There hateful Envy her own snakes shall feel, And Persecution mourn her broken wheel: There Faction roar, Rebellion bite her chain, And gasping Furies thirst for blood in vain. 420 Here cease thy flight, nor with unhallow'd lays Touch the fair fame of Albion's golden days: The thoughts of gods let Granville's verse recite, And bring the scenes of opening fate to light. 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 Naïads 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. VER. 107-110. It stood thus in the first editions:-- Pleased, in the General's sight, the host lie down Sudden before some unsuspecting town; The young, the old, one instant makes our prize, And o'er their captive heads Britannia's standard flies. VER. 126-- O'er rustling leaves around the naked groves. VER. 129-- The fowler lifts his levell'd tube on high. VER. 233-236-- Happy the man, who to the shades retires, But doubly happy, if the Muse inspires! Blest whom the sweets of home-felt quiet please; But far more blest, who study joins with ease. VER. 231, 232. It stood thus in the MS.-- And force great Jove, if Jove's a lover still, To change Olympus, &c. VER. 265-268. It stood thus in the MS.-- Methinks around your holy scenes I rove, And hear your music echoing through the grove: With transport visit each inspiring shade By god-like poets venerable made. VER. 273, 274-- What sighs, what murmurs fill'd the vocal shore! His tuneful swans were heard to sing no more.