Now fainting, finking, pale, the nymph appears;
Now clofe behind, his founding fteps the hears;
And now his fhadow reach'd her as the run,
His fhadow lengthen'd by the fetting fun;
And now his fhorter 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, breathlefs, thus fhe pray'd, nor pray'd in vain;
"Ah Cynthia! ah-tho' banish'd from thy train,
"Let me, O let me, to the shades repair,
"My native fhades-there weep, and murmur there.
She faid, and melting as in tears fhe lay,
In a foft, filver ftream diffolv'd away.
The filver ftream her virgin coldnefs keeps,
For ever murmurs, and for ever weeps;
Still bears the name the hapless virgin bore,
And bathes the foreft where fhe rang'd before.
In her chafte current oft the Goddess laves,
And with celeftial tears augments the waves.
VER. 205. Still bears the name] The River Loddon.
Sol erat a tergo: vidi præcedere longam
Ante pedes umbram: nifi fi timor illa videbat.
Sed certe fonituque pedum terrebar; et ingens
Crinales vittas afflabat anhelitus oris.
Oft in her glafs the mufing fhepherd spies
The headlong mountains and the downward skies,
The wat'ry 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,
Thro' the fair fcene roll flow the ling'ring ftreams,
Then foaming pour along, and rufh into the Thames.
Thou too, great father of the British floods !
With joyful pride furvey'st our lofty woods;
Where tow'ring 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.
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 strays,
As thine, which vifits Windfor's fam'd abodes,
To grace the mansion of our earthly Gods:
Happy the man, who to the fhades retires,
But doubly happy, if the Muse inspires!
Bleft whom the sweets of home-felt quiet pleafe;
But far more bleft, who study joins with ease.
VER. 209. Oft in her glass, etc.] Thefe fix lines were added after the first writing of this poem.
Nor all his ftars above a lustre show,
Like the bright beauties on thy banks below; 230
Where Jove, fubdu'd by mortal paffion still,
Might change Olympus for a nobler hill.
Happy the man whom this bright Court approves,
His Sov'reign favours, and his country loves:
Happy next him, who to the fhades retires,
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 foreft yields,
And of their fragrant phyfic fpoils the fields:
With chemic art 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'observe a mean, be to himself a friend,
To follow nature, and regard his end;
VARIATION S.
VER. 231. It food thus in the MS,
And force great Jove, if Jove's a lover ftill,
To change Olympus, etc.
VER. 249, 250. Servare modum finemque tenere,
Or looks on heav'n 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 whose visions bless, Bear me, oh bear me to fequefter'd scenes, The bow'ry mazes, and furrounding greens · 260 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 thro' confecrated walks to rove,
I hear foft mufic die along the grove:
Led by the found, I roam from fhade to fhade,
By god-like poets venerable made:
VER. 265. It ftood thus in the MS.
Methinks around your holy fcenes I rove,
And hear your mufic echoing thro' the grove:
With transport vifit each infpiring fhade
By God-like Poets venerable made.
VER. 259. O qui me gelidis, etc.
Here his first lays majeftic DENHAM fung;
There the laft numbers flow'd from COWLEY'S
O early loft! what tears the river shed,
When the fad pomp along his banks was led ?
His drooping fwans on ev'ry note expire,
And on his willows hung each Muse's lyre.
Since fate relentless stop'd their heav'nly voice,275 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 these reviv'd? or is it GRANVILLE fings! 280
'Tis yours, my Lord, to bless our foft retreats,
And call the Muses 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 skies;
What fighs, what murmurs fill'd the vocal fhore!
His tuneful fwans were heard to fing no more.
·VER. 270. There the last numbers flow'd from Cowley's tongue.] Mr. Cowley died at Chertfey, on the borders of the foreft, and was from thence convey'd to Westminster.
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