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 iffueth 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 ftore. For, O ye Nymphs,
Hath he not won the unconquerable queen

Of arms to court your friendfhip? You fhe owns
The fair affociates who extend her sway
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

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 stood, 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 height
Thron'd in his golden car, he knew the fign
Cæleftial; felt unrighteous hope forfake

His faltering heart, and turn'd his face with shame.
Hail, ye
who share the stern 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 fhe leads

To Cynthia's lonely haunts. To spread 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

And where his breaft may drink the mountain-breeze,
And where the fervour of the funny vale

May beat upon his brow, through devious paths
Beckons his rapid courfer. Nor when ease,
Cool eafe and welcome flumbers have becalm'd
His eager bofom, does the queen of health
Her pleasing care withold. His decent board
She guards, prefiding; and the frugal powers
With joy fedate leads in and while the brown
Ennæan dame with Pan prefents her ftores ;
While changing ftill, and comely in the change,
Vertumnus and the Hours before him spread
The garden's banquet; you to crown his feast,
To crown his feaft, O Naiads, you the fair

Hygeia calls and from your fhelving feats,

:

And groves of poplar, plenteous cups ye bring,
To flake his veins: till foon a purer tide
Flows down thofe loaded channels; wafheth off
The dregs of luxury, the lurking feeds

Of crude disease; and through the abodes of life
Sends vigour, fends repofe. Hail, Naiads: hail,
Who give, to labour, health; to stooping age,
The joys which youth had fquander'd. Oft your urns
Will I invoke; and, frequent in your praise,
Abafh the frantic Thyrfus with my fong.

For not eftrang'd from your benignant arts
Is he, the God, to whofe myfterious shrine
My youth was facred, and my votive cares

Are

Are due; the learned Pæon. Oft when all
His cordial treasures he hath search'd in vain ;
When herbs, and potent trees, and drops of balm
Rich with the genial influence of the fun,
(To rouze dark fancy from her plaintive dreams,
To brace the nerveless arm, with food to win
Sick appetite, or hush the unquiet breast
Which pines with filent paffion) he in vain
Hath prov'd; to your deep manfions he defcends.
Your gates of humid rock, your dim arcades,
He entereth; where impurpled veins of ore
Gleam on the roof; where through the rigid mine
Your trickling rills infinuate. There the God
From your indulgent hands the fteaming bowl
Wafts to his pale-ey'd fuppliants; wafts the feeds
Metallic and the elemental falts

Wash'd from the pregnant glebe.

Flies pain; flies inaufpicious care

They drink: and foon and foon

The focial haunt or unfrequented shade

Hears Io, Io Pæan; as of old,

When Python fell. And, O propitious Nymphs,
Oft as for hapless mortals I implore

Your falutary springs, thro' every urn

O fhed felected atoms, and with all

Your healing powers inform the recent wave.
My lyre fhall pay your bounty. Nor difdain
That humble tribute. Though a mortal hand
Excite the strings to utterance, yet for themes

Not

Not unregarded of cœleftial powers,

I frame their language; and the Muses deign
To guide the pious tenour of my lay.
The Muses (facred be their gifts divine)
In early days did to my wondering sense
Their fecrets oft reveal: oft my rais'd ear
In flumber felt their mufic: oft at noon
Or hour of funfet, by fome lonely stream,
In field or fhady grove, they taught me words
Of power from death and envy to preserve

The good man's name. whence yet with grateful mind
And offerings unprofan'd by ruder eye,

My vows I fend, my homage, to the feats
Of rocky Cirrha, where with you they dwell:
Where you their chaste companions they admit
Through all the hallow'd scene: where oft intent,
And leaning o'er Caftalia's moffy verge,
They mark the cadence of your confluent urns,
How tunefull yielding gratefullest repose
To their conforted measure: till again,
With emulation all the founding choir,
And bright Apollo, leader of the fong,
Their voices through the liquid air exalt,

And sweep their lofty ftrings: thofe awful ftrings,
That charm the mind of Gods: that fill the courts

Of wide Olympus with oblivion sweet
Of evils, with immortal rest from cares;
Affuage the terrours of the throne of Jove;

And