Now marks the course of rolling orbs on high; Ye sacred Nine! that all my soul possess, Whose raptures fire me, and whose visions bless, Bear me, O bear me, to sequester'd scenes, The bowery mazes, and surrounding greens; To Thames's banks which fragrant breezes fill, Or where ye, Muses, sport on Cooper's Hill (On Cooper's Hill eternal wreaths shall grow, [flow): While lasts the mountain, or while Thames shall I seem through consecrated walks to rove, I hear soft music die along the grove: Led by the sound I roam from shade to shade, By godlike poets venerable made; Here his first lays majestic Denham sung; There the last numbers flow'd from Cowley's O early lost! what tears the river shed, When the sad pomp along his banks was led ! His drooping swans on every note expire, And on his willows hung each muse's lyre. [tongue. Since fate relentless stopp'd their heavenly voice, No more the forests ring, or groves rejoice; Who now shall charm the shades where Cowley His living harp, and lofty Denham sung? [strung But, hark! the groves rejoice, the forest rings! Are these revived? or is it Granville sings ? 'Tis yours, my lord, to bless our soft retreats, And call the muses to their ancient seats; To paint anew the flowery sylvan scenes, To crown the forests with immortal greens, Make Windsor-hills in lofty numbers rise, Here noble Surrey felt the sacred rage, Oh wouldst thou sing what heroes Windsor bore, Let softer strains ill-fated Henry mourn, The grave unites; where e'en the great find rest, In that blest moment from his oozy bed Old father Thames advanced his reverend head; His tresses dropp'd with dews, and o'er the stream His shining horns diffused a golden gleam: Graved on his urn appear'd the moon, that guides His swelling waters, and alternate tides! The figured streams in waves of silver roll'd, And on their banks Augusta rose in gold; Around his throne the sea-born brothers stood, Who swell with tributary urns his flood! First the famed authors of his ancient name, The winding Isis, and the fruitful Thame: The Kennet swift, for silver eels renown'd; The Loddon slow, with verdant alders crown'd; Cole, whose dark streams his flowery islands lave: And chalky Wey, that rolls a milky wave: The blue, transparent Vandalis appears: The gulfy Lee his sedgy tresses rears: And sullen Mole, that hides his diving flood; And silent Darent stain'd with Danish blood. High in the midst, upon his urn reclined (His sea-green mantle waving with the wind), The god appear'd: he turn'd his azure eyes Where Windsor-domes and pompous turrets rise! Then bow'd, and spoke; the winds forget to roar, And the hush'd waves glide softly to the shore: 'Hail, sacred peace! hail, long-expected days, That Thames's glory to the stars shall raise ! Though Tiber's streams immortal Rome behold, Though foaming Hermus swells with tides of gold, From heaven itself through sevenfold Nilus flows, And harvests on a hundred realms bestows: These now no more shall be the muses' themes, Lost in my fame, as in the sea their streams, Let Volga's banks with iron squadrons shine, And groves of lances glitter on the Rhine; Let barbarous Ganges arm a servile train, Be mine the blessings of a peaceful reign. No more my sons shall dye with British blood Red Iber's sands, or Ister's foaming flood: Safe on my shore each unmolested swain Shall tend the flocks, or reap the bearded grain: The shady empire shall retain no trace The trumpet sleep, while cheerful horns are blown, Behold! th' ascending villas on my side [woods, 'Thy trees, fair Windsor! now shall leave their And half thy forests rush into the floods; Bear Britain's thunder, and her cross display, To the bright regions of the rising day: Tempt icy seas, where scarce the waters roll, Where clearer flames glow round the frozen pole; Or under southern skies exalt their sails, Led by new stars, and borne by spicy gales! For me the balm shall bleed, and amber flow, The coral redden, and the ruby glow, The pearly shell its lucid globe unfold, And Phœbus warm the ripening ore to gold. The time shall come, when, free as seas or wind, Unbounded Thames shall flow for all mankind, Whole nations enter with each swelling tide, And seas but join the regions they divide : Earth's distant ends our glory shall behold, And the new world launch forth to seek the old. Then ships of uncouth form shall stem the tide, And feather'd people crowd my wealthy side, And naked youths and painted chiefs admire Our speech, our colour, and our strange attire! Oh, stretch thy reign, fair peace! from shore to shore, Till conquest cease, and slavery be no more; Till the freed Indians in their native groves Reap their own fruits, and woo their sable loves; Peru once more a race of kings behold, And other Mexicos be roof'd with gold. Exiled by thee from earth to deepest hell, Here cease thy flight, nor with unhallow'd lays ODE ON ST. CECILIA'S DAY. MDCCVIII. And other Pieces for Music. DESCEND, ye Nine! descend, and sing; While, in more lengthen'd notes and slow, C |