And now the vagrant Power no more detains The vale of Tempe, or Ausonian plains; Northward he throws the animating ray, O'er Celtic nations bursts the mental day: And, as some playful child the mirror turns, Now here now there the moving lustre burns; Now o'er his changeful fancy more prevail Batavia's dykes than Arno's purple vale, And stinted suns, and rivers bound with frost, Than Enna's plains or Baia's viny coast; Venice the Adriatic weds in vain, [21] And Death sits brooding o'er Campania's plain; O'er Baltic shores and through Hercynian groves, Stirring the soul, the mighty impulse moves; Art plies his tools, arid Commerce spreads her sail, And wealth is wafted in each shifting gale. The sons of Odin tread on Persian looms, And Odin's daughters breathe distilled perfumes; Loud minstrel Bards, in Gothic halls, rehearse The Runic rhyme, and "build the lofty verse:" The Muse, whose liquid notes were wont to swell To the soft breathings of the' Æolian shell, Submits, reluctant, to the harsher tone, And scarce believes the altered voice her own. And now, where Cæsar saw with proud disdain [22] The wattled hut and skin of azure stain, Corinthian columns rear their graceful forms, And light varandas brave the wintry storms, While British tongues the fading fame prolong Of Tully's eloquence and Maro's song. Where once Bonduca whirled the scythed car, And the fierce matrons raised the shriek of war, Light forms beneath transparent muslins float, And tutored voices swell the artful note. Light-leaved acacias and the shady plane And spreading cedar grace the woodland reign; While crystal walls the tenderer plants confine, The fragrant orange and the nectared pine; The Syrian grape there hangs her rich festoons, [23] Nor asks for purer air, or brighter noons: Science and Art urge on the useful toil, New mould a climate and create the soil, Subdue the rigour of the northern Bear, O'er polar climes shed aromatic air, On yielding Nature urge their new demands, And ask not gifts but tribute at her hands. London exults:--on London Art bestows Her summer ices and her winter rose; Gems of the East her mural crown adorn, And Plenty at her feet pours forth her horn; While even the exiles her just laws disclaim, People a continent, and build a name: August she sits, and with extended hands [24] Holds forth the book of life to distant lands.