As where Apelles in accordance meet
Weds light to shade; and with Promethean art
Teaches the breathing canvas to express
A furtive life; with wonder we behold
Unnumbered beauties rush upon the sight,
Gazing, while on the border of the lip
Stands mute Suspence, yet doubtful which may first
Demand, which last, the tribute of applause;
Thus, Isis, while for thee I string the lyre,
The tongue of praise awhile forgets its purpose,
In magic wonder bound; nor knows the Muse
Lost in the pleasing labyrinth, where to bend
Her footstep first. — Say, shall I first rehearse,
How thou, a virgin yet, wert whilom wont
In Nereus' hall to join the festive dance
Thy sister train among, the fairest thou
Of all the Naiads, that with silver foot
Skim the smooth surface of the glassy deep?
Say, rather shall I sing, how kingly Thame
(If holy bards in better ages born
Have story'd true) to share his watery bed
Thee woo'd long loving? nor in proud disdain
Didst thou refuse with kingly Thame to mix
Thy marriageable wave. To Neptune's court
Upon that great solemnity repair'd
The river gods: all that from crystal urn
Enrichening moisture pour o'er British plains.
There first advancing with imperial port
Proud Humber came; majestic as the god
Whose mighty trident shakes the trembling earth:
Next Severn, conscious of Sabrina's fate,
The king of floods; in greenish mantle clad
Bespangled here and there with costly gems
And many a glistering pearl: there too was seen
The Medway, and the hoarse-resounding Trent,
The pleasant Medway, that with conscious pride
Beholds the glorious race, who long of yore
Breathing stern-visag'd valour scorn'd to stoop
The servile neck to William's galling yoke,
Unconquerable souls: the yellow Ouse
There came, and Towy winding up and down
His watry folds, and Deva held of old
A sacred current; with the blue-rob'd Dove,
And Derwent, sister streams; and Avon fair,
The silver-sandal'd nymph: whose bank along
At silent eve in pensive posture stretch'd,
Calls raptur'd Fancy from Elysian bower
Her darling Shakespear's ever hallow'd shade.
There was the Tweed, the turret-crested Tyne,
And Eden, famous stream; who hath not heard
Of Eden? there the plowman as he turns
With crooked share the bordering glebe, full oft
Gauntlets and rust-worn spears and vizor'd helms,
And pond'rous shields with quaint device pourtray'd,
And bones enormous of gigantic size
With gaping wonder sees; then calls to mind
The well known tale, how there by British knights
Was many a bold exploit and bloody fight
Atchiev'd of old. — But tedious 'twere to name
All that with one accord to Neptune's hall
Then came, when now the beauteous Isis gave
To mix with royal Thame's uxorious flood
Her virgin stream. Nor on that solemn day
Was wanting (then with rural chaplet crown'd,
Tho' now adorn'd with many a glittering tower)
Thou, father Cam: that oft with kind attention
Hast deign'd awhile to listen, as I tun'd
The simple madrigal; nor jealous he,
That now his windings intricate I trace
With musing gait; and teach the mimic nymph,
All as she sits his flowery bank along,
To sound the praises of a sister flood: —
And can I sing aught better, than thy praise,
O lovely Isis? lovelier in the eye
Of Phoebus seen, than erst the silver stream
Of fabled Castaly; and fam'd as that
Which flow'd Minerva's city fast beside,
Ilissus, nurse of each ingenuous art.