For future shade, young trees upon the banks Of the new stream appear in even ranks; The voice of Orpheus, or Amphion's hand, In better order could not make them stand; May they increase as fast, and spread their boughs, As the high fame of their great owner grows! May he live long enough to see them all Dark shadows cast, and as his palace tall! 20 Methinks I see the love that shall be made, The lovers walking in that am'rous shade; The gallants dancing by the river side; They bathe in summer, and in winter slide. Methinks I hear the music in the boats, And the loud echo which returns the notes; While overhead a flock of new-sprung fowl Hangs in the air, and does the sun control, Dark'ning the sky; they hover o'er, and shroud 29 The wanton sailors with a feather'd cloud. Beneath, a shoal of silver fishes glides, And plays about the gilded barges' sides; The ladies, angling in the crystal lake, Feast on the waters with the prey they take; At once victorious with their lines, and eyes, They make the fishes, and the men, their prize. A thousand Cupids on the billows ride, And sea-nymphs enter with the swelling tide, From Thetis sent as spies, to make report, And tell the wonders of her sovereign's court. 40 All that can, living, feed the greedy eye, Or dead, the palate, here you may descry; The choicest things that furnish'd Noah's ark, Or Peter's sheet, inhabiting this park; All with a border of rich fruit-trees crown'd, Whose loaded branches hide the lofty mound, Such various ways the spacious alleys lead, My doubtful Muse knows not what path to tread. Yonder, the harvest of cold months laid up, Gives a fresh coolness to the royal cup; 50 There ice, like crystal firm, and never lost, Tempers hot July with December's frost; Winter's dark prison, whence he cannot fly, Though the warm spring, his enemy, draws nigh. Strange! that extremes should thus preserve the snow, High on the Alps, or in deep caves below. Here, a well-polished Mall gives us the joy To see our Prince his matchless force employ; His manly posture, and his graceful mien, Vigour and youth in all his motions seen; 60 His shape so lovely and his limbs so strong, Confirm our hopes we shall obey him long. No sooner has he touch'd the flying ball, 63 But 'tis already more than half the Mall; And such a fury from his arm has got, As from a smoking culv'rin it were shot.[2]