CAESAR's CAMP; OR, St. GEORGE'S HILL. A POEM.
[3]IF lofty hills the tuneful Muſe delight,
Ye tuneful Muſes hither take your flight:
Forſake Parnaſſus and your virgin ſpring,
And ſoar where Caeſar's eagles ſpread their wing;
When mad Ambition fir'd the warrior's brain
To ſeek new conqueſts o'er the Britiſh main.
What tho' few laurels on the mountains grow?
A thouſand fruitful landſcapes ſmile below;
Where Phoebus' trees perpetual honours wear,
And cedars flouriſh verdant all the year.
[4] Rich paſture here adorns the flow'ry mead,
There golden Ceres waves her bending head;
A mingled ſcene of profit and delight;
Which chears the peaſant, charms the poet's ſight,
His ſight, which o'er the various proſpect roves,
Now pleas'd with gardens, and now pleas'd with groves:
Now wanders over Guilford's lovely plain,
Where the fleet courſer ſtretches every vein;
He paws, he pants, impatient for the chace,
Then ſweeps along the ſcarcely-bending graſs.
Not ſwifter ſwallows ſkim along the flood,
To ſeize the wanton fly, their deſtin'd food;
Than o'er the plain the nimble courſers bound,
And champ the ſhining bit, and toſs their foam around.
Let lofty Pindar ſing the Grecian ſteed,
Britannia glories in as choice a breed:
As gallant heroes too adorn her coaſt,
As fam'd Olympia's plain could ever boaſt.
Thy groves, O! Weſton, next the Muſe invite,
Thy beechen groves muſt ev'ry Muſe delight.
Here may ſhe tune her lyre beneath the ſhade,
Or meditate along thy open glade,
[5] Where once ſhe* Raleigh's noble ſoul inſpir'd,
When he from buſineſs, war, or courts retir'd.
Raleigh! whoſe actions merit deathleſs fame,
The nation's glory, and the monarch's ſhame.
Ah! what avail wit, wiſdom, learning, arts;
Superior courage, and ſublimer parts?
The wit, the ſcholar, ſtateſman, hero, ſage,
Falls a ſad victim to Iberian rage,
Yet ſtill he's pleas'd to ſee his beauteous grove,
(If aught below can pleaſe the bleſs'd above)
Reward the gen'rous virtue of a ſon,
Who for a father's good, deſpis'd his own.
Here, when the golden autumn's ripen'd ſtores
Have plenteouſly enrich'd the farmer's floors;
Soon as Aurora uſhers in the day,
While pearly dews embelliſh every ſpray;
The well-breath'd beagles ſnuff the ſcented air;
Before them ſwiftly flies the tim'rous hare.
O'er hills and vales the ſprightly courſers bound,
While various-ſounding muſick floats around.
[6] The joyous youth purſue the noble chace,
Freſh health and vigor blooming in their face:
Unknown to thoſe who drink the night away,
And waſte in dozing idleneſs the day.
As o'er the chequer'd landſcape Fancy ſtrays,
Nature a thouſand ſylvan ſcenes diſplays:
Plantations riſe—the hills and vallies ſmile
With various groves, that ſuit the various ſoil.
Dry riſing ground the ſpreading beech improves,
Wet ſpungy earth the weeping willow loves;
In vales the ſtately elms delight to grow,
And pines rejoice upon the mountain's brow.
So ſhould the parent with judicious care,
(If tender youth with plants we may compare)
Explore the temper of his children's mind,
And ſix them where their genius ſeems inclin'd:
This ſon delights the flaming ſword to wield,
And longs to thunder in the martial field:
A merchant that, and plows the foaming main;
While milder natures cultivate the plain.
[7]
Nor woods alone the pleaſing proſpect grace,
The Naiads and the Dryads oft embrace.
See, thro' the groves deſcend the winding ſtreams,
To pay their liquid tribute to the Thames.
Firſt chalky Wey, for rav'nous pikes renown'd,
Rolls thro' the meads and fructifies the ground:
His milky waves enrich the thirſty ſoil,
And joyous crops reward the mower's toil.
Next gentle Mole thro' ſhady vallies ſtrays,
And under ground her ſilent wave conveys.
The Muſe ſhall ſing the cauſe (if fame be true)
And tell what judgments Avarice purſue.
Mole, once a wood-nymph, beautiful and vain,
Like modern beauties thirſted after gain:
The ſordid paſſion mov'd her to explore
Hills, vallies, rocks, and caves for glitt'ring ore:
And as ſhe o'er the Surry mountains rov'd,
Pan ſaw the beauteous dame, he ſaw, and lov'd.
In tender verſe he fung his pleaſing pains;
And tun'd his oaten pipe to am'rous ſtrains;
[8] Ten thouſand fleecy flocks, he cry'd, are mine,
Indulge my flame, my fleecy flocks are thine.
In vain he ſtrives her cruel breaſt to move,
She ſcorns alike his muſick and his love.
Next old Sylvanus left his ſacred wood,
And ſmitten with her charms the nymph purſu'd:
Return my paſſion, lovely maid, he cry'd,
Nor ſcorn the foreſts where the gods reſide.
In vain he ſtrives her cruel breaſt to move,
She ſcorns alike his foreſts and his love.
Apollo next, advancing to the dame,
In tuneful numbers told his am'rous flame:
Long ſung the god, and long the liſt'ning maid
Was pleas'd to hear the courtſhip Phoebus paid:
Till graſping eager to enjoy her charms,
She ſwiftly turn'd, and glided from his arms.
When from a cave a duſky Gnome aroſe,
And various rocks of gold and di'mond ſhows:
And here, ſays he, delight your eyes, behold
Theſe flaming jewels, this attractive gold:
[9] Ten thouſand treaſures in my palace ſhine,
Love me, ten thouſand treaſures ſhall be thine.
So ſaying, down the cave he ſhot in haſte,
The yielding damſel follow'd him as faſt;
Then quickly ſunk into his longing arms,
And in a golden grot reſign'd her charms.
Apollo, to revenge his ſlighted flame,
Into a ſullen ſtream converts the dame:
And ſince ſhe durſt deſpiſe the god of day,
The god depriv'd her of his chearful ray;
Condemn'd her juſtly under ground to flow,
And viſit mines of glitt'ring dirt below:
'Tis hence her lazy waves impurely glide,
Till Thames refines them in his cryſtal tide.
Thames, on whoſe banks a ſtately* frame appears,
Finiſh'd by glorious William's gen'rous cares.
The ſtern imperious monarch of our iſle,
Eliza's ſire, enlarg'd the noble pile;
And made it wear a more majeſtic face,
Yet ſtill it wanted ſymmetry and grace:
[10] Till William form'd the ſpacious courts complete,
Bade ſtrength and order, uſe and beauty meet;
And rais'd the fabric uniformly great.
By equal ſteps our church and ſtate improv'd,
'Twas Henry firſt the papal yoke remov'd;
But government, religion and the law
Were ſettled by the wiſdom of Naſſau.
For this he bravely croſs'd the ſtormy main,
Whilſt adverſe winds and waves oppos'd in vain.
When kings deceiv'd with dreams of right divine,
Had ſtretch'd their pow'r beyond its true deſign;
When laws and liberty expiring lay,
And Britain mourn'd an arbitrary ſway;
Great William, born to ſuccour human race,
Reform'd our government, and fix'd it's baſe;
Reſtor'd our laws, made freedom ſmile again,
And to confirm them bade Auguſtus reign.
O'er Twit'nam bow'rs I next direct my ſight,
Where nature, art and elegance unite:
[11] Three graces which on Radnor's will attend,
To deck the manſion of their noble friend.
From hence a lofty* hill attracts my eyes,
Round which a thouſand various beauties riſe,
Yet tho' it can ſuch various beauties boaſt,
Extenſive bounty dignifies it moſt.
Riſe, Muſe, and catch a ſpark of heav'nly flame,
To celebrate the gen'rous Richmond† dame;
Who modiſh pleaſures bravely has withſtood,
And dares be moſt unfaſhionably good:
Who feeds the hungry, ſuccours the diſtreſs'd,
Is daily bleſſing others, daily bleſs'd.
Nor to their bodies is her care confin'd,
Her care with chriſtian knowledge forms the mind;
Her pious‡ treaſures reach remoteſt lands,
New worlds are bleſs'd with bounties from her hands.
O! would the deathleſs Muſe my tongue inſpire,
Or Phoebus warm me with celeſtial fire;
To ſing her virtues and record her praiſe,
Her fame ſhould live immortal in my lays:
[12] The man of Roſs's celebrated name
Should yield in honour to the Richmond dame.
Not far remote appear the* verdant ſcenes,
The groves which once imbow'r'd the beſt of queens;
Whoſe bounty rais'd the meaneſt Muſe's wing,
And bade the pooreſt bard rejoyce and ſing.
While flocks in vernal paſtures ſhall delight,
While ſun and moon divide the day and night:
While mem'ry holds her traces in the brain,
My grateful heart her goodneſs ſhall retain.
Muſe quit the ſubject, nor renew the tide
Of tears that flow'd when Carolina dy'd:
Then wept the willows, ſigh'd the conſcious bow'rs,
Then droop'd the myrtles, and decay'd the flow'rs:
Again the flow'rs a blooming aſpect wear,
Is ſhe return'd? or is Auguſta here?
Yes, here Auguſta with her children roves,
A widow'd Venus with her little loves;
Who round their mother fondly ſport and toy,
Their mother ſmiles, rejoycing in their joy.
[13]
Here could the grateful Muſe contemplate long,
But other ſubjects claim the Muſe's ſong.
Windſor, that wing'd the nervous Denham's flight,
Adorn'd with lofty tow'rs attracts the ſight:
Where ſtrength and dignity and beauty meet,
Gracefully bold, majeſtically ſweet.
Thy foreſts, Windſor, equal praiſes claim,
And now ſhall flouriſh in immortal fame;
Since GEORGE has thither ſent his martial ſon
To plant the laurels which his valour won;
When on Culloden's field he bravely ſtood,
'Mid ſtorms of fire and deluges of blood:
Pouring his Father's thunder on his foes,
To reſcue Albion from impending woes.
But now rebellious wars and tumults ceaſe,
He cultivates the milder arts of peace;
Embelliſhes the hills with waving woods,
And thro' the valley leads expanſive floods:
Or bids the ſtately Belvidere aſcend,
Or wond'rous arches o'er the water bend:
[14] Subdues the rude, rough, wildneſs of the ſoil,
Adorns the waſte with groves, and bids the deſart ſmile.
Thrice happy had it been for human kind,
Had Caeſar thus employ'd his martial mind:
Had he, like glorious Cumberland, ſubdu'd
His country's foes, then peaceful arts purſu'd,
His hoſtile eagles ne'er had ſtretch'd their wings
To ravage Albion, and dethrone her kings:
Nor had the Druids mourn'd their groves, when round
This Hill he form'd his military mound.
As thoughts like theſe revolv'd within my breaſt,
Intruding ſleep my weary eyes oppreſt;
Yet mimic Fancy ſtill purſu'd her theme,
And painted Caeſar preſent in my dream.
My dream the faithful Muſe remembers well,
And what the Muſe remembers ſhe ſhall tell.
As round this Hill the Roman army lay,
The neighb'ring vale became their deſtin'd prey:
[15] To feed them fruitful fields their harveſts lend,
To fence their Camp the lofty woods deſcend:
But while the legions fell'd a ſacred oak,
Thus to the chief a captive Druid ſpoke.
Illuſtrious Robber! when ſhall ruin ceaſe?
Thou enemy to property and peace.
Is't not ſufficient that your eagles ſoar
From Aſia's empire to Iberia's ſhore?
But muſt you ſhake our iſland with alarms?
Muſt Britain too ſubmit to Roman arms?
Muſt all our crops be raviſh'd from the land?
Muſt all our foreſts fall beneath your hand?
Yet tho' they fall by thy ambitious crimes,
Again reſtor'd, they riſe in future times—
I ſee thoſe future times—I ſee, with joy,
Thoſe who can faſter plant than thou deſtroy.
Thy Camp, where now embattled legions ſhine,
Shall bear the ſpreading beech and tow'ring pine.
Roll ſwift ye years—produce the men of taſte,
To crown with verdant woods the barren waſte.
And lo! they come—I ſee the ſylvan ſwains,
Whoſe ſhady groves ſhall decorate the plains;
[16] And owe their beauty, many ages hence,
To nature's children, Hamilton and Spence.
Spence ſhall in Nature's choiceſt mould be caſt,
Of manners gentle, elegant of taſte;
In whom the paſſions ſhall ſo ſweetly blend,
He ne'er ſhall make a foe, or loſe a friend:
Judicious, learned, and ſincere of heart;
Skill'd in the poet's and the planter's art.
Whoſe care and culture ſhall rejoice the ſoil,
And make the gloomy marſhes round him ſmile.
What pleaſure ſhall he feel to form his grove?
To plant new beauties, and the old improve?
To open viſtas to the circling hill,
Or wind about his mount the pleaſing rill?
Or ſhape the rounding walk that gently bends,
Encompaſſing his* field of happy friends?
Where oft he ſhall employ his virtuous mind,
Contriving how to ſerve, or mend mankind.
[17]
Preſcient of future times, my mental eyes
See heroes, ſtateſmen, peers and patriots riſe;
Who round thy Camp ſhall noble ſtructures raiſe,
And plant the paradiſe of latter days.
When GEORGE the* HONEST ſhall the realm command,
When York ſhall ſit the themis of the land;
An honour'd Briton, Hamilton his name,
Shall nobly beautify that ſilent ſtream;
Whoſe curious nymphs ſhall leave their native floods,
To§ viſit and admire his ſtately woods:
[18] Delighted to ſurvey the chequer'd ſcene
Of flow'ry lawns and groves for ever green:
And vineyards pregnant with the gen'rous bowl,
To chear the drooping heart, and warm the frozen ſoul.
Time ſhall produce a valiant Ligonier,
Whom kings ſhall love, and enemies ſhall fear;
A glorious chief, nor Caeſar would diſdain,
Had fate allow'd, to meet him on the plain.
I ſee him calmly bold, humanely brave,
Expert to conquer, generous to ſave:
Intrepid when the martial trumpets ſound,
Content in peace to ornament the ground;
To plant his woods, to ſpread the lawn, or lead
The docile river round his flow'ry mead;
To open proſpects from the mount above,
Or walks below meand'ring thro' his grove.
Such rural arts the hero ſhall engage;
Arts, nobler far than war's deſtructive rage.
Cornwall ſhall cultivate the plain below,
And make the lazy currents ſwifter flow:
[19] Hence to the poor his bounty ſhall be ſpread,
The naked ſhall be cloath'd, the hungry fed.
That ſpacious field Newcaſtle ſhall adorn,
And Plenty o'er it pour her copious horn:
Heſperian fables are but types, to ſhow
What golden fruits ſhall in his garden grow.
In viſion now the whiten'd turrets rear
Their heads, and ſhine conſpicuous from afar;
Shade above ſhade the lofty woods aſcend,
Below the lofty woods the lawns extend;
Lawns open, ample, free; as if deſign'd
An emblem of the lib'ral maſter's mind.
While verdant groves around the whole unite,
At once affording ſhelter and delight.
But ſee his brother-pilot of the ſtate,
Anxious to ſteer the bark of Britain's fate!
Upon the banks of Mole his manſion ſtands,
Obedient nature aiding his commands:
The riſing hills adorn'd with waving woods,
The ſloping vales with flocks, with fiſh the floods:
[20] A ſweet variety, with graceful eaſe,
Contriv'd at once to profit and to pleaſe—
Here ſigh'd the ſage, as tho' his penſive breaſt
Labour'd with ſorrows not to be expreſt.
Then thus—Uncertain ſtate of humankind!
How ſhort the pleaſures that employ their mind!
Too ſoon muſt Pelham leave his beauteous ſcenes behind.
And yet if pray'rs could move celeſtial Pow'rs,
He longer ſhould enjoy his Eſher bow'rs—
But pray'rs are vain; in vain his children dear,
And duteous wife ſhall pour the tender tear:
In vain Britannia would prolong his breath,
Her honeſt faithful ſtateſman yields to death:
Yet death adds luſtre to his virtuous fame,
As darkneſs gives the ſtars a brighter flame.
Beneath thy Camp, in diſtant times, a* ſwain
With vivid greens ſhall plant the ruſſet plain;
The ruſſet plain ſhall variegate the ſcenes,
And add new beauties to the vivid greens:
While gazing ſhepherds walk delighted by,
Charm'd with the contraſt grateful to their eye.
[21]
Near him a noble* bard his woods ſhall raiſe,
And in their ſhades tune ſweet his am'rous lays:
Love's tender ſtrains his boſom ſhall inſpire,
And animate his ſong with Dorſet's fire.
Portmore ſhall form another Cyprian grove,
Where other lovely Venuſes ſhall rove:
Shall beautify the banks of ſilver Thames,
And thro' his meadows call the winding ſtreams
The river-gods, obedient to his will,
Shall thro' his garden roll the cryſtal rill:
Lav'd with their urns the branching pines ſhall riſe,
And tall majeſtic cedars climb the ſkies:
A farm ſhall turn a Tempe of delight,
While gazing Naiads wonder at the ſight.
But who is he approaching thro' the ſhades,
Whom handmaid Art attends, and Nature leads?
This ſhall be Southcote!—eminently ſkill'd
To fix the rule of taſte in Woburn field.
I ſee his loſty oaks advance their heads;
I ſee the ſlope rejoice beneath their ſhades;
[22] The temple that adorns the riſing brow,
The lovely lawn-embracing ſtream below,
That gently winds, and ſmoothly ling'ring moves,
Unwilling to forſake the bliſsful groves:
The terrace, where the branching pines ariſe,
Where op'ning proſpects ſuddenly ſurprize:
The ſoft acacias with their varied green,
Diffuſing ſhades around the ſylvan ſcene:
Acanthus, jeſſamine, and bluſhing roſe,
A blooming, beauteous wilderneſs compoſe;
While fragrant flow'rs embroider all the ground,
Embelliſhing the walks, and breathing odors round—
What noble proſpects open to my ſight!
Stupendous objects ſtriking with delight!
See Decker's arch magnificently bend:
Decker! the Public's voluntary friend.
How oppoſite the motives of your mind?
'Tis thine to ruin, his to ſerve mankind.
Not far remote a venerable ſage,
Woodford, the ſilver'd ornament of age,
Shall fix his ſeat in Nature's artleſs bow'rs,
And there improve his philoſophic hours:
[23] Till hoary Time ſhall end his ſtudious days,
In peaceful honour, dignity and eaſe.
What cannot art and human toil produce?
Converting uſeleſs things to public uſe.
A* river o'er that barren heath ſhall flow,
And veſſels ſwim where pointed thiſtles grow.
Upon the pleaſing borders of the flood
I ſee a riſing hoſpitable wood:
Where glades ſhall open, verdant lawns extend,
And northern pines to kiſs the elouds aſcend;
Where birds and beaſts at liberty ſhall rove,
And future ages call it Cote's grove.
Where wanton fawns ſhall ſkip, and tim'rous hares
Shall feed ſecurely and forget their fears;
But ah! their fears return—who gave them food
Purſues them thro' the field and echoing wood:
To hunt the puny prey his boſom glows;
The only cruel joy his boſom knows.—
Here paus'd the Druid; for his heaving breaſt
Now ſwell'd with ſcenes ſuperior to the reſt.
[24] Then thus again—What noble proſpects riſe!
What majeſty and beauty ſtrike my eyes!
The grand and amiable together meet,
The awful terrace and the happy ſeat:
The ſlope deſcending to the plain below,
Where gently winding waters calmly flow;
Till loſt in ſhades, the broad extenſive ſtreams
Look like a bending bay of ſilver Thames.
Here, Nature's boldeſt beauties are deſign'd—
Fly ſwiſtly, Time—let Lincoln bleſs mankind.
He comes humanely gen'rous and polite,
In whom the courtier, patron, friend, unite;
Bleſs'd with a conſort, gracefully ſerene;
Who walks a goddeſs o'er the vendant ſcene.—
Wak'd with the pleaſing ſound of Lincoln's name,
I felt my boſom glow with grateful flame:
For, after many ſtorms and tempeſts paſt,
He brought me to this quiet port at laſt.
My fondeſt wiſh was ſuch a rural ſcene;
The ſage's pray'r was ſuch a golden mean:
Above pale Poverty's dejected ſtate;
Below the ſtorms which often wreck the great:
[25] Remote from giddy crowds, and noiſy ſtrife;
Yet near the few, whoſe converſe ſweetens life.
Here let me live—be mindful of my end,
Adore my Maker, and enjoy my friend.
That friend to whom—officious Muſe forbear,
Nor with diſtaſteful numbers wound his ear;
His ear, too delicate to hear the lay
His virtues claim, and gratitude would pay.
FINIS.