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Oft, as the mounting larks their notes prepare,
They fall, and leave their little lives in air.
In genial fpring, beneath the quivering shade,
Where cooling vapours breathe along the mead,
The patient fifher takes his filent ftand,
Intent, his angle trembling in his hand :
With looks unmov'd, he hopes the fcaly breed,
the dancing cork and bending reed.
Our plenteous ftreams a various race fupply,
The bright-ey'd perch with fins of Tyrian dye,
The filver eel, in fhining volumes roll'd,
The yellow carp, in fcales bedropp'd with gold,
Swift trouts, diversify'd with crimson stains,
And pykes, the tyrants of the watery plains.
Now Cancer glows with Phœbus' fiery car:
The youth rush eager to the fylvan war,
Swarm o'er the lawns, the foreft walks furround,
Rouze the fleet hart, and cheer the opening hound. 150
Th' impatient courfer pants in every vein,
And, pawing, feems to beat the diftant plain :
Hills, vales, and floods, appear already crofs'd,
And, ere he starts, a thousand steps are loft.
See the bold youth ftrain up the threatening fteep, 155
Rush through the thickets, down the valleys sweep,
Hang o'er their courfers heads with eager speed,
And earth rolls back beneath the flying steed.
Let old Arcadia boast her ample plain,
Th' immortal huntress, and her virgin-train;
Nor envy, Windfor! fince thy fades have feen
As bright a Goddess, and as chaste a QUEEN;
Whofe care, like her's, protects the fylvan reign;
The Earth's fair light, and Emprefs of the main.
Here, too, 'tis fung, of old Diana stray'd,
And Cynthus' top forfook for Windsor shade;
Here was the feen o'er airy wastes to rove,
Seek the clear fpring, or haunt the pathless grove;
Here arm'd with filver bows, in early dawn,
Her bufkin'd Virgins trac'd the dewy lawn.
Above the reft a rural nymph was fam'd,
Thy offspring, Thames! the fair Lodona nam'd
(Lodona's fate, in long oblivion caft,
The Mufe fhall fing, and what she fings shall last).
Scarce could the Goddess from her nymph be known,
But by the crefcent, and the golden zone.
She fcorn'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.
It chanc'd, as, eager of the chace, the maid
Beyond the foreft's verdant limits stray'd,
Pan faw and lov'd, and burning with defire
Purfued her flight, her flight increas'd his fire.
Not half fo fwift the trembling doves can fly,
When the fierce eagle cleaves the liquid sky;
Not half so swiftly the fierce eagle moves,
When through the clouds he drives the trembling doves;
As from the God fhe flew with furious pace,
Or as the God, more furious, urg'd the chace.
Now fainting, finking, pale, the nymph appears ;
Now close behind, his founding steps she hears;
And now his shadow reach'd her as she run,
His fhadow lengthen'd by the fetting fun;
And now his shorter breath, with fultry air,
Pants on her neck, and fans her parting hair.
In vain on father Thames fhe calls for aid,
Nor could Diana help her injur'd maid.
Faint, breathless, thus fhe pray'd, nor pray'd in vain ; "Ah, Cynthia! ah-though banish'd from thy train, 200 "Let me, O let me, to the fhades repair,
"My native shades-there weep, and murmur there."
She faid, and, melting as in tears she lay,
In a foft filver stream diffolv'd away.
The filver ftream her virgin coldness keeps,
For ever murmurs, and for ever weeps ;
Still bears the name the hapless virgin bore,
And bathes the foreft where she rang'd before.
In her chafte current oft the Goddess laves,
And with celeftial tears augments the waves.
Oft in her glafs the mufing fhepherd fpies
The headlong mountains and the downward skies,
The watery landskip of the pendant woods,
And abfent trees that tremble in the floods;
In the clear azure gleam the flocks are seen,
And floating forefts paint the waves with green;
Through the fair scene roll flow the lingering streams,
Then foaming pour along, and rush into the Thames.
Thou, too, great father of the British floods !
With joyful pride furvey'ft our lofty woods;
Where towering oaks their growing honours rear,
And future navies on thy fhores appear,
Not Neptune's felf from all her streams receives
A wealthier tribute, than to thine he gives.
gay no banks appear, No lake fo gentle, and no spring so clear.
Nor Po fo fwells the fabling Poet's lays,
While led along the fkies his current strays,
As thine, which vifits Windfor's fam'd abodes,
To grace the mansion of our earthly Gods:
Nor all his ftars above a luftre show,
Like the bright Beauties on thy banks below;
Where Jove, fubdued by mortal paffion ftill,
Might change Olympus for a nobler hill.
Happy the man whom this bright Court approves,
His Sovereign favours, and his Country loves :
Happy next him, who to these shades retires,
Whom Nature charms, and whom the Muse inspires;
Whom humbler joys of home-felt quiet please,
Succeffive ftudy, exercife, and cafe.
He gathers health from herbs the foreft yields,
And of their fragrant phyfic spoils the fields:
With chemic arts exalt the mineral powers,
And draws the aromatic fouls of flowers:
Ver. 233. It ftood thus in the MS.
And force great Jove, if Jove's a lover ftill,
To change Olympus, &c.
Happy the man, who to the fhades retires,
But doubly happy, if the Mufe infpires!
Bleft whom the fweets of home-felt quiet pleafe;
But far more bleft, who study joins with ease.
Now marks the courfe of rolling orbs on high;
O'er figur'd worlds now travels with his eye
Of ancient writ unlocks the learned store,
Confults the dead, and lives paft ages o'er:
Or wandering thoughtful in the filent wood,
Attends the duties of the wife and good,
Tobferve a mean, be to himself a friend,
To follow nature, and regard his end;
Or looks on heaven with more than mortal eyes,
Ye facred Nine! that all my foul poffefs,
Whofe raptures fire me, and whofe vifions blefs,
Bear me, oh bear me to fequefter'd scenes,
The bowery mazes, and furrounding greens;
To Thames's banks which fragrant breezes fill,
Or where ye Mufes fport on Cooper's Hill
(On Cooper's Hill eternal wreaths fhall grow, While lafts the mountain, or while Thames fhall flow):
I seem through confecrated walks to rove,
I hear foft mufic die along the grove :
Ver. 267. It ftood thus in the MS.
Methinks around your holy fcenes I rove,
And hear your mufic echoing through the
With tranfport vifit each infpiring fhade
By God-like Poets venerable made.