What shall he do? In fweet confusion loft,
And dubious flutterings, he a while remain'd
A pure ingenuous elegance of foul,
A delicate refinement, known to few,
Perplex'd his breast, and urg'd him to retire:
But love forbade. Ye prudes in virtue, fay,
Say, ye fevereft, what would you have done?
Meantime, this fairer nymph than ever bleft
Arcadian ftream, with timid eye around
The banks furveying, ftrip'd her beauteous limbs,
To tafte the lucid coolnefs of the flood.
Ah, then! not Paris on the piny top
Of Ida panted stronger, when afide
The rival-goddeffes the veil divine
Caft unconfin'd, and gave him all their charms,
Than, Damon, thou; as from the fnowy leg,
And flender foot, th' inverted filk fhe drew;
As the foft touch diffolv'd the virgin zone;
And, through the parting robe, th' alternate breast,
With youth wild-throbbing, on thy lawless gaze
In full luxuriance rofe. But, desperate youth,
How durst thou rifque the foul-distracting view;
As from her naked limbs, of glowing white,
Harmonious fwell'd by Nature's finest hand,
In folds loofe-floating fell the fainter lawn ;
And fair-expos'd fhe ftood, fhrunk from herself,
With fancy blushing, at the doubtful breeze
Alarm'd, and starting like the fearful fawn?
Then to the flood she rush'd; the parted flood
Its lovely gueft with clofing waves receiv'd;
And every beauty foftening, every grace
Flushing anew, a mellow lustre shed:
As fhines the lily through the crystal mild;
Or as the rofe amid the morning dew,
Fresh from Aurora's hand, more fweetly glows.
While thus fhe wanton'd, now beneath the wave
But ill-conceal'd; and now with streaming locks,
That half-embrac'd her in a humid veil,
Rifing again, the latent Damon drew
Such maddening draughts of beauty to the foul,
As for a while o'erwhelm'd his raptur'd thought
With luxury too-daring. Check’d, at last,
By love's refpectful modefty, he deem'd
The theft profane, if aught profane to love
Can e'er be deem'd; and, ftruggling from the fhade,
With headlong hurry fled: but first these lines,
Trac'd by his ready pencil, on the bank
With trembling hand he threw.
"Yet unbeheld, fave by the facred eye
"Of faithful love: I go to guard thy haunt,
"To keep from thy recefs each vagrant foot,
"And each licentious eye." With wild furprize,
As if to marble ftruck, devoid of fenfe,
A ftupid moment motionless she stood:
So ftands the * ftatue that enchants the world,
So bending tries to veil the matchless boast,
The mingled beauties of exulting Greece.
Recovering, fwift she flew to find those robes
* The Venus of Medici.
In careless hafte, th' alarming paper fnatch'd.
But, when her Damon's well-known hand the faw,
Her terrors vanifh'd, and a fofter train
Of mixt emotions, hard to be defcrib'd,
Her fudden bofom feiz'd: fhame void of guilt,
The charming blush of innocence, esteem
And admiration of her lover's flame,
By modefty exalted: ev'n a fense
Of self-approving beauty stole across
Her bufy thought. At length, a tender calm
Hush'd by degrees the tumult of her foul;
And on the spreading beech, that o'er the stream
Incumbent hung, fhe with the fylvan pen
Of rural lovers this confeffion carv'd,
Which foon her Damon kiss'd with weeping joy: 1365 "Dear youth! fole judge of what these verses mean, "By fortune too much favour'd, but by love, "Alas! not favour'd less, be still as now "Difcreet: the time may come you need not fly." The fun has loft his rage: his downward orb Shoots nothing now but animating warmth, And vital luftre; that, with various ray,
Lights up the clouds, thofe beauteous robes of heaven, Inceffant roll'd into romantic shapes,
The dream of waking fancy! Broad below,
Cover'd with ripening fruits, and fwelling faft
Into the perfect year, the pregnant earth
And all her tribes rejoice. Now the foft hour
Of walking comes: for him who lonely loves
To feek the diftant hills, and there converfe
With Nature; there to harmonize his heart,
And in pathetic song to breathe around
The harmony to others. Social friends,
Attun'd to happy unifon of foul;
To whofe exalting eye a fairer world,
Of which the vulgar never had a glimpfe,
Difplays its charms; whofe minds are richly fraught
With philofophic ftores, fuperior light;
And in whose breast, enthusiastic, burns
Virtue, the fons of intereft deem romance;
Now call'd abroad enjoy the falling day :
Now to the verdant Portico of woods,
To Nature's vaft Lycéum, forth they walk;
By that kind School where no proud master reigns,
The full free converfe of the friendly heart,
Improving and improv'd. Now from the world,
Sacred to fweet retirement, lovers steal,
And pour their fouls in transport, which the Sire
Of love approving hears, and calls it good.
Which way, Amanda, shall we bend our course? 14c
The choice perplexes. Wherefore should we chufe è
All is the fame with thee. Say, shall we wind
Along the ftreams? or walk the fmiling mead ?
Or court the foreft-glades? or wander wild
Among the waving harvests? or ascend,
While radiant Summer opens all its pride,
Thy hill, delightful Shene? Here let us sweep
The old name of Richmond, fignifying in Saxon fhining, or fplendor.
The boundless landfkip: now the raptur'd eye,
Exulting fwift, to huge Augufta fend,
Now to the * Sister-Hills that skirt her plain,
To lofty Harrow now, and now to where
Majestic Windfor lifts his princely brow.
In lovely contraft to this glorious view
Calmly magnificent, then will we turn
To where the filver Thames first rural grows.
There let the feafted eye unwearied ftray:
Luxurious, there, rove through the pendent woods
That nodding hang o'er Harrington's retreat;
And, ftooping thence to Ham's embowering walks,
Beneath whose shades, in fpotlefs peace retir'd,
With Her the pleafing partner of his heart,
The worthy Queensberry yet laments his Gay,
And polish'd Cornbury wooes the willing Mufe,
Slow let us trace the matchlefs Vale of Thames ;
Fair-winding up to where the Mufes haunt
1425
In Twit'nam's bowers, and for their Pope implore
The healing God t; to royal Hampton's pile,
To Clermont's terrafs'd height, and Esher's groves,
Where in the sweetest folitude, embrac'd
By the foft windings of the filent Mole,
From courts and fenates Pelham finds repofe,
Inchanting vale! beyond whate'er the Muse
Has of Achaia or Hefperia fung!
O vale of blifs! O foftly-fwelling hills!
On which the Power of Cultivation lies,
* Highgate and Hamstead.
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