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And now his fhadow reach'd her as the run,
His fhadow lengthen'd by the setting fun;
And now his shorter breath, with fultry air,
Pants on her neck, and fans her parting hair.
In vain on father Thames the calls for aid,
Nor could Diana help her injur'd maid.

195

Faint, breathlefs, 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,

66

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My native fhades-there weep, and murmur there.” She faid, and, melting as in tears the lay, In a soft silver stream dissolv'd away. The filver ftream her virgin coldnefs keeps, For ever murmurs, and for ever weeps ; Still bears the name the haplefs virgin bore, And bathes the forest where the rang'd before. In her chafte current oft the Goddefs laves, And with celestial tears augments the waves. Oft in her glafs the mufing fhepherd spies The headlong mountains and the downward fkies, The watery landskip of the pendant woods, And absent 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 rufh 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, F

VOL. I.

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Not

Not Neptune's felf from all her streams receives

A wealthier tribute, than to thine he gives.

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 skies 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 passion still,
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,

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Whom Nature charms, and whom the Muse inspires;
Whom humbler joys of home-felt quiet please,
Succeffive ftudy, exercise, and ease.

He gathers health from herbs the forest yields,
And of their fragrant physic spoils the fields:
With chemic arts exalt the mineral powers,
And draws the aromatic fouls of flowers:

240

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 233. It flood thus in the MS.

And force great Jove, if Jove's a lover still,
To change Olympus, &c.

Ver. 235.

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Happy the man, who to the fhades retires,

But doubly happy, if the Muse inspires!

Bleft whom the fweets of home-felt quiet pleafe;
But far more bleft, who study joins with ease.

Now

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 ftore,
Confults the dead, and lives past ages o'er:
Or wandering thoughtful in the filent wood,
Attends the duties of the wife and good,
T'observe a mean, be to himself a friend,

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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!

255

Such was the life great Scipio once admir'd,

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Thus Atticus, and Trumbal thus retir'd.
Ye facred Nine! that all my foul poffefs,
Whose raptures fire me, and whose visions bless,
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 feem through confecrated walks to rove,
I hear soft music die along the grove :

265

VARIATION.

Ver. 267. It flood thus in the MS.

Methinks around your holy fcenes I rove,

And hear your music echoing through the grove:
With transport vifit each inspiring fhade
By God-like Poets venerable made.

Led

Led by the found, I roam from shade to shade,
By god-like poets venerable made:

Here his first lays majestic Denham sung;

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There the last numbers flow'd from Cowley's tongue. O early loft! what tears the river shed,

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When the fad pomp along his banks was led !
His drooping fwans on every note expire,
And on his willows hung each Mufe's lyre.
Since fate relentless stopp'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 forest rings!
Are thefe reviv'd? or is it Granville fings!
'Tis yours, my Lord, to bless our soft retreats,
And call the Mufes to their ancient seats;
To paint anew the flowery fylvan scenes,
To crown the forests with immortal greens,
Make Windfor hills in lofty numbers rife,
And lift her turrets nearer to the skies;
To fing those honours you deserve to wear,
And add new luftre to her filver far.

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VARIATIONS.

Here

Ver. 275.

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

Ver. 290. her filver ftar.] All the lines that follow were not added to the poem till the year 1710. What immediately followed this, and made the conclufion, were thefe,

My humble Mufe, in unambitious ftrains,
Paints the green forefts and the flowery plains;

Where

Here noble Surrey felt the facred rage,
Surrey, the Granville of a former age :
Matchless his pen, victorious was his lance,
Bold in the lifts, and graceful in the dance:
In the fare fhades the Cupids tun'd his lyre,
To the fame notes, of love, and soft desire :
Fair Geraldine, bright object of his vow,
Then fill'd the groves, as heavenly Mira now.

293

Oh would'st thou fing what heroes Windsor bore,
What kings first breath'd upon her winding fhore, 300
Or raise 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 every age,
Draw monarchs chain'd, and Creffi's glorious field, 305
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.

310

Let fofter strains ill-fated Henry mourn, And palms eternal flourish round his urn.,

VARIATIONS.

Where I obfcurely pafs my careless days, Pleas'd in the filent fhade with empty praise, Enough for me that to the liftening fwains First in these fields I fung the fylvan ftrains. Ver. 307. Originally thus in the MS.

Here

When Brafs decays, when Trophies lie o'erthrown, And mouldering into duft drops the proud stone.

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