Groves of Stowe II
To guardian Phoebus the first Strains belong,
(And may th' auspicious Omen bless the Song)
To Phoebus, and th' attendant Virgin Train,
That o'er each Verse, each learned Science reign,
And round embellishing the gay Parterre,
Unite their sacred Influences here.
Here Congreve, welcome Guest, oft chear'd the Days,
With friendly Converse, or poetic Lays.
Here Lyttleton oft spreads his growing Wing,
Delighted in these Shades to rove and sing.
And Thou, where Thames impels his silver Flood,
Quitting the Care of thy own rising Wood,
Oft, as thy Breast, with pleasing Rapture glow'd,
Hast here, O Pope, avow'd th' inspiring God.
In a green Niche's over-arching Shrine,
Each tuneful Goddess shrouds her Form divine.
Beneath, in the wide Area's middle Space,
A jetting Fount its chrystal Flood displays.
In whose clear Face again reflected shine
Pierian Phoebus, and the Virgin Nine.
Here too for ever bloom th' Aonian Bays,
Ordain'd the Meed of tuneful Poets Lays.
In seemly Order They on either Hand,
Alternate in the verdant Arches stand:
Alternate glitt'ring with the gilded Vase,
On either Hand the verdant Arches blaze.
Here, odorous Flowers perfume the vital Gale,
And here Hesperian Oranges exhale.
Or on the Sunday's consecrated Morn,
Select in Nosegays the fair Breast adorn.