Her Voice refines; her Mien more sweet appears,
Her Forehead free from Frowns, her Eyes from Tears.
As when, with golden Light, the conqu'ring Day
Thro' dusky Exhalations clears a Way.
Ceres her Daughter's Rape no longer mourn'd,
But back to Arethusa's Spring return'd;
And sitting on the Margin, bid her tell
From whence she came, and why a sacred Well.
The Story of Arethusa.
Still were the purling Waters, and the Maid
From the smooth Surface rais'd her beauteous Head,
Wipes off the Drops that from her Tresses ran,
And thus to tell Alpheus' Loves began.
In Elis first I breath'd the living Air,
The Chase was all my Pleasure, all my Care.
None lov'd like me the Forest to explore,
To pitch the Toils, and drive the bristled Boar.
Of Fair, tho' Masculine, I had the Name,
But gladly wou'd to that have quitted Claim:
It less my Pride than Indignation rais'd,
To hear the Beauty I neglected prais'd;
Such Complements I loath'd, such Charms as these
I scorn'd, and thought it Infamy to please.
Once, I remember, in the Summer's Heat,
Tir'd with the Chase, I sought a cool Retreat;
And walking on, a silent Current found,
Which gently glided o'er the grav'ly Ground.
The chrystal Water was so smooth, so clear,
My Eye distinguish'd ev'ry Pebble there.
So soft its Motion, that I scarce perceiv'd
The running Stream, or what I saw, believ'd.
The hoary Willow, and the Poplar made
Along the shelving Bank a grateful Shade,
