Of detraction from her praise;
Lefs than half we find expreft,
Envy bid conceal the rest.
Mark what radiant ftate fhe fpreads,
In circle round her shining throne,
Shooting her beams like filver threads:
This, this is fhe alone,
Sitting like a Goddess bright,
In the center of her light.
Might fhe the wife Latona be,
Or the towered Cybele,
Mother of a hundred Gods;
Juno dares not give her odds;
Who had thought this clime had held
A deity fo unparallel'd?
As they come forward, the Genius of the wood appears, and, turning toward them, speaks.
STAY, gentle Swains, for though in this disguise,
I see bright honor sparkle through your eyes;
Of famous Arcady ye are, and sprung
Of that renowned flood, so often fung,
Divine Alpheus, who by secret fluce
Stole under feas to meet his Arethuse;
And ye, the breathing rofes of the wood,
Fair filver-bufkin'd Nymphs as great and good,
I know this quest of yours, and free intent
Was all in honor and devotion meant
To the great mistress of yon princely shrine,
Whom with low reverence I adore as mine,
And with all helpful fervice will comply
To further this night's glad folemnity;
And lead you where ye may more near behold
What fhallow-fearching Fame hath left untold;
Which I full oft amidst these fhades alone
Have fat to wonder at, and gaze upon :
For know by lot from Jove I am the Power
Of this fair wood, and live in oaken bower,
To nurse the faplings tall, and curl the grove
With ringlets quaint, and wanton windings wove.
And all my plants I fave from nightly ill
Of noisome winds, and blasting vapors chill:
And from the boughs brush off the evil dew,
And heal the harms of thwarting thunder blue,
Or what the cross dire-looking planet fmites,
Or hurtful worm with canker'd venom bites.
When evening gray doth rise, I fetch my round
Over the mount, and all this hallow'd ground,
And early, ere the odorous breath of morn
Awakes the flumbering leaves, or taffel'd horn
Shakes the high thicket, hafte I all about,
Number my ranks, and vifit every sprout
With puiffant words, and murmurs made to blefs; 60 But elfe in deep of night, when drowsiness
Hath lock'd up mortal sense, then liften I
To the celestial Syrens' harmony,
That fit upon the nine infolded spheres,
And fing to those that hold the vital shears,
And turn the adamantin spindle round,
On which the fate of Gods and men is wound.
Such fweet compulfion doth in mufic lie,
To lull the daughters of Neceffity,
And keep unfteddy Nature to her law,
And the low world in measur'd motion draw
After the heavenly tune, which none can hear
Of human mold with grofs unpurged ear;
And
yet fuch mufic worthieft were to blaze
The peerless highth of her immortal praise,
Whofe luftre leads us, and for her moft fit,
If my inferior hand or voice could hit
Inimitable founds; yet, as we go,
Whate'er the skill of leffer Gods can fhow,
I will affay, her worth to celebrate,
And so attend ye toward her glittering state;
all that are of noble stem
Approach and kiss her facred vefture's hem.
O'ER the smooth enamel'd green,
Where no print of step hath been,
Follow me as I fing,
And touch the warbled string,
Under the fhady roof
Of branching elm ftar-proof.
I will bring you where fhe fits,
Clad in fplendor as befits
Her deity.
Such a rural Queen
All Arcadia hath not feen.
NYMPHS and Shepherds, dance no more
By fandy Ladon's lilied banks;
On old Lycæus or Cyllene hoar
Trip no more in twilight ranks;
Though Erymanth your lofs deplore,
A better foil fhall give you thanks.
From the ftony Mænalus
Bring your flocks, and live with us;
Here ye shall have greater grace,
To ferve the Lady of this place.
Though Syrinx your Pan's mistress were,
Yet Syrinx well might wait on her.
Such a rural Queen
All Arcadia hath not feen.
The EARL of BRIDGEWATER, then
Prefident of WALES.
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