sleeping flocks on their soft fleeces lie, ne moon, serene in glory, mounts the sky, While silent birds forget their tuneful lays. O sing of Daphne's fate, and Daphne's praise!
Behold the groves that shine with silver frost, Their beauty wither'd, and their verdure lost. Here shall I try the sweet Alexis' strain, That call'd the listening Dryads to the plain? Thames heard the numbers as he flow'd along, And hade his willows learn the moving song.
So may kind rains their vital moisture yield, And swell the future harvest of the field. Begin; this charge the dying Daphne gave, And said, 'Ye shepherds, sing around my grave;' Sing, while beside the shaded tomb I mourn, And with fresh bays her rural shrine adorn.
Ye gentle muses, leave your chrystal spring, Let nymphs and sylvans cypress garlands bring: Ye weeping Loves, the stream with myrtles hide, And break your bows as when Adonis died; And with your golden darts, now useless grown, Inscribe a verse on this relenting stone;
Let Nature change, let heaven and earth deplore; Fair Daphne's dead, and love is now no more!"
"Tis done, and Nature's various charms decay: See gloomy clouds obscure the cheerful day: Now hung with pearls the dropping trees appear, Their faded honours scatter'd on her bier. See where, on earth, the flowery glories lie; With her they flourish'd, and with her they die. Ah! what avail the beauties nature wore; Fair Daphne's dead, and beauty is no more!
For her the flocks refuse their verdant food; The thirsty heifers shun the gliding flood: The silver swans her hapless fate bemoan, In notes more sad than when they sing their own: In hollow eaves sweet Echo silent lies, Silent, or only to her name replies:
Her name with pleasure once she taught the shore: Now Daphne's dead, and pleasure is no more!
No grateful dews descend from evening skies, Nor morning odours from the flowers arise; No rich perfumes refresh the fruitful field, Nor fragrant herbs their native incense yield. The balmy Zephyrs, silent since her death, Lament the ceasing of a sweeter breath; The industrious bees neglect their golden store: Fair Daphne's dead, and sweetness is no more! No more the mounting larks, while Daphne sings, Shall listening in mid air, suspend their wings; No more the birds shall imitate her lays, Or, hush'd with wonder, hearken from the sprays: No more the streams their murmurs shall forbear, A sweeter music than their own to hear; But tell the reeds, and tell the vocal shore, Fair Daphne's dead, and music is no more!
Her fate is whisper'd by the gentle breeze, And told in sighs to all the trembling trees; The trembling trees, in every plain and wood, Her fate remurmur to the silver flood;
The silver flood, so lately calm, appears
Swell'd with new passion, and o'erflows with tears; The winds, and trees, and floods, her death deplore, Daphne our grief, our glory now no more!
But see! where Daphne wondering mounts on high, Above the clouds, above the starry sky! Eternal beauties grace the shining scene, Fields ever fresh, and groves for ever green! There, while you rest in amaranthine bowers, Or from those meads select unfading flowers, Behold us kindly, who your name implore, Daphne, our goddess, and our grief no more!
In reading several passages of the prophet Isaiah, which foretell the coming of Christ, and the felicities attending it, I could not but observe a remarkable parity between many of the thoughts, and those in the Pollio of Virgil. This will not seem surprising when we reflect, that the eclogue was taken from a Sibylline prophecy on the same subject. One may judge that Virgil did not copy it line for line; but selected such ideas as best agreed with the nature of pastoral poetry, and disposed them in that manner which served most to beautify his piece. I have endeavoured the same in this imitation of him, though without admitting any thing of my own; since it was written with this particular view, that the reader by comparing the several thoughts, might see how far the images and descriptions of the prophet are superior to those of the poet. But as I fear I have prejudiced them by my management, I shall subjoin the passages of Isaiah, and those of Virgil, under the same disadvantage of a literal translation.
Y nymphs of Solyma! begin the song: To heavenly themes sublimer strains belong. The mossy fountains and the sylvan shades, The dreams of Pindus and the Aonian maids, Delight no more-O Thou my voice inspire Who touch'd Isaiah's hallow'd lips with fire ! Rapt into future times, the bard begun: A Virgin shall conceive, a Virgin bear a Son! From Jesse's (a) root behold a branch arise, Whose sacred flower with fragrance fills the skies: 10 The ethereal spirit o'er its leaves shall move, And on its top descends the mystic dove.
Ye heavens! (b) from high the dewy nectar pour, And in soft silence shed the kindly shower! The sick (c) and weak the healing plant shall aid, From storm a shelter, and from heat a shade. All crimes shall cease, and ancient frauds shall fail; Returning Justice (d) lift aloft her scale; Peace o'er the world her olive wand, extend, And white-robed Innocence from heaven descend. Swift fly the years, and rise the expected morn! Oh spring to light, auspicious Babe, be born! See, Nature hastes her carliest wreaths to bring, With all the incense of the breathing spring:
Ver. 8. A Virgin shall conceive-All crimes shall cease, &c.] Virg. Ecl. iv. ver. 6.
Jam redit et virgo, redeunt Saturnia regna, Jam nova progenies cælo demittitur alto. Te duce, si qua maneant sceleris vestigia nostri, Irrita perpetua solvent formidine terras- Pacatumque reget patriis virtutibus orbem.
Now the virgin returns, now the kingdom of Saturn returns, now a new progeny is sent down from high heaven. By means of thee, whatever reliques of our crimes remain, shall be wiped away, and free the world from perpetual fears. He shall govern the earth in peace, with the virtues of his father.'
Isaiah, ch. vii. ver. 14.- Behold a Virgin shall conceive and bear a Son. Chap. ix. ver. 6, 7.-Unto us a Child is born; unto us a Son is given; the Prince of Peace of the increase of his government, and of his peace, there shall be no end upon the throne of David, and upon his kingdom, to order and to establish it, with judgement and with justice, for ever and ever.'
See lofty Lebanon (e) his head advance, See nodding forests on the mountains dance: See spicy clouds from lowly Saron rise, And Carmel's flowery top perfume the skies! Hark! a glad voice the lonely desert cheers; Prepare the way! (f) A God, a God appears! A God, a God! the vocal hills reply;
The rocks proclaim the approaching Deity. Lo, earth receives him from the bending skies! Sink down, ye mountains; and ye valleys rise! With heads declined, ye cedars, homage pay; Be smooth, ye rocks; ye rapid floods, give way. The Saviour comes! by ancient bards foretold: Hear him, ye deaf; and all ye blind, behold! He from thick films shall purge the visual ray, And on the sightless eye-ball pour the day: 'Tis he the obstructed paths of sound shall clear, And bid new music charm the unfolding ear : The dumb (g) shall sing, the lame his crutch forego, And leap exulting, like the bounding roe. No sigh, no murmur, the wide world shall hear; From every face he wipes off every tear. In adamantine (h) chains shall death be bound, And hell's grim tyrant feel the eternal wound. As the good shepherd (i) tends his fleecy care, Seeks freshest pasture, and the purest air; Explores the lost, the wandering sheep directs, By day o'ersees them, and by night protects; The tender lambs he raises in his arms, Feeds from his hand, and in his bosom warms: Thus shall mankind his guardian care engage, The promised father (j) of the future age. No more shall nation (k) against nation rise, Nor ardent warriors meet with hateful eyes, Nor fields with gleaming steel be cover'd o'er, The brazen trumpets kindle rage no more; But useless lances into scythes shall bend, And the broad falchion in a plough-share end. Then palaces shall rise; the joyful son (1) Shall finish what his short-lived sire begun; Their vines a shadow to their race shall yield, And the same hand that sow'd, shall reap the field.
Pleased, the green lustre of the scales survey, And with their forky tongue shall innocently play. Rise, crown'd with light, imperial Salem (q), rise!
Exalt thy towery head, and lift thy eyes!
45 See a long race (r) thy spacious courts adorn; See future sons, and daughters yet unborn, In crowding ranks on every side arise, Demanding life, impatient for the skies! See barbarous nations (s) at thy gates attend,
50 Walk in thy light, and in thy temple bend;
See thy bright altars throng'd with prostrate kings, And heap'd with products of Sabean (t) springs! For thee Idume's spicy forests blow,
And seeds of gold in Ophir's mountains glow, 55 See heaven its sparkling portals wide display, And break upon them in a flood of day! No more the rising sun (u) shall gild the morn, Nor evening Cynthia fill her silver horn; But lost, dissolved in thy superior rays, 60 One tide of glory, one unclouded blaze
O'erflow thy courts: the Light himself shall shine Reveal'd, and God's eternal day be thine! The seas (v) shall waste, the skies in smoke decay, 105 Rocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away; 65 But fix'd his word, his saving power remains; Thy realm for ever lasts, thy own Messiah reigns!
'For thee, O child, shall the earth, without being tilled, produce her early offerings; winding ivy, mixed with baccar, and colocassia with smiling acanthus. Thy eradle shall pour forth pleasing flowers about thee.'
Isaiah, ch. xxxv. ver. 1. The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad, and the desart shall rejoice and blossom as the rose. Ch. lx. ver. 13. The glory of Lebanon shall come unto thee, the fir-tree, the pine-tree, and the box together, to beautify the place of thy sanctuary.'
Ver. 20. Hark! a glad voice, &c.] Virg. Ecl. iv. ver. 46.
Aggredere ó magnos (aderit jam tempus) honores, Cara Deûm soboles, magnum Jovis incrementum!
Ipsi lætitia voces ad sidera jactant
Intonsi moutes, ipsæ jam carmina rupes,
Ipsa sonant arbusta, Deus, Deus ille, Menalca!
O come and receive the mighty honours: the time draws nigh, O beloved offspring of the gods! O great increase of Jove! The uncultivated mountains send shouts of joy to the stars; the very rocks sing in verse; the very shrubs cry out, A God, a God!'
Isaiah, ch. xl. ver. 3, 4.- The voice of him that crieth in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord! make straight in the desert a highway for our God! Every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough places plain.' Ch. xliv. ver. 23. - Break forth into singing, ye mountains; O forest, and every tree therein; for the Lord hath redeemed Israel.'
Ver. 67. The swain in barren deserts.] Virg. Ecl. iv. ver. 28.
Molli paulatim flavescet campus arista, Incultisque rubens pendebit sentibus uva, Et duræ quercus sudabunt roscida mella.
• The fields shall grow yellow with ripened ears, and
the red grape shall hang upon the wild brambles, and the hard oaks shall distil honey like dew."
Isaiah, ch. xxxv. ver. 7.- The parched ground shall become a pool, and the thirsty land springs of water; in the habitations where dragons lay, shall be grass, and reeds, and rushes. Ch. Iv. ver. 13. Instead of the thorn shall come up the fir-tree, and instead of the briar shall come up the myrtle-tree.'
Ver. 77. The lambs with wolves, &c.] Virg. Ecl. iv ver. 21.
Ipsæ lacte domum referent distenta capellæ Ubera, nec magnos metuent armenta leones- Occidet et serpens, et fallax herba veneni Occidet-
'The goats shall bear to the fold their udders distended with milk; nor shall the herds be afraid of the greatest lions. The serpent shall die, and the herb that conceals poison shall die.
Isaiah, ch. xi. ver. 6, &c. 'The wolf shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid, and the calf and the young lion, and the fatling together; and a little child shall lead them; and the lion shall eat straw like the ox. And the sucking child shall play on the hole of the asp, and the weaned child shall put his hand on the den of the cockatrice.'
Ver. 85. Rise, crown'd with light, imperial Salem, rise!] The thoughts of Isaiah, which compose the latter part of the poem, are wonderfully elevated, and much above those general exclamations of Virgil, which make the loftiest parts of his Pollio.
Magnus ab integro sæclorum nascitur orde! -toto surget gens aurea mundo!
-Incipient magni procedere menses!
Aspice, venturo lætentur ut omnia sæclo! &c.
The reader needs only to turn to the passages of
Isaiah, here cited.
(m) Ch. xxxv. ver. 1, 7.
(n) Ch. xli. ver. 19. and
(0) Ch. xi. ver, 6, 7, 8.
(g) Ch. lx. ver. 1.
s) Ch. lx. ver. 3.
(u) Ch. lx. ver. 19, 20.
ch. lv. ver. 13.
(p) Ch. lxv. ver. 25.
(r) Ch. lx. ver. 4.
(t) Ch. lx. ver. 6
(v) Ch. li. ver. 6, and eh. liv. ver. 10.
THY forest, Windsor! and thy green retreats, At once the Monarch's and the Muses' seats, Invite my lays. Be present, sylvan maids! Unlock your springs, and open all your shades. Granville commands; your aid, O muses, bring! What muse for Granville can refuse to sing?
The groves ves of Eden, vanish'd now so long, Live in description, and look green in song; These, were my breast inspired with equal flame, Like them in beauty, should be like in fame. Here hills and vales, the woodland and the plain, Here earth and water seem to strive again; Not chaos-like together crush'd and bruised, But, as the world, harmoniously confused; Where order in variety we see,
And where, though all things differ, all agree. Here waving groves a chequer'd scene display, And part adınit, and part exclude the day; As some coy nymph her lover's warm address, Nor quite indulges, nor can quite repress. There, interspersed in lawns and opening glades, Thin trees arise that sun each other's shades. Here in full light the russet plains extend: There, wrapt in clouds, the blueish hills ascend. E'en the wild heath displays her purple dyes, And 'midst the desert, fruitful fields arise; That, crown'd with tufted trees and springing corn, Like verdant isles the sable waste adorn. Let India boast her plants, nor envy we The weeping amber, or the balmy tree, While by our oaks the precious loads are borne, And realms commanded which those trees adorn. Not proud Olympus yields a nobler sight, Though gods assembled grace his towering height. Than what more humble mountains offer here, Where, in their blessings, all those gods appear. See Pan with flocks, with fruits Pomona crown'd, Here blushing Flora paints the enamel'd ground, Here Ceres' gifts in waving prospect stand, And nodding tempt the joyful reaper's hand; Rich industry sits smiling on the plains, And peace and plenty tell, a Stuart reigns. Not thus the land appear'd in ages past, A dreary desert, and a gloomy waste, To savage beasts and savage laws a prey, And kings more furious and severe than they; Who claim'd the skies, dispeopled air and floods, The lonely lords of empty wilds and woods: Cities laid waste, they storm'd the dens and caves (For wiser brutes were backward to be slaves). What could be free, when lawless beasts obey'd, And e'en the elements a tyrant sway'd?
In vain kind seasons swell'd the teeming grain; Soft showers distill'd, and suns grew warm in vain; The swain with tears his frustrate labour yields, And, famish'd, dies amidst his ripen'd fields. What wonder then, a beast or subject slain Were equal crimes in a despotic reign? Both doom'd alike for sportive tyrants bled, But, while the subject starved, the beast was fed. Proud Nimrod first the bloody chase began, A mighty hunter, and his prey was man. Our haughty Norman boasts that barbarous name, And makes his trembling slaves the royal game. The fields are ravish'd from the industrious swains, From men their cities, and from gods their fanes: The level'd towns with weeds lie cover'd o'er; The hollow winds through naked temples roar; Round broken columns clasping ivy twined; O'er heaps of ruins stalk'd the stately hind; The fox obscene to gaping tombs retires, And savage howlings fill the sacred quires. Awed by his nobles, by his commons curst, The oppressor ruled tyrannic where he durst, Stretch'd o'er the poor and church his iron rod, And serv'd alike his vassals and his God. Whom e'en the Saxon spared, and bloody Dane, The wanton victims of his sport remain. But see, the man who spacious regions gave A waste for beasts, himself denied a grave
Stretch'd on the lawn his second hope survey, At once the chaser, and at once the prey: Lo Rufus, tugging at the deadly dart, Bleeds in the forest like a wounded hart. Succeeding monarchs heard the subjects' cries, Nor saw displeased the peaceful cottage rise. Then gathering flocks on unknown mountains fed, O'er sandy wilds where yellow harvests spread, The forests wonder'd at the unusual grain, And secret transports touch'd the conscious swain. Fair Liberty, Britannia's goddess, rears Her cheerful head, and leads the golden years.
Ye vigorous swains! while youth ferments your blood, And purer spirits swell the sprightly flood, Now range the hills, the gameful woods beset, Wind the shrill horn, or spread the waving net. When milder autumn summer's heat succeeds, And in the new-shorn field the partridge feeds; Before his lord the ready spaniel bounds, Panting with hope, he tries the furrow'd grounds; But when the tainted gales the game betray, Couch'd close he lies, and meditates the prey: Secure they trust the unfaithful field beset, Till hovering o'er them sweeps the swelling net. Thus (if small things we may with great compare) When Albion sends her eager sons to war, Some thoughtless town, with ease and plenty bless'd, Near and more near, the closing lines invest; Sudden they seize the amazed, defenceless prize, And high in air Britannia's standard flies.
See! from the brake the whirring pheasant springs, And mounts exulting on triumphant wings: Short is his joy, he feels the fiery wound, Flutters in blood, and panting beats the ground. Ah! what avails his glossy, varying dyes, His purple crest, and scarlet circled eyes, The vivid green his shining plumes unfold, His painted wings, and breast that flames with gold?
Nor yet, when moist Arcturus clouds the sky, The woods and fields their pleasing toils deny. To plains with well-breathed beagles we repair, And trace the mazes of the circling hare (Beasts, urged by us, their fellow-beasts pursue, And learn of man each other to undo): With slaughtering guns the unwearied fowler roves, When frosts have whiten'd all the naked groves; Where doves in flocks the leafless trees o'ershade, And lonely woodcocks haunt the watery glade. He lifts the tube, and levels with his eye: Straight a short thunder breaks the frozen sky: Oft, as in airy rings they skim the heath, The clamorous lapwings feel the leaden death; Oft, as the mounting larks their notes prepare. They fall, and leave their little lives in air.
In genial spring, beneath the quivering shade, Where cooling vapours breathe along the mead, The patient fisher takes his silent stand, Intent, his angle trembling in his hand: With looks unmoved, he hopes the scaly breed, And eyes the dancing cork and bending reed. Our plenteous streams a various race supply, The bright-eyed perch with fins of Tyrian dye, The silver eel, in shining volumes roll'd, The yellow carp, in scales bedropp'd with gold, Swift trouts, diversified with crimson stains, And pikes, the tyrants of the watery plains. Now Cancer glows with Phœbus' fiery car: 'The youth rush eager to the sylvan war, Swarm o'er the lawns, the forest walks surround, Rouse the fleet hart, and cheer the opening hound The impatient courser pants in every vein, And, pawing, seems to beat the distant plain : Hills, vales, and floods appear already cross'd, And, ere he starts, a thousand steps are lost. See the bold youth strain up the threatening steep, Rush through the thickets, down the valleys sweep Hang o'er their coursers' heads with eager speed, And earth rolls back beneath the flying steed. Let old Arcadia boast her ample plain, The immortal huntress, and her virgin-train Nor envy, Windsor! since thy shades have seen As bright a goddess, and as chaste a queen: Whose care, like hers, protects the sylvan reign, The earth's fair light, and empress of the main.
Here, too, 'tis sung, of old, Diana stray'd, And Cynthus' top forsook for Windsor shade; Here was she seen o'er airy wastes to rove, Seek the clear spring, or haunt the pathless grove; Here, arm'd with silver bows, in early dawn, Her buskin'd virgins traced the dewy lawn.
Above the rest a rural nymph was famed, Thy offspring, Thames! the fair Lodona named
(Lodona's fate, in long oblivion cast,
The muse shall sing, and what she sings shall last). Scarce could the goddess from her nymph be known, But by the crescent, and the golden zone. She scorn'd the praise of beauty, and the care; A belt her waste, a fillet binds her hair; A painted quiver on her shoulder sounds, And with her dart the flying deer she wounds. It chanced, as eager of the chase, the maid Beyond the forest's verdant limits stray'd, Pan saw and loved, and burning with desire Pursued her flight; her flight increased his fire. Not half so swift the trembling doves can fly, When the fierce eagle cleaves the liquid sky;
Not half so swiftly the fierce eagle moves,
Who now shall charm the shades where Cowley strung
When through the clouds he drives the trembling doves; His living harp, and lofty Denham sung?
As from the god she flew with furious pace,
Or as the god, more furious, urged the chace.
Now fainting, sinking, pale, the nymph appears; Now close behind, his sounding steps she hears: And now his shadow reach'd her as she run,
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 forest with immortal greens, Make Windsor hills in lofty numbers rise, And lift her turrets nearer to the skies; To sing those honours you deserve to wear, And add new lustre to her silver star.
His shadow lengthen'd by the setting sun; And now his shorter breath, with sultry air, Pants on her neck, and fans her parting hair. In vain on father Thames she calls for aid, Nor could Diana help her injured maid. Faint, breathless, thus she pray'd, nor pray'd in vain : 'Ah, Cynthia! ah-though banish'd from thy train, Let me, O let me, to the shades repair,
My native shades! there weep, and murmur there!' She said, and, melting as in tears she lay, In a soft silver stream dissolved away. The silver stream her virgin coldness keeps, For ever murmurs, and for ever weeps; Still bears the name the helpless virgin bore, And bathes the forest where she ranged before. In her chaste current oft the goddess laves, And with celestial tears augments the waves. Oft in her glass the musing shepherd spies The headlong mountains and the downward skies, The watery landscape of the pendant woods, And absent trees that tremble in the floods; In the clear azure gleam the flocks are seen, And floating forests paint the waves with green; Through the fair scene roll slow the lingering streams, Then foaming pour along, and rush into the Thames. Thou, too, great father of the British floods! With joyful pride survey'st our lofty woods; Where towering oaks their growing honours rear, And future navies on thy shores appear. Not Neptune's self from all her streams receives A wealthier tribute than to thine he gives. No seas so rich, so gay no banks appear, No lake so gentle, and no spring so clear. Nor Po so swells the fabling poet's lays, While led along the skies his current strays, As thine, which visits Windsor's famed abodes, To grace the mansion of our earthly gods; Nor all his stars above a lustre show,
Like the bright beauties on thy banks below: Where Jove, subdued by mortal passion still, Might change Olympus for a nobler hill.
Happy the man whom this bright court approves, His sovereign 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, Successive study, exercise and ease. He gathers health from herbs the forest yields, And of their fragrant physic spoils the fields; With chemic art exalts the mineral powers, And draws the aromatic souls of flowers: Now marks the course of rolling orbs on high; O'er figured worlds now travels with his eye; Of ancient writ unlocks the learned store, Consults the dead, and lives past ages o'er: Or wandering thoughtful in the silent wood, Attends the duties of the wise and good, To observe a mean, be to himself a friend, To follow Nature, and regard his end; Or looks on Heaven with more than mortal eyes, Bids his free soul expatiate in the skies, Amid her kindred stars familiar roam, Survey the region, and confess her home! Such was the life great Scipio once admired, Thus Atticus, and Trumbull thus retired.
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
Here noble Surrey felt the sacred rage, Surrey, the Granville of a former age: Matchless his pen, victorious was his lance, Boll in the lists, and graceful in the dance; In the same shades the Cupids tuned his lyre, To the same notes of love and soft desire: Fair Geraldine, bright object of his vow, Then fill'd the groves, as heavenly Mira now.
Oh, wouldst thou sing what heroes Windsor bore, What kings first breathed upon her winding shore, Or raise old warriors, whose adored remains In weeping vaults her hallow'd earth contains! With Edward's acts adorn the shining page, Stretch his long triumphs down through every age; Draw monarchs chain'd, and Cressi's glorious field. 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 vanquish'd France appear, And bleed for ever under Britain's spear. Let softer strains ill-fated Henry mourn, And palms eternal flourish round his urn. Here o'er the martyr-king the marble weeps, And, fast beside him, once-fear'd Edward sleeps: Whom not the extended Albion could contain, From old Belerium to the northern main, The grave unites; where e'en the great find rest And blended lie the oppressor and the oppress'd!
Make sacred Charles's tomb for ever known (Obscure the place, and uninscribed the stone): Oh fact accursed! what tears has Albion shed? Heavens, what new wounds! and how her old have bled: She saw her sons with purple deaths expire, Her sacred domes involved in rolling fire, A dreadful series of intestine wars, Inglorious triumphs, and dishonest scars. At length great Anna said, 'Let discord cease! She said, the world obey'd, and all was peace!
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 davs, That Thames's glory to the stars shail rarse.
Though Tiber's streams immortal Rome behold, Though foaming Hermus swells with tides of gold, From heaven itself though 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 Of war or blood, but in the sylvan chace: The trumpet sleep, while cheerful horns are blown, And arms employ'd on birds and beasts alone. Behold! the ascending villas on my side, Project long shadows o'er the crystal tide. Behold! Augusta's glittering spires increase, And temples rise, the beauteous works of peace. I see, I see, where two fair cities bend Their ample bow, a new Whitehall ascend! There mighty nations shall inquire their doom, The world's great oracle in times to come; There kings shall sue, and suppliant states be seen Once more to bend before a British queen.
Thy trees, fair Windsor! now shall leave their woods, 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 born 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 Mexico's be roof'd with gold. Exiled by thee from earth to deepest hell, In brazen bonds shall barbarous discord dwell: Gigantic pride, pale terror, gloomy care, And mad ambition shall attend her there: There purple vengeance bathed in gore retires, Her weapons blunted, and extinct her fires : There hateful envy her own snakes shall feel, And persecution mourn her broken wheel: There faction roar, rebellion bite her chain, And gasping furies thirst for blood in vain.'
Here cease thy flight, nor with unhallow'd lays Touch the fair fame of Albion's golden days; The thoughts of gods let Granville's verse recite, And bring the scenes of opening fate to light; My humble muse, in unambitious strains, Paints the green forests and the flowery plains, Where peace descending, bids her olive spring, And scatters blessings from her dove-like wing. E'en I more sweetly pass my careless days, Pleased in the silent shade with empty praise; Enough for me, that to the listening swains First in these fields I sang the sylvan strains.
Wake into voice each silent string, And sweep the sounding lyre ! In a sadly-pleasing strain Let the warbling lute complain: Let the loud trumpet sound, Till the roofs all around The shrill echoes rebound:
While, in more lengthen'd notes and slow, The deep, majestic, solemn organs blow. Hark! the numbers soft and clear Gently steal upon the ear;
Now louder, and yet louder rise,
And fill with spreading sounds the skies; Exulting in triumph now swell the bold notes, In broken air trembling, the wild music floats; Till, by degrees, remote and small, The strains decay, And melt away,
In a dying, dying fall.
By music, minds an equal temper know, Nor swell too high, nor sink too low. If in the breast tumultuous joys arise, Music her soft, assuasive voice applies; Or, when the soul is press'd with cares, Exalts her in enlivening airs,
Warriors she fires with animated sounds; Pours balm into the bleeding lover's wounds;
Melancholy lifts her head, Morpheus rouses from his bed, Sloth unfolds her arms and wakes, Listening envy drops her snakes; Intestine war no more our passions wage, And giddy factions hear away their rage. But when our country's cause provokes to arms, How martial music every bosom warms! So when the first bold vessel dared the seas, High on the stern the Thracían raised his strain,
While Argo saw her kindred trees Descend from Pelion to the main. Transported demi-gods stood round, And men grew heroes at the sound, Inflamed with glory's charms:
Each chief his sevenfold shield display'd And half unsheathed the shining blade: And seas, and rocks, and skies rebound
To arms, to arms, to arms!
But when through all the infernal bounds, Which flaming Plegethon surrounds,
Love, strong as death, the poet led To the pale nations of the dead.
What sounds were heard, What scenes appear'd,
O'er all the dreary coasts! Dreadful gleams, Dismal screams, Fires, that glow, Shrieks of woe, Sullen moans, Hollow groans,
And cries of tortured ghosts: But, hark! he strikes the golden lyre: And see! the tortured ghosts respire. See, shady forms advance
Thy stone, O Sisyphus, stands still, Ixion rests upon his wheel,
And the pale spectres dance!
The Furies sink upon their iron beds, And snakes uncurl'd hang listening round their heads.
By the streams that ever flow,
By the fragrant winds that blow
O'er the Elysian flowers;
By those happy souls, who dwell In yellow meads of asphodel, Or amaranthine bowers! By the hero's armed shades, Glittering through the gloomy glades; By the youths that died for love, Wandering in the myrtle grove, Restore, restore Eurydice to life: Oh take the husband, or return the wife! He sung, and hell consented To hear the poet's prayer; Stern Proserpine relented, And gave him back the fair. Thus song could prevail O'er death and o'er hell;
A conquest how hard and how glorious! Though fate had fast bound her With Styx nine times round her, Yet music and love were victorious.
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