On RICHMOND PARK, and ROYAL GARDENS.

OF blissful Groves I sing, and flow'ry Plains:
 Ye Sylvan Nymphs, assist my rural Strains. 
Shall Windsor Forest gain a deathless Fame,
 And grow immortal, as the Poet's Name;
 While not a Bard, of all the tuneful Throng,
 With these delightful Fields adorns his Song? 
Thy Gardens, Richmond, boast an equal Theme,
 And only ask an equal Muse's Flame. 
What, tho' no Virgin Nymphs, of CYNTHIA's Train,
 With Belt and Quiver grace the verdant Plain? 
What, tho' no fabled consecrated Floods
 Flow o'er thy Fields, or murmur thro' thy Woods? 
My Song thy real Beauties shall pursue,
 And paint the lovely Scenes, and paint 'em true;
 A pleasing Task! Nor slight shall be the Praise,
 If Royal CAROLINE accept the Lays. 

DELIGHTED, often thro' the mazy Groves,
 The Muse, in pensive Contemplation, roves;
 Or climbs the slow ascending Hill, whose Brow
 Hangs o'er the silver Stream, which rolls below;
 Where all around me shining Prospects rise,
 And various Scenes invite my gazing Eyes;
 And, while I view one Object with Delight,
 New pleasing Wonders charm the feasted Sight:
 Now this allures, now that attracts it most;
 And the first Beauty's in the second lost. 

THUS, in a grateful Concert, may we hear
 The Sounds at once surprize, and charm our Ear;
 The trembling Notes, in hasty Fugues, arise;
 And this advances, ere the former flies;
 All seem to be confus'd, yet all agree,
 To perfect the melodious Harmony. 

BENEATH the Mount, with what Majestic Pride
 The Sire of Rivers rolls his silver Tide! 
Let Poets sing of Hermus' golden Shore,
 His amber Foam, and Sands of shining Ore:
 Nor Tagus envy we, nor fruitful Nile,
 Whose fatt'ning Floods enrich the thirsty Soil:
 Happy BRITANNIA boasts as fair a Stream,
 As great in Bounties, and as great in Fame;
 Since DENHAM's deathless Muse has sung his Tide,
 And India's Riches o'er his Surface glide. 

OBSEQUIOUS River, when my Eyes survey
 Thy Waves, or East, or West, pursue their Way;
 Now swiftly roll, to meet the briny Main,
 At stated Periods, now return again;
 How vain the Schemes of Infidels appear! 
How weak their Reas'nings, and the GOD how clear! 
Say, Atheists, since you own, by Nature's Laws,
 There's no Effect produc'd without a Cause;
 Why should the restless Stream run to and fro,
 And, with alternate Motion, ebb and flow;
 Did not some Being, of superior Force,
 Rule the wild Waves, and regulate their Course? 

HENCE lofty Windsor to the Sight appears;
 And, high in Air, her pompous Turrets rears:
 Wide, round her Domes, the spacious Forest shines. 
Tho' brighter much in POPE's harmonious Lines:
 O! would his tuneful Muse my Breast inspire,
 With equal Warmth, with her sublimer Fire;
 Then Richmond Hill renown'd in Verse should grow,
 And Thames reecho to the Song below;
 A second Eden in my Page should shine,
 And MILTON's Paradise submit to mine. 

OFT, lost in Thought, forgetful of my Way,
 I, o'er the Park, thro' Wilds of Beauty, stray;
 Where sportive Nature wantons at her Will,
 And lavishes her Bloom, uncheck'd by Skill. 
Old venerable Trees, majestic, rise,
 Sublime in Air, and brave the vaulted Skies;
 Which, free from cruel Steel, or Lab'rer's Hand,
 In peaceful Age, and hoary Honour, stand. 
Here, when AURORA first begins to dawn,
 The wakeful Larks spring mounting from the Lawn;
 Pois'd by their Plumes, in lofty Flights they play;
 With joyful Warblings hail th'approaching Day:
 But, when the Sun displays a purple Scene,
 And drinks the pearly Dew, that deck'd the Green;
 A thousand tuneful Birds in Concert meet,
 A thousand tuneful Notes the Groves repeat;
 And, when their Music ceases with the Day,
 Sweet PHILOMELA chants her pensive Lay. 

BUT, hark! I hear a louder Music sound;
 From Woods and Vales the various Notes rebound:
 'Tis Albion's KING pursues the Royal Chace;
 The nimble Stag skims o'er th'unbending Grass:
 The Way which Fear directs, he trembling tries;
 Nor knows, where Fear directs, or where he flies:
 A hundred diff'rent Sounds assail his Ears;
 A Death, in ev'ry diff'rent Sound, he fears:
 And now he faintly moves a slower Pace,
 And closer now the Hounds pursue the Chace;
 Till, in Despair, back on his Foes he turns;
 Makes feeble Efforts with his branchy Horns;
 Short is the Combat, soon he yields his Breath,
 And gasping falls, and trembling pants in Death. 

Now to a softer Theme descends my Muse;
 Thro' artful Walks her pleasing Path pursues;
 Where lofty Elms, and conic Lindens rise,
 Or where th'extensive Terras charms her Eyes;
 Where Elegance and noble Grandeur meet,
 As the Ideas of its Mistress, great,
 Magnificently fair, majestically sweet. 
See, on its Margin, Fields of waving Corn;
 These bearded Crops, and Flow'rets this, adorn;
 CERES and FLORA lovingly embrace,
 And gay Varieties the Landscape grace. 

HENCE lead me, Muses, thro' yon arched Grove,
 Adorn'd with Sand below, and Leaves above;
 Or let me o'er the spacious Oval trace,
 Where verdant Carpets spread the lovely Place;
 Where Trees in regular Confusion stand,
 And sylvan Beauties rise on ev'ry Hand:
 Or bear me, Nymphs, to the sequester'd Cell,
 Where BOYLE and NEWTON, mighty Sages! dwell;
 Whose Fame shall live, altho' the Grot decay,
 Long as those sacred Truths their Works display. 

HOW sweetly pleasing is this cool Retreat,
 When PHOEBUS blazes with meridian Heat! 
In vain the fervid Beams around it play;
 The rocky Roof repels the scorching Ray;
 Securely guarded with a sylvan Scene,
 In Nature's Liv'ry drest, for ever green. 

TO visit this, the curious Stranger roves,
 With grateful Travel, thro' a Wild of Groves;
 And, tho' directed, oft mistakes his Way,
 Unknowing where the winding Mazes stray;
 Yet still his Feet the magic Paths pursue,
 Charm'd, tho' bewilder'd, with the pleasing View. 

NOT so attractive lately shone the Plain,
 A gloomy Waste, not worth the Muses Strain;
 Where thorny Brakes the Traveller repell'd,
 And Weeds and Thistles overspread the Field;
 Till Royal GEORGE, and Heav'nly CAROLINE,
 Bid Nature in harmonious Lustre shine;
 The sacred Fiat thro' the Chaos rung,
 And Symmetry from wild Disorder sprung. 

SO, once, confus'd, the barb'rous Nations stood;
 Unpolish'd were their Minds, their Manners rude;
 Till Rome her conqu'ring Eagles wide display'd,
 And bid the World reform — The World obey'd. 

HOW bless'd the Man in these delightful Fields! 
New Pleasures each indulgent Moment yields. 
Let gayer Minds in Town pursue their Joys,
 Exchanging Quietness for Crowds and Noise;
 Consume the Night at Masquerade or Play;
 Or waste, in busy Idleness, the Day:
 I envy not Augusta's pompous Piles,
 Since rural Solitude more pleasing smiles. 
O Solitude! the Sage's chief Delight! 
What Numbers can thy lovely Charms recite! 
Hail, peaceful Nymph! thou eldest Thing on Earth! 
Nay, like Eternity, thou hadst no Birth:
 The Heav'ns alone can thy Commencement tell,
 Ere MICHAEL fought, or peccant Angels fell;
 Before the Skies with radiant Light were clad,
 In awful Gloom, and venerable Shade,
 The FATHER thee his sole Companion made. 
When to Creation first his Thoughts inclin'd,
 And future Worlds were rising in his Mind;
 He sat with thee, and plann'd the mighty Scheme;
 With thee adjusted the stupendous Frame;
 Contriv'd how Globes, self-balanc'd in the Air,
 With restless Rounds should rule the circling Year;
 How Orbs o'er Orbs in mystic Dance should roll,
 What Laws support, and regulate the Whole:
 Nor art thou yet impair'd, celestial Dame;
 Thy Charms are still attractive, still the same;
 With thee the Mind, abstracted from the Crew,
 May study Nature, and her Ends pursue;
 With thee I hear the feather'd Warblers sing;
 With thee survey the Beauties of the Spring,
 When Blossoms, Leaves, and Fruits the Branches yield,
 And Eden's Glory crowns the happy Field. 

HERE first the Muse (auspicious was the Place!) 
Rejoic'd to see her Royal Guardian's Face:
 How mild, yet how majestic, was her Look! 
How sweetly condescending all she spoke! 
On ev'ry pleasing Accent Wisdom hung,
 And Truth and Virtue dwelt upon her Tongue. 
O! were I equal to the glorious Theme,
 Then should my Lays immortalize her Fame;
 Or paint Great GEORGE in peaceful Laurels drest,
 With Albion's Safety lab'ring in his Breast;
 Who (while contending Nations round him jar,
 And Subjects Wealth supports their Monarchs War)
 Guards happy Britain, with his floating Tow'rs,
 From purple Slaughter, and invading Pow'rs;
 No plund'ring Armies rob our fruitful Plain;
 But, bless'd with Peace and Plenty, smiles the Swain. 

NOT so he smiles upon the foreign Shores;
 But starving walks thro' Nature's lavish Stores;
 Poor Peasants with their rigid Burdens groan,
 And Till the Glebe for Harvests not their own. 
What, tho' their more propitious PHOEBUS shines
 With warmer Rays, and chears the curling Vines? 
What, tho' rich Olives grace the fertile Soil,
 And the hot Climate teems with fatt'ning Oil? 
The hungry Farmer views his Crops in vain,
 In vain the Vineyard tempts the thirsty Swain;
 While their stern Tyrant's arbitrary Pow'r
 Rifles the Plains, and ravages their Store:
 Thy Sons, BRITANNIA, from such Evils free,
 Enjoy the Sweets of Peace and Liberty;
 A gracious Sov'reign smiles upon the Throne,
 And Heav'n confirms the happy Realm his own.