Ix

Sing, beloved Muse! the pleasures of retreat, And in some untouch'd virgin strain, Show the delights thy sister Nature yields; Sing of thy vales, sing of thy woods, sing of thy fields; Go, publish o'er the plain How mighty a proselyte you gain! How noble a reprisal on the great! How is the Muse luxuriant grown! Whene'er she takes this flight, She soars clear out of sight. These are the paradises of her own: Thy Pegasus, like an unruly horse, Though ne'er so gently led, To the loved pastures where he used to feed, Runs violent o'er his usual course. Wake from thy wanton dreams, Come from thy dear-loved streams, The crooked paths of wandering Thames. Fain the fair nymph would stay, Oft she looks back in vain, Oft 'gainst her fountain does complain, And softly steals in many windings down, As loth to see the hated court and town; And murmurs as she glides away.