But who can tell the joys of those that lie
Beneath the constant influence of her eye!
Whilst in diffusive showers her bounties fall,
Like heaven's indulgence, and descend on all,
Secure the happy, succour the distrest,
Make every subject glad, and a whole people blest.
Thus would I fain Britannia's wars rehearse,
In the smooth records of a faithful verse;
That, if such numbers can o'er time prevail,
May tell posterity the wondrous tale.
When actions, unadorned, are faint and weak,
Cities and countries must be taught to speak;
Gods descend in factions from the skies,
And rivers from their oozy beds arise;
Fiction may deck the truth with spurious rays,
And round the hero cast a borrowed blaze.
Marlborough's exploits appear divinely bright,
And proudly shine in their own native light;
Raised of themselves, their genuine charms they boast,
And those who paint 'em truest praise 'em most.
When actions, &c.] An apology, gracefully enough made, for the prosaic plan of this poem; for though the author's invention had not supplied him with a better, his true taste could not but tell him, this was defective.
THE opera first Italian masters taught,
Enriched with songs, but innocent of thought.
Britannia's learned theatre disdains
Melodious trifles, and enervate strains;
And blushes on her injured stage to see
Nonsense well-tuned, and sweet stupidity.
No charms are wanting to thy artful song,
Soft as Corelli, but as Virgil strong.
From words so sweet new grace the notes receive,
And music borrows helps she used to give.
Thy style hath matched what ancient Romans knew,
Thy flowing numbers far excel the new;
Their cadence in such easy sound conveyed,
That height of thought may seem superfluous aid;
Yet in such charms the noble thoughts abound,
That needless seem the sweets of easy sound.
Landscapes how gay the bowery grotto yields,
Which thought creates, and lavish fancy builds!
What art can trace the visionary scenes,
The flowery groves, and everlasting greens,
The babbling sounds that mimic echo plays,
The fairy shade, and its eternal maze,
Nature and art in all their charms combined,
And all Elysium to one view confined!
No further could imagination roam,
Till Vanbrook framed, and Marlborough raised the dome.
Ten thousand pangs my anxious bosom tear,
When drowned in tears I see the imploring fair:
When bards less soft the moving words supply,
A seeming justice dooms the nymph to die;
But here she begs, nor can she beg in vain,
(In dirges thus expiring swans complain,)
Each verse so swells, expressive of her woes,
And every tear in lines so mournful flows;
We, spite of fame, her fate reversed believe,
O'erlook her crimes, and think she ought to live.
Let joy transport fair Rosamonda's shade,
And wreaths of myrtle crown the lovely maid.
While now perhaps with Dido's ghost she roves,
And hears and tells the story of their loves,
Alike they mourn, alike they bless their fate,
Since love, which made 'em wretched, makes 'em great;
Nor longer that relentless doom bemoan,
Which gained a Virgil and an Addison.
Accept, great monarch of the British lays,
The tribute song an humble subject pays.
So tries the artless lark her early flight,
And soars, to hail the god of verse, and light.
Unrivalled as thy merit be thy fame,
And thy own laurels shade thy envied name:
Thy name, the boast of all the tuneful choir,
Shall tremble on the strings of every lyre;
While the charmed reader with thy thought complies,
Feels corresponding joys or sorrows rise,
And views thy Rosamond with Henry's eyes.
SIR TRUSTY, Keeper of the Bower. ROSAMOND.
SCENE I-A prospect of Woodstock Park, terminating in
With wild variety surprise;
As o'er the hollow vaults we walk,2
A hundred echoes round us talk:
From hill to hill the voice is tost,
Rocks rebounding,
Caves resounding,
Not a single word is lost.
PAGE. There gentle Rosamond immured, Lives from the world and you secured. QUEEN. Curse on the name! I faint, I die,
With secret pangs of jealousy. [Aside
The comic scenes of this opera are pleasant and entertaining. 2 Alluding to the famous echo in Woodstock Park,
PAGE. There does the pensive beauty mourn,
And languish for her lord's return.
QUEEN. Death and confusion! I'm too slow- [Aside.
Show me the happy mansion, show-
PAGE. Great Henry there
QUEEN. Trifler, no more!
Great Henry there
Will soon forget the toils of war.
QUEEN. No more! the happy mansion show
That holds this lovely, guilty foe.
My wrath, like that of heaven, shall rise,
And blast her in her paradise.
PAGE. Behold on yonder rising ground
The bower, that wanders
In meanders,
Ever bending,
Never ending,
Glades on glades,
Shades in shades,
Running an eternal round:
QUEEN. In such an endless maze I rove,
Lost in labyrinths of love.
My breast with hoarded vengeance burns,
While fear and rage
And rule my wavering soul by turns. PAGE. The path yon verdant field divides, Which to the soft confinement guides.
QUEEN. Eleonora, think betimes,
What are thy hated rival's crimes!
Whither, ah whither dost thou go!
What has she done to move thee so!
-Does she not warm with guilty fires
The faithless lord of my desires ?
Have not her fatal arts removed
My Henry from my arms?
'Tis her crime to be loved,
'Tis her crime to have charms.
Let us fly, let us fly,
She shall die, she shall die.
I feel, I feel my heart relent,
How could the fair be innocent!
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