Not Berenice's locks first rose so bright,
The heaven's bespangling with dishevell'd light. 130
The Sylphs behold it kindling as it flies,
And, pleased, pursue its progress through the skies.
This the beau-monde shall from the Mall survey,
And hail with music its propitious ray.
This the bless'd lover shall for Venus take,
And send up vows from Rosamonda's lake.
This Partridge[37] soon shall view in cloudless skies,
When next he looks through Galileo's eyes;
And hence th' egregious wizard shall foredoom
The fate of Louis, and the fall of Rome. 140
Then cease, bright nymph! to mourn thy ravish'd hair,
Which adds new glory to the shining sphere!
Not all the tresses that fair head can boast,
Shall draw such envy as the lock you lost.
For, after all the murders of your eye,
When, after millions slain, yourself shall die;
When those fair suns shall set, as set they must,
And all those tresses shall be laid in dust,
This lock the Muse shall consecrate to fame,
And 'midst the stars inscribe Belinda's name. 150
* * * * *
WINDSOR-FOREST.[38]
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE GEORGE LORD LANSDOWNE.
'Non injussa cano: te nostrae, Vare, myricae,
Te nemus omne canet; nee Phoebo gratior ulla est,
Quam sibi quae Vari praescripsit pagina nomen.'
VIRG.
Thy forests, Windsor! and thy green retreats,
At once the Monarch's and the Muse's seats,
Invite my lays.
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