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When milder autumn summer's heat succeeds,
gold? Nor yet, when moist Arcturus clouds the sky, The woods and fields their pleasing toils deny. 120 To plains with well-breathed beagles we repair, And trace the mazes of the circling hare: Beasts urged by us, their fellow-beasts pursue, And learn of man each other to undo. With slaughtering guns the unwearied fowler roves,
125 When frosts have whiten'd all the naked groves;
Where doves in flocks the leafless trees o'ershade,
In genial spring, beneath the quivering shade,
Now Cancer glows with Phæbus' fiery car: The youth rush eager to the sylvan war; Swarm o'er the lawns, the forest walks surround, Rouse the feet hart, and cheer the opening hound.
150 The impatient courser pants in every vein, And pawing seems to beat the distant plain : Hills, vales, and floods appear already cross’d; And ere he starts, a thousand steps are lost. 154 See the bold youth strain up the threatening steep, Rush through the thickets, down the valleys sweep, Hang o'er their coursers' heads with eager speed, And earth rolls back beneath the flying steed.
Let old Arcadia boast her ample plain,
Here too, 'tis sung, of old Diana stray'd, 165
Above the rest a rural nymph was famed, Thy offspring, Thames ; the fair Lodona named ; Lodona's fate, in long oblivion cast, The Muse shall sing, and what she sings shall last. Scarce could the goddess from her nymph be known,
175 But by the crescent and the golden zone. She scorn'd the praise of beauty, and the care; A belt her waist, a fillet binds her hair; A painted quiver on her shoulder sounds, And with her dart the flying deer she wounds. 180 It chanced, as eager of the chase, the maid Beyond the forest's verdant limits stray'd, Pan saw and loved ; and, burning with desire, Pursued her flight; her flight increased his fire. Not half so swift the trembling doves can fly, 185 When the fierce eagle cleaves the liquid sky ;
172 The fair Lodona. This episode might have been more fortunate in another period, or in another country : it is too antique for the English taste, and too Grecian for the banks of the Thames. Pan also is a lover in whose passion we have not learned to sympathise.
Not half so swiftly the fierce eagle moves,
vain :“Ah, Cynthia! ah! though banish'd from thy train, Let me, 0, let me to the shades repair, 201 My native shades; there weep, and murmur
there.' She said, and melting as in tears she lay, In a soft silver stream dissolved away. The silver stream her virgin coldness keeps; 205 For ever murmurs, and for ever weeps ; Still bears the name the hapless virgin bore, And bathes the forest where she ranged before. In her chaste current oft the goddess laves, And with celestial tears augments the waves : 210 Oft in her glass the musing shepherd spies The headlong mountains and the downward skies; The watery landscape of the pendent woods, And absent trees that tremble in the floods :
207 Still bears the name. The river Lodon.
In the clear azure gleam the flocks are seen, 215 And floating forests paint the waves with green, Through the fair scene roll slow the lingering
streams, Then foaming pour along, and rush into the
Thames. Thou, too, great father of the British floods ! With joyful pride survey'st our lofty woods; 220 Where towering oaks their growing honors
rear, And future navies on thy shores appear. Not Neptune's self from all her streams receives A wealthier tribute than to thine he gives : No seas so rich, so gay no banks appear, 225 No lake so gentle, and no spring so clear: Nor Po so swells the fabling poet's lays, While led along the skies his current strays, As thine, which visits Windsor's famed abodes, To grace the mansion of our earthly gods : 230 Nor all his stars above a lustre show, Like the bright beauties on thy banks below; Where Jove, subdued by mortal passion still, Might change Olympus for a nobler hill. Happy the man whom this bright court approves,
235 His sovereign favors, and his country loves : Happy next him, who to these shades retires, Whom nature charms, and whom the Muse in