the resistless torrent overborn Floats ev'ry Virtue , from its basis torn : Fair Learning droops , the sick'ning Arts decay ; And ev'ry laurel fades , and ev'ry bay . All is confus'd , no traces now are seen To shew what wretched Italy has been . Thus once Vesuvius , crown'd with circling wood , Parthenope , thy beauteous neighbour stood : Perpetual Spring cloath'd the fair mountain's side ; And what is now thy terror , was thy pride . Sudden th' imprison'd flames burst forth ; and laid On smoaky heaps each shrieking Dryad's shade : Now deep in ashes sinks the myrtle bow'r , O'er beds of flow'rs sulphureous torrents roar ; And exil'd demi-gods their ruin'd seats deplore .