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For, though a firmly settled-peace On either side dwells Safety and Delight; May shortly make your public labour cease, Wealth on the left, and Power upon the right. The grateful nation will with joy consent,

T' assure yet my defence on either hand, That in this sense you should be said, Like mighty forts, in equal distance stand (Though yet the name sounds with some Two of the best and stateliest piles which e'er dread)

Man's liberal piety of old did rear;
To be the long, the endless, parliament. Where the two princes of th' apostles' band,

My neighbours and my guards, watch and com

mand

My warlike guard of ships, wbich farther lie, ON THE QUEENS REPAIRING

Might be my object too, were not the eye

Stopt by the houses of that wondrous street, SOMERSET HOUSE.

Which rides o'er the broad river like a fleet. When God (the cause to me'and men unknown)

The stream's eternal siege they fixt abide, Forsook the royal houses, and his own,

And the swoln stream's auxiliary tide, And buth abandon d to the common foe,

Though both their ruin with joint power conspire, How near to ruin d my glories go!

Both to out-brave, they nothing dread but fire. Nothing reinain:d t'adorn this princely place

And here my Thames, though it more gentle

be Which covetous hands could take, or rude deface.

Than any flood so strengthen'd by the sea, In all my rooms and galleries I found

Finding by art his natural forces broke, The richest figures torn, and all around

And bearing, captive-like, the arched yoke, Dismember'd statues of great heroes lay;

Does roar, and foam, and rage, at the disgrace Such Naseby's field seem'd on the fatal day !

But re-composes straight, and calms his face ; And me, when nought for robbery was left,

Is into reverence and submission strook, They starv'd to death : the gaspiug walls were

As soon as from afar he does but look cleft,

Tow'rds the white palace where that king does The pillars sunk, the roofs above me wept,

reign, No sign of spring, or joy, my garden kept ;

Who lays his laws and bridges o'er the main. Nothing was seen which could content the eye,

Amidst these louder honours of my seat; Till dead the impious tyrant here did lie.

And two vast cities, troublesomely great, See bow my face is chang'd, and what I am

In a large various plain the country too Since my true mistress, and now foundress,

Opens her gentler blessings to my view : camne!

lu me the active and the quiet mind, It does not fill her bounty to restore

By different ways, cqual content may find. Me as I was (nor was I sinall beforej:

If any prouder virtuoso's sense She im'tates the kindness to her shown ;

At that part of my prospect take offence, She does, like Heaven, (which the dejected throne

By which the meaner cabbins are descry'd, At once restores, fixes, and higher rears)

of my imperial river's humbler side Strengthen, enlarge, exalt, what she repairs.

If they call that a blemish-let them know, And now I dare, (though proud I must not be,

God, and my godlike mistress, think not so; Whilst my great mistress I so humble see

For the distress'd and the afficted lie In all her various glories) now I dare

Most in their care, and always in their eye. Ev’n with the proudest palaces compare.

And thou, fair River! who still pay'st to me My beauty and convenience will, I'm sure,

Just homage, in thy passage to the sea, Su just a boast with modesty endure;

Take here this one instruction as thou go'stAnd all must to me yield, when I shall tell

When thy mix't waves shall visit every coast; . How I am plac d, and who does in me dwell.

When round the world their voyage they shall Before my gate a street's broad channel gries,

make, Which still with waves of crowding people flows;

And back to thee some secret channels take; And every day there passes by my side,

Ask them what nobler sight they e'er did meet, Up to its western reach, the London tide,

Except thy mighty master's sovereign floet, The spring-tides of the term : my front looks

Which now triumphant o'er the main does ride, down

The terrour of all lands, the ocean's pride. On all the pride and business of the town;

From hence his kingdoms, happy now at last, My other front (for, as in kings we see

(Happy, if wise by their misfortunes past!) The livel est image of the Deity,

From hence may omens take of that success We in their houses should Ileaven's likeness sind,

| Which both their future wars and peace shall Where nothing can be said to be behind)

bless. My other fair and more majestic face

The peaceful mother on mild Thames does build; (Who can the fair to more advantage place?)

With her son's fabrics the rougb sea is fill'd. For ever gazes on itself below, In the best mirror that the world can show.

And here behold, in a long bending row, How two joint cities make one glorious bow !

THE COMPLAINT. The midst, the noblest place, possess'd by me, Iy a deep vision's intellectual scene, Best to be seen by all, and all o'er-see!

Beneath a bower for sorrow made,
Which way soe'er I turn my joyful eye,

Th' uncomfortable shade
Here the great court, there the rich town I spy; Of the black yew's unlucky green,

Mixt with the mourning willow's careful grey, I But then, alas ! to thee alone,
Where reverend Cham cuts out his famous way, One of old Gideon's miracles was shown ;
The melancholy Cowley lay :

For every tree and every herb around
Aud lo! a Muse appear'd to's closed sight,

With pearly dew was crown'd, (The Muses oft in lands of vision play)

And upon all the quicken'd ground Body'd, array'd, and seen, by an internal light. The fruitful seed of Heaven did brooding lie, A golden harp with silver strings she bore; And nothing but the Muse's fleece was dry. A wondrous hieroglyphic robe she wore,

It did all other threats surpass, In which all colours and all figures were,

When God to his own people said That Nature or that Fancy can create,

(The men whom through long wanderings he had That Art can never imitate;

led) And with loose pride it wanton'd in the air..

That he would give them ev'n a heaven of In such a dress, in such a well-cloth'd dream,

brass : She us'd, of old, near fair Ismenus' stream, They look'd up to that Heaven in vain, Pindar, her Theban favourite, to meet;

That bounteous Heaven, which God did not reA crown was on her head, and wings were on her

strain feet.

Upon the most unjust to shine and rain, She touch'd him with her harp, and rais'd him "The Rachel, for which twice seven years and more from the ground;

Thou didst with faith and labour serve, The shaken strings melodiously resound.

And didst (if faith and labour can) deserve, “ Art thou return’d at last," said she,

Though she contracted was to thee, “ To this forsaken place and me?

Given to another thou didst see; Thou prodigal! who didst so loosely waste

Given to another, who had store Of all thy youthful years the good estate;

Of fairer and of richer wives before, Art thou return'd here, to repent too late,

And not a Leah left, thy recompense to be! And gather husks of learning up at last,

Go on; twice seven years more thy fortune try; Now the rich harvest time of life is past,

Twice seven years more God in his bounty may And Winter marches on so fast ?

Give thee, to fling away But, when I meant t'adopt thee for my son,

Into the court's deceitful lottery: And did as learn'd a portion assign,

But think how likely 'tis that thou,
As ever any of the mighty Nine

With the dull work of thy unwieldy plough,
Had to their dearest children done;

Should'st in a hard and barren season thrive, When I resolv'd t'exalt thy anointed name,

Should'st even able be to live ; Among the spiritual lords of peaceful fame;

Thou, to whose share so little bread did fall, Thou, changeling! fhou, bewitch'd with noise and

In that miraculous year, when manna rain'd on show,

all.” Would'st into courts and cities from me go; Wonld'st see the world abroad, and have a share

| Thus spake the Muse, and spake it with a smile, In all the follies and the tumults there:

That seem'd at once to pity and revile. Thou would'st, forsooth, be something in a state, and to her thus, raising his thoughtful head, And business thou would'st find, and would'st |

The melancholy Cowley saidcreate ;

“ Ah, wanton foe! dost thou upbraid Business ! 'the frivolous pretence

The ills which thou thyself bast made!
Of human lusts, to shake off ionocence;

When in the cradle innocent I lay,
Business! the grave impertinence;

Thou, wicked spirit! stolest me away,
Business! the thing which I of all things hate; And my abused soul didst bear
Business! the contradiction of thy fate.

Into thy new-found worlds, I know not where,

Thy golden Indies in the air; “ Go, renegado! cast up thy account,

And ever since I strive in vain
And see to what amount

My ravish'd freedom to regain;
Thy foolish gains by quitting me:

Still I rebel, still ihou dost reigd;
The sale of knowledge, fame, and liberty, .

Lo! still in verse against thee I complain. The fruits of thy unlearti'd apostacy.

There is a sort of stubborn weeds, Thou thought'st, if once the public storm were

| Which, if the earth but once, it ever. breeds : past,

No wholesome herb can near them thrive, . All thy remaining life should sunshine be:

No useful plant can keep alive: Behold! the public storm is spent at last,

The foolish sports I did on thee bestow, The sovereign's tost at sea no more,

Make all my art and labour fruitless now; · And thou, with all the poble company,

Where once such fairies dance, no grass doth ever Art got at last to shore.

grow. But, whilst thy fellow voyagers I see All marcb'd up to possess the promis'd land,

" When my new mind bad no infusion known, Thon, still alone, alas! dost gaping stand

Thou gav'st so deep a tincture of thine own, l'pon the naked beach, upon the barren sand !

That ever since I vainly try

To wash away th' inherent dye: “ As a fair moming of the blessed spring, Long work perhaps may spoil thy colours quite, After a tedious stormy night,

But never will reduce the native white: Such was the glorious entry of our king;

To all the ports of bonour and of gain, Enriching moisture drop'd on every thing:

I often steer my course in vain; Plenty he sow'd below, and cast about him light! Thy gale comes cross, and drives me back again,

VO VII,

Thou slack'oest all my nerves of industry,

ON THE DEATH OF By making them so oft to be

I MRS. KATHARINE PHILIPS. . The tinkling strings of thy lose minstrelsy. Whoever this world's happiness would see, Cruer Disease! ah, could not it suffice Must as entirely cast off thee,

Thy old and constant spite to exercise
As they who only Heaven desire

Against the gentlest and the fairest sex,
Do from the world retire.

Which still thy depreilations most do vex?
This was my errour, this my gross mistake,

Where still thy malice most of all Myself a demi-rotary to make.

(Thy malice or thy lust) does on the fairest fall ? Thus, with Sapphira and her husband's fate, And in them most assault the fairest place, (A fault which I, like them, am taught too late) The throne of empress Beauty, ev'n the face? For all that I gave up I nothing gain,

There was enough of that here to assuage, And perish for the part which I retain.

(One would have thought) either thy lust or “ Teach me not then, O thou fallacious Mu ?!

rage. The court, and better king, t'accuse :

Was 't not enough, when thou, prophane Disease! . 'The heaven under which I live is fair,

Didst on this glorious temple seize? The fertile soil will a full harvest bear :

Was't not enough, like a wild zealot, there, Thine, thine is all the barrenness; if thou

All the rich outward ornaments to tear, Mak'st me sit still and sing, when I should

Deface the innocent pride of beauteous images ? plough.

Was 't not enough thus rudely to defile, When I but think how many a tedious year

But thou must quite destroy, the goodly pile? Our patient sovereign did attend

And thy unbounded sacrilege commit His long misfortunes' fatal end ;

On th' inward holiest holy of her wit? How cheerfully, and how exempt from fear,

Cruel Disease! there thou mistook'st thy power, On the Great Sovereign's will he did depend;

No mine of Death can that devour ; I ought to be accurst, if I refuse

On her embalmed name it will abide To wait on his, O thou fallacious Muse!

An everlasting pyramid, Kings have long hands, they say; and, though I

As high as Heaven the top, as Earth the basis be

wide. So distant, they may reach at length to me. All ages past record, all countries now, However, of all the princes, thou

In various kinds such equal beauties show, Should'st not reproach rewards for being small That ev'n judge Paris would not know or slow;

On whom the golden apple to bestow;
Thou ! who rewardest but with popular breath, Though goddesses this sentence did submit,
And that too after death."

Women and lovers would appeal from it:
Nor durst he say, of all the female race,

This is the sovereign face.

And some (though these be of a kind that's rare, COLONEL TUKE'S TRAGI-COMEDY,

That's much, ah, much less frequent than the THE ADVENTURES OF FIVE

fair)

So equally renown'd for virtue are,
HOURS,

That it the mother of the gods might pose,
As wher, our kings (lords of the spacious main)

When the best woman for her guide she chose. Take in just wars a rich plate-fleet of Spain,

But if Apollo should design The rude unshapen ingots they reduce

A woman laureat to make, Into a form of beauty and of use;

Without dispute he would Orinda take, On which the conqueror's image now does shine,

Though Sappho and the famous Nine Not his whom it belong'd to in the mine:

Stood by, and did repine. So, in the mild contentions of the Muse,

To be a princess, or a queen, (The war which Peace itself loves and pursues)

| Is great; but 'tis a greatness always seen : So have you home to us in triumph brought

The world did never but two women know, This cargazon of Spain with treasures fraught.

Who, one by fraud, th' other by wit, did rise You have not basely gotten it by stealth,

To the two tops of spiritual dignities; Nor by translation borrow'd all its wealth ;

One female pope of old, one female poet now. But by a powerful spirit made it your own; of female poets, who had names of old, Metal before, money by you 'tis grown.

Nothing is shown, but only told, 'Tis current now, by your adorning it

And all we hear of them perhaps may be With the fair stamp of your victorious wit. Male-flattery only, and male-poetry. . But, though we praise this voyage of your Few minutes did their beauty's lightning wasteur mind,

The thunder of their voice did longer last, And though ourselves enrich'd by it we find;

But that too soon was past. We're not contented yet, because we know The certain proofs of our Orinda's wit What greater stores at home within it grow. In her own lasting characters are writ, We've seen how well you foreign ores refine; And they will long my praise of them survive, Produce the gold of your own nobler mine:

Though long perhaps, too, that may live. The world shall then our native plenty view, The trade of glory, manag'd by the pen, And fetch materials for their wit from you; Though great it be, and every where is found, They all shall watch the travails of your pen, Does bring in but sma!! profit to us men; And Spain on you shall make reprisals then, 'Tis, by the number of the sharers, drown'c.

ON

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Orinda, on' the female coasts of Fame,

And skill in painting, dost bestow,
Engrosses all the goods of a poetic name; Upon thy ancient arms, the gaudy heavenly

She does no partoer with her see;
Does all the business there alone, which we

Swift as light thoughts their empty career rụn, Are forc'd to carry on by a whole company.

Thy race is finish'd when begun; But wit's like a luxuriant vine;

Let a post-angel start with thee, Unless to virtue's prop it join,

And thou the goal of Earth shalt reach as soon as Firm and erect towards Heaven bound;

he. Though it with beauteous leaves and pleasant Thou in the Moon's bright chariot,proud anu gav, fruit be crown'd,

Dust thy bright wood of stars survey; It lies, deform’d and rotting, on the ground.

And all the year dost with thee bring Now shame and blushes on us all,

Of thousand flowery lights thine own nocturnal Who our own sex superior call ! Orinda does our boasting sex out-do, ,

spring. Not in wit only, but in virtue too:

| Thou, Scythian-like, dost round thy lands above She does above our best examples rise,

The Sun's gilt tents for ever move, In hate of vice and scorn of vanities.

And still, as thou in pomp dost go, Never did spirit of the manly make,

The shining pageants of the world attend thy And dip'd all o'er in Learning's sacred lake,

show. A temper more invulnerable take.

Nor amidst all these triumphs dost thou scorn No violent passion could an entrance find

The humble glow-worms to adorn, Into the tender goodness of her mind :

And with those living spangles gild Through walls of stone those furious bullets may (O greatness without pride !) the bushes of the Force their impetuous way;

field. When her soft breast they hit, powerless and dead they lay!

Night, and her ugly subjects, thou dost fright,

And Sleep, the lazy owl of night; The Fame of Friendship, which so long had told

Asham’d, and fearful to appear, Of three or four illustrious names of old,

| They screen their horrid shapes with the black Till hoarse and weary with the tale she grew,

hemisphere. Rejoices now t' have got a new, A new and more surprizing story,

With them there hastes, and wildly takes tn' Of fair Lucasia's and Orinda's glory.

alarm, As when a prudent man does once perceive

Of painted dreams a busy swarm : That in some foreign country he must live,

At the first opening of tbine eye The language and the manners he does strive

The various clusters break, the antic atums fls. To understand and practise here,

The guilty serpents, and obscener beasts, That he may come no stranger there :

Creep, conscious, to their secret rests: So well Orinda did herself prepare,

Nature to thee does reverence pay, Io this much different clime, for her remove | Ill omens and ill sights removes out of thy way. To the glad world of Poetry and Love.

At thy appearance, Grief itself is said

To shake his wings, and rouse his head :

And cloudy Care has often took
HYMN TO LIGHT.

A gentle beamy smile, reflected froin thy look.

At thy appearance, Fear itself grow's bold; First-born of Chaos, who so fair didst come

Thy sun-shine melts away his cold. From the old Negro's darksoine womb!

Encourag'd at the sight of thee, Which, when it saw the lovely child, To the check colour comes, and firmwcss to the The melancholy mass put on kind looks and knce. smil'd;

Ev'n Lust, the master of a harden'd face, Thou tide of glory, which no rest dost know,

Blushes, if thou be'st in the place, But ever ebb and ever flow !

To Darkness' curtains he retires; Thou golden shower of a true Jove!

In sympathizing night he rolls his smuky lives. Who does in thee descend, and Heaven to Earth

When, goddess ! thou lift'st up thy waken'd make love!

head, Hail, active Nature's watchful life and health! Out of the morning's purple bed, Her joy, her ornament, and wealth!

Thy quire of birds about thee play Hail to thy husband, Heat, and thee! And all the joyful world salutes the rising day. Thou the world's beauteous bride, the lusty The ghosts, and monster-spirits, that did presume bridegroom he !

A body's privilege to assume, Say froin what golden quivers of the sky

Vanish again invisibly,
Do all thy winged arrows fly?

And bodies gain again their visibility.
Swiftness and Power by birth are thine: 1

All the world's bravery, that delig': s our eyes, From thy gr-at sire they came, thy sire, the

Is but thy several liveries;
Word Divine,

Thou the rich dye on them bestow'st, "Tis, I believe, this archery to show,

Thy nimble pencil paints this landscape as thou I hat so much cost in colours thou,

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A crimson garment in the rose thou wear'st;

Instead of carrying him to see

The riches which do hoarded for him lie . . • A crown of studded gold thou bear'st;

In Nature's endless treasury,
The virgin-lilies, in their white,
Are clad but with the lawn of almost naked light. They chose his eye to entertain

(His curions but not covetous eye) The violet, Spring's little infant, stands

With painted'scenes and pageants of the brain. Girt in thy purple swaddling-bands

Some few exalted spirits this latter age has On the fair tulip thou dost doat;

shown, 'Thou cloth’st it in a gay and party-colour'd coat. That labour'd to assert the liberty With flame condens'd thou do'st thy jewels fix, I (From guardians who were now usurpers grown) And solid colours in it mix:

Of this old minor still, captiv'd Philosophy; Flora herself envies to see

But 'twas rebellion call'd, to fight Flowers fairer than her own, and durable as she. For such a long-oppressed right,

Bacon at last, a mighty man, arose, Ah, goddess ! would thou could'st thy hand with

(Whom a wise king, and Nature, chose, hold,

Lord chancellor of both their laws) And be less liberal to gold!

And boldly undertook the injur'd pupil's cause. Didst thou less value to it give, Of how much care, alas! might'st thou poor man

Authority—which did a body boast, relieve!

Though 'twas but air condens'd, and stalk'd

about, To me the Sun is more delightful far,

Like some old giant's more gigantic ghost, And all fair days much fairer are.

To terrify the learned rout But few, ah! wondrous few, there be,

With the plain magic of true Reason's lightWho do not guld prefer, O goddess ! ev'n to thee. He chasid out of our sight; Through the soft ways of Heaven, and air,and sea, Nor suffer'd living men to be inisled Which open all their pores to thee,

By the vain shadows of the dead: Like a clear river thou dost glide,

To graves, from whence it rose, the conquer'd And with thy living stream through the close phantom fled. channels slide.

He broke that monstrous god which stood But, where firm bodies thy free course oppose,

In midst of th' orchard, and the whole did claim;

Which with a useless scythe of wood, Gently thy source the land o'erflows;

And something else not worth a name, 'Takes there possession, and does make,

(Both vast for show, yet neither fit Of colours mingled light, a thick and standing

Or to defend, or to beget; lake.

Ridiculous and senselesy terrours !) made But the vast ocean of unbounded day,

Children and superstitious men afraid. 1 In th' empyræan Heaven does stay.

"The orchard's open now, and free, Thy rivers, lakes, and springs, below, Bacon has broke the scare-crow deity : From thence took first their rise, thither at last | Come, enter, all that will, must flow.

Behold the ripen'd fruit, come gather now your

fill!

Yet still, mcthinks, we fain would be
TO TAE ROYAL SOCIETY.

Catching at the forbidden tree
Philosophy, the great and only heir

We would be like the Deity Of all that human knowledge which has been When truth and falsehood, good and evil, we, Unforfeited by man's rebellious sin,

Without the senses' aid, within ourselves would Though full of years he do appear,

see; (Philosophy, I say, and call it he,

For 'tis God only who can find For, whatsoe'er the painter's fancy be,

All Nature in his mind. It a male-virtue seems to me)

From words, which are but pictures of the Ilas still been kept in nonage till of late,

thought, Nor manag'd or enjoy'd his vast estate.

(Though we our thoughts from them perversely Three or four thousand years, one would have

drew) thought,

To things, the mind's right object, he it brought: To ripeness and perfection might have brought

| Like foolish birds, to painted grapes we flew; A science so well bred and nurst,

He sought and gather'd for our use the true; And of such hopeful parts too at the first:

And, when on heaps the chosen banches lay, But, oh! the guardians and the tutors, then

He prest them wisely the mechanic way, (Some negligent and some ambitious men)

Till all their juice did in one vessel join, Would ne'er cunsent to set him free,

Ferment into a nourishment divine, Or his own natural powers to let him see,

The thirsty soul's refreshing wine. Lest that should put an end to their authority. | Who

1 Who to the life an exact piece would make,
That his own business he might quite forget, Must not from others' work a copy take;
They' amus'd him with the sports of wanton wit; No, not from Rubens or Vandyke;
With the deserts of poetry they fed him,

Much less content himself to make it liko
Instead of solid meats t' increase his force; Th’ideas and the images which lie
Instead of vigorous exercise, they led him

In his own fancy or his memory.
Into the pleasant labyrinths of ever-fresh dis- / No, he before his sight must place
course;

The natural and living face;,

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