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ON THE QUEEN'S REPAIRING

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, which farther lie,
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. w

Hen 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 both abandon'd to the common foe,

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

Both to out-brave, they nothing dread but fire. Nothing remain'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 tom, and all around

And hearing, captive-like, the arched yoke, Dismember'd statues of great beroes 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 nonght for robbery was left,

Is into reverence and submission strook, They starv'd to death : the gasping 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 how my face is chang'd, and wbat I am

In a large various plain the country too Since my true mistress, and now foundress, Opens her gentler blessings to my view: came!

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

By different ways, equal content may find. Me as I was (nor was I small before):

If any prouder virtuoso's sense She imitates 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 afflicted 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, So 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 goes,

make, Which still with waves of crowding people fows; 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 fleet, 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 liveliest image of the Deity,

From hence may omens take of that success We in their houses should Heaven's likeness find, which both their future wars and peace shali 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 rough 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, In a deep vision's intellectual sceno, Best to be seen by all, and all o'er-see!

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

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

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A crown was on her head, and wings were on her

feet.

The shaken strings melodiously resound.

"Art thou return'd at last," said she,
"To this forsaken place and me?
Thou prodigal! who didst so loosely waste
Of all thy youthful years the good estate;
Art thou return'd here, to repent too late,
And gather husks of learning up at last,
Now the rich harvest time of life is past,
And Winter marches on so fast?
But, when I meant t'adopt thee for my son,
And did as learn'd a portion assign,
As ever any of the mighty Nine

Had to their dearest children done;
When I resolv'd t'exalt thy anointed name,
Among the spiritual lords of peaceful fame;
Thou, changeling! thou, bewitch'd with noise and
show,

Would'st into courts and cities from me go;
Would'st see the world abroad, and have a share
In all the follies and the tumults there:
Thou would'st, forsooth, be something in a state,
And business thou would'st find, and would'st
create ;

Business! the frivolous pretence
Of human lusts, to shake off innocence;
Business! the grave impertinence;
Business! the thing which I of all things hate;
Business! the contradiction of thy fate.

"Go, renegado! cast up thy account, And see to what amount

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,
And didst (if faith and labour can) deserve,
Though she contracted was to thee,
Given to another thou didst see;
Given to another, who had store
Of fairer and of richer wives before,
And not a Leah left, thy recompense to be!
Go on; twice seven years more thy fortune try;
Twice seven years more God in his bounty may
Give thee, to fling away
Into the court's deceitful lottery:

But think how likely 'tis that thou,
With the dull work of thy unwieldy plough,
Should'st in a hard and barren season thrive,
Should'st even able be to live;

Thou, to whose share so little bread did fall,
In that miraculous year, when manna rain'd on
all."

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But ther, alas! to thee alone,
One of old Gideon's miracles was shown;
For every tree and every herb around
With pearly dew was crown'd,
And upon all the quicken'd ground
The fruitful seed of Heaven did brooding lie,
And nothing but the Muse's fleece was dry.
It did all other threats surpass,
When God to his own people said

(The men whom through long wanderings he had

led)

But, whilst thy fellow voyagers I see
All march'd up to possess the promis'd land,
Thou, still alone, alas! dost gaping stand
Upon the naked beach, upon the barren sand!

That he would give them ev'n a heaven of brass:

They look'd up to that Heaven in vain,

That bounteous Heaven, which God did not re

strain

"As a fair morning of the blessed spring,
After a tedious stormy night,

Such was the glorious entry of our king;
Enriching moisture drop'd on every thing:
Plenty he sow'd below, and cast about him light!

VOL. VII.

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Thus spake the Muse, and spake it with a smile,
That seem'd at once to pity and revile.
And to her thus, raising his thoughtful head,
The melancholy Cowley said-

"Ah, wanton foe! dost thou upbraid
The ills which thou thyself hast made?
When in the cradle innocent I lay,
Thou, wicked spirit! stolest me away,
And my abused soul didst bear
Into thy new-found worlds, I know not where,

Thy golden Indies in the air;
And ever since I strive in vain
My ravish'd freedom to regain;
Still I rebel, still thou dost reign;
Lo! still in verse against thee I complain,
There is a sort of stubborn weeds,
Which, if the earth but
once, it ever, breeds;
No wholesome herb can near them thrive,
No useful plant can keep alive:
The foolish sports I did on thee bestow,
Make all my art and labour fruitless now;
Where once such fairies dance, no grass doth ever
grow.

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Thou slack'nest all my nerves of industry,

ON THE DEATH OF
By making them so oft to be

MRS. KATHARINE PHILIPS.
The tinkling strings of thy lose minstrelsy.
Whoever this world's happiness would see, Cruel 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 faireșt sex,
Do from the world retire.

Which still thy deprelations 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 of Teach me not then, O thou fallacious Mue!

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, Othou fallacious Muse!

An everlasting pyramid, Kings have long hands, they say; and, though I As high as Heaven the top, as Earth the basis

wide. be 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.
COLONEL TUKE'S TRAGI-COMEDY, That's much, ah, much less frequent than the

And some (though these be of a kind that's rare, 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 chosen 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 waste 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 small profit to us men; And Spain on you shall make reprisals tben, 'Tis, by the number of the sharers, drown'd.

ON

Orinda, on the female coasts of Fame,
Engrosses all the goods of a poetic name;
She does no partner with her see;
Does all the business there alone, which we
Are forc'd to carry on by a whole company.

But wit's like a luxuriant vine;

Unless to virtue's prop it join,

Firm and erect towards Heaven bound; Though it with beauteous leaves and pleasant fruit be crown'd,

"

It lies, deform'd and rotting, on the ground.
Now shame and blushes on us all,
Who our own sex superior call!
Orinda does our boasting sex out-do,
Not in wit only, but in virtue too:
She does above our best examples rise,
In hate of vice and scorn of vanities.
Never did spirit of the manly make,
And dip'd all o'er in Learning's sacred lake,
A temper more invulnerable take.

No violent passion could an entrance find
Into the tender goodness of her mind :
Through walls of stone those furious bullets may
Force their impetuous way;

When her soft breast they hit, powerless and

dead they lay!

The Fame of Friendship, which so long had told
Of three or four illustrious names of old,
Till hoarse and weary with the tale she grew,
Rejoices now t' have got a new,
A new and more surprizing story,
Of fair Lucasia's and Orinda's glory.
As when a prudent man does once perceive
That in some foreign country he must live,
The language and the manners he does strive
To understand and practise here,

That he may come no stranger there: So well Orinda did herself prepare, In this much different clime, for her remove To the glad world of Poetry and Love.

Thou tide of glory, which no rest dost know, But ever ebb and ever flow!

And skill in painting, dost bestow, Upon thy ancient arms, the gandy heavenly bow.

HYMN TO LIGHT.

FIRST-born of Chaos, who so fair didst come
From the old Negro's darksome womb!
Which, when it saw the lovely child,
The melancholy mass put on kind looks and

smil'd;

Swift as light thoughts their empty career run,
Thy race is finish'd when begun;
Let a post-angel start with thee,

And thou the goal of Earth shalt reach as soon as he.

Thou in the Moon's bright chariot, proud and gay,
Dost thy bright wood of stars survey;
And all the year dost with thee bring

Of thousand flowery lights thine own nocturnal spring.

Thou, Scythian-like, dost round thy lands above
The Sun's gilt tents for ever move,
And still, as thou in pomp dost go,
The shining pageants of the world attend thy

show.

"Tis, I believe, this archery to show,

That so much cost in colours thou,

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Hail, active Nature's watchful life and health!
Her joy, her ornament, and wealth!
Hail to thy husband, Heat, and thee!
Thou the world's beauteous bride, the lusty
bridegroom he!

Say from what golden quivers of the sky
Do all thy winged arrows fly?

Swiftness and Power by birth are thine:
From thy great sire they came, thy sire, the
Word Divine,

At thy appearance, Grief itself is said

To shake his wings, and rouse his head:
And cloudy Care has often took

A gentle beamy smile, reflected from thy look.

Thou golden shower of a true Jove!

Who does in thee descend, and Heaven to Earth When, goddess! thou lift'st up thy waken'd make love!

At thy appearance, Fear itself grows bold;
Thy sun-shine melts away his cold.
Encourag'd at the sight of thee,

To the check colour comes, and firmness to the knee.

Ev'n Lust, the master of a harden'd face,
Blushes, if thou be'st in the place,
To Darkness' curtains he retires;
In sympathizing night he rolls his smoky fires

head,

Out of the morning's purple bed, Thy quire of birds about thee play And all the joyful world salutes the rising day. The ghosts, and monster-spirits, that did presume A body's privilege to assume, Vanish again invisibly,

And bodies gain again their visibility.

All the world's bravery, that deligh's our eyes, Is but thy several liveries;

Thou the rich dye on them bestow'st,

Thy nimble pencil paints this landscape as thou

go'st.

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A crimson garment in the rose thou wear'st;
A crown of studded gold thou bear'st;
The virgin-lilies, in their white,
Are clad but with the lawn of almost naked light.
The violet, Spring's little infant, stands

Girt in thy purple swaddling-bands
On the fair tulip thou dost doat;
Thou cloth'st it in a gay and party-colour'd coat.
W th flame condens'd thou do'st thy jewels fix,
And solid colours in it mix:
Flora herself envies to see

Flowers fairer than her own, and durable as she. Ah, goddess! would thou could'st thy hand withhold,

And be less liberal to gold!

Didst thou less value to it give,

Of how much care, alas ! might'st thou poor man relieve!

To me the Sun is more delightful far,

And all fair days much fairer are,

But few, ah! wondrous few, there be, Who do not gold prefer, O goddess! ev'n to thee. Through the soft ways of Heaven, and air,and sea, Which open all their pores to thee, Like a clear river thou dost glide,

And with thy living stream through the close channels slide.

But, where firm bodies thy free course oppose,
Gently thy source the land o'erflows;
Takes there possession, and does make,
Of colours mingled light, a thick and standing
lake.

But the vast ocean of unbounded day,

In th' empyræan Heaven does stay. Thy rivers, lakes, and springs, below, From thence took first their rise, thither at last must flow.

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TO THE ROYAL SOCIETY,
PRILOSOPHY, the great and only heir
Of all that human knowledge which has been
Unforfeited by man's rebellious sin,

Though full of years he do appear,
(Philosophy, I say, and call it he,
For, whatsoe'er the painter's fancy be,
It a male-virtue seems to me)
Has still been kept in nonage till of late,
Nor manag'd or enjoy'd his vast estate.

Three or four thousand years, one would have

thought,

To ripeness and perfection might have brought
A science so well bred and nurst,
And of such hopeful parts too at the first:
But, oh! the guardians and the tutors, then
(Some negligent and some ambitious men)
Would ne er consent to set him free,
Or his own natural powers to let him see,
Lest that should put an end to their authority,
That his own business he might quite forget,
They' amus'd him with the sports of wanton wit;
With the deserts of poetry they fed him,

Instead of solid meats t' increase his force;

Instead of vigorous exercise, they led him

Instead of carrying him to see
The riches which do hoarded for him lie
In Nature's endless treasury,
They chose his eye to entertain

(His curions but not covetous eye)

With painted scenes and pageants of the brain. Some few exalted spirits this latter age has shown,

That labour'd to assert the liberty

(From guardians who were now usurpers grown)
Of this old minor still, captiv'd Philosophy;
But 'twas rebellion call'd, to fight
For such a long-oppressed right.
Bacon at last, a mighty man, arose,

(Whom a wise king, and Nature, chose,
Lord chancellor of both their laws)
And boldly undertook the injur'd pupil's cause.
Authority-which did a body boast,

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

Into the pleasant labyrinths of ever-fresh dis

course;

Like some old giant's more gigantic ghost,
To terrify the learned rout

With the plain magic of true Reason's light—
He chas'd out of our sight;

Nor suffer'd living men to be misled

By the vain shadows of the dead:

To graves, from whence it rose, the conquer'd
phantom fled.

He broke that monstrous god which stood
In midst of th' orchard, and the whole did claim;
Which with a useless scythe of wood,
And something else not worth a name,
(Both vast for show, yet neither fit
Or to defend, or to beget;

Ridiculous and senseless terrours!) made
Children and superstitious men afraid.

The orchard's open now, and free,
Bacon has broke the scare-crow deity :
Come, enter, all that will,

Behold the ripen'd fruit, come gather now your

fill!

Yet still, methinks, we fain would be

Catching at the forbidden tree-
We, would be like the Deity-

When truth and falsehood, good and evil, we,
Without the senses' aid, within ourselves would

see;

For 'tis God only who can find

All Nature in his mind.

From words, which are but pictures of the thought,

(Though we our thoughts from them perversely

drew)

To things, the mind's right object, he it brought:
Like foolish birds, to painted grapes we flew;
He sought and gather'd for our use the true;
And, when on heaps the chosen bunches lay,
He prest them wisely the mechanic way,
Till all their juice did in one vessel join,
Ferment into a nourishment divine,

The thirsty soul's refreshing wine.
Who to the life an exact piece would make,
Must not from others' work a copy take;
No, not from Rubens or Vandyke;
Much less content himself to make it like
Th' ideas and the images which lie
In his own fancy or his memory.

No, he before his sight must place
The natural and living face

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