The patient fisher takes his filent ftand,
Intent, his angle trembling in his hand;
With looks unmov'd, he hopes the fcaly breed,
And eyes the dancing cork, and bending reed.
Our plenteous ftreams a various race supply;
The bright-ey'd perch with fins of Tyrian die,
The filver cel, in fhining volumes roll❜d,
The yellow carp, in fcales bedrop'd with gold,
Swift trouts, diverfify'd with crimson stains,
And pykes, the tyrants of the watry plains.

Now Cancer glows with Phoebus' fiery car;
The youth rush eager to the fylvan war;
Swarm o'er the lawns, the foreft walks furround,
Rowze the fleet hart, and chear the opening hound.
Th' impatient courfer pants in ev'ry vein,
And pawing, feems to beat the distant plain,
Hills, vales, and floods appear already crofs'd,
And 'ere he starts, a thousand steps are lost.
See! the bold youth strain up the threat'ning steep,
Rush thro' the thickets, down the vallies fweep,
Hang o'er their courfers heads with eager speed,
And earth rolls back beneath the flying fteed.

Let

Let old Arcadia boast her ample plain,
Th'immortal huntress, and her virgin-train,
Nor envy, Windfor! fince thy fhades have feen
As bright a Goddefs, and as chafte a Queen;
Whose care, like hers, protects the fylvan reign,
The earth's fair light, and Empress of the main.

Here, as old Bards have fung, Diana ftray'd,
Bath'd in the springs, or fought the cooling fhade;
Here arm'd with filver 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 caft,

The Mufe fhall fing, and what she fings shall laft)
Scarce could the Goddess from her nymph be known,
But by the crefcent and the golden zone:

She fcorn'd the praise of beauty, and the care;
A belt her wafte, a fillet binds her hair,
A painted quiver on her fhoulder founds,
And with her dart the flying deer fhe wounds.
It chanc'd, as eager of the chace the maid
Beyond the foreft's verdant limits ftray'd,

Pan

Pan faw and lov'd, and burning with defire
Purfu'd her flight, her flight increas'd his fire.
Not half fo fwift the trembling Doves can fly,
When the fierce Eagle cleaves the liquid sky;
Not half fo fwiftly the fierce Eagle moves,
When thro' the clouds he drives the trembling Doves;
As from the God fhe flew with furious pace,
Or as the God, more furious, urg'd the chace.
Now fainting, finking, pale, the nymph appears;
Now close behind his founding fteps fhe hears;
And now his fhadow reach'd her as fhe run,
(His fhadow lengthen'd by the fetting Sun)
And now his shorter breath, with fultry air,
Pants on her neck, and fans her parting hair.
In vain on father Thames the calls for aid,
Nor could Diana help her injur'd maid.
Faint, breathlefs, thus fhe pray'd, nor pray'd in vain;
"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. She faid, and melting as in tears fhe lay,

In a foft, filver ftream diffolv'd away.

The filver stream her virgin coldnefs keeps,
For ever murmurs, and for ever weeps;

*

Still bears the name the hapless virgin bore,
And bathes the foreft where she rang'd before.
In her chafte current oft' the Goddefs laves,
And with celestial tears augments the waves.
Oft' in her glass the mufing fhepherd fpies
The headlong mountains and the downward skies,
The watry Landskip of the pendant woods,
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.
Thro' the fair scene rowl flow the ling'ring streams,
Then foaming pour along, and rush into the Thames.
Thou too, great father of the British floods!
With joyful pride furvey our lofty woods;
Where tow'ring Oaks their spreading honours rear,
And future Navies on thy banks appear.
Not Neptune's felf from all his floods receives
A wealthier tribute, than to thine he gives.

The River Loddon.

Q

No

No feas fo rich, fo full no ftreams appear,
No lake fo gentle, and no spring so clear.
Not fabled Po more fwells the Poet's lays,
While thro' the skies his fhining current ftrays,?
Than thine, which vifits Windfor's fam❜d abodes,
To grace the manfion of our earthly, Gods:
Nor all his ftars a brighter luftre fhow, ni '80
Than the fair nymphs that gild thy fhore below:
Here Jove himself, fubdu'd by beauty still,
Might change Olympus for a nobler hill. a b

Happy the man whom this bright Court approves, His Sov'reign favours, and his Country loves; ho? Happy next him who to thefe fhades retires, onli Whom Nature charms, and whom the Muse inspires, Whom humbler joys of home-felt quiet please,

Succeffive study, exercise, and ease loj div He gathers health from herbs the foreft yields,! And of their fragrant phyfick, fpoils the fields. With chymic art exalts the min'ral pow'rs, 7, 107% And draws the aromatic fouls of flow'rs.com 7. Now marks the courfe of rolling orbs on high; O'er figur'd worlds now travels with his eye.