The Muse shall sing, and what she sings shall

last.) Scarce could the goddess from her nymph be known,

175
But by the crescent, and the golden zone.
She scorned the praise of beauty, and the

care ;
A belt her waist, a fillet binds her hair ;
A painted quiver on her shoulder sounds,
And with her dart the flying deer she wounds.
It chanced, as eager of the chase, the maid 181
Beyond the forest's verdant limits strayed,
Pan saw and loved, and, burning with desire,
Pursued her flight, her flight increased his fire.
Not half so swift the trembling doves can fly, 185
When the fierce eagle cleaves the liquid sky;
Not half so swiftly the fierce eagle moves,
When through the clouds he drives the trem-

bling doves;
As from the god she flew with furious pace,
Or as the god, more furious, urged the chase. 190
Now fainting, sinking, pale, the nymph appears;
Now close behind, his sounding steps she hears;
And now his shadow reached her as she run,
His shadow lengthened by the setting sun;
And now his shorter breath, with sultry air, 195
Pants on her neck, and fans her parting hair.
In vain on father Thames she calls for aid,
Nor could Diana help her injured maid.
Faint, breathless, thus she prayed, nor prayed

in vain : L“ Ah Cynthia ! ah—though banished from thy

train,
Let me, O let me, to the shades repair,
My native shades—there weep, and murmur

there."
She said, and melting as in tears she lay,

200

In a soft silver stream dissolved away.
The silver stream her virgin coldness keeps, 205
For ever murmurs, and for ever weeps ;
Still bears the name the hapless virgin bore,
And bathes the forest where she ranged before.
In her chaste current oft the goddess laves,
And with celestial tears augments the waves. 210
Oft in her glass the musing shepherd spies 2
The headlong mountains and the downward

skies,
The watery landscape of the pendant woods,
And absent trees that tremble in the floods ;
In the clear azure gleam the flocks are seen, 215
And floating forests paint the waves with green,
Through the fair scene roll slow the lingering

streams, Then foaming pour along, and rush into the

Thames. 1 Thou, too, great father of the British floods ! 'With joyful pride survey'st our lofty woods ; 220 Where towering oaks their growing honours

rear, And future navies on thy shores appear. Not Neptune's self from all his streams receives A wealthier tribute, than to thine he gives. No seas so rich, so gay no banks appear, 225 No lake so gentle, and no spring so clear. Nor Po so swells the fabling poet's lays, While led along the skies his current strays, As thine, which visits Windsor's famed abodes, To grace the mansion of our earthly gods : 230 Nor all his stars above a lustre show, Like the bright beauties on thy banks below;

235

Where Jove, subdued by mortal passion still, Might change Olympus for a nobler hill. Happy the man whom this bright court ap

proves, His sovereign favours, and his country 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. 240 He gathers health from herbs the forest yields, And of their fragrant physic spoils the fields : With chemic art exalts the mineral powers, And draws the aromatic souls of flowers: 244 Now marks the course of rolling orbs on high ; O’er figured worlds now travels with his eye; Of ancient writ unlocks the learned store, Consults the dead, and lives past ages o'er : Or wandering thoughtful in the silent wood, Attends the duties of the wise and good, 250

To observe a mean, be to himself a friend, (To follow Nature, and regard his end; Or looks on Heaven with more than mortal

eyes, Bids his free soul expatiate in the skies, Amid her kindred stars familiar roam, 255 Survey the region, and confess her home! Such was the life great Scipio once admired, Thus Atticus, and Trumbull thus retired.

Ye sacred Nine! that all my soul possess, Whose raptures fire me, and whose visions bless,

260 Bear me, oh bear me to sequestered scenes, The bowery mazes and surrounding greens : To Thames's banks which fragrant breezes

fill, Or where ye Muses sport on Cooper's Hill.

On Cooper's Hill eternal wreaths shall grow, 265 While lasts the mountain, or while Thames

shall flow. I seem through consecrated walks to rove, I hear soft music die along the grove : Led by the sound, I roam from shade to shade, By god-like poets venerable made: 270 Here his first lays majestic Denham sung; There the last numbers flowed from Cowley's

tongue. O early lost! what tears the river shed, When the sad pomp along his banks was led ! His drooping swans on every note expire, 275 And on his willows hung each Muse's lyre. Since fate relentless stopped their heavenly

voice, No more the forests ring, or groves rejoice; Who now shall charm the shades, where Cowley

strung His living harp, and lofty Denham sung? 280 But hark! the groves rejoice, the forest rings ! Are these revived ? or is it Granville sings ? 'Tis yours, my lord, to bless our soft retreats, And call the Muses to their ancient seats; To paint anew the flowery sylvan scenes, 285 To crown the forests with immortal greens, Make Windsor-hills in lofty numbers rise, And lift her turrets nearer to the skies ; To sing those honours you deserve to wear, And add new lustre to her silver star. 290

1 Mr. Cowley died at Chertsey, on the borders of the Forest, and was from thence conveyed to Westminster.-P.

2 All the lines that follow were not added to the poem till the year 1710. What immediately followed this, and made the conclusion, were these : “My humble Muse, in unambitious strains,” &c.—P. 300

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 tuned his lyre, To the same notes, of love and soft desire: 296 Fair Geraldine, bright object of his vow, Then filled the groves as heavenly Mira now.? · Oh wouldst thou sing what heroes Windsor

bore, What kings first breathed upon her winding

shore, Or raise old warriors, whose adored remains In weeping vaults her hallowed earth contains ! With Edward's acts adorn the shining page, Stretch his long triumphs down through every

age, Draw monarchs chained, and Crecy's glorious field,

305 The lilies blazing on the regal shield: Then, from her roofs where Verrio's colours fall, And leave inanimate the naked wall, Still in thy song should vanquished France

appear, And bleed for ever under Britain's spear. 310

Let softer strains ill-fated Henry mourn, And palms eternal flourish round his urn.

| Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, one of the first refiners of the English poetry; famous in the time of Henry VIII. for his sonnets, the scene of many of which is laid at Windsor.-P.

2 The Fair Geraldine of Surrey was a daughter of the Earl of Kildare. The Mira of Granville was the Countess of Newburgh.-Warton.

3 Edward III. born here.—P.

4 For Verrio, see “Moral Essays,” Ep. iv. 146, note.

5 Henry VI.-P.