Uncertain feems, and may be thought a proud
Afpiring mountain, or defcending cloud,

Paul's, the late theme of fuch a

Mufe whofe flight

Has bravely reach'd and foar'd above thy height
Now fhalt thou ftand, though fword, or time, or fire,
Or zeal more fierce than they, thy fall confpire,
Secure, whilst thee the best of poets fings,
Preferv'd from ruin by the best of kings.
Under his proud furvey the city lies,

And like a mift beneath a hill doth rife;

Whose state and wealth, the business and the crowd
Seems at this distance but a darker cloud:

And is, to him who rightly things esteems,
No other in effect than what it feems :

Where, with like hafte, though feveral ways, they run,
Some to undo, and some to be undone ;

While luxury, and wealth, like war and peace,

Are each the other's ruin, and increase;

As rivers loft in feas, fome secret vein
Thence reconveys, there to be loft again.
Oh happinefs of fweet retir'd content!

To be at once fecure, and innocent.

Windfor the next (where Mars with Venus dwells,
Beauty with strength) above the valley fwells

Into my eye, and doth itself present

With fuch an easy and unforc'd afcent,
That no ftupendous precipice denies
Access, no horror turns away our eyes

*Mr. Waller..

But

But fuch a rife as doth at once invite
A pleasure, and a reverence from the fight.
Thy mighty master's emblem, in whofe face
Sate meeknefs, heighten'd with majestic grace;
Such feems thy gentle height, made only proud
To be the bafis 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 wifer 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 chufe,
Folly or blindness only could refuse.

A crown of fuch majestic towers doth grace
The gods great mother, when her heavenly race
Do homage to her, yet the cannot boast
Among that numerous, 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 isle
Owes the first glory of fo brave a pile,
Whether to Cæfar, Albanact, or Brute,
The British Arthur, or the Danish Cnute,
(Though this of old no less contest did move,
Than when for Homer's birth seven cities ftrove)
(Like him in birth, thou fhould'st be like in fame,
As thine his fate, if mine had been his flame)
But whofoe'er it was, Nature design'd

First a brave place, and then as brave a mind.

Not

Not to recount those several kings, to whom
It gave a cradle, or to whom a tomb;

But thee, great * Edward, and thy greater Son,
(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 second ‡ bring-
Then didft thou found that order (whether love

Or victory thy royal thoughts did move)
Each was a noble caufe, and nothing less
Than the design, has been the great fuccefs:
Which foreign kings and emperors eftcem
The fecond honour to their diadem.
Had thy great destiny but given thee skill
To know, as well as power to act her will,
That from thofe kings, who then thy captives were,
In after-times fhould fpring a royal pair,

Who fhould poffefs all that thy mighty power,
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 shed,
And all that fince these fifter nations bled,

Had been unspilt, and happy Edward known
That all the blood he spilt, had been his own.

* Edward III. and the Black Prince.

+ Queen Philippa.

The kings of France and Scotland.

When

When he that patron chose, in whom are join'd
Soldier and martyr, and his arms confin'd
Within the azure circle, he did feem

But to foretel, and prophesy of him,

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 extreameft 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 wandering eye betrays,
Viewing a neighbouring hill, whofe 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 Christian king incense
To fuch a rage? Was't luxury, or lust?
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 least a feeming good:
Who fears not to do ill, yet fears the name,
And free from confcience, is a flave to fame :

Thus

Thus he the church at once protects, and spoils :
But princes' fwords are sharper than their styles.
And thus to th' ages paft he makes amends,
Their charity destroys, 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 temperate region can be known,
Betwixt their frigid, and our torrid zone?
Could we not wake from that lethargic dream,
But to be reftlefs in a worfe 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 with for ignorance;"

And rather in the dark to grope our way,

Than led by a false 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 worst of theirs ;
What does he think our facrilege would spare,
When fuch th' 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 strays.

Thames,