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Let softer strains ill-fated Henry mourn,
315 From old Belerium to the northern main. The grave unites ; where e'en the
find rest, And blended lie th' opprefsor and th' opprett!
Make sacred Charles's tomb for ever known, (Obscure the place, and uninscrib’d the stone.) 320 Oh fact accurs'd! what tears has Albion shed! Heav'ns! what new wounds ! and how her old have She saw her fons with purple death expire, [bled! Her facred domes involv'd in rolling fire, A dreadful series of inteftine wars,
325 Inglorious triumphs, and dishonest scars. At length great Anna said, “Let discord cease!" She said ; the world obey'd, and all was peace !
In that blest moment from his oozy bed Old father Thames advanc'd his reverend head; 330 His treffes dropp'd with dews, and o'er the stream His shining horns diffus'd a golden gleam : Gravid on his urn appear’d the moon, that guides: His swelling waters, and alternate tides ; The figur'd streams in waves of silver roll'd,
335; And on her banks Augufta rose in gold. Around his throne the fea-born brothers stood, Who fivell with tributary urns his flood; First the fam'd authors of his ancient name, The winding Ilis, and the fruitful Thame :
340 The Kennet fivift, for silver eels renown'd; The Lodden ilow, with verdant alders crown'd; Cole, whose dark streams his How'ry islands lave; And chalky Wey, that rolls a milky wave : The blue, transparent Vandalis appears ;
345 The gulphy Lee his ledgy treffes rears; And lu len Mole, that hides his diving flood; And silent Darent, itain'd with Danish blood.
High in the midit, upon his urnt reclin'd, (His tea-green mantle waving with the wind,) 350
The god appear'd: he turn'd his azure eyes
Hail, sacred Peace ! hail, long expected days, 355
Thy trees, fair Windsor ! now shall leave their woods,
Or under southern skies exalt their fails,
391 Led by new stars, and borne by spicy gales ! For me the balm shall bleed, and amber flow, The coral redden, and the ruby glow, The pearly shell its lucid globe infold,
There hated Envy her own Inakes ihall feel,
42. There Faction roar, Rebellion bite her chain, And gasping Furies thirst for bļood in vain.
Here cease thy flight, nor with unhallow'd lays,
MRS. ARABELLA FERMOR,
for this Piece, since I dedicate it to you. Yet you
critics, to signify that part which the deities, angels, or dæmons, are made to act in a poem : for the ancient poets are in one respect like many modern ladies, let an action be ever so trivial in itself, they always make it appear of the utmost import
These machines I determined to raise on a very new and odd foundation, the Rosicrufian doc
trine of spirits. I know how disagreeable it is to make use of hard. words before a lady; but it is so much the concern
poet to have his works understood, and particularly by your sex, that you must give me leave to
explain two or three difficult terms. The R ficrutians are a people I must bring you ac
quainted with. The best account I know of them is in a French book called I.e Comte de Gabalis, which, both in its title and size, is so like a novel, that many of the fair tex have read it for one by miliake. According to these gentlemen, the four elements are inhabited by spirits, which they call Sylphs, Gnomes, Nymphs, and Salamanders. The gromes, or dæmons of earth, delight in mischiet; but the fylphs, whose habitation is in the air, are the best-conditioned creatures imaginable : for they say, any mortal may enjoy the most intimate fami. liarities with these gentle spirits, upon a condition very easy to all true adepts, an inviolate prelerva
tion of chastity: As to the following Cantos, all the passages of them
are as fabulous as the Vision at the beginning, or the Transformation at the end; (except the loss of your hair, which I always mention with reverence.) The human perlons are as fictitious as the airy ones ; and the character of Belinda, as it is now managed,
resembles you in nothing but in beauty. If this Poem had as many graces as there are in your
person, or in your mind, yet I could never hope