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Of Helicon; we therefore may suppose
Those made not Poets, but the Poets those.
And as Courts make not Kings, but Kings the
So where the Muses and their Train resort,
Parnassus stands; if I can be to thee
A Poet, thou Parnassus art to me.
Nor wonder, if (advantag’d in my flight,
By taking wing from thy auspicious height)
Through untrac'd Ways and airy Paths I Aie,
More boundless in my Fancy than my Eye:
My Eye, which swift as Thought contracts the
That lies between, and first falutes the Place
Crown’d with that lacred Pile, so vast, so high,
That whether 'tis a part of Earth, or Sky,
Uncertain feeins, and may be thought a proud
Aspiring Mountain, or descending Cloud,
Paul's, the late Theme of such a *) Muse whose
Has bravely reach'd and loar'd above thy height:
Now shalt thou itand, tho' Sword, or Time, or
Or Zeal more fierce than they, thy Fall conspire,
Secure, whilst thee the best of Poets Gngs,
Presery'd from Ruin by the best of Kings.
Under his proud survey the City lies,
And like a Mift beneath a Hill doth rise;
Whose State and Wealth, the Business and the
Seems at this distance but a darker Cloud:
And is to him who rightly things esteems,
No other in effect than what it seeis:
Where, with like hafte, tho' fev'ral ways they
Some to undo, and some to be undone ;
While Luxury, and Wealth, like War and Peace,
Denham. , Are each the others ruin, and increafe;
As Rivers loft in Seas, lome secret Vein
Thence reconveys, there to be lost again.
Oh Happiness of sweet retir’d Content!
To be at once secure, and innocent.
Windfor the next (where Mars with Venus dwells,
Beauty with Strength) above the Valley swells
Into my Eye, and doth itself present
With such and easie and inforc'd Ascent,
That no stupendous Precipice denies
Access, no horror turns away our Eyes:
But such a Rise, as doth at once invite
A pleasure, and a reverence from the fight.
Thy mighty Master's Emblem, in whole Face
Sate Meekness, heighten'd with majestick Grace;
Such seems thy gentle height, made only proud
To be the basis of that pompous load,
Than which, a nobler weight no Mountain bears,
But Atlas only which supports the Sphears.
When Nature's hand this ground did thus advance,
'Twas guided by a wiser Pow'r than Chance;
Mark'd out for such an ule, as if 'twere meant
T' invite the Builder, and his choice prevent.
Nor can we call it choice, when what we chuse,
Folly or Blindness only cou'd refuse.
A Crown of such majestick Tow'rs does grace
The Gods great Mother, when her heav'nly Race
Do Homage to her, yet she cannot boast
Among that num'rous, and Celestial Holt,
More Heroes than can Windsor, nor doth Fame's
Immortal Book record more noble Names.
Not to look back so far, to whom this Isle
Owes the first Glory of fo brave a Pile,
Whether to Caefar, Albanact, or Brute,
The British Arthur, or the Danish Knute,
(Tho'this of old no less Contest did move,
Than when for Homer's Birth lev’n Cities strove)
(Like him in Birth, thou shouldst be like in Fame,
As thine his Fate, if nine had been his Flame)
But whosoe'er it was, Nature defign'd
First a brave Place, and then as brave a Mind. Denham.
Not to recount those sev'ral Kings, to whom
It gave a Cradle or to whom a Tomb;
But thee, great *) Edward, and thy greater son,
(The Lillies which his Father wore, he won)
And thy **) Bellona, who the Confort came
Not only to thy Bed, but to thy Fame,
She to thy Triumph led one Captive ***) king,
And brought that Son, which did the second bring.
Then didł thou found that Order (whether Love
Or Viétory thy Royal Thoughts did move)
Each was a noble cause, and nothing less
Than the design, has been the great success:
Which foreign Kings, and Emperors esteem
The second Honour to their Diadem.
Had thy great Destiny but giv'n thee skill
To know, as well as pow'r to act her will,
That from those Kings, who then thy Caprives were,
In after-times should spring a Royal Pair
Who should possess all that thy mighty Pow'r,
Or thy Defires more mighty, did devour:
To whom their better Fate reserves what e'er
The Victor hopes for, or the Vanquisht fear;
That Blood, which thou and thy great Grandfire
And all that since thele sister Nations bled,
Had been unspilt, had happy Edward known
That all the Blood he spilt, had been his own.
When he that Patran chofe, in whom are join'd
Soldier and Martyr, and his Arms confin'd
Within the azure Circle, he did seem
But to foretell, and prophesie of him
Who to his Realms that azure round hath join'd,
Which Nature for their bound at first design'd.
That bound, which to the World's extreameft end,
*) Edward III. and the Black-Prince,
*) Queen Philippa.
***) The Kings of France and Scotland.
Denham. Endless itself, its liquid Arms extends.
Nor doth he need those Emblems which we paint,
But is himself the Soldier and the Saint.
Here should my Wonder dwell, and here my Praise,
But my fixt Thoughts my wandring Eye betrays,
Viewing a neighb’ring Hill, whose top of late
A Chappel crown'd, till in the Common Fate
Th' adjoining Abby fell: (may no such Storm
Fall on our times, where ruin must reformn.)
Tell me, my Muse, what monstrous dire Offence,
What Crime could any Christian king incenle
To such a Rage ? Was 't Luxury', or Luft?
Was he fo temperate, so chast, 1o just?
Were these their Crimes? They were his own much
But Wealth is Crime enough to him that's poor,
Who having spent the Treasures of his Crown,
Condemns their Luxury to feed his own.
And yet this Act, to varnish o’er the Shame
Of Sacrilege, must bear Devotion's Name.
No Crime lo bold, but would be understood
A real, or at least a seeming Good:
Who fears not to do ill, yet fears the Name,
And free from Conscience, is a Slave to Fame:
Thus he the Church at once protects, and spoils:
But Princes Swords, are sharper than their Styles.
And thus to th' Ages past he makes amends,
Their Charity destroys, their Faith defends.
Then did Religion in a lazy Cell,
In empty, airy Contemplations dwell;
Ard like the Block, unmoved lay: but ours,
As much too active, like the Stork devours.
Is there no temp'rate Region can be known,'
Betwixt their frigid, and our torrid Zone?
Cou'd we not wake from that lethargick Dream,
But to be restless in a worse Extream ?
And for that Lethargy was there no cure,
But to be cast into a Calenture ?
Can Knowledge have no bound, but must advance
So far, to make us with for Ignorance?
And rather in the Dark to grope our Way,
Thar led by a false Guide to err by Day?
Who sees these dismal heaps, but would demand
What barbarous Invader Sackt the Land ?
But when he hears, no Goth, no Turk did bring
This Desolation, but a Chriftian King.
When nothing, but the Name of Zeal, appears
'Twixt our best Actions and the worst of theirs;
What does he think our Sacrilege wou'd spare,
When such th' effects of our Devotions are ?
Parting from thence 'twixt Anger, Shame and Fear,
Those for what's past, and this for what's too near,
My Eye descending from the Hill, surveys
Where Thames among the wanton Vallies strays.
Thames, the most lov'd of all the Ocean's Sons
By his old Sire, to bis Embraces runs;
Hasting to pay his Tribute to the Sea,
Like mortal Life to meet Eternity.
Tho' with thole Streams he no Resemblance hold,
Whose Foam is Amber, and their Gravel Gold;
His genuine and less guilty Wealth t'explore,
Search not his bottom, but survey his shore;
O'er which he kindly spreads his spacious wing,
And hatches Plenty for th' ensuing Spring.
Nor then destroys it with too fond a Stay,
Like Mothers which their Infants overlay.
Nor with a sudden and impetuous Wave,
Like profuse Kings, resumes the Wealth he gave.
No unexpected Inundations spoil
The Mower's hopes, nor mock the Plowman's
But Godlike his unweary'd Bounty flows;
First loves to do, then loves the Good he does.
Nor are his Blessings to his Banks confin'd,
But free, and common, as the Sea or Wind;
When he to boast, or to disperse his Stores
Full of the Tributes of his grateful Shores,
Visits the World, and in his flying Tow'rs
Brings home to us, and makes both Indies