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Mr. ADDISON'S Treatife




EE the wild wafte of all-devouring years! How Rome her own fad fepulchre appears: With nodding arches, broken temples spread! The very tombs now vanifh'd like their dead! Some felt the filent ftroke of mould'ring age; Some, hoftile fury; fome, religious rage: Barbarian blindnefs, Chriftian zealc onfpire, And Papal piety, and Gothic fire. Perhaps by its own ruins fav'd from flame, Some bury'd marble half preferves a Name; That name,the learn'd with fierce difputes purfue, And give to Titus old Vefpafian's due.

Ambition figh'd. She found it vain to truft The faithlefs Column, and the crumbling Buft;

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Huge Moles whofe fhadow ftretch'd from shore to fhore,

Their ruins perifh'd, and their place no more!
Convinc'd, the now contracts her vaft defign;
And all her triumphs fhrink into a Coin.
A narrow orb each crowded conqueft keeps:
Beneath her Palm here fad Judea weeps,
Now fcantier limits the proud Arch confine,
And scarce are seen the proftrate Nile and Rhine:
A fmall Euphrates thro' the piece is roll'd ;
And little Eagles wave their wings in Gold.

The Medal, faithful to its charge of fame,
Thro' climes and ages bears each form and name:
In one short view, fubjected to our eye,
Gods, Emp'rors, Heroes, Sages, Beauties lie.
With fharpen'd fight pale Antiquaries pore,
Th' Infcription value, but the Ruft adore:
This, the Blue varnish, that, the Green endears,
The facred Ruft of twice ten hundred years.
To gain Pefcennius one employs his schemes;
One grafps a Cecrops in extatic dreams:
Poor Vadius, long with learned fpleen devour'd,
Can tafte no pleasure fince his Shield was fcour'd;
And Curio, reftless by the fair one's fide,
Sighs for an Otho, and neglects his Bride.

Theirs is the Vanity, the Learning thine,
Touch'd by thy hand, again Rome's glories fhine:
Her Gods, and godlike Heroes rife to view,
And all her faded Garlands bloom anew.
Nor blush, thofe ftudies thy regard engage:
'These pleas'd the Fathers of poetic rage;
The Verfe and Sculpture bore an equal part,
And Art reflected images to Art.

Oh when shall Britain, confcious of her claim,
Stand mulous of Greek and Roman far. e?

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In living Medals fee her wars enroll'd, And vanquish'd realms fupply recording Gold? Here, rifing bold, the Patriot's honeft face; There, Warriors frowning in historic brass. Then future ages with delight fhall fee, How Plato's, Bacon's, Newton's looks agree: Or in fair Series laurel'd Bards be shown, A Virgil there, and here an Addifon. Then fhall Thy Craggs (and let me call him Mine) On the caft Ore, another Pollio, fhine; With afpect open shall erect his head, And round the Orb in lafting notes be read: "Statesman, yet friend to Truth! in foul fincere, "In action faithful, and in honour clear; "Who broke no promife, ferv'd no private end, "Who gain'd no title, and who loft no friend, "Ennobled by Himfelf, by all approv❜d, "And prais'd, unenvy'd, by the Muse he lov'd."


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