No feas fo rich, fo

gay no banks

appear,

No lake fo gentle, and no spring so clear.
Not fabled Po more fwells the poet's lays,
While thro' the skies his fhining current strays,
Than thine, which vifits Windfor's fam'd abodes,
Το grace the mansion of our earthly Gods:
Nor all his ftars a brighter luftre show,
Than the fair nymphs that grace thy fide below:
Here Jove himfelf, fubdu'd by beauty ftill,
Might change Olympus for a nobler hill.

Happy the man whom this bright Court approves,
His Sov'reign favours, and his Country loves:
Happy next him, who to these shades retires,
Whom Nature charms, and whom the Muse inspires:
Whom humbler joys of home-felt quiet please,
Succeffive ftudy, exercise, and ease.

He gathers health from herbs the foreft yields,
And of their fragrant phyfic spoils the fields:
With chymic art exalts the min'ral pow'rs,
And draws the aromatic fouls of flow'rs:
Now marks the course of rolling orbs on high;
O'er figur'd worlds now travels with his eye:
Of ancient writ unlocks the learned store,
Confults the dead, and lives paft ages o'er:

225

230

235

240

245

VER. 233. Happy the man who to the fhades retires
But doubly happy, if the Mufe infpires!

Bleft whom the fweets of home-felt quiet please;
But far more bleft, who ftudy joins with ease.

Or

Or wand'ring thoughtful in the filent wood,
Attends the duties of the wife and good,
Tobferve a mean, be to himself a friend,
To follow nature, and regard his end;
Or looks on heav'n with more than mortal
Bids his free foul expatiate in the skies,
Amid her kindred stars familiar roam,
Survey the region, and confefs her home!
Such was the life great Scipio once admir'd,
Thus Atticus, and Trumbal thus retir'd.

eyes,

Ye facred Nine! that all my foul poffefs,
Whofe raptures fire me, and whofe vifions blefs,
Bear me, oh bear me to fequefter'd scenes,
The bow'ry mazes, and furrounding greens;
"To Thames's banks which fragrant breezes fill,
Or where ye Mufes fport on Cooper's hill.

On Cooper's hill eternal wreaths fhall

grow,

259

255

260

While lafts the mountain, or while Thames fhall flow) feem thro' confecrated walks to rove,

I hear foft mufic die along the

grove:

Led by the found, I roam from shade to fhade,

By good-like Poets venerable made:

Here his firft lays majestic Denham fung;

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?

265

271

* Mr. Cowley died at Chertsey, on the borders of the Foreft, and was from thence convey'd to Westminster.

His

His drooping fwans on ev'ry note expire,
And on his willows hung each Muse's lyre.

275

Since fate relentless ftop'd their heav'nly voice, No more the forefts ring, or groves rejoice; Who now shall charm the fhades, where Cowley ftrung His living harp, and lofty Denham sung?

But hark! the groves rejoice, the forest rings!

Are these reviv'd? or is it Granville fings?

280"

'Tis yours, my Lord, to blefs our soft retreats,

And call the Mufes to their ancient feats;
To paint anew the flow'ry sylvan scenes,
To crown the forefts 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 filver ftar. *

Here noble + Surrey felt the facred rage,
Surrey, the Granville of a former age:

285

290

VER. 273. What fighs, what murmurs fill'd the vocal Shore!

His tuneful fwans were heard to fing no more. *All the lines that follow, till within eight of the conclufion, were not added to the poem till the year 1710. The 425th verfe, My humble Mufe in unambitious ftrains, &c. immediately follow'd this.

+ Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, one of the firft refiners of the English poetry; who flourish'd in the time of Henry VIII.

Matchlefs

Matchless 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 soft defire:
Fair Geraldine, bright object of his vow,
Then fill'd the groves, as heav'nly Myra now.

Oh would't thou fing what Heroes Windfor bore,
What Kings first breath'd upon her winding shore,
Or raise old warriours, whose ador'd remains
In weeping vaults her hallow'd earth contains!
With Edward's acts adorn the fhining page,

*

Stretch his long triumphs down thro' ev'ry age,
Draw Monarchs chain'd, and Creffi's glorious field,
The lillies blazing on the regal fhield:

295

300,

Then, from her roofs when Verrie's colours fall,
And leave inanimate the naked wall,

305

Still in thy fong fhould vanquish'd France appear,

And bleed for ever under Britain's spear.

Let fofter strains ill-fated + Henry mourn,

And palms eternal flourish round his urn.

310

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,

*Edward III. born here.

Henry VI.

|| Edward IV.

The

The grave unites; where ev'n the Great find reft, 315 And blended lie th' oppreffor and th' oppreft!

Make facred Charles's tomb for ever known, Obfcure the place, and un-infcrib'd the stone) Oh fact accurft! what tears has Albion shed,

321

Heav'ns, 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 difhoneft fcars.

At length great Anna faid—" Let Discord cease!" 325
She faid, the world obey'd, and all was Peace!
In that bleft moment, from his oozy bed
Old father Thames advanc'd his rev'rend head.
His treffes drop'd with dews, and o'er the stream
His shining horns diffus'd a golden gleam:
Grav'd on his urn, appear'd the moon that guides
His fwelling waters, and alternate tydes;

339

Between Verse 328 and 329 originally stood these lines,

From fore to fhore exulting fhouts he heard, O'er all his banks a lambent light appear'd, With Sparkling flames heav'ns glowing concave fhone, Fiitious fars, and glories not her own. He faw, and gently rofe above the streams His fbining horns diffus'd a golden gleam: With pearl and gold his towry front was dreft, The tributes of the diftant Eaft and Weft. VOL. I. F

The