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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, 195
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

She said, and melting as in tears she lay,
In a soft, silver stream dissolv'd away.
The silver stream her virgin coldness keeps, 205
For ever murmurs, and for ever weeps;
Still bears the name the hapless virgin bore,
And bathes the forest where she rang'd before.
In her chaste current oft the Goddess laves,
And with celestial tears augments the waves. 210
Oft in her glass the musing shepherd spies
The headlong mountains and the downward skies.


Ver. 207. Still bears the name] The River Lodon.

Ver. 211. Oft in her glass, &c.] These six lines were added after the first writing of this poem.



Ver. 193, 196.
“ Sol erat a tergo: vidi præcedere longam

Ante pedes umbram ; nisi si timor illa videbat.
Sed certe sonituque pedum terrebar; et ingens

Crinales vittas atflabat anhelitus oris.”
Most of the circumstances in this tale are from Ovid.

The wat’ry landskip of the pendant woods,
And absent trees that tremble in the floods;
In the clear azure gleam the flocks are seen, 215
And floating forests paint the waves with green,
Through the fair scene roll slow the ling’ring streams,
Then foaming pour along, and rush into the

Thou, too, great father of the British floods !
With joyful pride survey’st our lofty woods; 220
Where tow'ring oaks their growing honours rear,
And future navies on thy shores appear.
Not Neptune's self from all her streams receives
A wealthier tribute than to thine he gives.
No seas so rich, sơ gay no banks appear, 225
No lake so gentle, and no spring so clear.
Nor Po so swells the fabling Poet's lays,
While led along the skies his current strays,
As thine, which visits Windsor's fam'd abodes,
To grace the mansion of our earthly Gods: 230
Nor all his stars above a lustre show,
Like the bright beauties on thy banks below;
Where Jove, subdu'd by mortal passion still,
Might change Olympus for a nobler hill.
Happy the man whom this bright Court ap-

235 His Sov’reign favours, and his country loves :


Ver. 233. It stood thus in the MS.

And force great Jove, if Jove's a lover still,

To change Olympus, &c.
Ver. 235.

Happy the man, who to these shades retires,
But doubly happy, if the Muse inspires !



Happy next him, who to these shades retires, Whom Nature charms, and whom the Muse in

spires : Whom humbler joys of home-felt quiet please, Successive study, exercise, and ease.

240 He gathers health from herbs the forest yields, And of their fragrant physic spoils the fields : With chemic art exalts the min'ral pow'rs, And draws the aromatic souls of flow'rs : Now marks the course of rolling orbs on high; 245 O'er figur'd worlds now travels with his eye; Of ancient writ unlocks the learned store, Consults the dead, and lives past ages o'er : Or wand'ring thoughtful in the silent wood, Attends the duties of the wise and good, 250 T'observe a mean, be to himself a friend, To follow nature, and regard his end; Or looks on heav'n with more than mortal

eyes, Bids his free soul expatiate in the skies, Amid her kindred stars familiar roam,

255 Survey the region, and confess her home!


Ver. 251. T'observe a mean] This is marked as an imitation of Lucretius in the first, and all editions of Warburton; but erroneously: the passage is in the second book of Lucan, v. 381.

Warton. The passage alluded to is :

Servare modum, finemque tenere,
Naturamque sequi,” &c.


Blest whom the sweets of home-felt quiet please ;
But far more blest, who study joins with ease.


Such was the life great Scipio once admir’d,
Thus Atticus, and TRUMBAL thus retir'd.
Ye sacred Nine ! that all


soul possess,
Whose raptures fire me, and whose visions bless,
Bear me, oh bear me to sequester'd scenes,
The bow'ry mazes, and surrounding greens :
To Thames's banks which fragrant breezes fill,
Or where ye Muses sport on COOPER's Hill.
(On Cooper's Hill eternal wreaths shall grow 265
While lasts the mountain, or while Thames shall

I seem through consecrated walks to rove,
I hear soft music die along the grove:
Led by the sound, I roam from shade to shade,
By god-like Poets venerable made :



Ver. 263.] Denham, says Dr. Johnson, seems to have been, at least among us, the author of a species of composition that may be denominated Local Poetry, of which the fundamental subject is some particular landscape, to be poetically described, with the addition of such embellishments as may be supplied by historical retrospection, or incidental meditation. Cooper's Hill, if it be maliciously inspected, will not be found without its faults; the digressions are too long, the morality too frequent, and the sentiments such as will not bear a rigorous inquiry. It was first printed at Oxford, in 1633.



Ver. 267. It stood thus in the MS.

Methinks around your holy scenes I rove,
And hear your music echoing through the grove:
With transport visit each inspiring shade,
By god-like Poets venerable made.

Here his first lays majestic Denham sung;
There the last numbers flow'd from Cowley's

O early lost! what tears the river shed,
When the sad pomp along his banks was led ?
His drooping swans on ev'ry note expire, 275
And on his willows hung each Muse's lyre.


Ver. 271. majestic Denham] Pope, by the expression of “majestic," has justly characterized the flow of Denham's couplets. It is extraordinary that Pope, who by this expression seems to have appreciated the general cast of harmony in Cooper's Hill, should have made his own cadences so regular and almost unvaried. Denham's couplets are often irregular, but the effect of the pauses in the following lines was obviously the result of a fine ear. The language truly suits the subject.

But his proud head the airy mountain hides
Among the clouds ; his shoulders and his sides
A shady mantle clothes ; his curled brows
Frown on the gentle stream, which calmly flows,

Whilst winds and storms his lofty forehead beat! Bowles. Ver. 272. There the last numbers flow'd from Cowley's tongue.] Mr. Cowley died at Chertsey on the borders of the Forest, and was from thence conveyed to Westminster.

P. Disgusted with the business and bustle of the world, and the intrigues of courts, Cowley thought to have found an exemption of all cares in retiring to Chertsey. Dr. Johnson wrote a Rambler to ridicule his wish to retire to America, and has published a Letter, vol. i. of his Lives, p. 29, which he recommends to the perusal of all who pant for solitude. His house at Chertsey now belongs to Mr. Alderman Clarke.



Ver. 275.

What sighs, what murmurs, fill’d the vocal shore !
His tuneful swans were heard to sing no more.


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