In vain on father Thames she calls for aid, 195 Nor could Diana help her injur'd maid.

Faint, breathless, thus fhe pray'd, nor pray'din vain;

66

Ah Cynthia! ah-tho' banish'd from thy train, "Let me, O let me, to the fhades repair,

66

My native fhades-there weep, and murmur

"there."

200

She said, and melting as in tears fhe lay,
In a foft, filver ftream diffolv'd away.
The filver stream her virgin coldness keeps,
For ever murmurs, and for ever weeps ;
Still bears the name the hapless virgin bore, 205
And bathes the forest where she rang'd before.
In her chafte current oft the Goddess laves,
And with celestial tears augments the waves.
Oft in her glass the mufing fhepherd fpies
The headlong mountains and the downward skies.
The watʼry landskip of the pendant woods, 211
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,

NOTES.

VER. 205. Still bears the name] The River Loddon. VER. 209. Oft in her glass, etc.] These fix lines were added after the firft writing of this poem, P.

Thro' the fair scene roll flow the ling'ring streams, Then foaming pour along, and rush into the Thames.

220

Thou, too, great father of the British floods! With joyful pride furvey'st our lofty woods; Where tow'ring oaks their growing honours rear, And future navies on thy shores appear. Not Neptune's felf from all her ftreams receives A wealthier tribute, than to thine he gives. No feas fo rich, fo gay no banks appear, No lake fo gentle, and no fpring fo clear. Nor Po fo fwells the fabling Poet's lays, While led along the fkies his current strays, As thine, which vifits Windfor's fam'd abodes, To grace the manfion of our earthly Gods: Nor all his ftars above a luftre fhow,

225

Like the bright beauties on thy banks below; 230 Where Jove, fubdu'd by mortal passion still, Might change Olympus for a nobler hill. Happy the man whom this bright Court approves, His Sov'reign favours, and his country loves:

VARIATIONS.

VER. 231. It stood thus in the MS.

And force great Jove, if Jove's a lover ftill,

Happy next him, who to these shades retires, 235 Whom Nature charms, and whom the Muse inspires :

Whom humbler joys of home-felt quiet please, Succeffive ftudy, exercise, and ease.

245

He gathers health from herbs the foreft yields,
And of their fragrant phyfic fpoils the fields: 240
With chemic 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 antient writ unlocks the learned ftore,
Confults the dead, and lives paft ages o'er:
Qr wand'ring thoughtful in the filent wood,
Attends the duties of the wife and good,
T'observe a mean, be to himself a friend,
To follow nature, and regard his end;
Or looks on heav'n with more than mortal eyes,
Bids his free foul expatiate in the skies,

250

VARIATIONS.

VER. 233.

Happy the man, who to the fhades retires,
But doubly happy, if the Mufe inspires!

Bleft whom the fweets of home-felt quiet please ;

But far more bleft, who study joins with ease. P.

IMITATIONS.

VER. 249, 50. Servare modum finemque tenere,

Naturamque fequi.

Lucr.

Amid her kindred ftars familiar roam,
Survey the region, and confess her home!
Such was the life great Scipio once admir'd, 255
Thus Atticus, and TRUMBAL thus retir'd.
Ye facred Nine! that all my foul poffefs,
Whofe raptures fire me, and whofe vifions bless,
Bear me, oh bear me to fequefter'd scenes,
The bow'ry mazes, and furrounding greens: 260
To Thames's banks with fragrant breezes fill,
Or where ye Muses sport on COOPER'S HILL.
(On COOPER'S HILL eternal wreaths fhall grow,
While lafts the mountain, or while Thames fhall

flow)

I feem thro' confecrated walks to rove,

I hear foft mufic die along the

grove :

265

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

VARIATIONS.

VER. 265. It ftood thus in the MS.

Methinks around your holy fcenes I rove,
And hear your mufic echoing thro' the grove
With transport vifit each inspiring fhade
By God-like Poets venerable made.

IMITATIONS.

VER. 259. O qui me gelidis, etc.

Virg.

Here his first lays majestic DENHAM fung; There the laft numbers flow'd from CowLEY'S

tongue.

270

O early loft! what tears the river shed,
When the fad pomp along his banks was led?
His drooping fwans on ev'ry note expire,
And on his willows hung each Mufe's lyre.

Since fate relentless stop'd their heav'nly voice, No more the forefts ring, or groves rejoice; 276 Who now shall charm the fhades, 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! 280
'Tis yours, my Lord, to bless our soft retreats,
And call the Mufes to their ancient feats;
To paint anew the flow'ry fylvan scenes,
To crown the forefts with immortal greens,
Make Windfor-hills in lofty numbers rife, 285
And lift her turrets nearer to the skies;

VER. 273.

VARIATIONS.

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

NOTES.

P.

VER. 270. There the last numbers flow'd from Cowley's tongue.] Mr. Cowley died at Chertsey on the borders of the Forest, and was from thence convey'd to Westminster. P.