As some coy nymph her lover's warm address, 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' enamell'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 ev❜n the elements a tyrant sway'd? In vain kind seasons swell'd the teeming grain, Then gathering flocks on unknown mountains fed, And secret transports touch'd the conscious swain. Her cheerful head, and leads the golden years. Ye vigorous swains! while youth ferments your And purer spirits swell the sprightly flood, [blood, 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 'em 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' amaz'd, defenceless prize, And in high 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 avail 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-breath'd beagles we repair, With slaughtering guns the' unwearied fowler roves, In genial spring, beneath the quivering shade, Now Cancer glows with Phoebus' fiery car: The youth rush eager to the silvan 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 vallies 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 her's, protects the silvan 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's 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 trac'd the dewy lawn. Above the rest a rural nymph was fam'd, Thy offspring, Thames! the fair Lodona nam'd; (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 waist, a fillet binds her hair; A painted quiver on her shoulder sounds, And with her dart the flying deer she wounds. It chanc'd, as eager of the chase, the maid Beyond the forest's verdant limits stray'd, Pan saw and lov'd, and, burning with desire, Pursued her flight; her flight increas'd 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, [doves; When through the clouds he drives, the trembling |