As those bright Maidens, who inhabit there.
Your potent Charms fair Nymphs, my verse inspire,
Your Charms supply the chaste poetic Fire.
Could these my Strains, but live, when I'm no more,
On future Fame's bright wings, your names should soar.
Where this romantic Village lifts her Head,
Betwixt the Royal Port and humble Mead,
The decent Mansions, deck'd with mod'rate cost,
Of honest Thrift, and gen'rous Owners boast;
Their Skill and Industry their Sons employ,
In works of Peace, Integrity and Joy.
Their Lives, in Social, harmless Bliss, they spend,
Then to the Grave, in honor'd Age descend.
The hoary Sire and aged Matron see
Their prosp'rous Offering to the fourth Degree:
With Grief sincere, the blooming offspring close
Their Parent's Eyes, and pay their Debt of Woes;
Then haste to honest, joyous Marriage Bands,
A newborn Race is rear'd by careful Hands:
Thro' num'rous Ages thus they'll happy move
In active Bus'ness, and in chastest Love.
The Nymphs and Swains appear in Streets and Bowers
As morning fresh, as lovely as the Flowers.
As blight as Phoebus, Ruler of the Day,
Prudent as Pallas, and as Flora gay.
A Spire majestic roars its solemn Vane,
Where Praises, Pray'r and true Devotion reign,
Where Truth and Peace and Charity abound,
Where God is fought, and heav'nly Blessings found.
The gen'rous Flock reward their Pastor's care,