DESCRIPTION OF THE RIVER THAMES. My eye, descending from the hill, surveys Though with those streams he no remembrance hold The mower's hopes, nor mock the ploughman's toil, First loves to do, then loves the good he does. So that to us no thing, no place is strange, Oh! could I flow like thee, and make thy stream Though deep, yet clear; though gentle, yet not dull; ELEGY UPON COWLEY. Old Chaucer, like the morning star, His light those mists and clouds dissolved By Shakespeare's, Jonson's, Fletcher's lines, That plucked the fairest, sweetest flower And amongst withered laurels threw. Of slower nature got the start; But both in him so equal are, None knows which bears the happiest share. To him no author was unknown, Yet what he wrote was all his own; He melted not the ancient gold, Nor, with Ben Jonson, did make bold Horace his wit and Virgil's state And when he would like them appear, Their garb, but not their clothes, did wear : He not from Rome alone, but Greece, VOL. VIII.-4 Like Jason, brought the golden fleece; |