THE NYMPH OF THE FOUNTAIN ΤΟ CHARLOTTE. O fountain Arethuse, and thou honour'd flood, "Smooth sliding Mincia, crown'd with crisped reeds, "That strain I heard was of a higher mood, ઠંડ but now my oat proceeds. MILTON. FAIR daughter of that fleeting race * Full many an oak, whose lofty head Sunk dodder'd to its native ground. *The way to this beautiful fountain lies through a mossy heath, entirely covered with large fallen trees, mostly sunk into the earth by their own weight. And many a towering grove of pine, Since first my wat'ry course begun. And many a toiling race of man Has joy'd in youth, and mourn'd in age, Since first my pensive view began To trace their weary pilgrimage. And many a nymph with sounding bow, As young, as fair, as soft as thou, Has chac'd the deer o'er yonder rocks. And when the sun's meridian heat With fervid splendour fir'd the heath, Oft have they sought my cool retreat, With glowing breast and panting breath. Yet, never did I pour my stream To bathe a breast more pure than thine, Or visit eyes in whose mild beam So clear the gentler virtues shine, When with light step thy naked feet Move quick my primrose banks along, I bid my streams with murmur sweet Their liquid melody prolong. When Echo to thy voice replies When from yon hazle's pendant shade Come to my bosom, gentle maid, And lave thy streaming locks again. Pluck from my brink the flow'ry store That blushing decks the infant year, And to increase their beauty more, Deign round thy brow the wreath to wear. And when the summer's ardent glow Come where my lucid waters flow, Nor yet, when wint'ry tempests howl, Hard ice, that crusts my current clear, Where'er you rove, where'er you rest, ANSWER TO A POETICAL EPISTLE FROM AN INTIMATÈ FRIEND. I do not think my sister so to seek, "Or so unprincipled in virtue's book "And that sweet peace which goodness bosoms ever." MILTON YES, even amid these wilds forlorn, Where shivering on the naked spray, The drooping songsters seem to mourn The languid sun's declining ray; While Nature faints in Winter's icy arms, My DELIA's tender strain my pensive bosom warms, |