Not Neptune's felf from all his floods receives Than the fair nymphs that gild thy fhore below: Happy the man whom this bright court approves, His fov'reign favours, and his countrey loves; Happy next him who to thefe fhades retires, Whom nature charms, and whom the Mufe inspires, Whom humbler joys of home-felt quiet please, Succeffive ftudy, exercife, and ease. He gathers health from herbs the foreft yields, Of Of ancient writ unlocks the learned store, Ye facred Nine! that all my foul poffefs, To Thames's banks which fragrant breezes fill, And hear foft mufick dye along the grove; Led by the found I roam from fhade to fhade, Here Here his firft lays majestick Denham sung; There the laft numbers flow'd from *Cowley's tongue. O early loft! what tears the river shed, When the fad pomp along his banks was led? And on his willows hung each Mufe's lyre. But hark! the groves rejoice, the forest rings! 'Tis yours, my Lord, to blefs our foft retreats, And lift her turrets nearer to the skies; To fing thofe honours you deserve to wear, And add new luftre to her filver ftar. Mr. Cowley died at Chertsey on the borders of the forest, and was from thence convey'd to Westminster. Here Here noble * Surrey felt the facred rage, Surrey, the Granville of a former age: Matchlefs his pen, victorious was his lance; Bold in the lifts, and graceful in the dance: In the fame fliades the Cupids tun'd his lyre, To the fame notes, of love, and foft 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, Then, from her roofs when Verrio's colours fall, Still in thy fong fhould vanquish'd France appear, And bleed for ever under Britain's spear. Henry Howard E. of Surrey, one of the first refiners of the English Poetry; who flourished in the time of Henry VIIL Edward III. born here. Let Let fofter trains ill-fated * Henry mourn, And palms eternal flourish round his urn. 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, The grave unites; where ev'n the great find reft, And blended lie th' oppreffor and th' oppreft! Make facred Charles's tomb for ever known, (Obscure the place, and uninscrib'd the stone,) Oh fact accurft! what tears has Albion fhed, Heav'ns what new wounds! and how her old have [bled? She faw her fons with purple deaths expire," At length great Anna faid-Let difcord cease! 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 dropp'd with dews, and o'er the stream His fhining horns diffus'd a golden gleam: |