The
CABINET
.
Or
,
Verses
on
Roman
Medals
.
To
Mr.
W.
By
Mr.
GRAVES
.
I.
LO
!
the
rich
Casket's
mimic
dome
!
Where
cells
in
graceful
rows
The
triumphs
of
imperial
Rome
In
miniature
disclose
.
II
.
Less
sacred
far
those
tinsel
shrines
,
In
which
the
sainted
bones
,
And
relicks
,
modern
Rome
confines
,
Of
legendary
drones
.
III
.
In
figur'd
brass
we
here
behold
From
time's
wide
waste
retriev'd
,
What
patriots
firm
or
heroes
bold
In
peace
or
war
atchiev'd
.
IV
.
Or
silver
orbs
,
in
series
fair
,
With
titles
deck'd
around
,
Present
each
Caesar's
face
and
air
With
rays
or
laurels
crown'd
.
V.
Ages
to
come
shall
hence
be
taught
,
In
lasting
lines
express'd
,
How
mighty
Julius
spoke
or
fought
,
Or
Cleopatra
dress'd
.
VI
.
Augustus
here
with
placid
mien
,
Bids
raging
discord
cease
;
The
gates
of
War
close-barr'd
are
seen
,
And
all
the
world
is
peace
.
VII
.
A
race
of
tyrants
then
succeeds
,
Who
frown
with
brow
severe
;
Yet
tho'
we
shudder
at
their
deeds
,
Ev'n
Nero
charms
us
here
.
VIII
.
Thus
did
the
blooming
Titus
look
,
Delight
of
human
kind
:
Great
Hadrian
thus
,
whose
death
bespoke
His
firm
yet
gentle
mind
.
IX
.
Aurelius
too
!
thy
stoic
face
Indignant
we
compare
With
young
Faustina's
wanton
grace
,
And
meretricious
air
.
X.
Each
passion
here
and
virtue
shines
In
liveliest
emblems
dress'd
:
Less
strong
in
Tully's
ethic
lines
,
Or
Plato's
flights
express'd
.
XI
.
With
heighten'd
grace
in
verdant
rust
,
Each
work
of
ancient
art
,
The
temple
,
column
,
arch
or
bust
Their
wonted
charms
impart
.
XII
.
All-glorious
Rome
,
thro'
martial
toil
,
Beneath
each
zone
obey'd
,
Shew'd
every
province
,
trophy
,
spoil
,
On
current
gold
display'd
.
XIII
.
Hence
prodigals
,
that
vainly
spend
,
Promote
the
great
design
;
And
misers
aid
ambition's
end
,
Who
treasure
up
the
coin
.
XIV
.
The
peasant
finds
in
every
clime
The
scientifick
ore
;
Whilst
on
the
rich
remains
of
time
,
The
learn'd
with
rapture
pore
.
XV.
Each
fading
stroke
they
now
retrace
,
Each
legend
dark
unfold
:
Then
in
historic
order
place
,
—
And
copper
vies
with
gold
.
XVI
.
Happy
the
sage
!
like
you
,
my
friend
,
The
evening
of
whose
days
Heav'n
grants
in
that
fair
vale
to
spend
Where
Thames
delighted
strays
.
XVII
.
To
medals
there
and
books
of
taste
Those
moments
you
consign
,
Which
barren
minds
ignobly
waste
On
dogs
,
or
cards
,
or
wine
.
XVIII
.
Whilst
I
'mid
rocks
and
savage
woods
Enjoy
these
golden
dreams
;
Claverton
near
Bath
,
1750.
Where
Avon
winds
to
mix
her
floods
With
Bladud's
healing
streams
.