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WINDSOR-FOREST.
To the Right Honourable GEORGE Lord LANSDOWN.
By Mr. POPE.
Non injuſſa cano: Te noſtrae, Vare, Myricae
Te Nemus omne canet; nec Phaebo gratior ulla eſt
Quam ſibi quae Vari praeſcripſit Pagina nomen.
Virg.
LONDON: Printed for Bernard Lintott at the Croſs-Keys in Fleet-ſtreet. 1713.
WINDSOR-FOREST.
To the Right Honourable GEORGE Lord LANSDOWN.
[1]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, vaniſh'd now ſo long,
Live in Deſcription, and look green in Song:
Theſe, were my Breaſt inſpir'd 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 cruſh'd and bruis'd,
But as the World, harmoniouſly confus'd:
Where Order in Variety we ſee,
And where, tho' all things differ, all agree.
[2] Here waving Groves a checquer'd Scene diſplay,
And part admit and part exclude the Day;
As ſome coy Nymph her Lover's warm Addreſs
Nor quite indulges, nor can quite repreſs.
There, interſpers'd in Lawns and opening Glades,
Thin Trees ariſe that ſhun each others Shades.
Here in full Light the ruſſet Plains extend;
There wrapt in Clouds the blueiſh Hills aſcend:
Ev'n the wild Heath diſplays her Purple Dies,
And' midſt the Deſart fruitful Fields ariſe,
That crown'd with tufted Trees and ſpringing Corn,
Like verdant Iſles the ſable Waſte adorn.
Let India boaſt her Plants, nor envy we
The weeping Amber or the balmy Tree,
While by our Oaks the precious Loads are born,
And Realms commanded which thoſe Trees adorn.
Not proud Olympus yields a nobler Sight,
Tho' Gods aſſembled grace his tow'ring Height,
Than what more humble Mountains offer here,
Where, in their Bleſſings, all thoſe Gods appear.
See Pan with Flocks, with Fruits Pomona crown'd,
Here bluſhing Flora paints th' enamel'd Ground,
Here Ceres' Gifts in waving Proſpect ſtand,
And nodding tempt the joyful Reaper's Hand,
Rich Induſtry ſits ſmiling on the Plains,
And Peace and Plenty tell, a STUART reigns.
[3]
Not thus the Land appear'd in Ages paſt,
A dreary Deſart and a gloomy Waſte,
To Savage Beaſts and *Savage Laws a Prey,
And Kings more furious and ſevere than they:
Who claim'd the Skies, diſpeopled Air and Floods,
The lonely Lords of empty Wilds and Woods.
Cities laid waſte, they ſtorm'd the Dens and Caves
(For wiſer Brutes were backward to be Slaves)
What could be free, when lawleſs Beaſts obey'd,
And ev'n the Elements a Tyrant ſway'd?
In vain kind Seaſons ſwell'd the teeming Grain,
Soft Show'rs diſtill'd, and Suns grew warm in vain;
The Swain with Tears to Beaſts his Labour yields,
And famiſh'd dies amidſt his ripen'd Fields.
No wonder Savages or Subjects ſlain
Were equal Crimes in a Deſpotick Reign;
Both doom'd alike for ſportive Tyrants bled,
But Subjects ſtarv'd while Savages were fed.
Proud Nimrod firſt the bloody Chace began,
A mighty Hunter, and his Prey was Man.
Our haughty Norman boaſts that barb'rous Name,
And makes his trembling Slaves the Royal Game.
The †Fields are raviſh'd from th' induſtrious Swains,
From Men their Cities, and from Gods their Fanes:
[4] The levell'd Towns with Weeds lie cover'd o'er,
The hollow Winds thro' naked Temples roar;
Round broken Columns claſping Ivy twin'd;
O'er Heaps of Ruins ſtalk'd the ſtately Hind;
The Fox obſcene to gaping Tombs retires,
And Wolves with Howling fill the ſacred Quires.
Aw'd by his Nobles, by his Commons curſt,
Th' Oppreſſor rul'd Tyrannick where he durſt,
Stretch'd o'er the Poor, and Church, his Iron Rod,
And treats alike his Vaſſals and his God.
Whom ev'n the Saxon ſpar'd, and bloody Dane,
The wanton Victims of his Sport remain.
But ſee the Man who ſpacious Regions gave
A Waſte for Beaſts, himſelf deny'd a Grave!
Stretch'd on the Lawn his *ſecond Hope ſurvey,
At once the Chaſer and at once the Prey.
Lo Rufus, tugging at the deadly Dart,
Bleeds in the Foreſt, like a wounded Hart.
Succeeding Monarchs heard the Subjects Cries,
Nor ſaw diſpleas'd the peaceful Cottage riſe.
Then gath'ring Flocks on unknown Mountains fed,
O'er ſandy Wilds were yellow Harveſts ſpread,
The Foreſts wonder'd at th' unuſual Grain,
And ſecret Tranſports touch'd the conſcious Swain.
Fair Liberty, Britannia's Goddeſs, rears
Her chearful Head, and leads the golden Years.
[5]
Ye vig'rous Swains! while Youth ferments your Blood,
And purer Spirits ſwell the ſprightly Flood,
Now range the Hills, the thickeſt Woods beſet,
Wind the ſhrill Horn, or ſpread the waving Net.
When milder Autumn Summer's Heat ſucceeds,
And in the new-ſhorn Field the Partridge feeds,
Before his Lord the ready Spaniel bounds,
Panting with Hope, he tries the furrow'd Grounds,
But when the tainted Gales the Game betray,
Couch'd cloſe he lyes, and meditates the Prey;
Secure they truſt th' unfaithful Field, beſet,
Till hov'ring o'er 'em ſweeps the ſwelling Net.
Thus (if ſmall Things we may with great compare)
When Albion ſends her eager Sons to War,
Pleas'd, in the Gen'ral's Sight, the Hoſt lye down
Sudden, before ſome unſuſpecting Town,
The Young, the Old, one Inſtant makes our Prize,
And high in Air Britannia's Standard flies.
See! from the Brake the whirring Pheaſant ſprings,
And mounts exulting on triumphant Wings;
Short is his Joy! he feels the fiery Wound,
Flutters in Blood, and panting beats the Ground.
Ah! what avail his gloſſie, varying Dyes,
His Purple Creſt, and Scarlet-circled Eyes,
[6] The vivid Green his ſhining Plumes unfold;
His painted Wings, and Breaſt that flames with Gold?
Nor yet, when moiſt Arcturus clouds the Sky,
The Woods and Fields their pleaſing Toils deny.
To Plains with well-breath'd Beagles we repair,
And trace the Mazes of the circling Hare.
(Beaſts, taught by us, their Fellow Beaſts purſue,
And learn of Man each other to undo.)
With ſlaught'ring Guns th' unweary'd Fowler roves,
When Froſts have whiten'd all the naked Groves;
Where Doves in Flocks the leafleſs Trees o'erſhade,
And lonely Woodcocks haunt the watry Glade.
He lifts the Tube, and levels with his Eye;
Strait a ſhort Thunder breaks the frozen Sky.
Oft, as in Airy Rings they skim the Heath,
The clam'rous Plovers feel the Leaden Death:
Oft as the mounting Larks their Notes prepare,
They fall, and leave their little Lives in Air.
In genial Spring, beneath the quiv'ring Shade
Where cooling Vapours breathe along the Mead,
The patient Fiſher takes his ſilent Stand
Intent, his Angle trembling in his Hand;
With Looks unmov'd, he hopes the Scaly Breed,
And eyes the dancing Cork and bending Reed.
[7] Our plenteous Streams a various Race ſupply;
The bright-ey'd Perch with Fins of Tyrian Dye,
The ſilver Eel, in ſhining Volumes roll'd,
The yellow Carp, in Scales bedrop'd with Gold,
Swift Trouts, diverſify'd with Crimſon Stains,
And Pykes, the Tyrants of the watry Plains.
Now Cancer glows with Phoebus' fiery Car;
The Youth ruſh eager to the Sylvan War;
Swarm o'er the Lawns, the Foreſt Walks ſurround,
Rowze the fleet Hart, and chear the opening Hound.
Th' impatient Courſer pants in ev'ry Vein,
And pawing, ſeems to beat the diſtant Plain,
Hills, Vales, and Floods appear already croſt,
And ere he ſtarts, a thouſand Steps are loſt.
See! the bold Youth ſtrain up the threatning Steep,
Ruſh thro' the Thickets, down the Vallies ſweep,
Hang o'er their Courſers Heads with eager Speed,
And Earth rolls back beneath the flying Steed.
Let old Arcadia boaſt her ſpacious Plain,
Th' Immortal Huntreſs, and her Virgin Train;
Nor envy Windſor! ſince thy Shades have ſeen
As bright a Goddeſs, and as chaſt a Queen;
Whoſe Care, like hers, protects the Sylvan Reign,
The Earth's fair Light, and Empreſs of the Main.
[8]
Here, as old Bards have ſung, Diana ſtray'd
Bath'd in the Springs, or ſought the cooling Shade;
Here arm'd with Silver Bows, in early Dawn,
Her buskin'd Virgins trac'd the Dewy Lawn.
Above the reſt a rural Nymph was fam'd,
Thy Offspring, Thames! the fair Lodona nam'd,
(Lodona's Fate, in long Oblivion caſt,
The Muſe ſhall ſing, and what ſhe ſings ſhall laſt)
Scarce could the Goddeſs from her Nymph be known,
But by the Creſcent and the golden Zone,
She ſcorn'd the Praiſe of Beauty, and the Care;
A Belt her Waſte, a Fillet binds her Hair,
A painted Quiver on her Shoulder ſounds,
And with her Dart the flying Deer ſhe wounds.
It chanc'd, as eager of the Chace the Maid
Beyond the Foreſt's verdant Limits ſtray'd,
Pan ſaw and lov'd, and furious with Deſire
Purſu'd her Flight; her Flight increas'd his Fire.
Not half ſo ſwift the trembling Doves can fly,
When the fierce Eagle cleaves the liquid Sky;
Not half ſo ſwiftly the fierce Eagle moves,
When thro' the Clouds he drives the trembling Doves;
As from the God with fearful Speed ſhe flew,
As did the God with equal Speed purſue.
Now fainting, ſinking, pale, the Nymph appears;
Now cloſe behind his ſounding Steps ſhe hears;
[9] And now his Shadow reach'd her as ſhe run,
(His Shadow lengthen'd by the ſetting Sun)
And now his ſhorter Breath with ſultry Air
Pants on her Neck, and fans her parting Hair.
In vain on Father Thames ſhe calls for Aid,
Nor could Diana help her injur'd Maid.
Faint, breathleſs, thus ſhe pray'd, nor pray'd in vain;
" Ah Cynthia! ah—tho' baniſh'd from thy Train,
" Let me, O let me, to the Shades repair,
" My native Shades—there weep, and murmur there.
She ſaid, and melting as in Tears ſhe lay,
In a ſoft, ſilver Stream diſſolv'd away.
The ſilver Stream her Virgin Coldneſs keeps,
For ever murmurs, and for ever weeps;
Still bears the *Name the hapleſs Virgin bore,
And bathes the Foreſt where ſhe rang'd before.
In her chaſt Current oft the Goddeſs laves,
And with Celeſtial Tears augments the Waves.
Oft in her Glaſs the muſing Shepherd ſpies
The headlong Mountains and the downward Skies,
The watry Landskip of the pendant Woods,
And abſent Trees that tremble in the Floods;
In the clear azure Gleam the Flocks are ſeen,
And floating Foreſts paint the Waves with Green.
Thro' the fair Scene rowl ſlow the lingring Streams,
Then foaming pour along, and ruſh into the Thames.
[10]
Thou too, great Father of the Britiſh Floods!
With joyful Pride ſurvey'ſt our lofty Woods,
Where tow'ring Oaks their ſpreading Honours rear,
And future Navies on thy Banks appear.
Not Neptune's ſelf from all his Floods receives
A wealthier Tribute, than to thine he gives.
No Seas ſo rich, ſo full no Streams appear,
No Lake ſo gentle, and no Spring ſo clear.
Not fabled Po more ſwells the Poets Lays,
While thro' the Skies his ſhining Current ſtrays,
Than thine, which viſits Windſor's fam'd Abodes,
To grace the Manſion of our earthly Gods.
Nor all his Stars a brighter Luſtre ſhow,
Than the fair Nymphs that gild thy Shore below:
Here Jove himſelf, ſubdu'd by Beauty ſtill,
Might change Olympus for a nobler Hill.
Happy the Man whom this bright Court approves,
His Sov'reign favours, and his Country loves;
Happy next him who to theſe Shades retires,
Whom Nature charms, and whom the Muſe inſpires,
Whom humbler Joys of home-felt Quiet pleaſe,
Succeſſive Study, Exerciſe and Eaſe.
He gathers Health from Herbs the Foreſt yields,
And of their fragrant Phyſick ſpoils the Fields:
[11] With Chymic Art exalts the Min'ral Pow'rs,
And draws the Aromatick Souls of Flow'rs.
Now marks the Courſe of rolling Orbs on high;
O'er figur'd Worlds now travels with his Eye.
Of ancient Writ unlocks the learned Store,
Conſults the Dead, and lives paſt Ages o'er.
Or wandring thoughtful in the ſilent Wood,
Attends the Duties of the Wiſe and Good,
T' obſerve a Mean, be to himſelf a Friend,
To follow Nature, and regard his End.
Or looks on Heav'n with more than mortal Eyes,
Bids his free Soul expatiate in the Skies,
Amidſt her Kindred Stars familiar roam,
Survey the Region, and confeſs her Home!
Such was the Life great Scipio once admir'd,
Thus Atticus, and Trumbal thus retir'd
Ye ſacred Nine! that all my Soul poſſeſs,
Whoſe Raptures fire me, and whoſe Viſions bleſs,
Bear me, oh bear me to ſequeſter'd Scenes
Of Bow'ry Mazes and ſurrounding Greens;
To Thames's Banks which fragrant Breezes fill,
Or where ye Muſes ſport on Cooper's Hill.
(On Cooper's Hill eternal Wreaths ſhall grow,
While laſts the Mountain, or while Thames ſhall flow)
[12] I ſeem thro' conſecrated Walks to rove,
And hear ſoft Muſick dye along the Grove;
Led by the Sound I roam from Shade to Shade,
By God-like Poets Venerable made:
Here his firſt Lays Majeſtick Denham ſung;
There the laſt Numbers flow'd from * Cowley's Tongue.
O early loſt! what Tears the River ſhed
When the ſad Pomp along his Banks was led?
His drooping Swans on ev'ry Note expire,
And on his Willows hung each Muſe's Lyre.
Since Fate relentleſs ſtop'd their Heav'nly Voice,
No more the Foreſts ring, or Groves rejoice;
Who now ſhall charm the Shades where Cowley ſtrung
His living Harp, and lofty Denham ſung?
But hark! the Groves rejoice, the Foreſt rings!
Are theſe reviv'd? or is it Granville ſings?
'Tis yours, my Lord, to bleſs our ſoft Retreats,
And call the Muſes to their ancient Seats,
To paint anew the flow'ry Sylvan Scenes,
To crown the Foreſts with Immortal Greens,
Make Windſor Hills in lofty Numbers riſe,
And lift her Turrets nearer to the Skies;
To ſing thoſe Honours you deſerve to wear,
And add new Luſtre to her Silver Star.
[13]
Here noble * Surrey felt the ſacred Rage,
Surrey, the Granville of a former Age:
Matchleſs his Pen, victorious was his Lance;
Bold in the Liſts, and graceful in the Dance:
In the ſame Shades the Cupids tun'd his Lyre,
To the ſame Notes, of Love, and ſoft Deſire:
Fair Geraldine, bright Object of his Vow,
Then fill'd the Groves, as heav'nly Myra now.
Oh wou'dſt thou ſing what Heroes Windſor bore,
What Kings firſt breath'd upon her winding Shore,
Or raiſe old Warriors whoſe ador'd Remains
In weeping Vaults her hallow'd Earth contains!
With † Edward's Acts adorn the ſhining Page,
Stretch his long Triumphs down thro' ev'ry Age,
Draw Kings enchain'd; and Creſſi's glorious Field,
The Lillies blazing on the Regal Shield.
Then, from her Roofs when Verrio's Colours fall,
And leave inanimate the naked Wall;
Still in thy Song ſhou'd vanquiſh'd France appear,
And bleed for ever under Britain's Spear.
Let ſofter Strains Ill-fated ¶ Henry mourn,
And Palms Eternal flouriſh round his Urn.
[14] Here o'er the Martyr-King the Marble weeps,
And faſt beſide him, once-fear'd * Edward ſleeps:
Whom not th' extended Albion could contain,
From old Belerium to the German Main,
The Grave unites; where ev'n the Great find Reſt,
And blended lie th' Oppreſſor and th' Oppreſt!
Make ſacred Charles's Tomb for ever known,
(Obſcure the Place, and uninſcrib'd the Stone)
Oh Fact accurſt! What Tears has Albion ſhed,
Heav'ns! what new Wounds, and how her old have bled?
She ſaw her Sons with purple Deaths expire,
Her ſacred Domes involv'd in rolling Fire.
A dreadful Series of Inteſtine Wars,
In glorious 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 dropt 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 Tydes;
The figur'd Streams in Waves of Silver roll'd,
And on their Banks Auguſta roſe in Gold.
[15] Around his Throne the Sea-born Brothers ſtood,
That ſwell with Tributary Urns his Flood.
Firſt the fam'd Authors of his ancient Name,
The winding Iſis, and the fruitful Tame:
The Kennet ſwift, for ſilver Eels renown'd;
The Loddon ſlow, with verdant Alders crown'd:
Cole, whoſe clear 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,
Which Thames's Glory to the Stars ſhall raiſe!
Tho' Tyber's Streams immortal Rome behold,
Tho' foaming Hermus ſwells with Tydes of Gold,
From Heav'n it ſelf tho' ſev'nfold Nilus flows,
And Harveſts on a hundred Realms beſtows;
[16] 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 Trumpets ſleep, while chearful Horns are blown,
And Arms employ'd on Birds and Beaſts alone.
Behold! th' aſcending Villa's on my Side
Project long Shadows o'er the Chryſtal Tyde.
Behold! Auguſta's glitt'ring Spires increaſe,
And Temples riſe, the beauteous Works of Peace.
I ſee, I ſee where two fair Cities bend
Their ample Bow, a new White-Hall aſcend!
There mighty Nations ſhall inquire 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 my Floods,
[17] 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;
Or under Southern Skies exalt their Sails,
Led by new Stars, and born 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 ripening 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 Tyde,
And Oceans join whom they did firſt 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 Tyde,
And Feather'd People crowd my wealthy Side,
While naked Youth and painted Chiefs admire
Our Speech, our Colour, and our ſtrange Attire!
Oh 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,
Peru once more a Race of Kings behold,
And other Mexico's be roof'd with Gold.
[18] Exil'd by Thee from Earth to deepeſt Hell,
In Brazen Bonds ſhall barb'rous Diſcord dwell:
Gigantick 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 hateful Envy her own Snakes ſhall feel,
And Perſecution mourn her broken Wheel:
There Faction roars, Rebellion bites 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,
And bring the Scenes of opening 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 liſtning Swains
Firſt in theſe Fields I ſung the Sylvan Strains.
FINIS.
Notes
*
The Foreſt Laws.
†
Alluding to the New Foreſt, and the Tyrannies exercis'd there by William the Firſt.
*
Richard, ſecond Son of William the Conqueror.
*
The River Loddon.
*
Mr. Cowley died at Chertſey on the Borders of the Foreſt, and was from thence convey'd to Weſt⯑minſter.
*
Henry Howard E. of Surrey, one of the firſt Reſiners of the Engliſh Poetry; famous in the Time of Henry the VIIIth for his Sonnets, the Scene of many of which is laid at Windſor.
†
Edward III. born here.
¶
Henry VI.
*
Edward IV.
- Citation Suggestion for this Object
- TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 3704 Windsor Forest To the Right Honourable George Lord Lansdown By Mr Pope. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-5CEA-6