Page:The Works of Alexander Pope (1717).djvu/104

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WINDSOR-FOREST.
The God appear'd; he turn'd his azure eyesWhere Windsor-domes and pompous turrets rise;Then bow'd and spoke; the winds forget to roar,And the hush'd waves glide softly to the shore.Hail, sacred Peace! hail long-expected days,That Thames's glory to the stars shall raise!Tho' Tyber's streams immortal Rome behold,Tho' foaming Hermus swells with tydes of gold,From heav'n itself tho' sev'n-fold Nilus flows,And harvests on a hundred realms bestows;These now no more shall be the Muse's themes,Lost in my fame, as in the sea their streams.Let Volga's banks with Iron squadrons shine,And groves of Lances glitter on the Rhine,Let barb'rous Ganges arm a servile train;Be mine the blessings of a peaceful reign.No more my sons shall dye with British bloodRed Iber's sands, or Ister's foaming flood;Safe on my shore each unmolested swainShall tend the flocks, or reap the bearded grain;

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