ODE TO THE THAMES, FOR THE YEAR 1719.
ING of the Floods, whom friendly stars ordain
To fold alternate in thy winding train,
The lofty palace and the fertile vale;
King of the Floods, Britannia's darling, hail!
Hail with the year so well begun,
And bid his each revolving fun,
Taught by thy ftreams, in smooth fucceffion run.
From thy never-failing urn
Flowers, bloom and fair increafe
With the feafons take their turn;
From thy tributary feas
Tides of various wealth attend thee;
Seas and feafons all befriend thee.
Here on thy banks, to mate the skies,
Augufta's hallow'd domes arife;
And there thy ample bofom pours
Her numerous fouls and floating towers;
Whofe terrors late to vanquish'd Spain were known,
And Etna fhook with thunder not her own.
Fullest flags thou dost sustain,
While thy banks confine thy course;
Einblem of our Cæfar's reign,
Mingling clemency and force.
So may'ft thou ftill, fecur'd by distant wars,
Ne'er ftain thy crystal with domestic jars :
As Cæfar's reign, to Britain ever dear,
Shall join with thee to bless the coming year.
On thy fhady margin,
Care its load discharging,
Is lull'd to gentle rest:
Britain thus difarming,
Nor no more alarming,
Shall fleep on Cæfar's breast.
VII.
Sweet to diftrefs is baliny fleep,
To fleep aufpicious dreams,
Thy meadows, Thames, to feeding fheep,
To thirst, thy filver streams :
More sweet than all, the praise
Of Cæfar's golden days :
Cæfar's praife is sweeter;
Britain's pleasure greater;
Still may Cæfar's reign excel;
Sweet the praife of reigning well.
CHORU S.
Gentle Janus, ever wait,
As now, on Britain's kindeft fate;
Crown all our vows, and all thy gifts bestow;
Till Time no more renews his date,
And Thames forgets to flow.
THE STORY OF GLAUCUS AND SCYLLA.
FROM OVID'S METAMORPHOSES, BOOK XIII.
ERE ceas'd the nymph; the fair affembly broke; The fea-green Nereids to the waves betook : While Scylla, fearful of the wide-spread main, Swift to the fafer fhore returns again.
There o'er the fandy margin, unarray'd,
With printless footsteps flies the bounding maid ;
Or in fome winding creek's fecure retreat
She bathes her weary limbs, and shuns the noonday's heat.
Her Glaucus faw, as o'er the deep he rode,
New to the feas, and late receiv'd a god.
He faw, and languifh'd for the virgin's love,
With many an artful blandishment he ftrove
Her flight to hinder, and her fears remove.
The more he fues, the more fhe wings her flight,
And nimbly gains a neighbouring mountain's height,
Steep shelving to the margin of the flood,
A neighbouring mountain bare and woodless stood;
Here, by the place fecur'd, her steps she stay'd,
And, trembling ftill, her lover's form survey'd.
His shape, his hue, her troubled sense appall,
And dropping locks that o'er his shoulders fall;
She fees his face divine, and manly brow,
End in a fish's wreathy tail below:
She fees, and doubts within her anxious mind,
Whether he comes of god, or monster kind.
This Glaucus foon perceiv'd; and, Oh! forbear
(His hand fupporting on a rock lay near)
Forbear, he cry'd, fond maid, this needlefs fear.
Nor fish am I, nor monster of the main,
But equal with the watery gods I reign;
Nor Proteus nor Palæmon me excell,
Nor he whose breath inspires the founding thell.
My birth, 'tis true, I owe to mortal race,
And I myself but late a mortal was :
Ev'n then in feas, and feas alone, I joy'd;
The feas my hours, and all my cares, employ'd.
In meshes now the twinkling prey I drew;
Now fkilfully the flender line I threw,
And filent fate the moving float to view.
Not far from shore, there lies a verdant mead,
With herbage half, and half with water spread:
There, nor the horned heifers browsing stray,
Nor fhaggy kids nor wanton lambkins play;
There, nor the founding bees their nectar cull,
Nor rural fwains their genial chaplets pull;
Nor flocks, nor herds, nor mowers, haunt the place,
To crop the flowers, or cut the bushy grass:
Thither, fure firft of living race came I,
And fat by chance, my dropping nets to dry.
My fcaly prize, in order all difplay'd,
By number on the greenfword there I lay'd,
My captives, whom or in my nets I took,
Or hung unwary on my wily hook.
Strange to behold! yet what avails a lye ?
I saw them bite the grafs, as I fate by;
Then fudden darting o'er the verdant plain,
They spread their finns, as in their native main :
I paus'd, with wonder ftruck, while all my prey
Left their new master, and regain'd the fea.
Amaz'd, within my fecret felf I fought,
What god, what herb, the miracle had wrought :
But fure no herbs have power like this, I cry'd;
And ftrait I pluck'd fome neighbouring herbs, and try’d.
Scarce had I bit, and prov'd the wondrous taste,
When ftrong convulsions shook my troubled breast;
I felt my heart grow fond of fomething strange,
And my whole nature labouring with a change.
Restless I grew, and every place forfook,
And ftill upon the feas I bent my look.
Farewell, for ever! farewell, land! I faid;
And plung'd amidst the waves my sinking head.
The gentle powers, who that low empire keep,
Receiv'd me as a brother of the deep;
To Tethys, and to Ocean old, they pray,
To purge my mortal earthy parts away.
The watery parents to their fuit agreed,
And thrice nine times a fecret charm they read,
Then with luftrations purify my limbs,
And bid me bathe beneath a hundred ftreams:
A hundred ftreams from various fountains run,
And on my head at once come rushing down.
Thus far each passage I remember well,
And faithfully thus far the tale I tell;
But then oblivion dark on all my senses fell.
Again at length my thought reviving came,
When I no longer found myself the same;
Then first this fea-green beard I felt to grow,
And these large honours on my spreading brow;
My long-defcending locks the billows fweep,
And my broad fhoulders cleave the yielding deep;
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