Ye gentle Mufes, leave your cryftal fpring, Let Nymphs and Sylvans cyprefs garlands bring; Ye weeping Loves, the stream with myrtles,hide, And break your bows as when Adonis died; And with your golden darts, now ufelef's grown, Infcribe a verfe on this relenting ftone: "Let nature change, let heaven and earth deplore! Fair Daphne's dead, and love is now no more!' "Tis done, and nature's various charms decay*, See gloomy clouds obfcure the cheerful day! Now hung with pearls the dropping trees appear,

Their faded honours fcatter'd on her bier.

See where on earth the flow'ry glories lic,
With her they flourish'd, and with her they die.
Ah, what avail the beauties nature wore ?
Fair Daphne's dead, and beauty is no more!

For her the flocks refufe their verdant food,
The thirsty heifers fhun the gliding flood;
The filver fwans her hapless fate bemoan
In notes more fad than when they fing their own;
In hollow caves fweet echo filent lies,
Silent, or only to her name replies;
Her name with pleasure once the taught the fhore;
Now Daphne's dead, and pleasure is no more!

No grateful dews defcend from ev'ning fkies, Nor morning odours from the flow'rs arife; No rich perfumes refresh the fruitful field, Nor fragrant herbs their native incenfe yield. The balmy Zephyrs, filent fince her death, Lament the ceafing of a fweeter breath; Th' induftrious bees negle&t their golden ftore; Fair Daphne's dead, and sweetness is no more! No more the mounting larks, while Daphne fings, Shall, lift'ning in mid air, fufpend their wings;

Originally thus:

No more the birds fhall imitate her lays,
Or, hush'd with wonder, hearken from the fprays:
No more the ftreams their murmurs fhall forbear,
A fweeter mufic than their own to hear;
But tell the reeds, and tell the vocal fhore,
Fair Daphne's dead, and mufic is no more!

Her fate is whifper'd by the gentle breeze,
And told in fighs to all the trembling trees;
The trembling trees, in ev'ry plain and wood,
Her fate remurmur to the filver flood;
The filver flood, fo lately calm, appears
Swell'd with new paffion, and o'erflows with tears.
The winds, and trees, and floods, her death deplore,
Daphne, our grief, our glory, now no more!

But fee! where Daphne wond'ring mounts on Above the clouds, above the starry sky! [high, Eternal beauties grace the fhining scene, Fields ever fresh, and groves for ever green! There, while you reft in amaranthine bow'rs, Or from thofe meads felect unfading flow'rs, Behold us kindly, who your name implore, Daphne, our goddefs, and our grief no more!

§3. Windfor-Foreft. POPE.

To the Rt. Hon. George Lord Lansdown. THY forefts, Windfor! and thy green retreats,

At once the Monarch's and the Mufes feats, Invite my lays. Be prefent, fylvan maids ! Unlock your fprings, and open all your fhades. Granville commands; your aid, O Muses, bring! What Mufe for Granville can refuse to fing?

The groves of Eden, vanish'd now so long, Live in defcription, and lock green in fong: Thefe, were my breaft infpir'd with equal flame, Like them in beauty, fhould be like in fame.

'Tis done, and nature's chang'd fince you are gone; Behold, the clouds have put their mourning on. Originally thus:

While vapours rife, and driving fnows defcend,
Thy honour, name, and praife shall never end.

Here hills and vales, the woodland and the plain,
Here earth and water feem to strive again!
Not, chaos-like, together crufh'd and bruis'd;
But, as the world, harmonioufly confus'd :
Where order in variety we fee,

And where, tho' all things differ, all agree.
Here waving groves a chequer'd fcene difplay,
And part admit, and part exclude the day;
As fome coy nymph her lover's warm addrefs
Nor quite indulges, nor can quite repress.
There, interfpers'd in lawns and op'ning glades,
Thin trees arife that fhun each other's fhades:
Here, in full light the ruffet plains extend;
There, wrapt in clouds, the bluish hills afcend.
Ev'n the wild heath difplays her purple dyes*,
And 'midft the defart fruitful fields arife,
That crown'd with tufted trees and fringing corn,
Like verdant ifles, the fable waste adorn.
Let India boast her plants, nor envy we
The weeping amber or the balmy tree,
While by our oaks the precious loads are borne,
And realms commanded which those trees adorn.
Not proud Olympus yields a nobler fight,
Tho' gods affembled grace his tow'ring height,
Than what more humble mountains offer here,
Where, in their bleffings, all thofe gods appear.
See Pan with flocks, with fruits Pomona crown'd;
Here blufhing Flora paints th' enamell'd ground;
Here Ceres' gifts in waving profpe&t ftand,
And nodding tempt the joyful reaper's hand;
Rich Indufiry fits fmiling on the plains,
And peace and plenty tell, a Stuart reigns.
Not thus the land appear'd in ages paft,
A dreary defart, and a gloomy wafte;
To favage beafts and favage laws a prey;
And kings more furious and fevere than they;
Who claim'd the fkics, difpeopled air and floods,
The lonely lords of empty wilds and woods:
Cities laid wafte, they storm'd the dens and cavest,
(For wifer brutes were backward to be flaves).
What could be free, when lawlefs beafts obey'd,
And ev'n the elements a tyrant fway'd?
In vain kind seasons fwell'd the teeming grain,
Soft fhow'rs diftill'd, and funs grew warm in vain;
The fwain with tears his fruftrate labour yields,
And farmish'd dies amidst his ripen'd fields.
What wonder then, a beaft or fubject flaint
Were equal crimes in a defpotic reign?
Both doom'd alike for fportive tyrants bled;
But while the fubje&t starv'd, the beast was fed.

Originally thus:

Proud Nimrod firft the bloody chace began ';
A mighty hunter, and his prey was man:
Our haughty Norman boafts that barb'rous name,
And makes his trembling flaves the royal game.
The fields are ravish'd from th' induftrious fwains,
From men their cities, and from gods their fanes :
The levell'd towns with weeds lie cover'd o'er;
The hollow winds thro' naked temples roar;
Round broken columns clafping ivy twin'd;
O'er heaps of ruin stalk'd the stately hind;
The fox obfcene to gaping tombs retires;
And favage howlings fill the facred quires.
Aw'd by his nobles, by his commons curft,
Th' oppreffor rul'd tyrannic where he durft;
Stretch'd o'er the poor and church his iron rod
And ferv'd alike his vaffals and his God.
Whom ev'n the Saxon fpar'd, and bloody Dane,
The wanton victims of his fport remain.
But fee, the man who fpacious regions gave
A wafte for beafts, himfelf denied à grave!
Stretch'd on the lawn his fecond hope furvey,
At once the chacer, and at once the prey:
Lo! Rufus, tugging at the deadly dart,
Bleeds in the foreft like a wounded hart.
Succeeding monarchs heard the fubjects cries,
Nor faw difpleas'd the peaceful cottage rife.
Then gath ring flocks on unknown mountains fed,
O'er fandy wilds were yellow harvefts spread;
The forefts wonder'd at th' unufual grain,
And fecret tranfport touch'd the confcious fwain.
Fair Liberty, Britannia's Goddefs, rears §
Her cheerful head, and leads the golden years.

Ye vig'rous fwains! while youth ferments your
And purer fpirits fwell the fprightly flood, [blood,
Now range the hills, the gameful woods befet,
Wind the thrill horn, or ipread the waving net.
When milder autumn fummer's heat fucceeds,
And in the new-fhorn field the partridge feeds,
Before his lord the ready fpaniel bounds,
Panting with hope, he tries the furrow'd grounds
But when the tainted gales the game betray,
Couch'd clofe he lies, and meditates the
prey:
Secure they trust th' unfaithful field befet,
Till hov'ring o'er 'em fweeps the fwelling net.
Thus (if finall things we may with great compare)
When Albion fends her eager fons to war,
Some thoughtless town, with eafe and plenty bleft,
Near, and more near, the clofing lines inveft
Sudden they feize th' amaz'd, defenceless prize,
And high in air Britannia's ftandard flies,

Why should I fing our better funs or air, Whofe vital draughts prevent the leach's care; While thro' fresh fields th'enliv'ning odours breathe, Or fpread with vernal blogms the purple heath? + Originally thus:

From towns laid waste todens and caves they ran (For who first stoop'd to be a flave was man). Originally thus:

No wonder favages or fubjects flain

But fubjects starv'd, while favages were fed.

Oh may no more a foreign mafter's rage,
With wrongs, yet legal, curfe a future age!
Still fpread, fair liberty! thy heavenly wings, [fprings.
Breathe plenty on the fields, and fragrance on the
When yellow autumn fummer's heat fucceeds,
And into wine the purple harveft bleeds,
The partridge feeding in the new-fhorn fields,
Both morning fports and evining pleafures yields.
‡‡ It flood thus:

Pleas'd in the general's fight, the host lie down
Sudden before fome unfufpeting town.
The young, the old, one inft nt makes our prize,
And o'er their captive heads Britannia's itandard flies.

See!

No feas fo rich, fo gay no banks appear,
No lake fo gentle, and no fpring fo clear;
Nor Po fo fwells the fabling Poet's lays,
While led along the fkies his current ftrays,
As thine, which vifits Windfor's fam'd abodes,
To grace the manfion of our earthly Gods:
Nor all his ftars above a luftre fhew
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 ap-
proves †,

His fov reign favours, and his country loves: Happy, next him, who to thefe fhades retires, Whom Nature charms, and whom the Mufe infpires;

Whom humbler joys of home-felt quiet please,
Succeffive study, exercife, and ease.

He gathers health from herbs the foreft yields,
And of their fragrant phyfic spoils the fields;
With chemic arts exalts the min'ral pow'rs,
And draws the aromatic fouls of flow'rs :
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 wand'ring thoughtful in the filent wood,
Attends the duties of the wife and good,
T' obferve a mean, be to himself a friend,
To follow nature, and regard his end;
Or looks on heaven with more than mortal eyes,
Bids his free foul expatiate in the skies,
Amid her kindred ftars familiar roam,
Survey the region, and confefs her home!
Such was the life great Scipio once admir'd;
Thus Atticus, and Trumbal thus, retir'd.

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 bow'ry mazes, and furrounding greens;
To Thames's banks which fragrant breezes fill,
Or where ye Mules fport on Cooper's Hill
(On Cooper's Hill eternal wreaths fhall
While lafts the mountain, or while Thames fhall
I feem thro' confecrated walks to rove, ‡ [flow).
I hear foft mufic die along the grove:
Led by the found, I roam from shade to fhade,
By godlike poets venerable made:

It flood thus:

grow,

Here his first lays majestic Denham fung;
There the last numbers flow'd from Cowley's
tongue.

O early loft! what tears the river fhed,
When the fad pomp along his banks was led!
His drooping fwans on ev'ry note expire,
And on his willows hung each Mufe's lyre.

Since fate relentless topp'd their heavenly voice,
No more the forefts ring, or groves rejoice;
Who now shall charm the fhades where Cowley
ftrung

His living harp, and lofty Denham fung?
But hark! the groves rejoice, the foreft rings!
Are thefe reviv'd? or is it Granville fings?
'Tis yours, my Lord, to blefs our foft retreats,
And call the Mufes to their ancient feats;
To paint anew the flow'ry fylvan scenes,
To crown the forefts with immortal greens,
Make Windfor hills in lofty numbers rife,
And lift her turrets nearer to the fkies;
To fing thofe honours you deferve to wear,
And add new luftre to her filver ftar. §
Here noble Surrey felt the facred rage,
Surrey, the Granville of a former age:
Matchlefs his pen, victorious was his lance,
Bold in the lifts, and graceful in the dance:
In the fame fhades the Cupids tun'd his lyre,
To the fame notes, of love, and foft defire:
Fair Geraldine, bright object of his vow,
Then fill'd the groves, as heavenly Mira now.

Oh wouldst thou fing what heroes Windfor bore,
What kings first breath'd upon her winding shore;
Or raife old warriors, whofe ador'd remains
In weeping vaults her hallow'd earth contains;
With Edward's acts adorn the fhining page,
Stretch his long triumphs down thro' ev'ry age.
Draw monarchs chain'd, and Creffi's glorious field,
The lilies blazing on the regal shield:
Then, from her roofs when Verrio's colours fall,§§
And leave inanimate the naked wall,
Still in thy fong fhould vanquish'd France appear,
And bleed for ever under Britain's spear.

Let fofter ftrains ill-fated Henry mourn, And palms eternal flourish round his urn. Here o'er the Martyr King the marble weeps, And, faft befide him, once-fear'd Edward fleeps: Whom not th' extended Albion could contain, From old Belerium to the northern main,

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 ftudy joins with ease!
It flood thus:

Methinks around your holy fcenes I rove,
And hear your mufic echoing thro' the grovez
With tranfport vifit each infpiring shade,
By godlike poets venerable made.

What fighs, what murmurs, fill'd the vocal fhore!
His tuneful fwans were heard to fing no more.