Both doom'd alike, for fportive tyrants bled,
But while the fubject ftarv'd, the beast was fed.
Proud Nimrod first the bloody chace began,
A mighty hunter, and his prey was man :
Our haughty Norman boasts that barb'rous name,
And makes his trembling flaves the royal game.
The fields are ravish'd from th' industrious fwains,
From men their cities, and from gods their fanes:
The levell'd towns with weeds lie cover'd o'er,
The hollow winds thro' naked temples roar,
Round broken columns clafping ivy twin'd,
O'er heaps of ruin ftalk'd the stately hind,
The fox obfcene to gaping tombs retires,
And favage howlings fill the facred choirs.
Aw'd by his Nobles, by his Commons curs'd,
Th' oppreffor rul'd tyrannick where he durft ;
Stretch'd o'er the poor and church his iron rod,
And ferv'd alike his vaffals and his God.
Whom e'en the Saxon fpar'd, and bloody Dane,
The wanton victims of his fport remain.
But, fee! the man who fpacious regions gave
A wafte for beafts, himfelf deny'd a grave!
Stretch'd on the lawn his fecond hope furvey,
At once the chafer, and at once the
prey :
Lo, Rufus, tugging at the deadly dart,
Bleeds in the foreft like a wounded hart.
Succeeding monarchs heard the subjects cries,
Nor faw difpleas'd the peaceful cottage rife.
Then gath'ring flocks on unknown mountains fed,
O'er fandy wilds were yellow harvests spread,
The forest wonder'd at th' unusual grain,
And fecret tranfport touch'd the confcious fwain.
Fair Liberty, Britannia's goddess, rears
Her chearful head, and leads the golden years.
Ye vig'rous fwains! while youth ferments your blood, And purer fpirits fwell the sprightly flood,
Now range the hills, the gameful woods beset,
Wind the fhrill horn, or fpread the waving net.
When milder autumn fummer's heat fucceeds,
And in the new-fhorn 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 th' unfaithful field befet,
Till hov'ring o'er 'em fweeps the swelling net.
Thus (if fmall things we may with great compare)
When Albion fends her eager fons to war,
Some thoughtless town, with ease and plenty bleft,
Near, and more near, the clofing lines invest;
Sudden they seize th' amaz'd defenceless prize,
And high in 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 avails his gloffy, varying dyes,
His purple creft, 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 fky,
The woods and fields their pleasing toils deny.
To plains with well-breath'd beagles we repair,
And trace the mazes of the circling hare :
(Beafts, urg'd by us, their fellow-beafts purfue,
And learn of man each other to undo!)
With flaught'ring guns th' unweary'd fowler roves,
When frofts have whiten'd all the naked groves;
Where doves in flocks the leaflefs trees o'ershade,
And lonely woodcocks haunt the wat'ry glade.
He lifts the tube, and levels with his eye;
Straight a fhort thunder breaks the frozen sky:
Oft, as in airy rings they skim the heath,
The clam'rous lapwings feel the leaden death;
Oft, as the mounting larks their notes prepare,
They fall, and leave their little lives in air.
In genial spring, beneath the quiv'ring shade,
Where cooling vapours breathe along the mead,
The patient fifher takes his filent stand,
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 fupply,
The bright-ey'd perch, with fins of Tyrian dye;
The filver 'eel, in fhining volumes roll'd;
The yellow carp, in fcales bedropp'd with gold;
Swift trouts, diverfify'd with crimson stains;
And pikes, the tyrants of the wat❜ry 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,
Rouze the fleet hart, and chear the opening hound.
Th' impatient courfer 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 loft.
See the bold youth ftrain up the threat'ning steep,
Rush through the thickets, down the vallies sweep,
Hang o'er their courfers heads with eager speed,
And earth rolls back beneath the flying steed.
Let old Arcadia boaft her ample plain,
Th' immortal huntress, and her virgin-train ;
Nor envy, Windfor! fince thy fhades have seen
As bright a goddess, and as chaste a queen;
Whose care, like her's, protects the fylvan reign,
The earth's fair light, and emprefs of the main.
Here too, 'tis fung, of old Diana stray'd,
And Cynthus' top forfook for Windsor fhade;
Here was she feen o'er airy waftes to rove,
Seek the clear spring, or haunt the pathlefs grove;
Here, arm'd with filver bows, in early dawn,
Her bufkin'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 sings shall last.)
Scarce could the goddess from her nymph be known,
But by the crefcent, and the golden zone.
She scorn'd the praise of beauty, and the care;
A belt her waift, a fillet binds her hair ;
A painted quiver on her fhoulder founds,
And with her dart the flying deer she wounds.
It chanc'd, as eager of the chace, the maid
Beyond the foreft's verdant limits stray'd,
Pan faw, and lov'd; and, burning with defire,
Purfu'd 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 fo fwiftly the fierce eagle moves,
When thro' the clouds he drives the trembling doves;
As from the god she flew with furious
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 the run,
His fhadow lengthen'd by the setting fun;
And now his shorter breath, with fultry air,
Pants on her neck, and fans her parting hair.
In vain on Father Thames she 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,"
My native shades-there weep, and murmur there.'
She faid; and melting as in tears fhe lay,
In a foft filver ftream diffolv'd away.
The filver ftream her virgin coldness keeps,
For ever murmurs, and for ever weeps ;
Still bears the name the haplefs virgin bore,
And bathes the foreft where the rang'd before.
In her chafte current oft the goddess laves,
And with celeftial tears augments the waves.
Oft in her glafs the mufing fhepherd fpies
The headlong mountains and the downward fkies,
The wat❜ry landscape of the pendant woods,
And abfent trees that tremble in the floods ;
In the clear azure gleam the flocks are seen,
And floating forefts paint the waves with green,
Thro' the fair fcene roll flow the ling'ring streams,
Then foaming pour along, and rufh into the Thames.
Thou, too, great father of the British floods!
With joyful pride furvey'ft our lofty woods;
Where tow'ring oaks their growing honours rear,
And future navies on thy fhores appear,
Not Neptune's felf, from all her ftreams, receives
A wealthier tribute, than to thine he gives.
No feas fo rich, fo gay no banks appear,
No lake fo gentle, and no fpring fo clear.
His fov'reign favours, and his country loves:
Happy next him, who to thefe fhades retires,
Whom Nature charms, and whom the Mufe infpires;
|