My humble Muse, in unambitious strains,
Paints the green forests and the flowery plains,
Where Peace descending bids her olives spring,
And scatters blessings from her dove-like wing.
Ev'n I more sweetly pass my careless days,
Pleased in the silent shade with empty praise; 430
Enough for me, that to the listening swains
First in these fields I sung the sylvan strains.
* * * * *
VARIATIONS.
VER. 3-6, originally thus:--
Chaste Goddess of the woods,
Nymphs of the vales, and Naiads of the floods,
Lead me through arching bowers, and glimmering glades.
Unlock your springs, &c.
VER. 25-28. Originally thus:--
Why should I sing our better suns or air,
Whose vital draughts prevent the leech's care,
While through fresh fields the enlivening odours breathe,
Or spread with vernal blooms the purple heath?
VER. 49, 50. Originally thus in the MS.--
From towns laid waste, to dens and caves they ran
(For who first stoop'd to be a slave was man.)
VER. 57, 58:--
No wonder savages or subjects slain--
But subjects starved while savages were fed.
VER. 91-94:--
Oh may no more a foreign master's rage,
With wrongs yet legal, curse a future age!
Still spread, fair Liberty! thy heavenly wings,
Breathe plenty on the fields, and fragrance on the springs.
VER. 97-100:--
When yellow autumn summer's heat succeeds,
And into wine the purple harvest bleeds,
The partridge feeding in the new-shorn fields,
Both morning sports and evening pleasures yields.
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