In Praise of Myra.
I.
What Nymph, what Queen, what Goddess wilt thou chuse?
Whose Praises sing? what Charmer's Name
Transmit immortal down to Fame?
Strike, strike thy Strings; let Echo take the Sound,
And bear it far, to all the Mountains round:
Pindus again shall hear, again rejoice,
And Hamus too, as when th' enchanting Voice
Of tuneful Orpheus charm'd the Grove,
Taught Oaks to dance, and made the Cedars move.
II.
Myra is Venus, and Diana too;
All that was feign'd of them, apply'd to her, is true:
Then sing, my Muse, let Myra be our Theme.
As when the Shepherds wou'd a Garland make,
They search with Pains the fragrant Meadows round,
Plucking but here and there, and only take
The sweetest Flowers, with which some Nymph is crown'd:
In framing Myra so divinely fair,
Nature has taken the same Care,
