THE ENGLISH GARDEN. 3 i 



That duft of filver o'er his fable locks, 550 



Which fpoke his flrength mature beyond its prime, 

 Yet vigorous flill, for from his healthy cheek 



Time had not cropt a rofe, or on his brow 



* 

 One wrinkling furrow plow'd 5 his eagle eye 



Had all its youthful lightning, and each limb 55$ 



The finewy flrength that toil demands and gives. 



The warrior faw and paus'd : his nod withheld 

 The crowd at awful diftance, where their ears, 

 In mute attention, drank the fage's prayer. 

 " Parent of good (he cried) behold the gifts 560 



" Thy humble votary brings, and may thy fmile 

 " Hallow his cuilom'd offering. Let the hand 

 " That deals in blood, with blood thy fhrines diftain, 

 " Be mine this harmlefs tribute. If it fpeaks 

 " A grateful heart, can hecatombs do more ? 565 



" Parent of Good ! they cannot. Purple Pomp 

 " May call thy prefence to a prouder fane 

 " Than this poor cave $ but will thy prefence there 



"-Be 



