When our first ancestors were seen,
Out-stretch'd upon the grassy green:
Nor any food or covering sought,
But what from trees and woods they got:
Who, after various ages spent

In ease, abundance, and content,

Knew not what wars, or sickness meant ; But, cheerful, when the Fates requir'd, Quick to th' Elysian fields retir'd,

Recount the precepts they observ'd; How from their rules they never swerv'd: Such as of Alcinous of old

To his beloved Phaeacians told;

Or those Apollo first did teach
His son, the Epidaurian leech.

Long ere the Romans us'd to dine Beneath their planes manur'd with wine; On Tyrian couches, thoughtless lay, And drank, and laugh'd, and kiss'd away Each sultry, circling, Summer's day; On polish'd ivory beds reclin'd, Flung care and sorrow to the wind: And, scorning Nature's temperate rules, Like madmen liv'd, and dy'd like fools!

Teach us, thou learn'd judicious Sage, The manners of a wiser age!

To thee was given by Jove to keep Those grottos where the Muses sleep: To plant their forests where they sing, Fast by the cool Castalian spring: With myrtles their pavilions raise ; Soft, intermix'd with Delian bays: And when, they wake at earliest day, To strew with sweetest flowers their way. Transcendent honor! here below,

The Muses and their haunts to know!

Anna! look down on Isis' towers;
Be gracious to the Muses' bowers:
And, now thy toils of war are done;
Anna! protect Apollo's throne:
'Twas he the dart unerring threw ;
Python the snaky monster slew.

The Muses' bowers, by all admir'd, But those Fanatic rage has fir'd, Or Atheist fools, who freedom boast, Themselves to slavery fetter'd most. Stern Mars, may thunder, Momus rail; But Wisdom's goodness will prevail.

On Isis' banks-retirement sweet! Tritonian Pallas holds her seat.

Minerva's gardens are thy care; Bobart! the Virgin-power revere :

Thy hoary head with vervain bound,
The mystic grove thrice compass round;
The waters of lustration pour,

And thrice the winding walks explore:
Lest some presumptuous wretch intrude,
With impious steel to wound the wood;
Or, with rash arm, prophanely dare
To shake the trees, the leaves to bare,
And violate their sacred hair:
Or, by worse sacrilege betray'd,

The blossoms, fruits, or flowers, invade.

Ye strangers! guard your heedless feet, Lest from the herbs their dews ye beat: Cosmetic dews, by virgins fair, Exhal'd in May with early care, Will to their eyes fresh lustre give,

And make their charms for ever live.

Minerva's gardens are thy care; Jacob, the Goddess-maid revere.

All plants which Europe's fields contain,
For health, for pleasure, or for pain,
From the tall cedar that does rise

With conic pride, and mates the skies ;
Down to the humblest shrub that crawls
On earth, or just ascends our walls,
Her squares of Horticulture yield :
By Danby planted, Bobart till'd.

Delightful scientific shade,

For knowledge, as for pleasure, made!

'Twas generous Danby first enclos'd The waste, and in parterres dispos'd; Transform'd the fashion of the ground, And fenc'd it with a rocky mound; The figure disproportion'd chang'd, Trees, shrubs, and plants, in order rang'd; Stock'd it with such excessive store, Only the spacious earth had more : At his command the plat was chose, And Eden from the chaos rose : Confusion in a moment filed,

And roses blush'd where thistles bred.

The Portico, next, high he rear'd,
By builders now so much rever'd,
Which like some rustic beauty shows,
Who all her charms to Nature owes ;
Yet fires the heart, and warms the head,
No less than those in cities bred;

Our wonder equally does raise

With them, as well deserves our praise.

The work of Jones's master-hand:
Jones, the Vitruvius of our land;
He drew the plan, the fabrick fix'd,
With equal strength and beauty mix'd;

With perfect symmetry design'd;
Consummate, like the donor's mind.

Illustrious Danby splendid peer! Look downward from thy radiant sphere, The Muses' thanks propitious hear. When, Albion, will thy nobles now, Such bounty to Minerva show?

There, where old Cherwell gently leads
His humid train along the meads;
And courts fair Isis, but in vain,

Who laughs at all his amorous pain;
Away the scornful Naiad turns,

For younger Tamus Isis burns,

Close to those towers, so much renown'd For slavery lost and freedom found: Where thy brave sons, in hapless days, Wainfleet, to thy immortal praise, Their rights municipal maintain'd Submiss, nor their allegiance stain'd: To loyalty and conscience true;

Gave Caesar and Themselves their due; Close to those towers, by Jove's command, The gardens of Minerva stand.

There 'tis we see thee, Bobart, tend Thy favorite greens; from harms defend