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Hail, sacred peace! hail, long-expected days, That Thames's glory to the stars shall raise! Though Tyber's
streams immortal Rome behold, Though foaming Hermus swells with 'tides of gold, From Heav'n itself thongh sevenfold Nilus flows, And harvests on a hundred realms bestows; These now no more shall be the Muse's themes, Lost in my fame, as in the sea their streams. Let Volga's banks with iron squadrons shine, And groves of lances glitter on the Rhine ; Let barbarous Ganges arm a servile train, Be mine the blessings of a peaceful reign. No more my sons shall dye with British blood Red Iber's sands, or Ister's foaming flood : Safe on my shore each unmolested swain Shall tend the flocks, or reap the bearded grain ; The shady empire shall retain no trace Of war or blood, but in the silvan chase; The trumpet sleep, while cheerful horns are blown, And arnis employ'd on birds and beasts alone. Behold! the ascending villas on my side, Project long shadows o'er the crystal tide; Behold! Angusta's glittering spires increase, And temiples rise, the beauteous works of peace. I see, I see, where two fair cities bend Their anple bow, a new Whiteball ascend! There mighty nations shall inquire their doom, The world's great oracle in times to come: There kings shall sve, and suppliant states be seen Once more to bend before a British queen.
· Tliy trees, fair Windsor! now shall leave their And half thy forests rush into the floods, [woods, Bear Britain's thunder, and hér cross display To the bright regions of the rising day;
Tempt icy seas, where scarce the waters roll,
Here cease thy flight, nor with unballow'd lays Touch the fair fame of Albion's golden days : : The thoughts of gods let Granville's verse recite, And bring the scenes of opening fate to light. My hunible Muse, in unambitious strains, Paints the green forests and the flowery plains, Where Peace descending bids her olives spring, And scatters blessings from her dove-like wing. Ev'n I more sweetly pass my careless days, Pleas'd in the silent shade with empty praise! Enough for me, that to the listening swains First in these fields 1 sung the silvan strains.
RAPE OF THE LOCK.
AN HEROI-COMICAL POEM.
WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1712.
TO MRS. ARABELLA FERMOR.
MADAM, It will be in vain to deny that I have some regard for this.piece, since I dedicate it to you. Yet you may bear me witness, it was intended only to divert a few young ladies, who have good sense and good humour enough to laugh not only at their sex's little unguarded follies, but at their own. But as it was communicated with the air of a secret, it soon found its way into the world. An imperfect copy baving been offered to a bookseller, you had the good-nature, for my sake, to consent to the publication of one more correct; this I was forced to, before I had executed half my design, for the machinery was entirely wanting to complete it.
The machinery, Madam, is a term invented by the critics, to signify that part which the deities, angels, or demons, are made to act in a poem : for the ancient poets are in one respect like many modern ladies; let an action be ever so trivial in itself, they always make it appear of the utmost importance. These machines I determined to raise on a very new and odd foundation, the Rosi. crucian doctrine of spirits.
I know how disagreeable it is to make use of hard words before a lady; but it is so much the
concern of a poet to have his works understood, and particularly by your sex, that you must give me leave to explain two or three difficult terms.
The Rosicrucians are a people I must bring you acquainted with. The best account I know of them is in a French book, called · Le Comte de Gabalis,' which, both in its title and size, is so like a novel, that many of the fair sex have read it for one by mistake. Accordiog to these gentlemen, the four elements are inhabited by spirits, which they call sylphs, gnomes, nymphs, and salamanders. The gnomes, or demons of earth, delight in mischief: but the sylphis, whose habitation is in the air, are the best-conditioned creatures imagin
for, they say, any mortal may enjoy the most intimate familiarities with these gentle spirits, upon a condition very easy to all true adepts,
an inviolate preservation of chastity.
As to the following cantos, all the passages of them are as fabulous as the vision at the beginning, or the transformation at the end (except the loss of your hair, which I always mention with reverence.) The human persons are as fictitious as the airy ones ; and the character of Belinda, as it is now managed, resembles you in nothing but in beauty.
If this poem had as many graces as there are in your person, or in your mind, yet I could never hope it should pass through the world half so uncensured as you have done. But let its fortune be what it will, mine is happy enough, to have given me this occasion of assuring you that I am, with the truest esteem, Madam, Your most obedient; humble servant,