Now marks the course of rolling orbs on high ; Or looks on heav'n with more than mortal eyes, 245 250 255 261 Ye sacred Nine! that all my soul possess, Whose raptures fire me, and whose visions bless, Bear me, oh bear me to sequester'd scenes, The bow'ry mazes, and surrounding greens; To Thames's banks, which fragrant breezes fill, Or where ye Muses sport on Cooper's Hill. (On Cooper's Hill eternal wreaths shall grow, While lasts the mountain, or while Thames shall flow.) I seem through consecrated walks to rove, I hear soft music die along the grove : Led by the sound, I roam from shade to shade, 265 270 Here his first lays majestic Denham sung; There the last numbers flow'd from Cowley's tongue, And on his willows hung each muse's lyre. 275 Since Fate relentless stopp'd their heav'nly voice, No more the forests ring, or groves rejoice: Who now shall charm the shades where Cowley strung His living harp, and lofty Denham sung? 280 But hark! the groves rejoice, the forest rings! 285 290 Here noble Surrey felt the sacred rage, Surrey, the Granville of a former age: Matchless his pen, victorious was his lance, Bold in the lists, and graceful in the dance : In the same shades the Cupids tun'd his lyre, To the same notes, of love, and soft desire: 295 301 Fair Geraldine, bright object of his vow, Still in thy song should vanquish'd France appear, Let softer strains ill-fated Henry mourn, And palms eternal flourish round his urn. From old Belerium to the northern main. The grave unites; where e'en the great find rest, And blended lie th' oppressor and th' opprest! 310 315 Make sacred Charles's tomb for ever known, (Obscure the place, and uninscrib'd the stone.) 320 Oh fact accurs'd! what tears has Albion shed! Heav'ns! what new wounds! and how her old have . bled! She saw her sons with purple death expire, At length great Anna said, "Let discord cease!" In that blest moment from his oozy bed 325 Old father Thames advanc'd his rev'rend head; 330 The figur'd streams in waves of silver roll'd, 335 The winding Isis, and the fruitful Thame : 340 The Kennet swift, for silver eels renown'd; The Lodden slow, with verdant alders crown'd; And sullen Mole, that hides his diving flood; And silent Darent, stain'd with Danish Blood. 345 350 High in the midst, upon his urn reclin’d, (His sea-green mantle waving with the wind,) The god appear'd: he turn'd his azure eyes Where Windsor's 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 days, 355 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 heav'n itself though sevenfold Nilus flows, And harvests on a hundred realms bestows; These now no more shall be the Muse's 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 barb'rous 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 360 365 Shall tend the flocks, or reap the bearded grain; 370 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. |