WOODSTOCK PARK. A POEM.

WOODSTOCK PARK . A POEM . By WILLIAM HARRISON . 1706. Habitarunt Di quoque silvas . VIRG. KIND heav'n at length , successfully implor'd , To Britain's arms her hero had restor'd : And now our fears remov'd , with loud applause Jointly we crown'd his conduct , and his cause . Transporting pleasure rais'd each drooping tongue , The peasants shouted , and the poets sung . The poets sung , tho' Addison alone Adorns thy laurels , and maintains his own ; In him alone , great MARLBOROUGH , is seen , Thy graceful motion , and thy godlike mien : Each action he exalts with rage divine , And the full Danube flows in ev'ry line . But we in vain to that sublime aspire ; So heatless glow-worms emulate the fire , Shine without warmth : another song prepare , My Muse ; the country is the Muse's care ; Thither thy much-lov'd MARLBOROUGH pursue With eager verse , and keep thy theme in view . But oh ! what joyful numbers can disclose The various raptures his approach bestows ; How vales resound , how crowds collected share The radiant glories of the matchless pair ? The gen'rous youths , within whose bosoms glow Some secret unripe longings for a foe , Surveying here the favourite of Fame , Conceive new hopes , and nurse the growing flame : While softer maids confess a pleasing pain , And sighing wish he had been born a swain . So when the pow'rs appeas'd bade discord cease , And Greece obtain'd from jarring gods a peace , The god of war , and beauteous queen of love , To Cyprian shades their peaceful chariot drove : Shepherds and nymphs attending form'd the train , And mirth unusual revell'd on the plain . And should the gods once more their heav'n forego , To range on earth , and bless mankind below , O'er all the globe no region would be found , With nobler soil , or brighter beauty crown'd . Phoebus for this would change his Delphic grove , Juno her Samos , and his Ida Jove . Olympic games no longer should delight , But neighb'ring plains afford a nobler sight . Where England's great Aeneas standing by , Impatient youths on winged coursers fly : Urg'd by his presence they outstrip the wind Involv'd in smoke , and leave the Muse behind . But see ! once more returns the rival train , And now they stretch , now bending loose the rein , And fears and hopes beat high in ev'ry vein , 'Till one ( long since successful in the field ) Exerts that strength he first with art conceal'd ; Then swift as light'ning darted through the skies , Springs forward to the goal , and bears away the prize . By arts like these all other palms are won , They end with glory , who with caution run . We neither write , nor act , what long can last , When the first heat sees all our vigour past ; But , jaded , both their short-liv'd mettle lose , The furious statesman , and the fiery Muse . The contest ended , night with gloomy face O'erspreads the heav'n ; and now with equal pace The victor , and the vanquish'd , quit the place : Sleep's friendly office is to all the same , His conquest he forgets , and they their shame . Next morning , ere the sun with sickly ray O'er doubtful shades maintains the dawning day , The sprightly horn proclaims some danger near , And hounds , harmonious to the sportsman's ear , With deep-mouth'd notes rouse up the trembling deer . Startled he leaps aside , and list'ning round , This way and that explores the hostile sound , Arm'd for that fight , which he declines with shame , Too fond of life , too negligent of fame ; For Nature , to display her various art , Had fortify'd his head , but not his heart : Those spears , which useless on his front appear'd , On any else had been ador'd and fear'd . But honours disproportion'd are a load , Grandeur a specious curse , when ill bestow'd . Thus void of hope , and panting with surprize , In vain he'd combat , and as vainly flies . Of paths mysterious whether to pursue The scented track informs the lab'ring crew : With speed redoubled , they the hint embrace , Whilst animating music warms the chace : Flush'd are their hopes , and with one gen'ral cry They echo thro' the woods , and sound their conquest nigh . Not so the prey ; he now for safety bends From enemies profess'd , to faithless friends , Who to the wretched own no shelter due , But fly more swiftly than his foes pursue . This last disgrace with indignation fires His drooping soul , and gen'rous rage inspires ; By all forsaken , he resolves at length To try the poor remains of wasted strength ; With looks and mien majestic stands at bay , And whets his horns for the approaching fray : Too late alas ! for , the first charge begun , Soon he repents what cowardice had done , Owns the mistake of his o'er-hasty flight , And aukwardly maintains a languid fight ; Here , and there , aiming a successless blow , And only seems to nod upon the foe . So coward princes , who at war's alarm Start from their greatness , and themselves disarm , With recollected forces strive in vain Their empire , or their honour , to regain , And turn to rally on some distant plain , Whilst the fierce conqu'ror bravely urges on , Improves th' advantage , and ascends the throne . Forgive , great Denham , that in abject verse , What richly thou adorn'st , I thus rehearse . Thy noble chace all others does exceed , In artful fury , and well-temper'd speed . We read with pleasure , imitate with pain , Where faney fires , and judgment holds the rein . Goddess , proceed ; and as to relicks found Altars we raise , and consecrate the ground , Pay thou thy homage to an aged seat , Small in itself , but in its owner great ; Where Chaucer ( sacred name ! ) whole years employ'd , Coy Nature courted , and at length enjoy'd ; Mov'd at his suit , the naked goddess came , Reveal'd her charms , and recompens'd his flame . Rome's pious king with like success , retir'd , And taught his people , what his Nymph inspir'd . Hence flow descriptions regularly fine , And beauties such as never can decline : Each lively image makes the reader start , And poetry invades the painter's art . This Dryden saw , and with his wonted fate ( Rich in himself ) endeavour'd to translate ; Took wond'rous pains to do the author wrong , And set to modern tune his ancient song . Cadence , and sound , which we so prize , and use , Ill suit the majesty of Chaucer's Muse ; His language only can his thoughts express , Old honest Clytus scorns the Persian dress . Inimitable bard ! In raptures loud I would thy praises tell , And on th' inspiring theme for ever dwell , Did not the maid , whose wond'rous beauty seen , Inflam'd great Henry , and incens'd his queen , With pleasing sorrow move me to survey A neighb'ring structure , aweful in decay , For ever sacred , and in ruin blest , Which heretofore contain'd that lovely guest . Admiring strangers , who attentive come To learn the tale of this romantic dome , By faithful monuments instructed , view ( Tho' time should spare ) what civil rage can do . Where landskips once , in rich apartments high , Through various prospects led the wand'ring eye : Where painted rivers flow'd through flow'ry meads , And hoary mountains rear'd their aweful heads : Or where by hands of curious virgins wrought , In rich array embroider'd heroes fought : Now hemloek thrives , and weeds of pow'rful charms O'er ragged walls extend their baleful arms . Monsters obscene their pois'nous roots invade , And bloated pant beneath the gloomy shade . Thus noblest buildings are with ease effac'd , And what's well wrote alone , will always last . Ev'n Vanbrugh's frame , that does so brightly shine In rules exact , and greatness of design , Would fall a victim to devouring age , Had not that hand , which built , adorn'd the stage . Wit so refin'd without the poet's pain , Such artful scenes in such a flowing vein , O'er latest aeras deathless will prevail , When Doric and Corinthian orders fail ; When each proud pyramid its height foregoes , And sinks beneath the base on which it rose . Ye British fair , whose names but mention'd , give Worth to the tale , and make the poem live ; Vouchsafe to hear , whilst briefly I relate Great Henry's flame , and Rosamonda's fate . Pierc'd to the soul by her resistless eyes , Lo ! at her feet the scepter'd vassal lies , Now big with hopes , now tortur'd with despair , Nor toils , nor pleasures , can divert his care . Her voice , her look , ten thousand wounds impart , And fix the pleasing image in his heart ; Such as ( if Fame has drawn the picture true , Her native lustre sung , nor added new ) Might tempt the thund'rer from his bless'd abode , To court that beauty which himself bestow'd . Features so wrought not Venus' self displays , When dress'd by youthful pens in vocal lays ; Not equal charms in all the Graces join , And only Sunderland is more divine . Thus fatally adorn'd , the hapless fair Receives his suit , and listens to his prayer ; Fond of her ruin , pleas'd to be undone , She reaps the conquest that her eyes had won . Tho' tongues obscure , at humble distance plac'd , May censure joys which they despair to taste ; Whene'er th' attack is made , all jointly own What bright temptations sparkle from a throne : Could love no entrance find , ambition can , They clasp the monarch who despise the man ; Beyond his boldest wish the hero bless'd , Riots in joys too great to be express'd ; And now , with caution , does the means pursue , As they are great , to make them lasting too . ' Mid shades obscure , remote from vulgar eye , An artful edifice is rear'd on high , Through which inextricable windings run , Lost in themselves , and end where they begun . Maeander thus , as ancient stories feign , In curling channels wander'd o'er the plain ; Oft by himself o'ertook , himself survey'd , And backward turning , to his fountain stray'd . Nor much unlike to these are mazes found , By loit'ring hinds imprinted on the ground ; Who , when releas'd by some distinguish'd day , Lead ruddy damsels forth to rural play ; And on the flow'ry vale , or mountain's brow , The yielding glebe in wanton furrows plow . Ye Sylvan Nymphs , who with a pleasing pride , O'er shady groves , and secret vows preside , On this mysterious pile with care attend , Protect the mistress , and the prince befriend : With both conspire to blind the wary dame , And screen th'important tale , from babbling Fame . Ah faithless guards ! in vain with od'rous smoke We feast your altars , and your aid invoke ; When nuptial debt's are now no longer paid , More ways than one the rover is betray'd : Affected passion does no more suffice , And aukward kindness proves a weak disguise . Woman , by nature arm'd against deceit , With indignation smiles upon the cheat ; Looks down with scorn , and only burns to know Th' uncertain author of her certain woe . As a fierce lioness of Lybian race , Struck by the hunter's hand , with furious pace Strides o'er the sands , and red with recent gore Yells out her pain , and makes the forest roar : So raves the queen incens'd ; and loudly tells The restless grief that in her bosom dwells , For her lov'd lord from her embraces fled , Her slighted beauty , and her widow'd bed . What dire effects her kindled fury wrought , Whether by pointed steel , or poison'd draught , Th' unguarded rival fell , forbear to ask , Th' unwilling Muse declines the mournful task , Recoils with anguish , wounded to the soul , Feels ev'ry stab , and drinks th' invenom'd bowl . Thee , beauteous fair , Love made a pris'ner here , But great Eliza's doom was more severe ; By hate implacable to shades confin'd , Where still the native grandeur of her mind Clear and unsully'd shone , with radiant grace Gilding the dusky horrors of the place . No nobler gifts can heav'n itself pour down , Than to deserve , and to despise a crown . In some dark room , for pompous sorrow made , Methinks I see the royal virgin laid ; With anxious thoughts employ'd on former times , Their various fate , their glory , and their crimes ; Th' ill-boding place a just concernment gives , Since Elinora in Maria lives . Maria — but forgotten be her name , In long oblivion lost , o'erlook'd by fame . Do thou , O Albion , from remembrance chace Thy persecuted sons , thy martyr'd race : And freed at length by ANNA'S milder ray , From furious zeal , and arbitrary sway , Enjoy the present , or the future scene , With promis'd blessings fraught , without one cloud serene . Stop , goddess , stop , recall thy daring flight , I cannot , must not tempt the wond'rous height . Themes so exalted , with proportion'd wing , Let Addison , let Garth , let Congreve sing ; Whilst list'ning nations crowd the vocal lyre , Foretaste their bliss , and languish with desire . To thee thy song , thy province is assign'd , And what should foremost stand , is yet behind . Silenc'd be all antiquity could boast , And let old Woodstock in the new be lost . No more her Edwards , or her Henrys please ; Their spoils of war , or monuments of peace : By CHURCHILL'S hand so largely is out-done , What either prince has built , and both have won . With admiration struck , we gaze around , The fancy entertain , the sense confound : And whilst our eyes o'er the foundation roam , Presage the wonders of the finish'd dome . Thus did our hero's early dawn display Th' auspicious beams of his advancing day . We , who in humble cells , and learn'd retreat , Are strangers to the splendor of the great , On barren cliffs of speculation thrown , Of all besides unknowing , and unknown , Pronounce our fabrics just in ev'ry part , And scorn the poor attempts of modern art ; ( Proud of his cottage so exults the swain , Who loves the forest , and admires the plain , ) 'Till here convinc'd , unwillingly we find Our Wickhams , and our Wainfleets , left behind ; Far as the molehill by the mountain's brow , Or shrubs by cedars , in whose shade they grow . Rise , glorious pile , the princess bids thee rise , And claim thy title to her kindred skies : Where she presides all must be nobly great , All must be regular , and all compleat ; No other hand the mighty work requires , Art may inform , but she alone inspires . When lab'ring Tyrians , with united toil , Advanc'd their Carthage on the destin'd soil , So sate their queen , and look'd auspicious down , Herself the Genius of the rising town . Thrice happy he , to whom the task shall fall , To grace with shining images the wall ; And in bold colours silently rehearse , What soars above the reach of humble verse . No fam'd exploits , from musty annals brought , Shall share his art , or furnish out the draught ; No foreign heroes in triumphant cars , No Latian victories , nor Graecian wars : Germania's fruitful fields alone afford Work for the pencil , harvest for the sword . Her well-drawn fights with horror shall surprize , And clouds of smoke upon the canvas rise ; Rivers distain'd shall reeking currents boast , And wind in crimson waves the plunging host ; Each mortal pang be seen , each dying throe , And Death look grim in all the pomp of woe . But far , oh far distinguish'd from the rest ! By youth , by beauty , and a waving crest , Like young Patroclus , Dormer shall be slain , And great Achilles' soul be shock'd again . Successful Kneller , whose improving air Adds light to light , and graces to the fair , Thus may compleat the glories of his age , And in one piece the whole soft sex engage ; Who shall in crowds the lovely dead surround , And weep rich gems upon his streaming wound ; By sad remembrance urg'd to fruitless moan , And lost in Dormer's charms , neglect their own . Yet artist stop not here , but boldly dare Next to design , what next deserves thy care . ' Midst British squadrons awefully serene , On rising ground let MARLBOROUGH be seen , With his drawn faulchion light'ning on the foe , Prepar'd to strike the great decisive blow ; While phlegmatic allies his vengeance stay , By absence these , and by their presence they . Ill-fated Gauls to 'scape his thunder so , And by a short reprieve inhance their woe ! When they in arms again the combat try , Again their troops in wild disorder fly , No usual ties of clemency shall bind , No temper shall assuage the victor's mind : But heaps on heaps attone the fatal wrong , And rage unbounded drive the storm along . Legions of foes resistless shall advance O'er prostrate mounds , to shock the power of France , Their loud demands to proud Lutetia tell , And rouze th' inglorious tyrant from his cell . Then provinces releas'd shall break their chain , Forego their bondage , and forget their pain . Iberia , with extended arms , shall run To liberty , to life , to Austria's son ; And by mild councils generously sway'd , Own thy example , ANNA ! and thy aid ; Whole kingdoms shall be bless'd , all Europe free , And lift her hands unmanacled to Thee .