Ye sacred Nine! that all my soul possess, Whose raptures fire me, and whose visions bless, Bear me, oh, bear me to sequester'd scenes, The bowery mazes, and surrounding greens: 260 To Thames's banks which fragrant breezes fill, Or where ye Muses sport on Cooper's Hill.[47] (On Cooper's Hill eternal wreaths shall grow, While lasts the mountain, or while Thames shall flow.) I seem through consecrated walks to rove, I hear soft music die along the grove: Led by the sound, I roam from shade to shade, By godlike poets venerable made: Here his first lays majestic Denham sung; There the last numbers flow'd from Cowley's tongue.[48] 270 Oh early lost! what tears the river shed, When the sad pomp along his banks was led! His drooping swans on every note expire, And on his willows hung each Muse's lyre. Since fate relentless stopp'd their heavenly voice, No more the forests ring, or groves rejoice; Who now shall charm the shades, where Cowley strung His living harp, and lofty Denham sung? But hark! the groves rejoice, the forest rings! Are these revived? or is it Granville sings? 280 'Tis yours, my lord, to bless our soft retreats, And call the Muses to their ancient seats; To paint anew the flowery sylvan scenes, To crown the forest with immortal greens, Make Windsor hills in lofty numbers rise, And lift her turrets nearer to the skies; To sing those honours you deserve to wear, And add new lustre to her silver star. Here noble Surrey[49] felt the sacred rage, Surrey, the Granville of a former age: 290 Matchless his pen, victorious was his lance, Bold in the lists, and graceful in the dance: In the same shades the Cupids tuned his lyre, To the same notes, of love and soft desire: Fair Geraldine, bright object of his vow, Then fill'd the groves, as heavenly Mira now. Oh, wouldst thou sing what heroes Windsor bore, What kings first breathed upon her winding shore, Or raise old warriors, whose adored remains In weeping vaults her hallow'd earth contains! 300 With Edward's acts[50] adorn the shining page, Stretch his long triumphs down through every age, Draw monarchs chain'd, and Cressy's glorious field, The lilies blazing on the regal shield: Then, from her roofs when Verrio's colours fall, And leave inanimate the naked wall, Still in thy song should vanquish'd France appear, And bleed for ever under Britain's spear. Let softer strains ill-fated Henry mourn,[51] And palms eternal flourish round his urn. 310 Here o'er the martyr-king the marble weeps, And, fast beside him, once-fear'd Edward sleeps.[52] Whom not the extended Albion could contain, From old Belerium to the northern main, The grave unites; where ev'n the great find rest, And blended lie the oppressor and the oppress'd!