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Mark what radiant state the spreads,
In circle round her shining throne,
Shooting her beams like silver threads :
This, this is she alone,

Sitting like a Goddess bright,

In the center of her light.
Might she the wise 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 so unparalleld?


As they come forward, the Genius of the wood appears, and, turning toward them, speaks.

G E N I U S. 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 food, so often sung, Divine Alpheus, who by secret sluce

30 Stole under seas to meet his Arethuse ; VOL. III.





And ye, the breathing rofes of the wood,
Fair filver-buskin'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 service will comply
To further this night's glad folemnity;
And lead

ye may more near behold

What shallow-searching Fame hath left untold;
Which I full oft amidst these shades 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,

45 To nurse the saplings tall, and curl the grove With ringlets quaint, and wanton windings wove. And all my plants I save 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 smites, 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,

55 And early, ere the odorous breath of morn Awakes the slumbering leaves, or taffeld horn Shakes the high thicket, hafte I all about, Number my ranks, and visit every sprout With puissant words, and murmurs made to blefs; 60 But else in deep of night, when drowsiness





Hath lock'd up mortal sense, then listen I
To the celestial Syrens' harmony,
That sit upon the nine infolded spheres,
And sing to those that hold the vital shears,
And turn the adamantin spindle round,
On which the fate of Gods and men is wound.
Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie,
To lull the daughters of Necessity,
And keep unsteddy 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 gross unpurged ear ;
And yet such music worthiest were to blaze
The peerless highth of her immortal praise,
Whose lustre leads us, and for her most fit,
If my inferior hand or voice could hit
Inimitable sounds ; yet, as we go,
Whate'er the skill of lesser Gods can show,
I will assay, her worth to celebrate,
And so attend ye toward her glittering state;
Where you may all that are of noble stem
Approach and kiss her sacred vesture's hem.



II. S O N G. O'ER the smooth enamel'd green, Where no print of step hath been,

Follow me as I sing,

And touch the warbled string,
Under the shady roof
Of branching elm star-proof.

I 2


Follow me,


I will bring you where she fits,
Clad in splendor as befits

Her deity.
Such a rural Queen
All Arcadia hath not seen.


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NYMPHS and Shepherds, dance no more
By sandy Ladon’s lilied banks ;
On old Lycæus or Cyllene hoar

Trip no more in twilight ranks ;
Though Erymanth your lofs deplore,

A better foil shall give you thanks.
From the ftony Mänalus
Bring your flocks, and live with us;
Here ye shall have greater grace,
To serve the Lady of this place.
Though Syrinx your

Yet Syrinx well might wait on her.

Such a rural Queen
All Arcadia hath not seen.


mistress were,

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President of WALE S.

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