 | A collection of original poems and translations |  |
Hail then, ye limpid Streams, that sweetly glide,
Daughters of Pinsley's ever-flowing Tide.
But from your Sire in happy Error speed
Pleas'd to be lost in Kingsland's verdant Mead;
With you for Fame while Mincio vainly strives,
Since Maro's dead, but tuneful Gallus lives:
And, as you sweetly murm'ring glide along,
Repays each Murmur with a sweeter Song;
Nor is the Price beyond the Gifts you bring,
Tho' sweet as Orpheus' self he tunes the String;
Soft Pleasures sport along the Shores you lave,
And Health comes rolling on in ev'ry Wave.
Daughters of Pinsley's ever-flowing Tide.
But from your Sire in happy Error speed
Pleas'd to be lost in Kingsland's verdant Mead;
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Since Maro's dead, but tuneful Gallus lives:
And, as you sweetly murm'ring glide along,
Repays each Murmur with a sweeter Song;
Nor is the Price beyond the Gifts you bring,
Tho' sweet as Orpheus' self he tunes the String;
Soft Pleasures sport along the Shores you lave,
And Health comes rolling on in ev'ry Wave.
| A collection of original poems and translations | |