While ever near him, goddefs of the green, Fair Pembroke fat, and fmil'd immenfe applause. With vocal fafcination charm'd the + Hours Unguarded left Heav'ns adamantine gate, And to his lyre, fwift as the winged founds That skim the air, danc'd unperceiv'd away. Had I fuch pow'r, no peasants toil, no hops Shou'd e'er debafe my lay: far nobler themes, The high atchievements of thy warrior kings Shou'd raise my thoughts, and dignify my fong. But I, young ruftic, dare not leave my cot, For fo enlarg'd a sphere---ah! muse beware, Left the loud larums of the braying trump,
Left the deep drum fhou'd drown thy tender reed, And mar its puny joints: me, lowly fwain, Every unshaven arboret, me the lawns, Me the voluminous Medway's filver wave, Content inglorious, and the hopland shades!
Yeomen, and countrymen attend my fong: Whether you shiver in the marshy § Weald, Egregious fhepherds of unnumber'd flocks, Whofe fleeces, poifon'd into purple, deck
* Sifter to Sir Philip Sydney. +Πυλαι μυκον spav8 ὡς ἔχον Ωραι.
Rura mihi, & rigui placeant in vallibus amnes,
Flumina amem, fylvafque in glorius!
Commonly, but improperly call'd, the Wild.
All Europe's kings: or in fair * Madum's vale Imparadis'd, bleft denizons, ye dwell; Or + Dorovernia's awful tow'rs ye love: Or plough Tunbridgia's falutiferous hills Induftrious, and with draughts chalybiate heal'd, Confefs divine Hygeia's blissful feat;
The mufe demands your presence, ere she tune Her monitory voice; obferve her well,
And catch the wholesome dictates as they fall.
'Midft thy paternal acres, Farmer, say
Has gracious heav'n bestow'd one field, that basks Its loamy bofom in the mid-day fun, Emerging gently from the abject vale, Nor yet obnoxious to the wind, fecure There shall thou plant thy hop. Thou'lt fay, will fill my garners. But Ceres, rural goddess, at the best Meanly supports her vot'ry', enough for her, If ill-perfuading hunger fhe repell,
And keep the foul from fainting: to enlarge, To glad the heart, to fublimate the mind, And wing the flagging fpirits to the sky, Require th' united influence and aid
Of Bacchus, God of hops, with Ceres join'd
'Tis he fhall gen'rate the buxom beer.
Then on one pedestal, and hand in hand, - Sculptur'd in Parian stone (so gratitude Indites) let the divine co-part’ners rise.
Stands eastward in thy field a wood? 'tis well. Efteem it as a bulwark of thy wealth, And cherish all its branches; tho' we'll grant,
Its leaves umbrageous may intercept
The morning rays, and envy fome small share
Of Sol's beneficence to the infant germ.
Yet grutch not that: when whistling Eurus comes,. With all his worlds of infects in thy lands
This fite for thy young nursery obtain'd, Thou haft begun aufpicious, if the foil (As fung before) be loamy; this the hop Loves above others, this is rich, is deep, Is vifcous, and tenacious of the pole. Yet maugre all its native worth, it may Be meliorated with warm compoft. See!
* Yon craggy mountain, whose faftidious head, Divides the star-set hemisphere above,
And Cantium's plains beneath; the Appennine Of a free Italy, whose chalky fides
With verdant shrubs diffimilarly gay,
Still captivate the eye, while at his feet
The filver Medway glides, and in her breast
Views the reflected landskip, charm'd fhe views And murmurs louder ectafy below.
Here let us reft awhile, pleas'd to behold
Th' all-beautiful horizon's wide expanse,
Far as the eagle's ken. Here tow'ring spires
First catch the eye, and turn the thoughts to heav'n. The lofty elms in humble majesty
Bend with the breeze to fhade the folemn groves,
And spread an holy darkness; Ceres there
Shines in her golden vefture. Here the meads Enrich'd by Flora's dædal hand,
Expose their spotted verdure. Nor are you Pomona abfent; you 'midst th' hoary leaves Swell the vermilion cherry; and on yon trees Sufpend the pippen's palatable gold.
There old Sylvanus in that moss-grown grot
Dwells with his wood-nymphs: they with chaplets green And ruffet mantles oft bedight, aloft
Boxley-Hill, which extends through great part of Kent.
From yon bent oaks, in Medway's bosom fair Wonder at filver bleak, and prickly pearch, That swiftly thro' their floating forests glide. Yet not even thefe---thefe ever-varied scenes Of wealth and pleasure can engage my eyes T'o'erlook the lowly hawthorn, if from thence The thrush, sweet warbler, chants th’unftudied lays Which Phoebus' felf vaulting from yonder cloud Refulgent, with enliv'ning ray infpires.
But neither tow'ring fpires, nor lofty elms, Nor golden Ceres, nor the meadows
Nor orchats, nor the ruffet-mantled nymphs,
Which to the murmurs of the Medway dance,
Nor fweetly warbling thrush, with half those charms Attract my eyes, as yonder hop-land close, Joint-work of art and nature, which reminds The mufe, and to her theme the wand'rer calls.
Here then with pond'rous vehicles and teams Thy ruftics fend, and from the caverns deep Command them bring the chalk: thence to the kiln Convey, and temper with Vulcanian fires.
Soon as 'tis form'd, thy lime with bounteous hand O'er all thy lands diffeminate; thy lands Which firft have felt the foft'ning spade, and drank The ftrength'ning vapours from nutricious marl.
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