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O'er hills and dales; and now I lose the course,
Nor can the rapid sight pursue the flying horse.
Oh cou'd thy Virgil from his orb look down,
He'd view a courser that might match his own!
Fir'd with the sport, and eager for the chace,
Lodona's murmurs stop me in the race.
Who can refuse Lodona's melting tale?
The soft complaint shall over time prevail;
The tale be told, when shades forsake her shore,
The nymph be sung, when she can flow no more.
Nor shall thy song, old Thames! forbear to shine,
At once the subject and the song divine.
Peace, sung by thee, shall please ev'n Britains more
Than all their shouts for Victory before.
Oh! cou'd Britannia imitate thy stream,
The world should tremble at her awful name.
Nor can the rapid sight pursue the flying horse.
Oh cou'd thy Virgil from his orb look down,
He'd view a courser that might match his own!
Fir'd with the sport, and eager for the chace,
Lodona's murmurs stop me in the race.
Who can refuse Lodona's melting tale?
The soft complaint shall over time prevail;
The tale be told, when shades forsake her shore,
The nymph be sung, when she can flow no more.
Nor shall thy song, old Thames! forbear to shine,
At once the subject and the song divine.
Peace, sung by thee, shall please ev'n Britains more
Than all their shouts for Victory before.
Oh! cou'd Britannia imitate thy stream,
The world should tremble at her awful name.
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