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See! from the brake the whirring pheasant springs, And mounts exulting on triumphant wings: Short is his joy; he feels the fiery wound, Flutters in blood, and panting beats the ground. Ah! what avail his gloffy, varying dyes, His purple creft, and fcarlet-circled eyes, The vivid green his fhining plumes unfold, His painted wings, and breast that flames with gold? Nor yet, when moist Arcturus clouds the sky, The woods and fields their pleafing toils deny. To plains with well-breath'd beagles we repair, And trace the mazes of the circling hare: (Beafts, urg'd by us, their fellow-beafts pursue, And learn of man each other to undo.) With flaught'ring guns th' unweary'd fowler roves, When frofts have whiten'd all the naked groves, Where doves in flocks the leaflefs trees o'erfhade, And lonely woodcocks haunt the wat'ry glade. He lifts the tube, and levels with his eye; Straight a fhort thunder breaks the frozen fky: Oft, as in airy rings they skim the heath, The clam'rous lapwings feel the leaden death: Oft, as the mounting larks their notes prepare, They fall, and leave their little lives in air.

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In genial fpring, beneath the quiv'ring fhade, 135 Where cooling vapours breathe along the mead, The patient fisher takes his filent stand Intent, his angle trembling in his hand : With looks unmov'd, he hopes the scaly breed, And eyes the dancing cork and bending reed. Our plenteous ftreams a various race fupply; The bright-ey'd perch, with fins of Tyrian dye; The filver eel, in fhining volumes roll'd; The yellow carp, in fcales bedropp'd with gold; Swift trouts, diverfify'd with crimson ftains And pikes, the tyrants of the watʼry plains.

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Now Cancer glows with Phoebus' fiery car, The youth rufh eager to the fylvan war, Swarm o'er the lawns, the foreft walks furround, Roufe the fleet hart, and cheer the op'ning hound. 150

Th' impatient courfer pants in ev'ry vein,
And pawing, feems to beat the diftant plain:
Hills, vales, and floods appear already crofs'd,
And ere he starts a thoufand fteps are loft.

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See the bold youth ftrain up the threat'ning fteep, 155
Ruth through the thickets, down the vallies fweep,
Hang o'er the courfers heads with eager speed,
And earth rolls back beneath the flying fteed.
Let old Arcadia boaft her ample plain,
Th' immortal huntress, and her virgin train:
Nor envy, Wind for! fince thy fhades have seen
As bright a goddefs, and as chatte a queen ;
Whofe care, like her's, protects the fylvan reign,
The earth's far light, and emprefs of the main.
Here too, 'tis fung, of old, Diana ftray'd,
And Cynthus' top forfook for Windfor shade;
Here was the feen o'er airy waftes to rove,
Seek the clear fpring, or haunt the pathlefs grove;
Here arm'd with filver bows, in early dawn,
Her bufkin'd virgins trac'd the dewy lawn.

Above the rest a rural nymph was fam'd,
Thy offspring, Thames! the fair Lodona nam'd
(Lodona's fate, in long oblivion caft

d;

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The Mufe fhall fing, and what the fings fhall laft.) Scarce could the goddess from her nymph be known, But by the crefcent and the golden zone.

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She fcorn'd the praise of Beauty, and the care;
A belt her waift, a fillet binds her hair;
A painted quiver on her fhoulder founds,
And with her dart the flying deer the wounds.
It chanc'd, as eager of the chace, the maid
Beyond the Foreft's verdant limits stray'd:
Pan faw and lov'd, and, burning with defire,
Purfu'd her flight; her flight increas'd his fire.
Not half fo fwift the trembling doves can fly
When the fierce eagle cleaves the liquid fky:
Not half fo fwiftly the fierce eagle moves,
When thro' the clouds he drives the trembling doves,
As from the god fhe flew with furious pace,
Or as the god, more furious, urg'd the chace.

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Now

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Now fainting, finking, pale, the nymph appears; Now clofe behind, his founding fteps the hears; And now his fhadow reach'd her as the run, His fhadow lengthen'd by the fetting fun; And now his fhorter breath, with fultry air, Pants on her neck, and fans her parting hair. In vain on father Thames the calls for aid, Nor could Diana help her injur'd maid. Faint, breathlefs, thus fhe pray'd, nor pray'd in vain ; "Ah, Cynthia! ah---tho' banish'd from thy train, "Let me, O let me, to the fhades repair, "My native fhades---there weep, and murmur there.” She faid, and melting as in tears the lay, In a foft filver ftream diffolv'd away. The filver ftream her virgin coldnef's keeps, For ever murmurs, and for ever weeps : Still bears the name the hapless virgin bore, And bathes the foreft where the rang'd before. In her chafte current oft the goddess laves, And with celeftial tears augments the waves. Oft in her glafs the mufing thepherd fpies The headlong mountains and the downward skies The wat'ry landscape of the pendant woods, And abfent trees that tremble in the floods ; In the clear azure gleam the flocks are feen, And Alcating forefts paint the waves with green. Thro' the fair fcene roll flow the ling'ring ftreams, Then foaming pour along, and ruth into the Thames, Thou, too, great father of the Britith floods ! With joyful pride furvey'st our lofty woods; Where tow'ring caks their growing honours rear, And future navies on thy fhores appear. Not Neptune's felf from all his ftreams receives A wealthier tribute than to thine he gives. No feas fo rich, fo gay no banks appear, No lake fo gentle, and no fpring to clear. Nor Po fo fwells the fabling poets' lays, While led along the fkies his current itrays, As thine, which vifits Windfor's fam'd abodes, To grace the manfion of our earthly gods; F 3

;

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Nor

Nor all his ftars above a luftre show

Like the bright beauties on thy banks below;
Where Jove, fubdu'd by mortal paffions ftill,"
Might change Olympus for a nobler hill.

Happy the man whom this bright court approves,
His lov'reign favours, and his country loves: 236
Happy next him, who to thefe fhades retires,
Whom nature charms, and whom the Mufe infpires:
Whom humbler joys of home-felt quiet please,
Succeffive study, exercife, and ease.

He gathers health from herbs the foreft yields,
And of their fragrant phy fic poils the fields:
With chemic art axalts the min'ral pow'rs,
And draws the aromatic fouls 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 ftore,
Confults the dead, and lives paft ages o'er :
Or wand'ring thoughtful in the filent wood,
Attends the duties of the wife and good,
T'obferve a mean, be to himfelf 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 fkies,
Amid her kindred ftars familiar roam,
Survey the region, and confels her home!
Such was the life great Scipio once admir'd.
Thus Atticus, and Trumball thus retir'd.

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Ye facred Nine! that all my foul poffefs,
Whofe raptures fire me, and whole vilions blefs, 260
Bear me, oh bear me to fequefter'd fcenes,
The bow'ry mazes, and furrounding greens;
To Thames's banks, which fragrant breezes fill,
Or where ye Mules fport on Cooper's Hill.
(On Cooper's Hill eternal wreaths fhall grow,
While laits the mountain, or while Thames fhall flow.)
I feem through confecrated walks to rove,
I hear foft mufic die along the grove:

Led by the found, I roam from thade to fhade,
By godlike poets venerable made:

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Here

Here his firft lays majestic Denham fung;
There the last numbers flow'd from Cowley's tongue.
O early loft! what tears the river shed,

When the fad pomp along his bank's was led?
His drooping fwans on ev'ry note expire,
And on his willows hung each mufe's lyre.

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Since Fate relentless stopp'd their heav'nly voice, No more the forefts ring, or groves rejoice: Who now shall charm the fhades where Cowley ftrung His living harp, and lofty Denham fung? But hark! the groves rejoice, the Foreft rings! Are these reviv'd? or is it Granville fings? 'Tis yours, my Lord, to blefs our foft retreats, And call the Mufes to their ancient feats; To paint anew the flow'ry fylvan scenes, To crown the forefts with immortal greens : Make Windfor-hills in lofty numbers rife, And lift her turrets nearer to the skies; To fing those honours you deserve to wear, And add new luftre to her filver ftar.

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Here noble Surrey felt the facred rage, Surrey, the Granville of a former age: Matchlefs his pen, victorious was his lance, Bold in the lifts, and graceful in the dance : In the fame fhades the Cupids tun'd his lyre, To the fame notes, of love, and foft defire: Fair Geraldine, bright object of his vow, Then fill'd the groves, as heav'nly Mira now. Oh wouldst thou fing what heroes Windfor bore, What kings firft breath'd upon her winding fhore, Or raife old warriors, whofe ador'd remains In weeping vaults her hallow'd earth contains ! With Edward's acts adorn the fhining page, Stretch his long triumphs down through ev'ry age, Draw monarchs chain'd, and Creffi'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,

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Still in thy fong fhould vanquish'd France appear,
And bleed for ever under Britain's pear.

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Let