Thy mighty mafter's emblem, in whofe face
Sate meeknefs, heighten'd with majestic grace;
Such feems thy gentle height, made only proud
To be the basis of that pompous load,

Than which, a nobler weight no mountain bears,
But Atlas only, which fupports the spheres.
When nature's hand this ground did thus advance,
'Twas guided by a wiser power than Chance ;
Mark'd out for fuch an use, as if 'twere meant
T' invite the builder, and his choice prevent.
Nor can we call it choice, when, what we chuse,
Folly or blindness only cou'd refuse.

A crown of fuch majestic tow'rs does grace

The gods great mother, when her heav'nly race
Do homage to her; yet she cannot boast,
Among that num'rous and celestial hoft,
More heroes than can Windfor; nor doth Fame's
Immortal book record more noble names.
Not to look back fo far, to whom this ifle
Owes the first glory of so brave a pile,
Whether to Cæfar, Albanact, or Brute,
The British Arthur, or the Danish Knute,
(Tho' this, of old, no lefs conteft did move,
Than when, for Homer's birth, fev'n cities ftrove)
(Like him in birth, thou should't be like in fame,
As thine his fate, if mine had been his flame)
But whofoe'er it was, nature defign'd

First a brave place, and then as brave a mind.
Not to recount those sev'ral kings, to whom
It gave a cradle, or to whom a tomb,

But thee (great * Edward) and thy greater fon,,
(The lilies which his father wore he won)
And thy Bellona, who the confort came
Not only to thy bed, but to thy fame,.

She to thy triumph led one captive † king,.

And brought that fon, which did the fecond bring..
Then did thou found that order (whether love
Or victory thy royal thoughts did move)

Each was a noble caufe, and nothing lefs.
Than the defign, has been the great fuccefs ::
Which foreign kings, and emperors esteem
The fecond honour to their diadem.

Had thy great deftiny but giv'n thee skill
To know, as well as pow'r to act, her will,
That, from thofe k ngs who then thy captives were,,
In after-times fhould fpring a royal pair,.

Who fhould poffefs all that thy mighty pow'r,

Or thy defires, more mighty, did devour ;

To whom their better fate referves whate'er:
The victor hopes for, or the vanquish'd fear;
That blood, which thou and thy great grandfire fhed.
And all that fince thefe fifter nations bled,

Had been unfpilt, had happy Edward known
That all the blood he fpilt had been his own.
When he that patron chofe, in whom are join'd;
Soldier and martyr, and his arms confin'd

Within the azure circle, he did feem
But to foretel, and prophefy of him,.

* Edward III. and the Black, Prince,
The kings of France and Scotland.

† Queen Philip

Whe

Who to his realms that azure round hath join'd, Which nature for their bound at first design'd: That bound, which, to the world's extremeft ends, Endless itself, its liquid arms extends :

Nor doth he need thofe emblems which we paint,
But is himself the foldier and the faint.

Here should my wonder dwell, and here my praife,
But my fix'd thoughts my wond'ring eye betrays
Viewing a neighb'ring hill, whose top of late
A chapel crown'd, 'till, in the common fate,
Th' adjoining abbey fell: (may no fuch storm
Fall on our times, where ruin must reform.)
Tell me, my mufe, what monftrous dire offence,
What crime, could any Chriftian king incense.
To fuch a rage? Was't luxury, or luft?
Was he fo temperate, so chafte, so just ?

Were these their crimes? They were his own much

more:

But wealth is crime enough to him that's poor;
Who, having spent the treasures of his crown,
Condemns their luxury to feed his own.
And yet this act, to varnish o'er the shame
Of facrilege, must bear Devotion's name.
No crime fo bold, but would be understood
A real, or, at leaft, a feeming good..
Who fears not to do ill, yet fears the name,
And free from confcience, is a flave to fame.
Thus, he the church at once protects, and spoils :
But princes' fwords are sharper than their ftiles.
And thus to th' ages past he makes amends,
Their charity deftroys, their faith defends..

Then did religion, in a lazy cell,

In empty, airy contemplations dwell;

And, like the block, unmoved lay: but ours,
As much too active, like the ftork devours.
Is there no temp'rate region can be known,
Betwixt their frigid, and our torrid, zone?
Cou'd we not wake from that lethargic dream,
But to be reftlefs in a worse extreme ?
And, for that lethargy, was there no cure,
But to be caft into a calenture?

Can knowledge have no bound, but must advance
So far, to make us wish for ignorance;
And rather in the dark to grope our way,

Than, led by a falfe guide, to err by day?
Who fees these dismal heaps, but would demand
What barbarous invader fack'd the land?

But when he hears, no Goth, no Turk, did bring
This defolation, but a Christian king;

When nothing but the name of Zeal appears,
"Twixt our beft actions, and the worft of theirs,
What does he think our facrilege wou'd fpare,
When fuch the effects of our devotions are?
Parting from thence, 'twixt anger, fhame, and fear,
Thofe for what's paft, and this for what's too near;
My eye, defcending from the hill, furveys
Where Thames among the wanton vallies ftrays.
Thames, the most lov'd of all the ocean's fons
By his old fire, to his embraces runs,
Hafting to pay his tribute to the fea,

Like mortal life to meet eternity.

Tho' with those streams he no resemblance hold,
Whose foam is amber, and their gravel gold;
His genuine and lefs guilty wealth t'explore,
Search not his bottom, but furvey his shore ;
O'er which he kindly spreads his fpacious wing,
And hatches plenty for th'enfuing spring :
Nor then destroys it with too fond a stay,
Like mothers which their infants overlay ;
Nor, with a fudden and impetuous wave,
Like profufe kings, refumes the wealth he gave,
No unexpected inundations spoil

The mower's hopes, or mock the ploughman's toil:
But, godlike, his unwearied bounty flows;
First loves to do, then loves the good he does.
Nor are his bleffings to his banks confin'd,
But free and common as the fea, or wind;
When he to boast, or to disperse his ftores,
Full of the tributes of his grateful shores,
Vifits the world, and, in his flying towers,
Brings home to us, and makes both Indies ours;
Finds wealth where 'tis, beftows it where it wants,
Cities in defarts, woods in cities plants.

So that to us no things, no place is strange,
While his fair bofom is the world's exchange.
O could I flow like thee, and make thy stream
My great example, as it is my theme!
'Tho' deep, yet clear, tho' gentle, not yet dull;
Strong, without rage, without o'erflowing, full.
Heav'n her Eridanus no more shall boast,
Whole fame in thine, like leffer currents, loft,

Thy