Book 2 — VII.
Reading edition
THE WOOD NYMPH.
Approach in silence. 'Tis no vulgar tale Which I, the Dryad of this hoary oak, Pronounce to mortal ears. The second age Now hasteneth to its period, since I rose On this fair lawn. The groves of yonder vale Are all my offspring: and each Nymph who guards The copses and the furrow'd fields beyond, Obeys me. Many changes have I seen In human things, and many awful deeds Of justice, when the ruling hand of Jove Against the tyrants of the land, against The unhallow'd sons of luxury and guile, Was arm'd for retribution. Thus at length Expert in laws divine, I know the paths Of wisdom, and erroneous folly's end Have oft presaged; and now well-pleased I wait Each evening till a noble youth, who loves My shade, a while released from public cares, Yon peaceful gate shall enter, and sit down Beneath my branches. Then his musing mind I prompt, unseen; and place before his view Sincerest forms of good; and move his heart With the dread bounties of the Sire Supreme Of gods and men, with freedom's generous deeds, The lofty voice of glory and the faith Of sacred friendship. Stranger, I have told My function. If within thy bosom dwell Aught which may challenge praise, thou wilt not leave Unhonour'd my abode, nor shall I hear A sparing benediction from thy tongue.
VIII.
Ye powers unseen, to whom, the bards of Greece Erected altars; ye who to the mind More lofty views unfold, and prompt the heart With more divine emotions; if erewhile Not quite uupleasing have my votive rites Of you been deem'd, when oft this lonely seat To you I consecrated; then vouchsafe Here with your instant energy to crown My happy solitude. It is the hour When most I love to invoke you, and have felt Most frequent your glad ministry divine. The air is calm: the sun's unveiled orb Shines in the middle heaven. The harvest round Stands quiet, and among the golden sheaves The reapers lie reclined. The neighbouring groves Are mute, nor even a linnet's random strain Echoeth amid the silence. Let me feel Your influence, ye kind powers. Aloft in heaven, Abide ye? or on those transparent clouds Pass ye from hill to hill? or on the shades Which yonder elms cast o'er the lake below Do you converse retired? From what loved haunt Shall I expect you? Let me once more feel Your influence, O ye kind inspiring powers: And I will guard it well; nor shall a thought Rise in my mind, nor shall a passion move Across my bosom unobserved, unstored By faithful memory. And then at some More active moment, will I call them forth Anew; and join them in majestic forms, And give them utterance in harmonious strains; That all mankind shall wonder at your sway.
IX.
Me though in life's sequester'd vale The Almighty Sire ordain'd to dwell, Remote from glory's toilsome ways, And the great scenes of public praise; Yet let me still with grateful pride Remember how my infant frame He temper'd with prophetic flame, And early music to my tongue supplied. 'Twas then my future fate he weigh'd, And, this be thy concern, he said, At once with Passion's keen alarms, And Beauty's pleasurable charms, And sacred Truth's eternal light, To move the various mind of Man; Till, under one unblemish'd plan, His Reason, Fancy, and his Heart unite.