Page images

O fact accurs'd! what tears has Albion sh d!

Heav'ns! what new wounds! and how her old have

She saw her sons with purple death expire,
Her sacred domes involv'd in rolling fire,
A dreadful series of intestine wars,
Inglorious triumphs, and dishonest scars.


At length great Anna said, "Let discord cease!"
She said; the world obey'd, and all was peace!
In that blest moment from his oozy bed
Old father Thames advanc'd his rev'rend head;
His tresses dropp'd with dews, and o'er the stream
His shining horns diffus'd a golden gleam;
Grav'd on his urn appear'd the moon, that guides
His swelling waters, and alternate tides;
The figur'd streams in waves of silver roll'd,
And on her banks Augusta rose in gold.
Around his throne the sea-born brothers stood,
Who swell with tributary urns his flood:
First the fam'd authors of his ancient name,
The winding Isis, and the fruitful Thame;





The Kennet swift, for silver eels renown'd;

The Lodden slow, with verdant alders crown'd;

Cole, whose dark streams his flow'ry islands lave;


And chalky Wey, that rolls a milky wave;
The blue, transparent Vandalis appears;
The gulphy Lee his sedgy tresses rears;
And sullen Mole, that hides his diving flood;
And silent Darent, stain'd with Danish blood.
High in the midst, upon his urn reclin'd,
(His sea-green mantle waving with the wind,)


The god appear'd; he turn'd his azure eyes
Where Windsor domes and pompous turrets rise;
Then bow'd and spoke; the winds forget to roar,
And the hush'd waves glide softly to the shore.
Hail, sacred Peace! hail, long expected days, 355
That Thames's glory to the stars shall raise !
Though Tyber's streams immortal Rome behold,
Though foaming Hermus swells with tides of gold,
From heav'n itself though sevenfold Nilus flows,
And harvests on a hundred realms bestows;
These now no more shall be the muse's themes,
Lost in my fame, as in the sea their streams.

Let Volga's banks with iron squadrons shine,
And groves of lances glitter on the Rhine,
Let barb'rous Ganges arm a servile train;
Be mine the blessings of a peaceful reign.



No more my sons shall dye with British blood
Red Iber's sands, or Ister's foaming flood:
Safe on my shore each unmolested swain

Shall tend the flocks, or reap the bearded grain;
The shady empire shall retain no trace


Of war or blood, but in the sylvan chace;

The trumpet sleep, while cheerful horns are blown,
And arms employ'd on birds and beasts alone.
Behold th' ascending villas on my side,
Project long shadows o'er the crystal tide;
Behold! Augusta's glitt'ring spires increase,
And temples rise, the beauteous works of Peace.


I see, where two fair cities bend
Their ample bow, a new Whitehall ascend!



There mighty nations shall enquire. their doom,
The world's great oracle in times to come;
There kings shall sue, and suppliant states be seen
Once more to bend before a British Queen.


Thy trees, fair Windsor! now shall leave their woods,
And half thy forests rush into the floods;
Bear Britain's thunder, and her cross display
To the bright regions of the rising day;
Tempt icy seas, where scarce the waters roll,
Where clearer flames glow round the frozen pole; 390
Or under southern skies exalt their sails,

Led by new stars, and borne by spicy gales!
For me the balm shall bleed, and amber flow,
The coral redden, and the ruby glow;



The pearly shell its lucid globe infold,
And Phoebus warm the rip'ning ore to gold.
The time shall come, when, free as seas or wind,
Unbounded Thames shall flow for all mankind,
Whole nations enter with each swelling tide,
And seas but join the regions they divide;
Earth's distant ends our glory shall behold,
And the new world launch forth to seek the old.
Then ships of uncouth form shall stem the tide,
And feather'd people crowd my wealthy side;
And naked youths and painted chiefs admire
Our speech, our colour, and our strange attire!
O stretch thy reign, fair Peace! from shore to shore,
Till conquest cease, and slav'ry be no more;
Till the freed Indians in their native groves


Reap their own fruits, and woo their sable loves; 410

Peru once more a race of kings behold,
And other Mexicos be roof'd with gold.
Exil'd by thee from earth to deepest hell,

In brazen bonds, shall barb'rous Discord dwell;
Gigantic Pride, pale Terror, gloomy Care,
And mad Ambition shall attend her there;
There purple Vengeance, bath'd in gore, retires,
Her weapons blunted, and extinct her fires;
There hated Envy her own snakes shall feel,
And Persecution mourn her broken wheel;
There Faction roar, Rebellion bite her chain,
And gasping Furies thirst for blood in vain.



Here cease thy flight, nor with unhallow'd lays, Touch the fair fame of Albion's golden days: The thoughts of gods let Granville's verse recite, 425 And bring the scenes of op'ning fate to light. My humble muse, in unambitious strains, Paints the green forests and the flow'ry plains, Where Peace descending bids her olives spring, And scatters blessings from her dove-like wing. Ev'n I more sweetly pass my careless days, Pleas'd in the silent shade with empty praise; Enough for me, that to the list'ning swains First in these fields I sung the sylvan strains.





[Written in the Year 1712.]




Ir will be in vain to deny that I have some regard

for this Piece, since I dedicate it to you. Yet you may bear me witness, it was intended only to divert a few young ladies, who have good sense and good humour enough to laugh not only at their sex's little unguarded follies, but at their own. But as it was communicated with the air of a secret, it soon found its way into the world. An imperfect copy having been offered to a bookseller, you had the good-nature, for my sake, to consent to the publication of one more correct. This I was forced to, before I had executed half my design; for the machinery was entirely wanting to complete it. The machinery, Madam, is a term invented by the critics, to signify that part which the deities, angels, or dæmons, are made to act in a poem: for the ancient poets are in one respect like many modern ladies, let an action be ever so trivial in it

« EelmineJätka »