Page:The Poems of John Dyer (1903).djvu/66

Proud cities deluging; Pompeian tow'rs,
And Herculanean, and what riotous stood
In Syrian valley, where now the Dead Sea
'Mong solitary hills infectious lies. 505
See the swift Furies, famine, plague, and war,
In frequent thunders rage o'er neighb'ring realms,
And spread their plains with desolation wide!
Yet your mild homesteads ever-blooming smile
Among embracing woods, and waft on high 510
The breath of plenty, from the ruddy tops
Of chimneys curling o'er the gloomy trees
In airy azure ringlets to the sky.
Nor ye by need are urg'd, as Attic swains,
And Tarentine, with skins to clothe your sheep, 515
Expensive toil, howe'er expedient found
In fervid climates, while from Phœbus' beams
They fled to rugged woods and tangling brakes.
But those expensive toils are now no more,
Proud Tyranny devours their flocks and herds:520
Nor bleat of sheep may now, nor sound of pipe,
Sooth the sad plains of once sweet Arcady,
The shepherds' kingdom: dreary solitude
Spreads o'er Hymettus, and the shaggy vale
Of Athens, which in solemn silence sheds 525
Her venerable ruins to the dust.
The weary Arabs roam from plain to plain,
Guiding the languid herd in quest of food,
And shift their little home's uncertain scene
With frequent farewell; strangers, pilgrims all, 530
As were their fathers. No sweet fall of rain
May there be heard; nor sweeter liquid lapse
Of river, o'er the pebbles gliding by
In murmurs: goaded by the rage of thirst,
Daily they journey to the distant clefts 535
Of craggy rocks, where gloomy palms o'erhang