With Syrian Daphne; and the honour'd tribes Belov'd of Pæon. Liften to my strain,
Daughters of Tethys : liften to your praise.
You, Nymphs, the winged offspring, which of old Aurora to divine Aftræus bore,
Owns; and your aid befeecheth. When the might Of Hyperion, from his noontide throne, Unbends their languid pinions, aid from you They afk: Favonius and the mild South-west From you relief implore. Your fallying streams Fresh vigour to their weary wings impart. Again they fly, difporting; from the mead Half-ripen'd and the tender blades of corn, To fweep the noxious mildew; or difpel Contagious fteams, which oft the parched earth Breathes on her fainting fons. From noon to eve, Along the river and the paved brook,
Afcend the cheerful breezes: hail'd of bards Who, fast by learned Cam, the Mantuan lyre Sollicit; nor unwelcome to the youth Who on the highths of Tybur, all inclin'd O'er rufhing Anio, with a pious hand The reverend scene delineates, broken fanès, Or tombs, or pillar'd aqueducts, the pomp Of ancient time; and haply, while he scans The ruins, with a filent tear revolves The fame and fortune of imperious Rome. You too, Nymphs, and your unenvious aid
The rural powers confefs; and still
prepare For you their grateful treafures. Pan commands, Oft as the Delian king with Sirius holds The central heavens, the father of the grove Commands his Dryads over your abodes
To fpread their deepeft umbrage. well the God Remembereth how indulgent ye fupplied
Your genial dews to nurse them in their prime. Pales, the pafture's queen, where'er ye ftray, Purfues your fteps, delighted; and the path With living verdure clothes. Around your haunts The laughing Chloris, with profufeft hand, Throws wide her blooms, her odaurs.
Pomona feeks to dwell: and o'er the lawns,
And o'er the vale of Richmond, where with Thames
Ye love to wander, Amalthea pours
Well-pleas'd the wealth of that Ammonian horn,
Her dower; unmindful of the fragrant ifles Nyfæan or Atlantic. Nor can't thou, (Albeit oft, ungrateful, thou doft mock The beverage of the fober Naiad's urn, O Bromius, O Lenæan) nor can't thou Difown the powers whofe bounty, ill repaid, With nectar feeds thy tendrils. Yet from me, Yet, blameless Nymphs, from my delighted lyre, Accept the rites your bounty well may claim; Nor heed the fcoffings of the Edonian band.
For better praife awaits you. Thames, your fire,
As down the verdant slope your duteous rills Defcend, the tribute ftately Thames receives, Delighted; and your piety applauds ; And bids his copious tide roll on fecure, For faithful are his daughters; and with words Aufpicious gratulates the bark which, now His banks forfaking, her adventurous wings Yields to the breeze, with Albion's happy gifts Extremeft ifles to blefs. And oft at morn, When Hermes, from Olympus bent o'er earth To bear the words of Jove, on yonder hill Stoops lightly-failing; oft intent your springs He views and waving o'er fome new-born ftream His bleft pacific wand, "And yet," he cries, "Yet," cries the fon of Maia," though reclufe "And filent be your ftores, from you, fair Nymphs, "Flows wealth and kind fociety to men.
"By you my function and my honour'd name "Do I poffefs; while o'er the Boetic vale,
"Or through the towers of Memphis, or the palms "By facred Ganges water'd, I conduct
"The English merchant: with the buxom fleece "Of fertile Ariconium while I clothe
"Sarmatian kings; or to the household Gods "Of Syria, from the bleak Cornubian fhore,
Difpenfe the mineral treasure which of old "Sidonian pilots fought, when this fair land "Was yet unconfcious of thofe generous arts
"Which wife Phoenicia from their native clime "Transplanted to a more indulgent heaven."
Such are the words of Hermes: fuch the praise, O Naiads, which from tongues cœleftial waits Your bounteous deeds. From bounty issueth power; And those who, fedulous in prudent works, Relieve the wants of nature, Jove repays
With generous wealth and his own feat on earth, Fit judgments to pronounce, and curb the might Of wicked men. Your kind unfailing urns Not vainly to the hofpitable arts
Of Hermes yield their fiore. For, O ye Nymphs, Hath he not won the unconquerable queen
Of arms to court your friendship? You fhe owns The fair affociates who extend her fway
Wide o'er the mighty deep; and grateful things Of you fhe uttereth, oft as from the shore
Of Thames, or Medway's vale, or the green banks Of Vecta, fhe her thundering navy leads. To Calpe's foaming channel, or the rough Cantabrian coaft; her aufpices divine Imparting to the fenate and the prince Of Albion, to dismay barbaric kings, The Iberian, or the Celt. The pride of kings Was ever fcorn'd by Pallas: and of old Rejoic'd the virgin, from the brazen prow Of Athens o'er Ægina's gloomy furge,
To drive her clouds and ftorms; o'erwhelming all
The Perfian's promis'd glory, when the realms. Of Indus and the foft Ionian clime,
When Lybia's torrid champain and the rocks Of cold Imaüs join'd their fervile bands, To sweep the fons of liberty from earth. In vain: Minerva on the brazen prow Of Athens flood, and with the thunder's voice Denounc'd her terrours on their impious heads, And shook her burning Ægis. Xerxes faw: From Heracleum, on the mountain's highth Thron'd in his golden car, he knew the fign Cœleftial; felt unrighteous hope forfake His faltering heart, and turn'd his face with fhame. Hail, ye who share the ftern Minerva's power; Who arm the hand of liberty for war: And give, in fecret, the Britannic name To awe contending monarchs: yet benign, Yet mild of nature: to the works of
peace More prone, and lenient of the many ills Which wait on human life. Your gentle aid Hygeia well can witnefs; fhe who faves, From poisonous cates and cups of pleafing bane, The wretch devoted to the entangling fnares Of Bacchus and of Comus. Him the leads To Cynthia's lonely haunts. To fpread the toils, To beat the coverts, with the jovial horn
At dawn of day to fummon the loud hounds, She calls the lingering fluggard from his dreams:
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