WINDSOR-FOREST. To the Right Honourable GEORGE Lord LANSDOWN.

WINDSOR-FOREST . To the Right Honourable GEORGE Lord LANSDOWN . THY Forests , Windsor ! and thy green Retreats , At once the Monarch's and the Muse's Seats , Invite my Lays . Be present , Sylvan Maids ! Unlock your Springs , and open all your Shades . Granville commands : Your Aid O Muses bring ! What Muse for Granville can refuse to sing ? The Groves of Eden , vanish'd now so long , Live in Description , and look green in Song : These , were my Breast inspir'd with equal Flame , Like them in Beauty , should be like in Fame . Here Hills and Vales , the Woodland and the Plain , Here Earth and Water seem to strive again , Not Chaos-like together crush'd and bruis'd , But as the World , harmoniously confus'd : Where Order in Variety we see , And where , tho' all things differ , all agree . Here waving Groves a checquer'd Scene display , And part admit and part exclude the Day ; As some coy Nymph her Lover's warm Address Nor quite indulges , nor can quite repress . There , interspers'd in Lawns and opening Glades , Thin Trees arise that shun each others Shades . Here in full Light the russet Plains extend ; There wrapt in Clouds the blueish Hills ascend : Ev'n the wild Heath displays her Purple Dies , And 'midst the Desart fruitful Fields arise , That crown'd with tufted Trees and springing Corn , Like verdant Isles the sable Waste adorn . Let India boast her Plants , nor envy we The weeping Amber or the balmy Tree , While by our Oaks the precious Loads are born , And Realms commanded which those Trees adorn . Not proud Olympus yields a nobler Sight , Tho' Gods assembled grace his tow'ring Height , Than what more humble Mountains offer here , Where , in their Blessings , all those Gods appear . See Pan with Flocks , with Fruits Pomona crown'd , Here blushing Flora paints th' enamel'd Ground , Here Ceres' Gifts in waving Prospect stand , And nodding tempt the joyful Reaper's Hand , Rich Industry sits smiling on the Plains , And Peace and Plenty tell , a STUART reigns . Not thus the Land appear'd in Ages past , A dreary Desart and a gloomy Waste , To Savage Beasts and The Forest Laws . Savage Laws a Prey , And Kings more furious and severe than they : Who claim'd the Skies , dispeopled Air and Floods , The lonely Lords of empty Wilds and Woods . Cities laid waste , they storm'd the Dens and Caves ( For wiser Brutes were backward to be Slaves ) What could be free , when lawless Beasts obey'd , And ev'n the Elements a Tyrant sway'd ? In vain kind Seasons swell'd the teeming Grain , Soft Show'rs distill'd , and Suns grew warm in vain ; The Swain with Tears to Beasts his Labour yields , And famish'd dies amidst his ripen'd Fields . No wonder Savages or Subjects slain Were equal Crimes in a Despotick Reign ; Both doom'd alike for sportive Tyrants bled , But Subjects starv'd while Savages were fed . Proud Nimrod first the bloody Chace began , A mighty Hunter , and his Prey was Man . Our haughty Norman boasts that barb'rous Name , And makes his trembling Slaves the Royal Game . The Alluding to the New Forest , and the Tyrannies exercis'd there by William the First . Fields are ravish'd from th' industrious Swains , From Men their Cities , and from Gods their Fanes : The levell'd Towns with Weeds lie cover'd o'er , The hollow Winds thro' naked Temples roar ; Round broken Columns clasping Ivy twin'd ; O'er Heaps of Ruins stalk'd the stately Hind ; The Fox obscene to gaping Tombs retires , And Wolves with Howling fill the sacred Quires . Aw'd by his Nobles , by his Commons curst , Th' Oppressor rul'd Tyrannick where he durst , Stretch'd o'er the Poor , and Church , his Iron Rod , And treats alike his Vassals and his God . Whom ev'n the Saxon spar'd , and bloody Dane , The wanton Victims of his Sport remain . But see the Man who spacious Regions gave A Waste for Beasts , himself deny'd a Grave ! Stretch'd on the Lawn his Richard , second Son of William the Conqueror . second Hope survey , At once the Chaser and at once the Prey . Lo Rufus , tugging at the deadly Dart , Bleeds in the Forest , like a wounded Hart . Succeeding Monarchs heard the Subjects Cries , Nor saw displeas'd the peaceful Cottage rise . Then gath'ring Flocks on unknown Mountains fed , O'er sandy Wilds were yellow Harvests spread , The Forests wonder'd at th' unusual Grain , And secret Transports touch'd the conscious Swain . Fair Liberty , Britannia's Goddess , rears Her chearful Head , and leads the golden Years . Ye vig'rous Swains ! while Youth ferments your Blood , And purer Spirits swell the sprightly Flood , Now range the Hills , the thickest Woods beset , Wind the shrill Horn , or spread the waving Net . When milder Autumn Summer's Heat succeeds , And in the new-shorn Field the Partridge feeds , Before his Lord the ready Spaniel bounds , Panting with Hope , he tries the furrow'd Grounds , But when the tainted Gales the Game betray , Couch'd close he lyes , and meditates the Prey ; Secure they trust th' unfaithful Field , beset , Till hov'ring o'er 'em sweeps the swelling Net . Thus ( if small Things we may with great compare ) When Albion sends her eager Sons to War , Pleas'd , in the Gen'ral's Sight , the Host lye down Sudden , before some unsuspecting Town , The Young , the Old , one Instant makes our Prize , And high in Air Britannia's Standard flies . See ! from the Brake the whirring Pheasant springs , And mounts exulting on triumphant Wings ; Short is his Joy ! he feels the fiery Wound , Flutters in Blood , and panting beats the Ground . Ah ! what avail his glossie , varying Dyes , His Purple Crest , and Scarlet-circled Eyes , The vivid Green his shining Plumes unfold ; His painted Wings , and Breast that flames with Gold ? Nor yet , when moist Arcturus clouds the Sky , The Woods and Fields their pleasing Toils deny . To Plains with well-breath'd Beagles we repair , And trace the Mazes of the circling Hare . ( Beasts , taught by us , their Fellow Beasts pursue , And learn of Man each other to undo . ) With slaught'ring Guns th' unweary'd Fowler roves , When Frosts have whiten'd all the naked Groves ; Where Doves in Flocks the leafless Trees o'ershade , And lonely Woodcocks haunt the watry Glade . He lifts the Tube , and levels with his Eye ; Strait a short Thunder breaks the frozen Sky . Oft , as in Airy Rings they skim the Heath , The clam'rous Plovers feel the Leaden Death : Oft as the mounting Larks their Notes prepare , They fall , and leave their little Lives in Air . In genial Spring , beneath the quiv'ring Shade Where cooling Vapours breathe along the Mead , The patient Fisher takes his silent Stand Intent , his Angle trembling in his Hand ; With Looks unmov'd , he hopes the Scaly Breed , And eyes the dancing Cork and bending Reed . Our plenteous Streams a various Race supply ; The bright-ey'd Perch with Fins of Tyrian Dye , The silver Eel , in shining Volumes roll'd , The yellow Carp , in Scales bedrop'd with Gold , Swift Trouts , diversify'd with Crimson Stains , And Pykes , the Tyrants of the watry Plains . Now Cancer glows with Phoebus' fiery Car ; The Youth rush eager to the Sylvan War ; Swarm o'er the Lawns , the Forest Walks surround , Rowze the fleet Hart , and chear the opening Hound . Th' impatient Courser pants in ev'ry Vein , And pawing , seems to beat the distant Plain , Hills , Vales , and Floods appear already crost , And ere he starts , a thousand Steps are lost . See ! the bold Youth strain up the threatning Steep , Rush thro' the Thickets , down the Vallies sweep , Hang o'er their Coursers Heads with eager Speed , And Earth rolls back beneath the flying Steed . Let old Arcadia boast her spacious Plain , Th' Immortal Huntress , and her Virgin Train ; Nor envy Windsor ! since thy Shades have seen As bright a Goddess , and as chast a Queen ; Whose Care , like hers , protects the Sylvan Reign , The Earth's fair Light , and Empress of the Main . Here , as old Bards have sung , Diana stray'd Bath'd in the Springs , or sought the cooling Shade ; Here arm'd with Silver Bows , in early Dawn , Her buskin'd Virgins trac'd the Dewy Lawn . Above the rest a rural Nymph was fam'd , Thy Offspring , Thames ! the fair Lodona nam'd , ( Lodona's Fate , in long Oblivion cast , The Muse shall sing , and what she sings shall last ) Scarce could the Goddess from her Nymph be known , But by the Crescent and the golden Zone , She scorn'd the Praise of Beauty , and the Care ; A Belt her Waste , a Fillet binds her Hair , A painted Quiver on her Shoulder sounds , And with her Dart the flying Deer she wounds . It chanc'd , as eager of the Chace the Maid Beyond the Forest's verdant Limits stray'd , Pan saw and lov'd , and furious with Desire Pursu'd her Flight ; her Flight increas'd his Fire . Not half so swift the trembling Doves can fly , When the fierce Eagle cleaves the liquid Sky ; Not half so swiftly the fierce Eagle moves , When thro' the Clouds he drives the trembling Doves ; As from the God with fearful Speed she flew , As did the God with equal Speed pursue . Now fainting , sinking , pale , the Nymph appears ; Now close behind his sounding Steps she hears ; And now his Shadow reach'd her as she run , ( His Shadow lengthen'd by the setting Sun ) And now his shorter Breath with sultry Air Pants on her Neck , and fans her parting Hair . In vain on Father Thames she calls for Aid , Nor could Diana help her injur'd Maid . Faint , breathless , thus she pray'd , nor pray'd in vain ; " Ah Cynthia ! ah — tho' banish'd from thy Train , " Let me , O let me , to the Shades repair , " My native Shades — there weep , and murmur there . She said , and melting as in Tears she lay , In a soft , silver Stream dissolv'd away . The silver Stream her Virgin Coldness keeps , For ever murmurs , and for ever weeps ; Still bears the The River Loddon . Name the hapless Virgin bore , And bathes the Forest where she rang'd before . In her chast Current oft the Goddess laves , And with Celestial Tears augments the Waves . Oft in her Glass the musing Shepherd spies The headlong Mountains and the downward Skies , The watry Landskip of the pendant Woods , And absent Trees that tremble in the Floods ; In the clear azure Gleam the Flocks are seen , And floating Forests paint the Waves with Green . Thro' the fair Scene rowl slow the lingring Streams , Then foaming pour along , and rush into the Thames . Thou too , great Father of the British Floods ! With joyful Pride survey'st our lofty Woods , Where tow'ring Oaks their spreading Honours rear , And future Navies on thy Banks appear . Not Neptune's self from all his Floods receives A wealthier Tribute , than to thine he gives . No Seas so rich , so full no Streams appear , No Lake so gentle , and no Spring so clear . Not fabled Po more swells the Poets Lays , While thro' the Skies his shining Current strays , Than thine , which visits Windsor's fam'd Abodes , To grace the Mansion of our earthly Gods . Nor all his Stars a brighter Lustre show , Than the fair Nymphs that gild thy Shore below : Here Jove himself , subdu'd by Beauty still , Might change Olympus for a nobler Hill . Happy the Man whom this bright Court approves , His Sov'reign favours , and his Country loves ; Happy next him who to these Shades retires , Whom Nature charms , and whom the Muse inspires , Whom humbler Joys of home-felt Quiet please , Successive Study , Exercise and Ease . He gathers Health from Herbs the Forest yields , And of their fragrant Physick spoils the Fields : With Chymic Art exalts the Min'ral Pow'rs , And draws the Aromatick Souls of Flow'rs . Now marks the Course of rolling Orbs on high ; O'er figur'd Worlds now travels with his Eye . Of ancient Writ unlocks the learned Store , Consults the Dead , and lives past Ages o'er . Or wandring thoughtful in the silent Wood , Attends the Duties of the Wise and Good , T' observe a Mean , be to himself a Friend , To follow Nature , and regard his End . Or looks on Heav'n with more than mortal Eyes , Bids his free Soul expatiate in the Skies , Amidst her Kindred Stars familiar roam , Survey the Region , and confess her Home ! Such was the Life great Scipio once admir'd , Thus Atticus , and Trumbal thus retir'd Ye sacred Nine ! that all my Soul possess , Whose Raptures fire me , and whose Visions bless , Bear me , oh bear me to sequester'd Scenes Of Bow'ry Mazes and surrounding Greens ; To Thames's Banks which fragrant Breezes fill , Or where ye Muses sport on Cooper's Hill . ( On Cooper's Hill eternal Wreaths shall grow , While lasts the Mountain , or while Thames shall flow ) I seem thro' consecrated Walks to rove , And hear soft Musick dye along the Grove ; Led by the Sound I roam from Shade to Shade , By God-like Poets Venerable made : Here his first Lays Majestick Denham sung ; There the last Numbers flow'd from Mr. Cowley died at Chertsey on the Borders of the Forest , and was from thence convey'd to West minster . Cowley's Tongue . O early lost ! what Tears the River shed When the sad Pomp along his Banks was led ? His drooping Swans on ev'ry Note expire , And on his Willows hung each Muse's Lyre . Since Fate relentless stop'd their Heav'nly Voice , No more the Forests ring , or Groves rejoice ; Who now shall charm the Shades where Cowley strung His living Harp , and lofty Denham sung ? But hark ! the Groves rejoice , the Forest rings ! Are these reviv'd ? or is it Granville sings ? 'Tis yours , my Lord , to bless our soft Retreats , And call the Muses to their ancient Seats , To paint anew the flow'ry Sylvan Scenes , To crown the Forests with Immortal Greens , Make Windsor Hills in lofty Numbers rise , And lift her Turrets nearer to the Skies ; To sing those Honours you deserve to wear , And add new Lustre to her Silver Star . Here noble Henry Howard E. of Surrey , one of the first Resiners of the English Poetry ; famous in the Time of Henry the VIIIth for his Sonnets , the Scene of many of which is laid at Windsor . Surrey felt the sacred Rage , Surrey , the Granville of a former Age : Matchless his Pen , victorious was his Lance ; Bold in the Lists , and graceful in the Dance : In the same Shades the Cupids tun'd his Lyre , To the same Notes , of Love , and soft Desire : Fair Geraldine , bright Object of his Vow , Then fill'd the Groves , as heav'nly Myra now . Oh wou'dst thou sing what Heroes Windsor bore , What Kings first breath'd upon her winding Shore , Or raise old Warriors whose ador'd Remains In weeping Vaults her hallow'd Earth contains ! With Edward III . born here . Edward's Acts adorn the shining Page , Stretch his long Triumphs down thro' ev'ry Age , Draw Kings enchain'd ; and Cressi's glorious Field , The Lillies blazing on the Regal Shield . Then , from her Roofs when Verrio's Colours fall , And leave inanimate the naked Wall ; Still in thy Song shou'd vanquish'd France appear , And bleed for ever under Britain's Spear . Let softer Strains Ill-fated Henry VI . Henry mourn , And Palms Eternal flourish round his Urn . Here o'er the Martyr-King the Marble weeps , And fast beside him , once-fear'd Edward IV . Edward sleeps : Whom not th' extended Albion could contain , From old Belerium to the German Main , The Grave unites ; where ev'n the Great find Rest , And blended lie th' Oppressor and th' Opprest ! Make sacred Charles's Tomb for ever known , ( Obscure the Place , and uninscrib'd the Stone ) Oh Fact accurst ! What Tears has Albion shed , Heav'ns ! what new Wounds , and how her old have bled ? She saw her Sons with purple Deaths expire , Her sacred Domes involv'd in rolling Fire . A dreadful Series of Intestine Wars , In glorious Triumphs , and dishonest Scars . At length great ANNA said — Let Discord cease ! She said , the World obey'd , and all was Peace ! In that blest Moment , from his Oozy Bed Old Father Thames advanc'd his rev'rend Head . His Tresses dropt with Dews , and o'er the Stream His shining Horns diffus'd a golden Gleam : Grav'd on his Urn appear'd the Moon , that guides His swelling Waters , and alternate Tydes ; The figur'd Streams in Waves of Silver roll'd , And on their Banks Augusta rose in Gold . Around his Throne the Sea-born Brothers stood , That swell with Tributary Urns his Flood . First the fam'd Authors of his ancient Name , The winding Isis , and the fruitful Tame : The Kennet swift , for silver Eels renown'd ; The Loddon slow , with verdant Alders crown'd : Cole , whose clear Streams his flow'ry Islands lave ; And chalky Wey , that rolls a milky Wave : The blue , transparent Vandalis appears ; The gulphy Lee his sedgy Tresses rears : And sullen Mole , that hides his diving Flood ; And silent Darent , stain'd with Danish Blood . High in the midst , upon his Urn reclin'd , ( His Sea-green Mantle waving with the Wind ) The God appear'd ; he turn'd his azure Eyes Where Windsor-Domes and pompous Turrets rise , Then bow'd and spoke ; the Winds forget to roar , And the hush'd Waves glide softly to the Shore . Hail Sacred Peace ! hail long-expected Days , Which Thames's Glory to the Stars shall raise ! Tho' Tyber's Streams immortal Rome behold , Tho' foaming Hermus swells with Tydes of Gold , From Heav'n it self tho' sev'nfold Nilus flows , And Harvests on a hundred Realms bestows ; These now no more shall be the Muse's Themes , Lost in my Fame , as in the Sea their Streams . Let Volga's Banks with Iron Squadrons shine , And Groves of Lances glitter on the Rhine , Let barb'rous Ganges arm a servile Train ; Be mine the Blessings of a peaceful Reign . No more my Sons shall dye with British Blood Red Iber's Sands , or Ister's foaming Flood ; Safe on my Shore each unmolested Swain Shall tend the Flocks , or reap the bearded Grain ; The shady Empire shall retain no Trace Of War or Blood , but in the Sylvan Chace , The Trumpets sleep , while chearful Horns are blown , And Arms employ'd on Birds and Beasts alone . Behold ! th' ascending Villa's on my Side Project long Shadows o'er the Chrystal Tyde . Behold ! Augusta's glitt'ring Spires increase , And Temples rise , the beauteous Works of Peace . I see , I see where two fair Cities bend Their ample Bow , a new White-Hall ascend ! There mighty Nations shall inquire their Doom , The World's great Oracle in Times to come ; There Kings shall sue , and suppliant States be seen Once more to bend before a British QUEEN . Thy Trees , fair Windsor ! now shall leave their Woods , And half thy Forests rush into my Floods , Bear Britain's Thunder , and her Cross display , To the bright Regions of the rising Day ; Tempt Icy Seas , where scarce the Waters roll , Where clearer Flames glow round the frozen Pole ; Or under Southern Skies exalt their Sails , Led by new Stars , and born by spicy Gales ! For me the Balm shall bleed , and Amber flow , The Coral redden , and the Ruby glow , The Pearly Shell its lucid Globe infold , And Phoebus warm the ripening Ore to Gold . The Time shall come , when free as Seas or Wind Unbounded Thames shall flow for all Mankind , Whole Nations enter with each swelling Tyde , And Oceans join whom they did first divide ; Earth's distant Ends our Glory shall behold , And the new World launch forth to seek the Old . Then Ships of uncouth Form shall stem the Tyde , And Feather'd People crowd my wealthy Side , While naked Youth and painted Chiefs admire Our Speech , our Colour , and our strange Attire ! Oh stretch thy Reign , fair Peace ! from Shore to Shore , Till Conquest cease , and Slav'ry be no more : Till the freed Indians in their native Groves Reap their own Fruits , and woo their Sable Loves , Peru once more a Race of Kings behold , And other Mexico's be roof'd with Gold . Exil'd by Thee from Earth to deepest Hell , In Brazen Bonds shall barb'rous Discord dwell : Gigantick Pride , pale Terror , gloomy Care , And mad Ambition , shall attend her there . There purple Vengeance bath'd in Gore retires , Her Weapons blunted , and extinct her Fires : There hateful Envy her own Snakes shall feel , And Persecution mourn her broken Wheel : There Faction roars , Rebellion bites her Chain , And gasping Furies thirst for Blood in vain . Here cease thy Flight , nor with unhallow'd Lays Touch the fair Fame of Albion's Golden Days . The Thoughts of Gods let Granville's Verse recite , And bring the Scenes of opening Fate to Light . My humble Muse , in unambitious Strains , Paints the green Forests and the flow'ry Plains , Where Peace descending bids her Olives spring , And scatters Blessings from her Dove-like Wing . Ev'n I more sweetly pass my careless Days , Pleas'd in the silent Shade with empty Praise ; Enough for me , that to the listning Swains First in these Fields I sung the Sylvan Strains .