IL
PACIFICO
.
WRITTEN
ON
THE
CONCLUSION
OF
THE
PEACE
OF
AIX-LA-CHAPELLE
,
MDCCXLVIII
.
BY
MR.
MASON
.
HENCE
,
pestilential
Mars
,
Of
sable-vested
night
and
chaos
bred
,
On
matter's
formless
bed
,
'Mid
the
harsh
din
of
elemental
jars
:
Hence
with
thy
frantic
crowd
,
Wing'd
Flight
,
pale
Terror
,
Discord
cloath'd
in
fire
,
Precipitate
retire
;
While
mad
Bellona
cracks
her
snaky
thong
,
And
hurries
headlong
on
,
To
Ach'ron's
brink
and
Phlegethon's
flaming
flood
.
But
hail
,
fair
Peace
!
so
mild
and
meek
,
With
polish'd
brow
and
rosy
cheek
;
That
,
on
thy
fleece-white
cloud
descending
,
Hither
,
soft-ey'd
queen
,
art
tending
Gently
o'er
thy
favourite
land
To
wave
thy
genial
myrtle
wand
:
To
shake
from
off
thy
turtle
wing
Th'
ambrosial
dews
of
endless
spring
;
Spring
,
like
that
,
which
poets
feign
,
Gilded
Saturn's
easy
reign
:
For
Saturn's
first
born
daughter
thou
;
Unless
,
as
later
bards
avow
,
The
youthful
god
with
spangled
hair
Closely
clasp'd
Harmonia
fair
:
For
,
banish'd
erst
heaven's
star-pav'd
floor
,
(
As
sings
my
legendary
lore
)
As
Phoebus
fat
by
weeping
brook
,
With
shepherds
scrip
and
shepherds
crook
,
Pensive
'midst
a
savage
train
(
For
savage
then
was
all
the
plain
)
Fair
Harmonia
left
her
bower
,
To
join
her
radiant
paramour
:
Hence
didst
thou
spring
;
and
at
thy
birth
Lenient
Zephyrs
fann'd
the
earth
,
Rumbling
thunders
growl'd
no
more
,
Prowling
wolves
forgot
to
roar
,
And
man
,
from
fiercer
rage
possest
,
Smil'd
Dissension
from
his
breast
.
She
comes
,
she
comes
,
ye
nymphs
,
prepare
Gay
floral
wreaths
to
bind
your
hair
;
Ye
swains
,
inspire
the
mellow
flute
To
dulcet
strains
,
which
aptly
suit
The
featly-footed
saraband
Of
Phillis
trim
and
Marian
bland
,
When
nimbly
light
each
simpering
lass
Trips
it
o'er
the
pliant
grass
.
But
see
,
her
social
smiling
train
,
Now
invests
th'
inraptur'd
plain
!
Plenty's
treasure
teeming
horn
Show'rs
its
fruits
,
its
flowers
,
its
corn
;
Commerce
spreads
his
amplest
sail
;
Strong-nerv'd
Labour
lift
his
flail
;
Sylvanus
too
attends
(
'tis
he
That
bears
the
root-pluck'd
cypress
tree
)
He
shall
my
youngling
footsteps
lead
Thro'
tufted
lawn
and
fringed
mead
,
By
scooped
valley
,
heaped
hill
,
Level
river
,
dancing
rill
,
Where
the
shepherds
all
appear
,
To
shear
and
wash
their
fleecy
care
,
Which
bleating
stand
the
streams
around
,
And
whiten
all
the
close-cropt
ground
:
Or
when
the
maids
in
bonnets
sheen
,
Cock
the
hay
upon
the
green
;
Or
up
yon
steep
rough
road
the
swains
Drive
slow
along
their
rolling
wains
(
Where
laughing
Ceres
crowns
the
stack
,
And
makes
the
ponderous
axle
crack
)
Then
to
the
village
on
the
hill
,
The
barns
capacious
jaws
to
fill
,
Where
the
answering
flails
rebound
,
Beating
bold
with
thundering
sound
.
Enchanted
with
this
rural
scene
,
Here
let
me
weave
my
arb'rets
green
:
Here
arch
the
woodbine
,
mantling
neat
,
O'er
my
noon-tide
cool
retreat
;
Or
bind
the
oak
with
ivy-twine
;
Or
wed
the
elm
and
purpling
vine
;
But
if
my
vagrant
fancy
pants
For
charms
,
which
simple
Nature
wants
,
Grant
,
Power
beningn
,
admittance
free
To
some
rang'd
academy
:
There
to
give
to
arts
refin'd
All
the
impulse
of
my
mind
;
And
oft
observant
take
my
stand
,
Where
the
painter's
magic
hand
From
sketches
rude
,
with
gradual
art
,
Calls
dawning
life
to
every
part
,
Till
,
with
nice
tints
all
labour'd
high
;
Each
starting
hero
meets
the
eye
:
Oft
too
,
O
!
let
me
nice
inspect
The
draughts
of
justest
architect
:
And
hence
delighted
let
me
pass
,
Where
others
mould
the
ductile
brass
;
Or
teach
the
Parian
stone
to
wear
A
letter'd
sage's
musing
air
.
But
ah
!
these
arts
have
fix'd
their
home
In
Roman
or
in
Gallic
dome
:
Tho'
strange
beseems
,
that
arts
shou'd
spread
Where
frowns
black
Slavery's
baleful
shade
;
And
stranger
far
that
arts
decay
Where
Freedom
deals
her
warmest
ray
:
This
then
deny'd
,
I'll
swift
retreat
,
Where
Camus
winds
with
murmur
sweet
:
There
teach
me
,
piercing
Locke
,
t'
explore
The
busy
mind's
ideal
store
;
There
,
heaven-rapt
Newton
,
guide
my
way
'Mid
rolling
worlds
,
thro'
floods
of
day
,
To
mark
the
vagrant
comet's
road
,
And
thro'
his
wonders
trace
the
God
.
Then
,
to
unbend
my
mind
,
I'll
roam
Amidst
the
cloysters
silent
gloom
:
Or
,
where
rank'd
oaks
their
shades
diffuse
,
Hold
dalliance
with
my
darling
muse
,
Recalling
oft
some
heaven-born
strain
,
That
warbled
in
Augustan
reign
;
Or
turn
well
pleas'd
the
Grecian
page
,
If
sweet
Theocritus
engage
,
Or
blith
Anacreon
,
mirthful
wight
,
Caroll
his
easy
love-lay
light
.
Yet
let
not
all
my
pleasure
lie
Confin'd
to
one
Phoebeian
joy
;
But
ever
give
my
fingers
wings
,
Lightly
to
skim
the
trembling
strings
,
And
from
some
bower
to
tune
the
lay
:
While
list'ning
birds
crowd
every
spray
,
Or
hovering
silent
o'er
my
head
,
Their
quivering
wings
exulting
spread
Save
but
the
turtles
,
they
alone
With
tender
plaintive
faithful
moan
,
Shall
tell
,
to
all
the
secret
grove
,
Their
soft
thick-warbled
tale
of
love
:
Sweet
birds
!
your
mingling
bliss
pursuing
,
Ever
billing
,
ever
cooing
,
Ye
!
constant
pair
!
I
love
to
note
Your
hoarse
strain
gurgling
in
your
throat
;
And
ye
unheard
from
sidelong
hills
The
liquid
lapse
of
whispering
rills
,
I
hist
to
hear
:
such
sounds
diffuse
Sweet
transports
to
the
thoughtful
muse
.
Thus
summer
sees
me
brisk
and
light
,
Till
winter
spreads
her
'kerchief
white
;
Then
to
the
city's
social
walls
Where
tolling
clock
to
business
calls
.
There
the
weaver's
shuttle
speeds
Nimbly
thro'
the
fine-spun
threads
;
There
the
vocal
anvil
rings
,
While
the
smith
his
hammer
swings
;
And
every
man
and
every
boy
,
Briskly
join
in
warm
employ
,
Thro'
such
throng'd
scenes
full
oft
I'll
range
,
Oft
crowd
into
the
rich
exchange
:
Or
to
yon
wharf
;
aside
the
mote
,
Where
the
anchor'd
ships
do
float
,
And
others
,
hastening
into
bay
,
Swell
their
sails
in
fair
array
:
Wafting
to
Albion's
sons
the
store
That
each
Peruvian
mine
can
pour
;
Wafting
to
Albion's
smiling
dames
The
ruby's
glow
,
the
diamond's
flames
,
Till
all
the
Indies
rush
into
the
Thames
,
Joys
vast
as
these
my
fancy
claims
;
And
joys
like
these
if
Peace
inspire
,
Peace
with
thee
,
I
string
the
lyre
.