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Then gathering flocks on unknown mouutains fed,
O'er sandy wilds were yellow harvests spread:
The forest wondered at th' unusual grain,

And secret transports touch'd the conscious swain.
Fair Liberty, Britannia's goddess, rears
Her cheerful head, and leads the golden years.




Ye vig'rous swains! while youth ferments your And purer spirits swell the sprightly flood, [blood, Now range the hills, the gameful woods beset, Wind the shrill horn, or spread the waving net. When milder autumn summer's heat succeeds, And in the new-shorn 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 beset, Till hov'ring o'er 'en sweeps the swelling net. Thus (if small things we may with great compare) When Albion sends her eager sons to war, Some thoughtless town, with ease and plenty blest, Near, and more near, the closing lines invest; Sudden they seize th' amaz'd, defenceless prize, And in high 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 glossy, varying dyes, His purple crest, 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 sky,
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:
(Beasts, urg'd by us, their fellow-beasts pursue,
And learn of man each other to undo.)

With slaught'ring guns th' unwearied fowler roves,
When frosts have whiten'd allthe naked groves, 126

Where doves in flocks the leafless trees o'ershade,
And lonely woodcocks haunt the wat'ry glade.
He lifts the tube, and levels with his eye;
Straight a short 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, 135 Where cooling vapours breathe along the mead, The patient fisher takes his silent stand Intent, his angle trembling in his hand, With looks unmov'd, he hopes the scaly breed, And eyes the dancing cork and bending reed. Our plenteous streams a various race supply; The bright-ey'd perch, with fins of Tyrian dye; The silver eel, in shining volumes roll'd; The yellow carp, in scales bedropp'd with gold; Swift trouts, diversified with crimson stains; And pikes, the tyrants of the watʼry plains. Now Cancer glows with Phoebus' fiery car, The youth rush eager to the sylvan war,· Swarm o'er the lawns, the forest walks surround, Rouse the fleet hart, and cheer the op'ning hound. Th' impatient courser pants in ev'ry 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 lost. See the bold youth strain up the threat'ning steep, Rush through the thickets, down the valiies sweep, Hang o'er their coursers' heads with eager speed, And earth rolls back beneath the flying steed. Let old Arcadia boast her ampie plain, Th' immortal huntress, and her virgin train: Nor envy, Windsor! since thy shades have seen As bright a goddess, and as chaste a queen; Whose care, like her's, protects the sylvan reign, The earth's fair light, and empress of the main. Here too, 'tis sung, of old, Diana stray'd, And Cynthus top forsook for Windsor shade;





Here was she seen o'er airy wastes to rove,
Seek the clear spring, or haunt the pathless grove;
Here arm'd with silver bows, in early dawn,
Her buskin'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 cast,





The muse shall sing, and what she sings shall last.)
Scarce could the goddess from her nymph be known,
But by the crescent and the golden zone.
She scorn'd the praise of heauty and the care;
A belt her waist, a fillet binds her hair;
A painted quiver on her shoulder sounds,
And with her dart the flying deer she wounds.
It chanc'd, as eager of the chace, the maid
Beyond the Forest's verdant limits stray'd,
Pan saw and lov'd, and, burning with desire,
Pursu'd her flight; her flight increas'd his fire.
Not half so swift the trembling doves can fly,
When the fierce cagle cleaves the liquid sky;
Not half so swiftly the fierce eagle moves,
When thro' the clouds he drives the trembling doves:
As from the god she flew with furious pace,
Or as the god, more furious, urged the chace.
Now fainting, sinking, pale, the nymph appears;
Now close behind, his sounding steps she hears;
And now his shadow reach'd her as she run,
His shadow lengthen'd by the setting sun;
And now his shorter breath, with sultry 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, breathless, thus she pray'd, nor pray'd in vain;
"Ah, Cynthia! ah---tho' banish'd from thy train,
"Let me, O let me, to the shades repair,
"My native shades---there weep, and murmur there."
She said, and melting as in tears she lay,
In a soft silver stream dissolv'd away.
The silver stream her virgin coldness keeps,
For ever murmurs, and for ever weeps:




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