PENSHURST . INSCRIBED TO WILLIAM PERRY , Esq ; AND The Honourable Mrs. ELIZABETH PERRY . By the late Mr. F. COVENTRY . GENIUS of Penshurst old ! Who saw'st the birth of each immortal oak , Here sacred from the stroke ; And all thy tenants of yon turrets bold , Inspir'st to arts or arms ; Where Sir Philip Sidney . Sidney his Arcadian landscape drew , Genuine from thy Doric view ; And patriot Algernon Sidney . Algernon unshaken rose Above insulting foes ; And Saccharissa nurs'd her angel charms . O suffer me with sober tread To enter on thy holy shade ; Bid smoothly-gliding Medway stand , And wave his sedgy tresses bland , A stranger let him kindly greet , And pour his urn beneath my feet . And see where Perry opes his door To land me on the social floor ; Nor does the heiress of these shades deny To bend her bright majestic eye , Where Beauty shines , and Friendship warm , And Honour in a female form . With them in aged groves to walk , And lose my thoughts in artless talk , I shun the voice of Party loud , I shun loose Pleasure's idle crowd , And monkish academic cell , Where Science only feigns to dwell , And court , where speckled Vanity Apes her tricks in tawdry die , And shifts each hour her tinsel hue , Still furbelow'd in follies new . Here Nature no distortion wears , Old Truth retains his silver hairs , And Chastity her matron step , And purple Health her rosy lip . Ah ! on the virgin's gentle brow How Innocence delights to glow ! Unlike the town-dame's haughty air , The scornful eye and harlot's stare ; But bending mild the bashful front As modest Fear is ever wont : Shepherdesses such of old , Doric bards enamour'd told , While the pleas'd Arcadian vale Echo'd the enchanting tale . But chief of Virtue's lovely train , A pensive exile on the plain , No longer active now to wield Th' avenging sword , protecting shield , Here thoughtful-walking Liberty Remembers Britons once were free . With her would Nobles old converse , And learn her dictates to rehearse , Ere yet they grew refin'd to hate The hospitable rural seat , The spacious hall with tenants stor'd , Where Mirth and Plenty crown'd the board ; Ere yet their Lares they forsook , And lost the genuine British look , The conscious brow of inward merit , The rough , unbending , martial spirit , To clink the chain of Thraldom gay , And court-idolatry to pay ; To live in city smoaks obscure , Where morn ne'er wakes her breezes pure , Where darkest midnight reigns at noon , And fogs eternal blot the sun . But come , the minutes flit away , And eager Fancy longs to stray : Come , friendly Genius ! lead me round Thy sylvan haunts and magic ground ; Point every spot of hill or dale , And tell me , as we tread the vale , " Here mighty Dudly once wou'd rove , " To plan his triumphs in the grove : " There looser Waller , ever gay , " With Sacchariss in dalliance lay ; " And Philip , side-long yonder spring , " His lavish carols wont to sing . " Hark ! I hear the echoes call , Hark ! the rushing waters fall ; Lead me to the green retreats , Guide me to the Muses' seats , Where ancient bards retirement chose , Or ancient lovers wept their woes . What Genius points to yonder An oak in Penshurst park , planted the day Sir Philip Sid ney was born , of which Ben Johnson speaks in the following manner : That taller tree , which of a nut was set , At his great birth , where all the Muses met . oak ? What rapture does my soul provoke ? There let me hang a garland high , There let my Muse her accents try ; Be there my earliest homage paid , Be there my latest vigils made : For thou wast planted in the earth The day that shone on Sidney's birth . That happy time , that glorious day The Muses came in concert gay ; With harps in tune , and ready song , The jolly Chorus tript along ; In honour of th' auspicious morn , To hail an infant genius born : Next came the Faun , in order meet , The Satyrs next with cloven feet , The Dryads swift that roam the woods , The Naiads green that swim the floods ; Sylvanus left his silent cave , Medway came dropping from the wave ; Vertumnus led his blushing spouse , And Ceres shook her wheaten brows , And Mars with milder look was there , And laughing Venus grac'd the rear . They join'd their hands in festive dance , And bade the smiling babe advance ; Each gave a gift ; Sylvanus last Ordain'd , when all the pomp was past , Memorial meet , a tree to grow , Which might to future ages shew , That on select occasion rare , A troop of Gods assembled there : The Naiads water'd well the ground , And Flora twin'd a wood-bine round : The tree sprung fast in hallow'd earth , Co-aeval with th' illustrious birth Thus let my feet unwearied stray ; Nor satisfied with one survey , When morn surveys with doubtful light , And Phebe pales her lamp of night , Still let me wander forth anew , And print my footsteps on the dew , What time the swain with ruddy cheek Prepares to yoke his oxen meek , And early drest in neat array The milk-maid chanting shrill her lay , Comes abroad with milking pail ; And the sound of distant flail Gives the ear a rough good-morrow , And the lark from out his furrow Soars upright on matin wings , And at the gate of heaven sings . But when the sun with fervid ray Drives upwards to his noon of day , And couching oxen lay them down Beneath the beechen umbrage brown ; Then let me wander in the hall , Round whose antique-visag'd wall Hangs the armour Britons wore , Rudely cast in days of yore . Yon sword some heroe's arm might wield , Red in the ranks of Chalgrave's field , Where ever-glorious Hampden bled , And Freedom tears of sorrow shed . Or in the gallery let me walk , Where living pictures seem to talk , Where Beauty smiles serenely fair , And Courage frowns with martial air ; Tho' whiskers quaint the face disguise , And habits odd to modern eyes . Behold what kings in Britain reign'd , Plantagenets with blood distain'd , And valiant Tudor's haughty race , And Stuarts , England's worst disgrace . The Norman first , with cruel frown , Proud of his new-usurped crown , Begins the list ; and many more , Stern heroes form'd of roughest ore . See victor Henry there advance , Ev'n in his look he conquers France ; And murd'rer Richard , justly slain By Richmond's steel on Bosworth plain ; See the tyrant of his wives , Prodigal of fairest lives , And laureat Edward nurs'd in arts , Minerva school'd his kingly parts : But ah ! the melancholy Jane , A soul too tender for a queen ! She sinks beneath imperial sway , The dear-bought scepter of a day ! And must she mount the scaffold drear ? Hard-hearted Mary , learn to spare ! Eliza next salutes the eye ; Exalt the song to Liberty , The Muse repeats the sacred name , Eliza fills the voice of fame . From thence a baser age began , The royal ore polluted ran , Till foreign Nassau's valiant hand Chac'd holy tyrants from the land : Downward from hence descend apace To Brunswick's high , illustrious race ; And see the canvas speaks them brave , An injur'd nation born to save , Active in Freedom's righteous cause , And conscious of a just applause . But chiefly pleas'd , the curious eye , With nice discernment loves to try The labour'd wonders , passing thought , Which warm Italian pencils wrought ; Fables of love , and stories old , By Greek or Latian poets told ; How Jove committed many a rape , How young Acteon lost his shape ; Or what celestial pen-men writ , Or what the painter's genuine wit From Fancy's store-house could devise ; Where Raphael claims the highest prize . Madonas here decline the head , With fond maternal pleasure fed , Or lift their lucid eyes above , Where more is seen than holy love . There temples stand display'd within , And pillars in long order seen , And roofs rush forward to the sight , And lamps affect a living light . Or landscapes tire the trav'ling eye , The clouds in azure volumes fly , The distant trees distinguish'd rise , And hills look little in the skies . When day declines , and ev'ning cool Begins her gentle , silent rule , Again , as Fancy points the way , Benignant leader , let me stray : And wilt thou , Genius , bring along ( So shall my Muse exalt her song ) The Lord who rules this ample scene , His Consort too with gracious mien , Her little offspring prattling round , While Echo lisps their infant sound . And let Good-nature , born to please , Wait on our steps , and graceful Ease ; Nor Mirth be wanting as we walk , Nor Wit to season sober talk ; Let gay Description too attend , And Fable told with moral end , And Satire quick that comes by stealth , And flowing Laughter , friend to Health . Meanwhile Attention loves to mark The deer that crop the shaven park , The steep-brow'd hill , or forest wild , The sloping lawns , and zephyrs mild , The clouds that blush with ev'ning red , Or meads with silver fountains fed , The fragrance of the new-mown hay , And black-bird chanting on the spray ; The calm farewel of parting light , And Ev'ning sad'ning into Night . Nor wearied yet my roving feet , Tho' Night comes on amain , retreat ; But still abroad I walk unseen Along the star-enlighten'd green ; Superior joys my soul invite , Lift , lift to heav'n the dazzled sight . Lo , where the moon enthron'd on high , Sits steady empress of the sky , Enticing nations to revere , And proudly vain of pagan fear ; Or where thro' clouds she travels fast , And seems on journey bent in haste , While thousand hand-maid stars await , Attendant on their queen of state . 'Tis now that in her high controul , Ambitious of a foreign rule , She stirs the Ocean to rebel , And factious waters fond to swell Guides to battle in her carr , 'Gainst her sister Earth to war . Thus let me muse on things sublime , Above the flight of modern rhyme , And call the soul of Newton down , Where it sits high on starry throne , Inventing laws for worlds to come , Or teaching comets how to roam : With him I'd learn of every star , But sour-ey'd Pedantry be far , And Ignorance in garb of Sense , With terms of art to make pretence . Hail happy soil ! illustrious earth ! Which gav'st so many heroes birth ; Which never wand'ring poet trod , But felt within th' inspiring God ! In these transporting , solemn shades , First I salute th' Aonian maids . Ah lead me , Genius , to thy haunts , Where Philomel at ev'ning chants , And as my oaten pipe resounds , Give musick to the forming sounds . A simple shepherd , yet unknown , Aspires to snatch an ivy crown , On daring pinions bold to soar , Tho' here thy Waller sung before , And Johnson dipt his learned pen , And Sidney pour'd his fancy-flowing strain .