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“ Let me, O let me, to the shades repair,
« My native shades-there weep, and murmur there.
She said, and melting as in tears the lay,
In a soft, silver stream diffolv'd away.
The silver stream her virgin coldness keeps,
For ever murmurs, and for ever weeps;
Still bears the * name the hapless virgin bore,
And bathes the forest where she rang'd before.
In her chast current oft' the Goddess laves,
And with celestial tears augments the waves.
Oft in her glass the musing shepherd spies
The headlong mountains and the downward skies, y
The wat'ry landskip of the pendant woods,
And absent trees that tremble in the floods;
In the clear azure gleam the flocks are seen,
And floating forests paint the waves with green.
Thro' the fair scene roll flow the ling'ring streams,
Then foaming pour along, and rush into the Thames.
Thou too, great father of the British floods !
With joyful.pride survey our lofty woods;
Where tow'ring oaks their spreading honours rear,
And future navies on thy banks appear.
Not Neptune's self from all his floods receives
A wealthier tribute than to thine he gives.
No seas so rich, so full no streams appear,
No lake so gentle, and no spring so clear.
Not fabled Po more swells the Poet's lays,
While thro' the skies his shining current strays,
Than thine, which visits Windsor's fam’d abodes,
To grace the mansion of our earthly Gods:
Nor all his stars a brighter luftre fhow,
Than the fair nymphs that gild thy shore below:
Here Jove himself, subdu'd by beauty still,
Might change Olympus for a nobler hill.
Happy the man whom this bright court approves,
His sov'reign favours, and his countrey loves;
Happy next him who to these shades retires,
Whom nature charms, and whom the muse inspires,
Whom humbler joys of home-felt quiet please,
Successive study, exercise, and ease.
He gathers health from herbs the foreft yields,
And of their fragant phyfick spoils the fields :
With chymic, art exalts the min’ral pow'rs,
And draws the aromatick souls of flow'rs.
Now marks the course of rolling orbs on high;,
O'er figur'd worlds now travels with his eye:
Of ancient writ unlocks the learned store,
Consults the dead, and lives paft ages o'er.
Or wand'ring thoughtful in the filent wood,
Attends the duties of the wise and good,
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,
Amids 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'a.
Ye sacred nine! that all my soul possess,
Whose raptures fire me, and whofe vifions bless,
Bear me, oh bear me to sequester'd scenes,
Of bowry mazes, and surrounding greens;
To Thames's banks which fragrant breezes fill,
Or where ye Mufes sport on Cooper's hill.
(On Cooper's hill eternal wreaths shall grow,
While lafts the mountain, or where Thames shall flow)
I seem thro' consecrated walks to rove,
And hear soft musick dye along the grove;
Led by the sound I roam from shade to shade,
By god-like poets venerable made:
- Here his first lays majestick Denham sung;
There the last numbers flow'd from * Cowley's tongue.
O early lost! what tears the river shed,
When the sad poinp along his banks was led?
His drooping swans on ev'ry note expire,
And on his willows hung each Muse's lyre.
Since fate relentless stopp'd their heav'nly voice,
No more the forests ring, of groves rejoice;
Who now shall charm the shades where Cowley Atrung
His living harp, and lofty Denham sung?
But hark! the groves rejoyce, the forest rings!
Are thefe reviv'd? or is it Granville fings?
'Tis yours, my Lord, to bless out soft-retreats, And call the Muses to their ancient seats, To paint anew the flow'ry sylvan scenes, To crown the forests with immortal greens, Make Windfor-hills in lofty numbers rife, And lift her turrets néarer to the skies; To fing thofe honours you deserve to wear, And add new luftre to her silver star.
* Mt, Cowley died at Chertsey on the borders of the forest, and was from thence convey'd to Westminster.
Here noble * Surrey felt the sacred rage,
Surrey, the Granville of a former age:
Matchless his pen, victorious was his lance;
Bold in the lists, and graceful in the dance:
In the same shades the Cupids tun'd his lyre,
To the same notes, of love, and soft desire :
Fair Geraldine, bright object of his vow,
Then fill'd the groves, as heav'nly Myra now.
Oh would't thou sing what heroes Windfor bore,
What kings first breath'd upon her winding shore,
Or raise old warriors whose ador'd remains
In weeping vaults her hallow'd earth contains !
With † Edward's acts adorn the shining page,
Stretch his long triumphs down thro' ev'ry age,
Draw Monarchs chain'd, and Cressi'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 vanquilh'd France appear,
And bleed for ever under Britain's fpear.
* Henry Howard E. of Surrey, one of the first refiners of the English Poerry; who flourished in the time of Henry VIII.
† Edward III. born here,