Thy forests, Windsor! and thy green retreats, At once the Monarch’s and the Muse’s seats, Invite my lays. Be present, sylvan maids! Unlock your springs, and open all your shades. Granville commands; your aid O Muses bring!  What Muse for Granville can refuse to sing?
The groves of Eden, vanished now so long, Live in the description, and look green in song: These, were my breast inspired with equal flame, Like them in beauty, should be like in fame.  Here hills and vales, the woodland and the plain, Here earth and water, seem to strive again; Not Chaos like together crushed and bruised, But as the world, harmoniously confused: Where order in variety we see,  And where, tho’ all things differ, all agree.
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