While ever near him, goddefs of the green,
Fair Pembroke fat, and fmil'd immenfe applause.
With vocal fafcination charm'd the + Hours
Unguarded left Heav'ns adamantine gate,
And to his lyre, fwift as the winged founds
That skim the air, danc'd unperceiv'd away.
Had I fuch pow'r, no peasants toil, no hops
Shou'd e'er debafe my lay: far nobler themes,
The high atchievements of thy warrior kings
Shou'd raise my thoughts, and dignify my fong.
But I, young ruftic, dare not leave my cot,
For fo enlarg'd a sphere---ah! muse beware,
Left the loud larums of the braying trump,
Left the deep drum fhou'd drown thy tender reed,
And mar its puny joints: me, lowly fwain,
Every unshaven arboret, me the lawns,
Me the voluminous Medway's filver wave,
Content inglorious, and the hopland shades!
Yeomen, and countrymen attend my fong:
Whether you shiver in the marshy § Weald,
Egregious fhepherds of unnumber'd flocks,
Whofe fleeces, poifon'd into purple, deck
* Sifter to Sir Philip Sydney.
+Πυλαι μυκον spav8 ὡς ἔχον Ωραι.
Rura mihi, & rigui placeant in vallibus amnes,
Flumina amem, fylvafque in glorius!
Commonly, but improperly call'd, the Wild.
All Europe's kings: or in fair * Madum's vale
Imparadis'd, bleft denizons, ye dwell;
Or + Dorovernia's awful tow'rs ye love:
Or plough Tunbridgia's falutiferous hills
Induftrious, and with draughts chalybiate heal'd,
Confefs divine Hygeia's blissful feat;
The mufe demands your presence, ere she tune
Her monitory voice; obferve her well,
And catch the wholesome dictates as they fall.
'Midft thy paternal acres, Farmer, say
Has gracious heav'n bestow'd one field, that basks
Its loamy bofom in the mid-day fun,
Emerging gently from the abject vale,
Nor yet obnoxious to the wind, fecure
There shall thou plant thy hop.
Thou'lt fay, will fill my garners.
But Ceres, rural goddess, at the best
Meanly supports her vot'ry', enough for her,
If ill-perfuading hunger fhe repell,
And keep the foul from fainting: to enlarge,
To glad the heart, to fublimate the mind,
And wing the flagging fpirits to the sky,
Require th' united influence and aid
Of Bacchus, God of hops, with Ceres join'd
'Tis he fhall gen'rate the buxom beer.
Then on one pedestal, and hand in hand, -
Sculptur'd in Parian stone (so gratitude
Indites) let the divine co-part’ners rise.
Stands eastward in thy field a wood? 'tis well.
Efteem it as a bulwark of thy wealth,
And cherish all its branches; tho' we'll grant,
Its leaves umbrageous may intercept
The morning rays, and envy fome small share
Of Sol's beneficence to the infant germ.
Yet grutch not that: when whistling Eurus comes,.
With all his worlds of infects in thy lands
This fite for thy young nursery obtain'd,
Thou haft begun aufpicious, if the foil
(As fung before) be loamy; this the hop
Loves above others, this is rich, is deep,
Is vifcous, and tenacious of the pole.
Yet maugre all its native worth, it may
Be meliorated with warm compoft. See!
* Yon craggy mountain, whose faftidious head, Divides the star-set hemisphere above,
And Cantium's plains beneath; the Appennine
Of a free Italy, whose chalky fides
With verdant shrubs diffimilarly gay,
Still captivate the eye, while at his feet
The filver Medway glides, and in her breast
Views the reflected landskip, charm'd fhe views
And murmurs louder ectafy below.
Here let us reft awhile, pleas'd to behold
Th' all-beautiful horizon's wide expanse,
Far as the eagle's ken. Here tow'ring spires
First catch the eye, and turn the thoughts to heav'n.
The lofty elms in humble majesty
Bend with the breeze to fhade the folemn groves,
And spread an holy darkness; Ceres there
Shines in her golden vefture. Here the meads
Enrich'd by Flora's dædal hand,
Expose their spotted verdure. Nor are you
Pomona abfent; you 'midst th' hoary leaves
Swell the vermilion cherry; and on yon trees
Sufpend the pippen's palatable gold.
There old Sylvanus in that moss-grown grot
Dwells with his wood-nymphs: they with chaplets green And ruffet mantles oft bedight, aloft
Boxley-Hill, which extends through great part of Kent.
From yon bent oaks, in Medway's bosom fair
Wonder at filver bleak, and prickly pearch,
That swiftly thro' their floating forests glide.
Yet not even thefe---thefe ever-varied scenes
Of wealth and pleasure can engage my eyes
T'o'erlook the lowly hawthorn, if from thence
The thrush, sweet warbler, chants th’unftudied lays
Which Phoebus' felf vaulting from yonder cloud
Refulgent, with enliv'ning ray infpires.
But neither tow'ring fpires, nor lofty elms,
Nor golden Ceres, nor the meadows
Nor orchats, nor the ruffet-mantled nymphs,
Which to the murmurs of the Medway dance,
Nor fweetly warbling thrush, with half those charms
Attract my eyes, as yonder hop-land close,
Joint-work of art and nature, which reminds
The mufe, and to her theme the wand'rer calls.
Here then with pond'rous vehicles and teams Thy ruftics fend, and from the caverns deep Command them bring the chalk: thence to the kiln Convey, and temper with Vulcanian fires.
Soon as 'tis form'd, thy lime with bounteous hand
O'er all thy lands diffeminate; thy lands
Which firft have felt the foft'ning spade, and drank
The ftrength'ning vapours from nutricious marl.
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