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Let the mountains exult around! Let the mountains exult around! On her seven-hill'd throne renown'd, Once more old Rome is crown'd! Jubilate! Sing out, O Vale and Wave! Look up from each laurell'd grave, Bright dust of the deathless brave! Jubilate! Pale Vision, what art thou?
'O thou whom Poetry abhors, Whom Prose has turned out of doors, Heard'st thou that groan proceed no further, 'Twas laurell'd. Martial roaring murder. For Mr. Elphinston see ante, i. 210. It was called The Siege of Aleppo. Mr. Hawkins, the authour of it, was formerly Professor of Poetry at Oxford. It is printed in his Miscellanies, 3 vols. octavo.
"The scarlet hat, the laurell'd stave Are measures, not the springs, of worth; In a wife's lap, as in a grave, Man's airy notions mix with earth. Seek other spur Bravely to stir The dust in this loud world, and tread Alp-high among the whisp'ring dead. "Trust in thyself, then spur amain: So shall Charybdis wear a grace, Grim Aetna laugh, the Lybian plain Take roses to her shrivell'd face.
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