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Above the rest a rural nymph was fam'd,
Thy offspring, Thames! the fair Lodona nam'd;
(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,
But by the crescent and the gulden zone. 176
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 lier dart the flying deer she wounds. 180
It chane'd, as eager of the chace, the maid
Beyond the Forest's verdant limits stray'd,
Pan saw and lov'd, and, burning with desire,
Pursu'd her flight; her flight increas'd his fire.
Not half so swift the trembling doves can fly 185
When the fierce eagle cleaves the liquid sky:
Not half so swiftly the fierce eagle moves,
When thro' the clouds he drives the trembling doves;
As from the god she flew with furious pace,
Or as the god, more furious, urg'd the chace. 196
Now faintinj, sinking, pale, the nymph appears;
Now close behind, his sounding steps she hears;
And now his shadow reach'd her as she run,
His shadow lengthen'd by the setting sun;
And now his shorter breath, with sultry air, 195
Panls on htr neck, and fans her parting hair.
In vain on father Thames she calls for aid,
Nor could Diana help her injur'd maid.
Faint, breathless, thus she pray'd, nor pray'd in vain;
"Ah, Cynthia! ah—tho'banish'd from thy train.
"I.et me, O 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 dissolv'd 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 rang'd before.
In her chaste current oft the goddess laves,
And with celestisl tears augments the waves. 210
Oft in her glass the musing shepherd spies
The headlong mountains and the downward skies;
The wat'ry landscape of the pendant woods,
And absent trees that tremble in the floods;
In the clear azure gleam the flocks are seen, 215
And floating forests paint the waves with green.
Thro' the fair scene roll slow the ling'ring 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 tow'ring oaks their growing honours rear,
And future navies on thy shores appear.
Not Neptune's self from all his 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 poets lays,
While led along the skies his current strays,
As thine, which visits Windsor's fam'd 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, subdu'd by mortal passion still.
Might change Olympus for a nobler hill.
Happy the man whom this bright court approves, His sov'reign favours, and his country loves. 236
Happy next him, who to these shades retires,
Whom nature charms, and whom the Muse inspires;
Whom humblef joys of home-felt quiet please,
Successive study, exercise, and ease. 240
He gathers health from herbs the forest yields,
And of their fragant physic spoils the fields;
With chemic art exalts the min'ral pow'rs,
And draws the aromatic souls of llow'rs;
Now marks the course Of rolling orbs on high; 245
O'er figur'd worlds now travels with his eye;
Of ancient writ unlocks the learned store,
Consults the dead, and lives past ages o'er;
Or wa,nd'ring thoughtful in the silent wood,
Attends the duties of the wise and good, 250
T' observe a mean, be to himself a friend,
To follow Nature, and regard his end;
Or looks oh Heav'n with more than mortal eyes,
Bids his free soul expatiate in the skies,
Amidst her kindred stars familiarroam, 25J
Survey the region, and confess her home!
8uch was the life great Scipio once admir'd,
Thus Atticus, and Trumball thus retir'd.
Ye sacred Nine! that all my soul possess, Whose raptures fire me, and whose visions bless, aSo
Benr me, oil bear me to sequester'd scenes,
The bow'iy mazes, and surrounding greens;
To Thames's banks, which fragrant breezes fill,
Or where ye Muses sport on Cooper's Hill.
(On Cooper's Hill eternal wreaths shall grow, 265
While lasts the mountain, or while Thames shall flow.)
I seem through consecrated walks to rove,
I hear scft music die along the grove;
Led by the sound, I roam from shade to shade,
By godlike poets venerable made: 270
Here his first lays majestic Denham sung;
There the last numbers flow'd from Cowley's tongue.
O early lost! what tears the river shed,
When the sad pomp along his banks was led?
His drooping swans on ev'ry note expire, 275
And on his willows hung each muse's lyre.
Since late relentless stopp'd their heavenly voice.
No more the forests ring, or groves rejoice;
Who now hall charm the shades where Cowley strung
His living harp, and lofty Denham sung? 280
But hark! the groves rejoice, the forest rings!
Are these reviv'd? or is it Granville sings?
'Tis yours, my Lord, to bless our soft retreats,
And call the Muses to their ancient seats;
To paint anew the flow'rv sylvan scenes, 285
To crown the forests with immortal greens;
Make Windsor-hills in lefty numbers rise,
And lift her turrets nearer to the skies;
To sing thoce honours you deserve to wear,
And add neiv lustre to her silver star. 290
Here noble Surrey felt the sacred rage,
Surrey, the Granville of a former age:
Matchless his pen, victorious was his lance.
Bold in the lists, and graceful in the dance:
In the same shades the Cupids tun'd his lyre, 29s
To the same notes, of love, and soft desire:
FairGeraldine, bright object of his vow,
Then fill'd the groves, as heav'nly Mira now.
Oh wouldst thou sing what heroes Windsor bore,
What kings first breath'd upon her winding shore, jo»
Or raiae old warriors, whose ador'd remains
In weeping vaults her hallow'd earth contains!
With Edward's acts adorn the shining page,
Stretch his long triumphs down through ev'ry age,
Draw monarchs chain'd, and Cressy's glorious field,
The lilies blazing on the regal shield l 306
Then from her roofs when Verrio's colours fall,
And leave inanimate the naked wall,
Still in thy song should vanquished France appear,
And bleed for ever under Bri'ain's spear. 310
Let softer strains ill-fated Henry mourn,
And palms eternal flourish iound his urn.
Here o'er the martyr-king the marble weeps,
And, fast beside him, once fear'd Edward sleeps:
Whom not th' extended Albion could contain, 315
From old fielerium to the northern main,
The grave unites; where ev'n the great find rest,
And blended lie th' oppressor and th' opprest!
Make sacred Charles's tomb for ever known, (Obscure the place, and uninsciib'd the s'one;) 320