THE NAIAD. To Dr. AKENSIDE

Once did this cool and twilight grot, Which babbling streams surround; And all this still umbrageous spot, Re-echo to thy sound!

Thy tuneful muse' harmonious sound! My mind retains the day; When circling Naiads beat the ground, In honor of thy lay.

How pleasure brighten'd ev'ry face! How murmur'd soft the stream; How flush'd each flow'r a new-born grace, As conscious of thy theme.

E'er since the mazy, tinkling rill, Or Philomela's air; Resounding clear at evening still, Are all the notes we hear.

Rejoin (nor let this pray'r be vain) Rejoin our pebbled haunts: Once more awake the unwilling strain, That our fair troop enchants.

Thee now alas occasion dear, Calls to this grotto's gloom: From Naiads gush the heart-sprung tear, And soils their wonted bloom.

For Aganippe, lovely maid, To mirth become a foe; On her white arm reclines her head, A prey to constant woe.

This morn at twilight's grateful hour, The subject Naiad throng; Approach'd the virgin's lonely bow'r, And plied a soothing song:

But music's soothing art was vain, To raise her eyelids dim: 'Till one of the fair choral train, Tun'd thine unrival'd hymn.

Ah, when that pleasing line was heard, That sounds her grateful name; Her drooping head she gently rear'd, And own'd the powerful theme.

Revisit then our wat'ry bow'rs, And bring thy magic lyre: Ah, bring thy wreath of smiling flow'rs, And lead the tuneful choir: