About like quibbles now thy froth is thrown,
And all extreams are in a moment shown.
Snatch me, ye Gods! from these Atlantic shores,
And shelter me in Windsor's fragrant Bow'rs;
Or to my much-lov'd Isis' walks convey,
And on her flow'ry banks for ever lay:
Thence let me view the venerable scene,
The awful dome, the groves eternal green;
Where sacred Hough long found his fam'd retreat,
And brought the Muses to the sylvan seat,
Reform'd the wits, unlock'd the Classic store,
And made that Music which was noise before.
There with illustrious Bards I spent my days,
Nor free from censure, nor unknown to praise;
Enjoy'd the blessings that his reign bestow'd,
Nor envy'd Windsor in the soft abode.
The golden minutes smoothly danc'd away,
And tuneful Bards beguil'd the tedious day.
They sung, nor sung in vain, with numbers fir'd
That Maro taught, or Addison inspir'd.
Ev'n I essay'd to touch the trembling string:
Who cou'd hear them, and not attempt to sing?
Rouz'd from these dreams by thy commanding strain,
I rise, and wander thro' the field or plain;
Led by thy Muse from sport to sport I run,
Mark the stretch'd line, or hear the thund'ring gun.
Ah! how I melt with pity, when I spy
On the cold earth the fluttering Pheasant lie;
His gawdy robes in dazling lines appear,
And ev'ry feather shines and varies there.
Nor can I pass the gen'rous courser by,
But while the prancing steed allures my eye,
He starts, he's gone! and now I see him fly
And all extreams are in a moment shown.
Snatch me, ye Gods! from these Atlantic shores,
And shelter me in Windsor's fragrant Bow'rs;
Or to my much-lov'd Isis' walks convey,
And on her flow'ry banks for ever lay:
Thence let me view the venerable scene,
The awful dome, the groves eternal green;
Where sacred Hough long found his fam'd retreat,
And brought the Muses to the sylvan seat,
Reform'd the wits, unlock'd the Classic store,
And made that Music which was noise before.
There with illustrious Bards I spent my days,
Nor free from censure, nor unknown to praise;
Enjoy'd the blessings that his reign bestow'd,
Nor envy'd Windsor in the soft abode.
The golden minutes smoothly danc'd away,
And tuneful Bards beguil'd the tedious day.
They sung, nor sung in vain, with numbers fir'd
That Maro taught, or Addison inspir'd.
Ev'n I essay'd to touch the trembling string:
Who cou'd hear them, and not attempt to sing?
Rouz'd from these dreams by thy commanding strain,
I rise, and wander thro' the field or plain;
Led by thy Muse from sport to sport I run,
Mark the stretch'd line, or hear the thund'ring gun.
Ah! how I melt with pity, when I spy
On the cold earth the fluttering Pheasant lie;
His gawdy robes in dazling lines appear,
And ev'ry feather shines and varies there.
Nor can I pass the gen'rous courser by,
But while the prancing steed allures my eye,
He starts, he's gone! and now I see him fly
O'er
