Some to dark woods and fecret fhades retreat,
And fome on mountains chufe their airy feat.
There haply by the ruddy damfel seen,
Or fhepherd-boy, they featly foot the green,
While from their steps a circling verdure fprings;
But fly from towns, and dread the courts of kings.
Mean-while fad Kenna, loth to quit the grove,
Hung o'er the body of her breathless love,
Try'd every art (vain arts!) to change his doom,
And vow'd (vain vows !) to join him in the tomo,
What could fhe do? the Fates alike deny
The dead to live, or fairy forms to die.
An herb there grows (the fame old * Homer tells Ulyffes bore to rival Circe's spells).
Its root is ebon-black, but sends to light
A ftem that bends with flow'rets milky white,
Moly the plant, which gods and fairies know,
But fecret kept from mortal men below,
On his pale limbs its virtuous juice she shed,
And murmur'd mystic numbers o'er the dead,
When lo! the little shape by magic power
Grew less and lefs, contracted to a flower;
A flower, that firft in this fweet garden fmil'd,
To virgins facred, and the Snow-drop styl❜d.
The new-born plant with fweet regret fhe view'd, Warm'd with her fighs, and with her tears bedew'd, Its ripen'd feeds from bank to bank convey'd,
And with her lover whiten'd half the fhade.
Thus won from death each spring fhe fees him grow,
And glories in the vegetable fnow,
Which now increas'd through wide Britannia's plains,
Its parent's warmth and spotless name retains ;
Firft leader of the flowery race aspires,
And foremost catches the fun's genial fires,
'Midft frofts and fnows triumphant dares appear,
Mingles the feafons, and leads on the year.
Deferted now of all the pygmy race,
Nor man nor fairy touch'd this guilty place,
In heaps on heaps, for many a rolling age,
It lay accurs'd, the mark of Neptune's rage;
'Till great Naffau recloath'd the defart fhade,
Thence facred to Britannia's monarchs made.
'Twas then the green-rob'd nymph, fair Kenna, came,
(Kenna that gave the neighb'ring town its name)
Proud when she saw th' ennobled garden fhine
With nymphs and heroes of her lover's line.
She vow'd to grace the mansions once her own,
And picture out in plants the fairy town.
To far-fam'd Wife her flight unseen she sped,
And with gay profpects fill'd the craftsman's head,
Soft in his fancy drew a pleasing scheme,
And plan'd that landskip in a morning dream.
With the sweet view the fire of gardens fir'd, Attempts the labour by the nymph inspir'd, The walls and streets in rows of
And forms the town in all its ancient lines;
The corner trees he lifts more high in air,
And girds the palace with a verdant square:
Nor knows, while round he views the rifing scenes,
He builds a city as he plants his
With a fad pleasure the aërial maid
This image of her ancient realm furvey'd ;
How chang'd, how fallen from its primæval pride!
Yet here each moon, the hour her lover dy'd,
Each moon his folemn obfequies fhe pays,
And leads the dance beneath pale Cynthia's rays;
Pleas'd in the fhades to head her fairy train,
And grace the groves where Albion's kinsmen reign.
O thee, dear rover, and thy vanquish'd friends,
The health she wants, thy gentle Chloe fends;
Though much you suffer, think I fuffer more,
Worse than an exile on my native shore.
Companions in your mafter's flight you roam,
Unenvy'd by your haughty foes at home;
For-ever near the royal out-law's fide,
You fhare his fortunes, and his hopes divide;
On glorious schemes, and thoughts of empire dwell,
And with imaginary titles fwell.
Say, (for thou know'ft I own his facred line,
The paffive doctrine, and the right divine)
Say, what new fuccours does the chief prepare?
The strength of armies? or the force of pray'r?
Does he from heav'n or earth his hopes derive?
From faints departed? or from priests alive?
Nor faints nor priests can Brunswick's troops withstand,
And beads drop useless through the zealot's hand;
Heav'n to our vows may future kingdoms owe,
But skill and courage win the crowns below.
Ere to thy cause, and thee, my heart inclin❜d,
Or love to party had feduc'd my mind,
In female joys I took a dull delight,
Slept all the morn, and punted half the night:
But now, with fears and public cares poffefs'd,
The church, the church, for-ever breaks
my rest.
The post-boy on my pillow I explore,
And fift the news of every foreign fhore,
Studious to find new friends, and new allies;
What armies march from Sweden in disguise;
How Spain prepares her banners to unfold,
And Rome deals out her bleffings, and her gold:
Then o'er the map my finger, taught to ftray,
Cross many a region marks the winding way;
From fea to fea, from realm to realm I rove,
And grow a mere geographer by love.
But still Avignon, and the pleasing coaft
That holds Thee banish'd, claims my care the moft;
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