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In the same shades the Cupid3 tun'd 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 breath'd upon her winding shore,
Or raise old warriors, whose ador'd 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 rouud his urn. Here o'er the martyr-king the marble weeps, And, fast beside him, once-fear'd Edward sleeps: Whom pot th' extended Albion could contain, From old Belerium to the northern main, The grave unites; where ev’n the great find rest, And blended lie th' oppressor and th'opprest!
Make sacred Charles's tomb for ever known
(Obscure the place, and uninscrib'd the stone):
Oh fact accurs'd! what tears has Albion shed !
Heavens, what new wounds! and how her old have
She saw her sons with purple deaths expire,
Her sacred domes involv'd 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 advanc'd his reverend head;
His tresses dropp'd with dews, and o'er the strearm
His shining horns diffus'd a golden gleam:
Gravid on his urn appear'd the moon, that guides
His swelling waters, and alternate tides;
The figur'd streams in waves of silver roll'a,
And on their banks Augusta rose iu gold;
Around his throne the sea-born brothers stood
Who swell with tributary urns his flood!
First the fam'd 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
And chalky Wes, that rolls a milky wave:
The blue, transparent Vandalis appears:
The gulfy Lee his sedgy tresses rears ;
And sullen Mole, tbat hides his diving flood;
And silent Darent stain'd with Danish blood.
High in the midst, upon his urn reclin'd
(His sea.green mantle waving with the wind),
The god appear'd: he turu'd his azure eyes
Where Windsor-domes and pompous turrets rise ;
Then bow'd, and spoke; the winds forget to rear,
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 Tyber'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 chase:
The trumpet sleep, while cheerful horns are blown,
And arms employ'd on birds and beasts alone.
Behold! th' 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 sce, 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
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 frames 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,
Ind Phæbus 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 coase, 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.
Exil'd 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 bath'd 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 uphallow'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.
Ev'n I more sweetly pass my careless days,
Pleas'd in the silent shade with empty praise;
Enough for me, that to the listening swains
First in these fields I sung the sylvan strains.
ODE ON ST. CECILIA'S DAY,
And other Pieces for Music.
ESCEND, ye Nine! descend, and sing;
The breathing instruments inspire;
Wake into voice cach 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, por siuk too low.