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Led by the found, I roam from shade to shade,
By god-like poets venerable made :

Here his first lays majestic Denham sung;


There the last numbers flow'd from Cowley's tongue. O early loft! what tears the river shed,

When the fad pomp along his banks was led!

His drooping swans on every note expire,
And on his willows hung each Muse's lyre.

Since fate relentless stopp'd their heavenly voice,

No more the forefts ring, or groves rejoice;



Who now shall charm the shades, where Cowley ftrung
His living harp, and lofty Denham fung?
But hark! the groves rejoice, the forest rings!
Are these reviv'd? or is it Granville fings!
'Tis yours, my Lord, to blefs our foft retreats,
And call the Muses to their ancient seats ;
To paint anew the flowery fylvan scenes,
To crown the forests with immortal greens,
Make Windfor hills in lofty numbers rise,
And lift her turrets nearer to the skies;
To fing those honours you deserve to wear,
And add new luftre to her silver star.


290 Here


Ver. 275.

What fighs, what murmurs, fill'd the vocal fhore!
His tuneful fwans were heard to fing no more.

Ver. 290. her filver ftar.] All the lines that follow were not added to the poem till the year 1710. What immediately followed this, and made the conclufion, were thefe,

My humble Mufe, in unambitious strains,
Paints the green forefts and the flowery plains;



Here noble Surrey felt the facred
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 heavenly Mira now.


Oh would'st thou fing what heroes Windfor bore, What kings firft breath'd upon her winding fhore, 300 Or raise 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 every age, Draw monarchs chain'd, and Creffi's glorious field, 305

The lilies blazing on the regal shield:

Then, from her roofs when Verrio's colours fall,

And leave inanimate the naked wall,

Still in thy song should vanquifh'd France appear,

And bleed for ever under Britain's spear.


Let fofter ftrains ill-fated Henry mourn,

And palms eternal flourish round his urn.


Where I obfcurely pafs my careless days, Pleas'd in the filent fhade with empty praise, Enough for me that to the liftening fwains Firft in these fields I fung the fylvan strains. Ver. 307. Originally thus in the MS.


When Brafs decays, when Trophies lie o'erthrown, And mouldering into duft drops the proud stone.

Here o'er the Martyr-King the marble weeps,
And, faft befide him, once-fear'd Edward fleeps:
Whom not th' extended Albion could contain,
From old Belerium to the northern main,
The Grave unites; where ev'n the Great find rest,
And blended lie th' oppreffor and th' oppreft!



Make facred Charles's tomb for ever known
(Obfcure the place, and uninscrib'd the stone);
Oh fact accurs'd! what tears has Albion shed,
Heavens, what new wounds! and how her old have bled!
She faw her fons with purple deaths expire,
Her facred domes involv'd in rolling fire,
A dreadful series of inteftine wars,
Inglorious triumphs and dishoneft fcars.

At length great Anna faid,-" Let Discord ceafe!”
She faid, the world obey'd, and all was peace!
In that bleft moment from his oozy bed

Old father Thames advanc'd his reverend head.





Ver. 321. Originally thus in the MS.

Oh fact accurs'd! oh facrilegious brood,
Sworn to Rebellion, principled in blood!

Since that dire morn what tears has Albion fhed!
Gods! what new wounds, &c.

Ver. 327. Thus in the MS.

Till Anna rofe, and bade the Furies ceafe;

Let there be peace-she said, and all was Peace.

Between verfe 330 and 331, originally stood these lines:
From fhore to fhore exulting fhouts he heard,
O'er all his banks a lambent light appear'd,

With fparkling flames heaven's glowing concave fhone,
Fictitious ftars, and glories not her own.


His treffes drop'd with dews, and o'er the stream
His fhining horns diffus'd a golden gleam :
Grav'd on his urn appear'd the moon, that guides
His fwelling waters, and alternate tides;
The figur'd streams in waves of filver roll'd,
And on their banks Augusta rose in gold,
Around his throne the fea-born brothers stood
Who fwell with tributary urns his flood!
Firft the fam'd authors of his ancient name,


The winding Ifis, and the fruitful Thame :
The Kennet fwift, for filver eels renown'd;
The Loddon flow with verdant alders crown'd;


Cole, whofe dark streams his flowery islands lave;
And chalky Wey, that rolls a milky wave:
The blue, transparent Vandalis appears;
The gulphy Lee his fedgy treffes rears;
And fullen Mole, that hides his diving flood;
And filent Darent, ftain'd with Danish blood.
High in the midft, upon his urn reclin'd,
(His fea-green mantle waving with the wind)
The God appear'd: he turn'd his azure eyes
Where Windfor-domes and pompous turrets rife!
Then bow'd, and spoke; the winds forget to roar,
And the hufh'd waves glide foftly to the fhore.
Hail, facred Peace! hail, long-expected days,
That Thames's glory to the ftars shall raise!


He faw, and gently rofe above the stream;
His fhining horns diffuse a golden gleam:
With pearl and gold his towery front was dreft,
The tributes of the diftant Eaft and Weft.






Though Tyber's streams immortal Rome behold,
Though foaming Hermus fwells with tides of gold,
From heaven itself the seven-fold Nilus flows,
And harvests on a hundred realms bestows;
These now no more fhall be the Muse's themes,
Loft in my fame, as in the fea their ftreams.
Let Volga's banks with iron fquadrons shine,
groves of lances glitter on the Rhine,
Let barbarous Ganges arm a fervile train;
Be mine the bleffings of a peaceful reign.



No more my fons fhall dye with British blood
Red Iber's fands, or Ifter's foaming flood:
Safe on my fhore each unmolested swain

Shall tend the flocks, or reap the bearded grain;
The fhady empire fhall retain no trace


Of war or blood, but in the fylvan chace;

The trumpet fleep, while chearful horns are blown,
And arms employ'd on birds and beafts alone.
Behold! th' afcending villas on my side,

Project long shadows o'er the crystal tide.

Behold! Augufta's glittering fpires increase,


And Temples rife, the beauteous works of Peace.
I fee, I fee, where two fair cities bend

Their ample bow, a new Whitehall ascend!




Ver. 363. Originally thus in the MS.

Let Venice boaft her Towers amidst the Main,
Where the rough Adrian fwells and roars in vain;
Here not a Town, but fpacious Realm shall have
A fure foundation on the rolling wave.

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