Of love-conspiring hearts, oft the young bride
Has prostituted to her slaves her charms,
While the infatuated lord admires

Fresh-butting sprouts, and issue not his own.
Now turn the glebe: soon, with correcting hand,
When smiling June in jocund dance leads on
Long days and happy hours, from every vine
Dock the redundant branches, and once more
With the sharp spade thy numerous acres till.
The shovel next must lend its aid, enlarge
The little hillocks, and erase the weeds.
This in that month its title which derives
From great Augustus' ever sacred name!
Sov❜reign of science! master of the muse!
Neglected genius' firm ally! of worth

Best judge and best rewarder, whose applause
To bards was fame and fortune. O! 'twas well;-
Well did you too in this, all glorious heroes!

Ye Romans!-on time's wing you've stamp'd his praise,
And time shall bear it to eternity.

Now are our labours crown'd with their reward,
Now bloom the florid hops, and in the stream
Shine in their floating silver, while above
Th' embow'ring branches culminate, and form
A walk impervious to the sun; the poles
In comely order stand; and while you cleave
With the small skiff the Medway's lucid wave,
In comely order still their ranks preserve,
And seem to march along th' extensive plain.
In neat arrangement thus the Men of Kent,
With native oak at once adorn'd and arm'd,
Intrepid march'd; for well they knew the cries
Of dying freedom, and Astræa's voice,

Who as she fled, to echoing woods complain'd
Of tyranny and William; like a God,
Refulgent stood the conqueror, on his troops
He sent his looks enliv'ning as the sun's,
But on his foes frown'd agony and death.
On his left side in bright emblazonry

His falchion burn'd; forth from his sev'n-fold shield
A basilisk shot adamant; his brow

Wore clouds of fury:-there, with plumage crown'd, Of various hue sat a tremendous cone:

Thus sits high canopied above the clouds,—

Terrific beauty of nocturnal skies,

Northern Aurora; she through the azure air

Shoots, shoots her trem❜lous-rays in painted streaks Continual, while waving to the wind

O'er night's dark veil her lucid tresses flow:

The trav❜ler views th' unseasonable day

Astound, the proud bend lowly to the earth,
The pious matrons tremble for the world!
But what can daunt th' insuperable souls
Of Cantium's matchless sons? on they proceed,
All innocent of fear; each face express'd.
Contemptuous admiration, while they view'd
The well-fed brigades of embroider'd slaves
That drew the sword for gain. First of the van
With an enormous bough, a shepherd swain
Whistl'd with rustic notes; but such as show'd
A heart magnanimous: the Men of Kent
Follow the tuneful swain, while o'er their heads
The green leaves whisper, and the big boughs bend.
"Twas thus the Thracian, whose all-quick'ning lyre
The floods inspir'd, and taught the rocks to feel,
Enchanted dancing Hæmus; to the tune

The lute's soft tune,-the flutt'ring branches wave, The roeks enjoy it, and the rivulets hear,

The hillocks skip, emerge the humble vales,
And all the mighty mountain nods applause.
The conqueror view'd them, and as one that sees
The vast abrupt of Scylla, or as one

That from the oblivious streams of Lethe's pool
Has drank eternal apathy, he stood.
His host an universal panic seiz'd
Prodigious, inopine; their armour shook,
And clatter'd to the trembling of their limbs;
Some to the walking wildernes 'gan run
Confus'd, and in th' inhospitable shade
For shelter sought-wretches they shelter find,-
Eternal shelter in the arms of death!
Thus when Aquarius pours out all his urn
Down on some lonesome heath, the traveller
That wanders o'er the wintry waste, accepts
The invitation of some spreading beech
Joyous; but soon the treach'rous gloom betrays
Th' unwary visitor, while on his head
Th' enlarging drops in double showers descend.
And now no longer in disguise the men

Of Kent appear; down they all drop their boughs,
And shine in brazen panoply divine.

Enough!-great William,- for full well he knew
How vain would be the contest,—to the sons
Of glorious Cantium, gave their lives, and laws,
And liberties secure, and to the prowess
Of Cantium's sons, like Cæsar deign'd to yield.
Cæsar and William! hail immortal worthies !
Illustrious vanquish'd! Cantium, if to them
Posterity, with all her chiefs unborn,

Ought similar, ought second has to boast,
Once more,-so prophecies the muse,-thy sons
Shall triumph, emulous of their sires :-'till then
With olive, and with hop-land garlands crown'd,
O'er all thy land reign plenty, reign fair peace.

BOOK II.

"Omnia quæ multo ante memor provisa repones,
Si te digna manet divini gloria ruris.”

Virg. Geor. lib. 2.

At length the muse her destin'd task resumes
With joy; again o'er all her hop-land groves
She seeks t'expatiate free of wing. Long while
For a much-loving, much-lov'd youth she wept,
Sorrowing in silence o'er th' untimely urn.
Hush then, effeminate sobs; and thou, my heart,
Rebel to grief no more—and yet a while,
A little while, indulge the friendly tears.
O'er the wild world, like Noah's dove in vain
I seek the olive peace, around me wide
See! see! the wa'try waste-in vain forlorn
I call the Phoenix fair sincerity;
Alas!-extinguish'd to the skies she fled,
And left no heir behind her. Where is now
Th' eternal smile of goodness? where is now
That all-extensive charity of soul,

So rich in sweetness that the classic sounds
In elegance Augustan cloth'd, the wit
That flow'd perennial, hardly were observ'd,
Or, if observ'd, set off that brighter gem.

How oft, and yet how seldom did it seem!-
Have I enjoy'd his converse! when we met,

The hours how swift they sweetly fled, and 'till

Again I saw him, how they loiter'd. Oh!
Theophilus thou dear departed soul,

What flattering tales thou told'st me? how thou'dst hail
My muse, and took'st imaginary walks

All in my hop-land groves; stay yet, oh stay!
Thou dear deluder, thou hast seen but half-

He's gone! and ought that's equal to his praise
Fame has not for me, though she prove most kind;
Howe'er-this verse be sacred to thy name,
These tears, the last sad duty of a friend.
Oft I'll indulge the pleasureable pain
Of recollection; oft on Medway's banks
I'll muse on thee full pensive; while her streams
Regardful ever of my grief, shall flow

In sullen silence silverly along

The weeping shores-or else accordant with
My loud laments, shall ever and anon
Make melancholy music to the shades,
The hop-land shades, that on her banks expose
Serpentine vines and flowing locks of gold.
Ye smiling nymphs th' inseparable train
Of saffron Ceres; ye, that gamesome dance,
And sing to jolly Autumn, while he stands
With his right hand poising the scales of heav'n,
And while his left grasps Amalthea's horn :
Young chorus of fair bacchanals, descend,
And leave awhile the sickle; yonder hill,
Where stand the loaded hop-poles, claims your care.
There mighty Bacchus seated 'cross the bin,
Waits your attendance;-there he glad reviews
His paunch approaching to immensity
Still nearer, and with pride of heart surveys
Obedient mortals, and the world his own.