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Of mixt emotions, hard to be described, ·
Her suddden bosom seiz’d: shame void of guilt, 1353
The charming blush of innocence, esteem
And admiration of her lover's flame,
By modesty exalted: even a sense
Of self-approving beauty stole across
Her busy thought. At length, a tender calm 1360
Hush'd by degrees the tumult of her soul;
And on the spreading beech, that o'er the stream
Incumbent hung, she with the sylvan pen
Of rural lovers this confession carv’d,
1364 Which soon her Damon kiss'd with weeping joy: “ Dear youth! sole judge of what these verses mean, “ By fortune too much favour’d, but by love, 66. Alas! not favour'd less, be still as now 66 Discreet: the time may come you need not fly."
The sun has lost his rage: his downward orb 1370 Shoots nothing now but animating warmth, And vital lustre; that, with various ray, Lights up the clouds, those beauteous robes of hearen, Incessant roll’d into romantic shapes, The dream of waking fancy! Broad below, Cover'd with ripening fruits, and swelling fast Into the perfect year, the pregnant earth And all her tribes rejoice. Now the soft hour Of walking comes, for him who lonely loves To seek the distant hills, and there converse With nature; there to harmonize his heart, And in pathetic song to breathe around The harmony to others. Social friends, Attun’d to happy unison of soul; To whose exalting eye a fairer world,
Of which the vulgar never had a glimpse,
Displays its charms; whose minds are richly fraught
With philosophic stores, superior light;
And in whose breast, enthusiastic, burns
Virtue, the sons of interest deem romance; 1390
Now call'd abroad enjoy the falling day;
Now to the verdant Portico of woods,
To Nature's vast Lyceum, forth they walk;
By that kind School where no proud master reigns,
The full free converse of the friendly heart, 1395
Improving and improv’d. Now from the world,
Sacred to sweet retirement, lovers steal,
their souls in transport, which the Sire
Of love approving hears, and “ calls it good.”
Which way, Amanda, shall we bend our course ? 1400
The choice perplexes. Wherefore should we choose ?
All is the same with thee. Say, shall we wind
Along the stream? or walk the smiling mead?
Or court the forest-glades? or wander wild
Among the waving harvest ? or ascend,
1405 While radiant Summer opens all its pride, Thy hill, delightful Shene? Here let us sweep The boundless landscape: now the raptur'd eye, Exulting swift, to huge Augusta send, Now to the Sister-Hills that skirt her plain, 1410 To lofty Harrow now, and now to where Majestic Windsor lifts his princely brow. In lovely contrast to this glorious view Calmly magnificent, then will we turn To where the silver Thames first rural grows. 1415 There let the feasted eye unwearied stray: Luxurious, there, rove thro' the pendant woods
That nodding hang o’er Harrington's retreat;
And, stooping thence to Ham's embowering walks
Beneath whose shades, in spotless peace retir’d, 1420
With Her the pleasing partner of his heart,
The worthy Queensb’ry yet laments his Gay,
And polish'd Cornbury wooes the willing Muse,
Slow let us trace the matchless vale of Thames;
Fair-winding up to where the Muses haunt 1425
In Twit'nam's bowers, and for their Pope implore
The healing God; to royal Hampton's pile,
To Clermont's terrass'd height, and Esher's groves,
Where in the sweetest solitude, embrac'd
By the soft windings of the silent Mole,
From courts and senates Pelham finds repose.
Enchanting vale! beyond whate'er the Muse
Has of Achaia or Hesperia sung !
O vale of bliss! O softly-swelling hills!
On which the Power of cultivation lies,
1435 And joys to see the wonders of his toil.
Heavens! what a goodly prospect spreads around,
Of hills, and dales, and woods, and lawns, and spires,
And glittering towns, and gilded streams, till all
The stretching landscape into smoke decays! 1410
Happy Britannia! where the Queen of Arts,
Inspiring vigour, Liberty abroad
Walks, unconfin'd, even to thy farthest cots,
And scatters plenty with unsparing hand.
Rich is thy soil, and merciful thy clime;
Thy streams unfailing in the Summer's drought;
Unmatch'd thy guardian-oaks; thy valleys float
With golden waves : and on thy mountains flocks
Bleat numberless; while, roving round their sides,
Bellow the blackening herds in lusty droves. 1450
Beneath, thy meadows glow, and rise unquellid
Against the mower's scythe. On every hand
Thy villas shine. Thy country teems with wealth ;
And property assures it to the swain,
Pleas’d, and unwearied, in his guarded toil.
Full are thy cities with the sons of art;
And trade and joy, in every busy street,
Mingling are heard : even Drudgery himself,
As at the car he sweats, or dusty hews
1459 The palace-stone, looks gay. Thy crowded ports, - Where rising masts an endless prospect yield, With labour burn, and echo to the shouts Of hurried sailor, as he hearty waves His last adieu, and loosening every sheet, Resigns the spreading vessel to the wind. 1465
Bold, firm, and graceful, are thy generous youth, By hardship sinew'd, and by danger fir'd, Scattering the nations where they go; and first Or on the listed plain, or stormy seas. · Mild are thy glories too, as o'er the plans 1470 Of thriving peace thy thoughtful sires preside; In genius, and substantial learning, high; For every virtue, every worth, renown'd; Sincere, plain-hearted, hospitable, kind; Yet like the mustering thunder when provok’d, 1475 The dread of tyrants, and the sole resource Of those that under grim oppression groan.
Thy sons of glory many! Alfred thine, : In whom the splendor of heroic war,
And more heroic peace, when govern’d well, 1480 Combine; whose hallowed name the virtues saint,
And his own Muses love; the best of Kings !
With him thy Edwards and thy Henrys shine,
Names dear to Fame; the first who deep impress’d
On haughty Gaul the terror of thy arms, 1485
That awes her genius still. In Statesmen thou,
And Patriots, fertile. Thine a steady More,
Who, with a generous tho' mistaken zeal,
Withstood a brutal tyrant's useful rage,
Like Cato firm, like Aristides just,
Like rigid Cincinnatus nobly poor,
A dauntless soul erect, who smil'd on death.
Frugal, and wise, a Walsingham is thine;
A Drake, who made thee mistress of the deep, 1494
And bore thy name in thunder round the world.
Then flam'd thy spirit high : but who can speak
The numerous worthies of the Maiden Reign?
In Raleigh mark their every glory mix’d;
Raleigh, the scourge of Spain! whose breast with all
The sage, the patriot, and the hero burn’d. 1500
Nor sunk his vigour, when a coward-reign
The warrior fettered, and at last resign’d,
To glut the vengeance of a vanquish'd foe.
Then, active still and unrestrain’d, his mind
Explor’d the vast extent of ages past,
And with his prison-hours enrich'd the world;
Yet found no times, in all the long research,
So glorious, or so base, as those he prov’d,
In which he conquer'd, and in which he bled.
Nor can the Muse the gallant Sidney pass,
The plume of war! with early laurels crown'd,
The lover's Myrtle, and the Poet's bay.
A Hampden too is thine, illustrious land,