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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

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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.

Still with you

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,

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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,

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Difpenfe the mineral treasure which of old "Sidonian pilots fought, when this fair land "Was yet unconfcious of thofe generous arts

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"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

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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:

And

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