The Eastern pomp had just bespoke our care,
And India pour'd her gaudy treasures here:
A various spoil adorn'd our naked land,
The pride of Perfia glitter'd on our strand,
And China's Earth was caft on common fand:
Tofs'd up and down the gloffy fragments lay, 10
And dressed the rocky fhelves, and pav'd the
painted bay.

Thy treasures next arriv'd: and now we boast
A nobler cargo on our barren coast:

From thy luxuriant Forest we receive
More lafting glories than the Eaft can give. 15
Where-e'er we dip in thy delightful page,
What pompous fcenes our bufy thoughts engage!
The pompous scenes in all their pride appear,
Fresh in the page, as in the grove they were.
Nor half fo true the fair Lodona fhows

grows,

The fylvan ftate that on her border
While the the wond'ring fhepherd entertains
With a new Windfor in her wat'ry plains ;-
Thy jufter lays the lucid wave furpass,
The living scene is in the Mufe's glafs.
Nor fweeter notes the echoing forests cheer,
When Philomela fits and warbles there,

20

25

Than when you fing the greens and op'ning

glades,

And give us Harmony as well as Shades:
A Titian's hand might draw the grove, but you 36
Can paint the grove, and add the Mufic too.
With vast variety thy pages shine;

A new creation ftarts in ev'ry line.

How fudden trees rife to the reader's fight,
And make a doubtful scene of shade and light,
And give at once the day, at once the night!
And here again what fweet confusion reigns,
In dreary deserts mix'd with painted plains!

And fee! the deferts caft a pleafing gloom,

And shrubby heaths rejoice in purple bloom : 40 Whilft fruitful crops rise by their barren fide, And bearded groves display their annual pride. Happy the man, who ftrings his tuneful lyre, Where woods, and brooks, and breathing fields. inspire!

Thrice happy you! and worthy best to dwell Amidst the rural joys you fing fo well.

I in a cold, and in a barren clime,

Cold as my thought, and barren as my rhyme, Here on the Western beach attempt to chime.

50

O joyless flood! O rough tempeftuous main!
Border'd with weeds, and folitudes obfcene!
Snatch me, ye
Gods! from thefe Atlantic fhores,
And shelter me in Windfor's fragrant bow'rs ;
Or to my much-lov'd Ifis' walks convey,
And on her flow'ry banks for ever lay.
Thence let me view the venerable scene,

The awful dome, the groves eternal
green:
Where facred Hough long found his fam'd retreat,
And brought the Muses to the fylvan seat,
Reform'd the wits, unlock'd the Claffic store, 60
And made that Mufic which was noife before.
There with illustrious Bards I spent my days,
Nor free from cenfure, nor unknown to praise,
Enjoy'd the bleffings that his reign bestow'd,
Nor envy'd Windsor in the foft abode.
The golden minutes fmoothly danc'd away,
And tuneful Bards beguil'd the tedious day:
They fung, nor fung in vain, with numbers fir'd
That Maro taught, or Addison infpir'd.

65

Ev'n I effay'd to touch the trembling string: 70 Who could hear them, and not attempt to fing? Rouz'd from these dreams by thy commanding ftrain,

I rife and wander through the field or plain;

3

Led by thy Muse from sport to sport I run,
Mark the stretch'dLine, or hear the thund'ring gun.
Ah! how I melt with pity, when I spy

On the cold earth the flutt'ring Pheasant lie;
His gaudy robes in dazzling lines appear,
And ev'ry feather shines and varies there.

76

Nor can I pass the generous courfer by, 80 But while the prancing steed allures my eye, He starts, he's gone! and now I see him fly O'er hills and dales, and now I lose the course, Nor can the rapid fight pursue the flying horse. Oh could thy Virgil from his orb look down, 85 He'd view a courfer that might match his own! Fir'd with the sport, and eager for the chace, Lodona's murmurs ftop me in the race. Who can refuse Lodona's melting tale?

The foft complaint shall over time prevail; 90 The Tale be told, when shades forfake her shore, The Nymph be fung, when she can flow no more.

Nor fhall thy fong, old Thames! forbear to shine, At once the fubject and the fong divine. Peace, fung by thee, fhall please ev'n Britons more Than all their fhouts for Victory before.

96

Oh! could Britannia imitate thy ftream,

The World should tremble at her awful name :

τόσ

From various springs divided waters glide,
In diff'rent colours roll a diff'rent tide,
Murmur along their crooked banks a while,
At once they murmur and enrich the Ifle;
A while distinct thro' many channels run,
But meet at laft, and fweetly flow in one; 104.
There joy to lose their long-distinguish'd names,
And make one glorious, and immortal Thames.
FR. KNAPP.

To Mr. POPE.

In Imitation of a Greek Epigram on HOMER.

WHE

HEN Phæbus, and the nine harmonious maids,

Of old affembled in the Thespian fhades; What theme, they cry'd, what high immortal air, ́Befit these harps to found, and thee to hear? Reply'd the God; "Your loftieft notes employ, 5 "To fing young Peleus, and the fall of Troy." The wond'rous fong with rapture they rehearse Then ask who wrought that miracle of verse? He answer'd with a frown; "I now reveal "A truth, that envy bids me not conceal :