Such were the dames of old heroic days Which faithful story yet delights to praise; Who, great in useful works, hung o'er the loom, The mighty mothers of immortal Rome, Obscure, in sober dignity retir'd They more deservd, than sought to be admir'd: The household virtues o'er their honour'd head Their simple grace, and modest lustre shed; Chaste their attire, their feet unus'd to roam, They lov'd the sacred threshold of their home, Yet, true to glory, fan'd the generous flame, Bade lovers, brothers, sons aspire to fame; In the young bosom cherish'd virtue's seed, The secret springs of many a godlike deed! So the fair stream in some sequester'd glade, With lowly state glides silent thro the shade, Yet by the smiling meads her urn is blest; With freshest flowers her rising banks are drest; And groves of laurel, by her sweetness fed, High o'er the forest lift their verdant head. |