On
a
BAY-LEAF
,
pluck'd
from
VIRGIL'S
Tomb
near
Naples
.
1736.
By
the
same
.
BOLD
was
the
irreligious
hand
,
That
could
all
reverence
withstand
,
And
sacrilegiously
presume
To
rob
the
poet's
sacred
tomb
Of
so
much
honourable
shade
,
As
this
,
so
small
a
trophy
,
made
;
Could
dare
to
pluck
from
VIRGIL'S
brow
The
honours
Nature
did
bestow
,
Pascua
.
Sweetly
the
gentle
goddess
smil'd
,
And
listen'd
to
her
favourite
child
;
Whether
in
shepherd's
cleanly
weed
He
deftly
tun'd
his
oaten
reed
,
And
taught
the
vocal
woods
around
His
Amaryllis
to
resound
;
Rura
.
Or
taught
he
in
a
graver
strain
To
cloath
the
field
with
waving
grain
;
And
in
the
marriage-folds
to
twine
The
barren
elm
,
and
cluster'd
vine
;
To
yoke
the
lab'ring
ox
,
to
breed
To
the
known
goal
the
foaming
steed
;
And
sung
the
manners
,
rights
,
degrees
,
And
labours
of
the
frugal
bees
;
Duces
.
Or
whether
with
Aeneas'
name
He
swell'd
th'
extended
cheek
of
Fame
,
And
all
his
god-like
labours
sung
,
Whence
Rome's
extended
glories
sprung
;
The
goddess
smil'd
,
and
own'd
she
knew
Th'
original
from
whence
he
drew
,
And
grateful
she
spontaneous
gave
This
living
honour
to
his
grave
.
Hail
,
thou
sweet
shade
,
whose
rev'renc'd
name
Still
foremost
in
the
mouth
of
Fame
,
Doth
preference
and
value
give
,
And
teach
this
little
leaf
to
live
,
Methinks
secluded
from
that
brow
,
Where
grateful
Nature
bad
it
grow
,
This
beauteous
green
should
fade
away
,
And
yield
to
iron-tooth'd
decay
:
But
VIRGIL'S
name
forbids
that
crime
,
And
blunts
the
threat'ning
scythe
of
Time
.