Nor love (as once) to fee the handed bowls,
When tipling ruftics cheer their droughty fouls,
And tread with faltring steps th' unequal ground,
While humble cots with wayward mirth refound.
Succeeding bards, in rural fecrets skill'd,
Shall teach the swain t' enrich the barren field;
The prophet's infpiration never ends,

But with a double portion ftill defcends.
Poets, like rightful kings, can never die,
Heaven's facred ointment will the throne fupply,
And Tityrus, when he draws his latest breath,
Will to fome darling youth the valued pipe bequeath.
So tuneful infects, fed by morning dew,
Who in warm meads the daily fong renew;
(True poets they) laugh at approaching want,
And careless fing, and mock the labouring ant;
But foon bleak colds the wanton throng furprize,
And the whole race (ah! too unpitied) dies:
And yet returning heat, and fultry days,
Restore the species, and new fongfters raise.
The Goddess will not long forget her care,
But lofs of fruit with future crops repair.
No more shall blafting winds the harvest grieve,
Or blighted buds autumnal hopes deceive.
The youth, well-pleas'd, will daily thanks repeat,
While loaden branches groan beneath their weight.
As from falt waves are drawn the fweeter rains,
And cheerful ftreams, that fwell the fatten'd plains,

So

So from our griefs fucceeding pleasures flow;
Grafted on crabs the fairest apples grow.
Bitters and sweets in the fame cup are thrown,
And prickly thiftles have the fofteft down."

Thus faid the nymph, and Pfecas thus replied,
Pfecas, who gives the herbs their various pride:
She Nature aids, and is the fylvan power,
That shapes the leaf, and paints the woody flower:
She blanches lillies to their lovelieft white,
Whose skin-like beauty pleafes human fight:
Hence the blue vervains grace the humble shade,
And drowzy poppies are in fcarlet clad:
Unerring forms the growing plant receives,
She rounds the stem, and points th' indented leaves.
"Who (faid the nymph) would fing of bleating
flocks,

Or hanging goats that browze on craggy rocks?
When antient bards have rifled all the store,
And the drain'd fubject can afford no more.
Nor Cuddy now, nor Colin would engage;
Eclogue but ill becomes a warlike age.
In antient times the shepherd's fong would please,
When pious kings enjoy'd the fhepherd's ease,
And monarchs fat beneath the shadowing trees.
When those first happier ages were no more,
But curft ambition ftill increas'd with power;
When crouded towns fill'd the deserted plain,
And craving paffions a new life began,

The

>

The peaceful woods were not fo foon forgot,
Th' uneafy foul her wonted pleasure fought:
Reason, when free and undisturb'd, approves
The pleafing penfiveness of thoughtful groves:
Hence twisted bowers, and cooling grots were made
To imitate, at least, the rural shade.

But men, by furies urg'd, and curft by fate,
All that is calm and inoffenfive hate;

Guilt must prevail, and bloodshed never cease;
Nations are faid to be undone by peace.
Too well you know, who oft, unfeen, repair
To whispering courts, enwrapp'd in finest air;
In closets fit, and unfufpected hear

What the great vulgar feign, the little fear.
By night, while fwains dream of fuccefsful loves,
The Foreft-Genii wanton in their groves,
Ando'er the platted heath the Fairy-Demon roves:
But, when grey dawn awakes from pleasing rest
The yawning peafant, and difturbs the beaft,
Thro' ftreets, and noify crowds, they range unknown,
And mark the conduct of the factious town.
Britannia's fons, like those of monftrous birth,
When ferpents teeth were fown in furrow'd earth;
Enflam'd with rage, and prone to mutual hate,
With baneful ftrife distract th' endanger'd state.
War is now thought the panaceal good;
Quacks know no other cure but letting blood,

Even

Even when th' expiring wretch already faints,
And not a lancet, but a cordial wants.

Those who could wish all temples shut befide,
Ne'er think the gates of Janus fet too wide;
For endless flaughter, as a bleffing pray; [lay!"
Farewell the humble mufe, and fhepherd's peaceful

She faid, and all the nymphs with forrow heard,
When, clad in white, an heavenly form appear'd;
A leavy crown adorn'd her radiant head,
Majestic were her looks, and thus she said:
"Unbodied powers are not confin'd to floods,
To purling rivulets, or to fhady woods.
Kind demons on ungrateful man attend,
Obferve his steps, and watch the hated fiend.
The fame good Genii guard the harmless sheep,
When wearied Damon lies in thoughtless fleep;
The fame, whofe influence aids th' unfettled ftate,
And gladly haftens on the work of fate.
Rome's fecond king enjoy'd a fairy dame,
To lonely woods the royal pupil came;
To Numa's leffons, and the Elfin-Bride,
Rome all her grandeur ow'd, and future pride.
Blefs'd powers, and beings of the highest rank,
Nor love the flowing ftream, nor flowery bank.
Clad in etherial light, the purer mind

Scorns the base earth, and was for heaven defign'd. Inferior orders have a meaner home,

And here in wilds, and woody mazes roam.

Το

To learned Magi we ftrange spells impart,
Myfteries difclofe, and tell the fecret art.

With facred mifletoe the Druids crown'd, [round,
Sung with the nymphs, and danc'd the pleasing
But vulgar thoughts confound celestial forms
With envious fiends, who raise destructive storms;
And harmless elves, that fcuttle o'er the plain,
Are rank'd with furies doom'd to endless pain.
Mortals, to earth and mean delights inclin'd,
No pleasure in abstracted notions find:
Unas'd to higher truths will not believe
Aught can exift, but what their eyes perceive;
Tho' to good demons they their fafety owe,
Few are those happy, who their guardians know.
But hear, ye nymphs; indulge no caufelefs fears,
I know the lasting joys of coming years.
I, Britain's kind Egeria, will protect
The loyal patriot, and his fchemes direct.
All do not hate the plain, nor fly the woods;
Fields have their lovers, and the groves their gods.
If Bolingbroke and Oxford, with a smile,
Reward the fong, nor fcorn the meaner style;
Each bleeding tree fhall tell the fhepherd's flame,
And in its wounds preferve the growing name.
Swains to tranfmitted pipes fhall long fucceed,
And fort with artful hand th' unequal reed.
The birds on every bough will listening throng,
And noisy, strive to drown the envied fong.

Echo