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And now his fhorter 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.
Faint, breathlefs, thus fhe pray'd, nor pray'd in vain;
"Ah Cynthia! ah-tho' banish'd from thy train, 200
"Let me, O let me, to the fhades repair,
"My native fhades-there weep, and murmur there."
She faid, and melting as in tears the lay,
In a foft filver ftream diffolv'd away.
The filver stream her virgin coldness keeps,
For ever murmurs, and for ever weeps ;
Still bears the name the hapless virgin bore,
And bathes the foreft where the rang'd before.
In her chafte current oft the Goddess laves,
And with celeftial tears augments the waves,
Oft in her glass the mufing fhepherd spies
The headlong mountains and the downward skies,
The wat❜ry landskip of the pendant woods,
And absent trees that tremble in the floods;
In the clear azure gleam the flocks are feen,
And floating forefts paint the waves with green,
Thro' the fair scene roll flow the ling'ring ftreams,
Then foaming pour along, and rush into the Thames,
Thou, too, great father of the British floods!
With joyful pride furvey'ft 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 ftreams receives
A wealthier tribute, than to thine he gives.
VER. 207. Still bears the name.] The River Lodden.
VER. 211. Oft in her glass, etc.] These fix lines were added after the first writing of this poem.
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,
the manfion of our earthly Gods:
Nor all his ftars above a luftre fhow,
Like the bright Beauties on thy banks below;
Where Jove, fubdu'd by mortal passion still,
Might change Olympus for a nobler hill.
Happy the man whom this bright Court approves,
His Sov'reign favours, and his Country loves: 236
Happy next him, who to these shades retires,
Whom Nature charms, and whom the Muse inspires;
Whom humbler joys of home-felt quiet please,.
Succeffive ftudy, exercife, and ease.
He gathers health from herbs the foreft yields,
And of their fragrant phyfic fpoils the fields:
With chemic arts exalt the min'ral pow'rs,
And draws the aromatic fouls of flow'rs:
Now marks the courfe of rolling orbs on high; 245
O'er figur'd worlds now travels with his eye;
Cf ancient writ unlocks the learned store,
Confults the dead, and lives past ages o'er :
Or wand'ring thoughtful in the filent wood,
Attends the duties of the wife and good,
VER. 233. It ftoed thus in the MS.
And force great Jove, if Jove's a lover still,
To change Olympus, etc.
Happy the man, who to the fhades retires,
But doubly happy, if the Mufe inspires!
Bleft whom the fweets of home-felt quiet pleafe;
But far more bleft, who ftudy joins with ease.
T'observe a mean, be to himself a friend,
To follow nature, and regard his end;
Or looks on heav'n with more than mortal eyes,
Bids his free foul expatiate in the skies,
Amid her kindred stars familiar roam,
Survey the region, and confess her home!
Such was the life great Scipio once admir'd,
Thus Atticus, and TRUMBAL thus retir'd.
I hear foft mufic die along the grove:
led by the found, I roam from shade to shade, By god-like poets venerable made :
Ye facred Nine! that all my foul poffefs,
Whose raptures fire me, and whofe visions bless, 260
Bear me, oh bear me to fequefter'd fcenes,
The bow'ry 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, 265
While lafts the mountain, or while Thames shall flow)
I feem thro' confecrated walks to rove,
VER. 251, 252. Servare modum finemque tenere,
VER. 261. O qui me gelidis, etc.
VER. 267. It stood 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.
Here his first lays majestic DENHAM fung;
There the laft numbers flow'd from CowLEY's tongue.
VER. 272. There the laft numbers flow'd from Carley's tongue.] Mr. Cowley died at Chertfey, on the borders of the foreft, and was from thence convey'd to Westminster.
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 Mufe's lyre.
Since fate relentless stop'd their heav'nly voice,
No more the forests ring, or groves rejoice;
Who now shall charm the fhades, where COWLEY
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 Muses to their ancient feats;
To paint anew the flow'ry fylvan fcenes,
To crown the forefts with immortal greens,
Make Windfor hills in lofty numbers rise,
And lift her turrets nearer to the skies;
To fing those honours you deserve to wear,、
And add new luftre to her filver star.
Here noble SURREY felt the facred rage,
SURREY, the GRANVILLE of a former age:
What fighs, what murmurs fill'd the vocal fhore !
His tuneful fwans were heard to fing no more.
My humble Mufe, in unambitious ftrains,
Paints the green forefts and the flow'ry plains;
Where I obfcurely pafs my careless days,
Pleas'd in the filent fhade with empty praise,
Enough for me that to the lift'ning fwains
First in these fields I fung the fylvan strains.
VER. 290. ber 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 these,
VER. 291. Here noble Surrey] Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, one of the first refiners of the English poetry, who flourished in the time of Henry VIII.
Matchless 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 soft defire:
Fair Geraldine, bright object of his vow,
Then fill'd the groves, as heav'nly Mira now.
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 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 fhield:
Then, from her roofs when Verrio's colours fall,
And leave inanimate the naked wall,
Still in thy song should vanquish'd France appear,
And bleed for ever under Britain's fpear.
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, The Grave unites; where ev'n the Great find reft, And blended lie th' oppreffor and th' oppreft! Make facred Charles's tomb for ever known, (Obscure the place, and un-inscrib'd the flone) 320
VER. 307. Originally thus in the MS.
When Brafs decays, when Trophies lie o'erthrown,
And mould'ring into duft drops the proud ftone.
VER. 303. Edward's acts] Edward III. born here.
VER. 311. Henry mourn,] Henry VI.
VER. 314. once-fear'd Edward fleeps :] Edward IV.