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.

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