Poems on Affairs of State

Since every Mountain, where the Muses come,
Is call'd Parnassus, and induces some
Poetick Friend to celebrate its Name:
Here, Greenwich, I attempt to sing thy Fame,
Led by the Wonders, which my ravish'd sight
Views from thy lovely Park's aspiring Height.
O! could I make my Numbers but attain
To Denham's sweetness, not his Hill should gain
A rise o'er thee, nor yet Proportion hold
With thy just Fame, which I could then unfold
With greater Force, transported with each Grace
So charming, that surrounds the lofty Place.
Then shouldst thou be to me as that to him,
Parnassus was, and merit more esteem.
For that, exalted by his Muse alone,
Without his Song had still remain'd unknown:
But thou by Nature such Renown dost claim,
Thou want'st no Poet's Art to give thee Fame.
And if thy various Beautys I could trace,
As they deserve, with more than common Grace,
The Writer's Credit, and the Poem's Fame
Would spring from thee, whilst thou art still the same.
Here then my rising Eye, before my Feet
Ascend the Mount, so fair a Pile doth meet,
As in a Poet's Fancy well might prove
Apollo's Palace, or the Seat of Jove.
And the aspiring Hill, on which 'tis laid,
Might be Parnassus, or Olympus made.

411

This View, which of a sudden strikes my sight,
Fills me with so surprising a delight,
That I'm o'erjoy'd at what I can descry
From hence, nor wish more limits to my Eye.
And viewing well this Prospect's beauteous Store,
It gives me wonder to be promis'd more.
Thus in some Painter's outward room we find
Enough to please and to surprise the Mind:
And when the Artist labours to invite
Our Eyes to more variety of Sight,
We part not without Pain from what before
We saw so pleasing, that we wish'd no more.

No steep Ascent discourages our Feet,
But all so fair, and regular we meet,
That fill'd with Joy by gentle Steps we rise
To that fair House, which first confin'd our Eyes.
But there arriv'd, and turning to look down,
We wonder that we reach'd the height so soon.

This House, erected at a

Charles II.

King's Command,
Displays the Goodness of a Royal Hand;
Nor is't, tho small, unworthy of that Fame,
But high, and graceful, as its Founder's Name.

Here, Flamsted, mounted to this lofty Seat,
Where all the Arts of thy Profession meet,
Thou shew'st Mankind how much improv'd by thee
Are all the Wonders of Astronomy.
Thou, Reverend Man, from thy auspicious Hill
Canst all the Secrets of the Stars reveal.
Thy Astrolabes are made with so much Art,
They can the distance of the Sun impart;
Disclose a Paralax i'th' Heavenly Sphere,
And shew the Place of every wandring Star.
Now shall we fear no more mistakes, we see
Celestial Motions all set right by thee.

412

Nor need we mourn Great Archimedes Sphere,
Lost tho the finish'd Labour be, since here
In thee reviv'd his Genius doth appear.
Nor doth thy Hand the hoarding Miser play,
But all the Uses of thy Art convey
To serve Mankind. Now Flamsted, give me leave
Here from thy Walls that Prospect to receive,
Which Nature's wide Indulgence doth afford
To each surveying Eye.

Here mine descending from the Hill, salutes
A pleasant Vale, whose constant Beauty sutes
The Queen's fair House, that seems below to vye
With equal Grace the Pile that stands so high.
More sate, for this like every lofty State
Is liable to Envy or to Hate,
The Blasts of Fortune, or the Rage of Winds,
Which spoil the proudest, and the best Designs.
Whilst that, like one with milder place content,
Is less expos'd, more firm and innocent.
Here shouldst thou dwell, my Muse, at least reveal
What Gratitude forbids thee to conceal:
That entring here, amidst the various Paint,

By Rubens.

Old as it is, disdaining to be faint,
The Muses we behold divinely fair,
With all the proper Emblems of their Care.
And here, O teach me to unfold that Birth,
Which dignifies so much this Spot of Earth,
That of the Great Eliza, [so renown'd
In all the Arts of Empire. and so found
In Fame's Immortal Volume] in whose time
True English Worth most flourish'd in this Clime.
And as it rose with her, so her Decrease
Made that decline, and almost with her cease.
So doom'd a while, till Nature gain'd Recruits,
Improv'd the Soil, and brought forth better Fruits.

Here should my Praise enlarge, but that my Eye,
Too quick for Thought, beholds a Valley nigh:

413

Whose flow'ry Pasture oft invites to graze
Whole Droves of the Horn'd Herd, a fearful Race,
The Hunter's Pastime, now retir'd for Shade
Beneath a lofty Hill, by Nature made
A common and a safe Retreat, to shun
A Northern Tempest, or a Scorching Sun.
Here they delight to wanton, play, and rove,
To make their Courtship, and enjoy their Love.
Rambling they love, nor are to one confin'd,
But free as Air, and uncontroul'd as Wind.
No Law they know, but guided by their Eyes
Take their own Choice to love or to despise.
How then is Man deceiv'd! how weak, how vain
Is he, who thinks by Reason to obtain
Advantage over Brutes, who know no Cares
Of racking Love, no Hopes, or wild Despairs;
But run with Joy the destin'd Course of Life,
Ty'd to no Rule, no Slavery, no Wife!
Whilst we triumphing falsely o'er their State,
Misguided by our Reason, soon or late
Split on the fatal Rocks of Love and Hate.
Behind the Queen's another Royal Pile
Next courts my view, the Hope of Britain's Isle;

Charles II.

A King's Foundation, and design'd his Seat,
When State-Affairs would suffer his Retreat:
When Care of Empire, and the Toil of Power
Had well prepar'd Him to enjoy an Hour.
Close to the Banks of Silver Thames it stands,
With Majesty it rises, and commands
A noble Prospect, for at once it views
An English Fleet, our Isle's Defence, and shews
A Mixture of all Nations and of Things,
Which the kind Flood receiving, hither brings.
The View, I mean, it brings, for all the Store
Unlades it self upon the Neighb'ring Shore

414

Of the Fair City, whose extending Side
Swells in my Eye with so August a Pride,
So near me too, that did not here my Muse
Urge a Suspence, I could not well refuse
More than a transient Offering to its Praise,
But that's reserv'd a while my Thoughts to raise
Upon another View.
Crossing the Stream that flows between the Pile
And the next Shore, we view a spacious Isle,
Whose Bosom teeming by an ambient Flood,
Produces Plenty of such wholesom Food,
That grazing here, the worn, abandon'd Steed
Regains his Vigour, and renews his Speed.

Now gentle Thames, concern'd for our Delight,
Presents a hundred Windings to our Sight;
Which as they turn, still flow with such a Grace,
Giving so much Advantage to each place
They run between, that no Mæander shows
Such Turnings, or so fair a View bestows.
See with what joyful hast he takes his Course,
Yet how serene, and how averse to Force.
No rapid Waves throughout his Channel roll,
Yet swift as Fame, that flys without controul.
Tho lib'ral, yet within his Bounds he flows,
And tho reserv'd, he visits, as he goes,
The neighb'ring Meads, and cherishing the Earth,
Presents the Mower with a plenteous Birth.
O happy Thames, whose Current could invite
Immortal Denham's Muse, thy Praise to write!
Now shall thy just Preeminence o'er all
The Ocean's Sons, by no Endeavours fall:
By no dark Cloud of Malice be o'ercast,
As long as his Eternal Work shall last.

Next Windsor, rising with a stately Meen,
Shews his proud Head, aspiring to be seen
So far remote from hence, tho here it seems
A distant Mountain only, when the Beams

415

Of a clear Sun diffuse not o'er the Place
Their Brightness, to disclose its Frame and Grace.
High as the God's Olympus, seems the Hill
On which it stands, and shining doth reveal
A Palace as Majestick, and as Fair,
As Poets fruitful Heads have fancy'd there.
Thou, Windsor, too art happy in the Praise
Which the same Heavenly Muse to Thee did raise.
Who knows not now thy Beauty, and thy Force,
Thy matchless Heroes, and their Warlike Course,
Thy Garter's first Original, and Fame,
By Kings esteem'd an Honour to their Name?
Here when Desert has challeng'd from the King
Thy Order, what Profusion doth it bring
Of Pomp and Beauty to thy stately Quire!
How do we throng to gaze, and to admire!
And tho devouring Time has left no Name
Of thy first Founder in the Books of Fame:
Yet this we know, that to suspend thy Fate,
'Twas

II.

Charles repair'd Thee, and enlarg'd thy State.

Now, gentle Muse, assist me to return
To the King's House, that was so long forlorn,
Abandon'd, left unfinish'd, till a Queen,
[Equal in All to great Eliza seen,
Her Godlike Bounty, and capacious Soul,
The Arts of Empire, and Success of Rule:
Now equal too in Death, alas! O Weight
Of most uncomfortable Woe!]
Partly in pity to its falling State,
But more by Love conducted, and by Fate,
Fond of her People's Good, spread forth her Mind,
Renew'd the Building, and its Use design'd
For poor, disabled Seamen, whom the War
Invading should deny from Wounds to spare.
See how the busy Lab'rers urge the Pile,
That is to succour, and oblige our Isle.

416

Some hasten to extend its Walls, and some
Adorn the inward Roof, whilst these assume
The carving Part, and every Order shape,
And those surveying let no Art escape,
That may advance the Beauty of the Frame
As shining, as its second Founder's Name.
Just so the Bees, when Summer is begun,
Spread o'er the Fields, and labour in the Sun.
Part cull the blooming Flowers, & load their Thighs
With various Sweets, and part with humming Crys,
Emit their Young; whilst others to relieve
The most oppress'd, their Burdens do receive,
And bear them Home, where other Bees salute
Their safe Arrival, and dispose their Fruit
Within their Cells, or with unwearied toil
Thicken the liquid Juice, and guard the Spoil;
Whilst others rang'd in gallant Order, drive
The Drones, a lazy Insect, from their Hive.
All urge the Work, whilst the Nectarean Food
Exerts a fragrant Odour from the Wood.
Now shall our England flourish, and extend
Its Greatness to the World's extremest End:
For since so noble a Support was made
By William's Bounty for the Soldier's Trade
Before at Chelsey (whose sweet Fabrick might
Suffice alone for ample Theme to write)
By this enlargement of the Royal Mind,
The Nation's Soul shall be no more confin'd:
But wheresoe'er our Fleets or Armies go,
We'll spread our Glory, and insult our Foe.

Here rest, my Muse, awhile to ease my sight,
Which grows unsteddy with the distant flight
My Eyes have made; then gently hover round
What lies behind, and view the lofty Ground.
Whilst I refresh my self beneath the Shade
Of an adjacent Grove, supinely laid,

417

To ease my Limbs oppress'd and faint with heat,
Greedy of rest, impatient for retreat.
There will I lie, and wait thy airy flight,
Rise at thy Call, and spread again my sight.

But 'tis in vain I beg a space for ease,
Not so the Muse, whom I invoke, decrees.
Grown passive I to her Impressions bend,
Walk a few steps, and then my Eyes descend
Upon a Visto, whose unlook'd-for sight
Strikes me with such amazement of delight,
That I no longer my Complaints pursue,
But find new Vigour from the healing View.
So for a while an absent Friend we mourn,
And beg of Heav'n to hasten his return.
But should some lovely Dame invade our Eyes,
Whose Aspect fills us with a sweet Surprize,
No more we feel the Torments of our Grief,
But from each charming View we gain relief.

Here my transported Eye, thro even Rows
Of Trees, which Mountains shelter and inclose,
Meets with so distant and so fair a sight,
So much variety of true Delight,
That I'm concern'd, lest doubting which to chuse
My dazled Eyes amidst the heap should lose
Part of the beauteous store. Assist me then
Here, my companion Muse, and teach my Pen
To set in order what my sight commands,
And praise each worthy Object as it stands.

First then my careful Eye reviewing down,
Salutes the Chappel of the Neighb'ring Town:
Here the bright Dames that dwell about the place,
(And Greenwich boasts of some, whose heavenly Grace
Commands remembrance) daily come to pay
Thanks for those Blessings which their Charms display;
Humble in all their Beauty may concern,
But proud to those who for that Beauty burn:

418

Not imitating Heaven, that was so kind
To grace their Bodies, and inrich their Mind.
Else would Aurelia match the purest Flame,
That ever touch'd a Heart, or found a Name.
Aurelia, in whom sparkles every Grace,
Juno in Mein, and Venus in her Face.
Aurelia, whom the Groves and Walks reherse,
The Ornament and Grandeur of my Verse.
But O! the same both Groves and Walks repeat,
That Thyrsis lies still dying at her Feet.

Next the fair River offers to my view
A rising Grove of Ships, that gently flow
In with the Tide, whose shaded Waters seem
To be no part of the incircling Stream:
Which might be ta'en for Land, as here it shows,
But for the Motion which the Ships disclose.
Tall Sons of Oak, that on the Waves aspire
To lift themselves above their lofty Sire
That grew at Land, and by the help of Sails,
Waiting for Seasons, and for prosp'rous Gales,
Spread the wide Ocean o'er, and for our use
Bring home the Riches that all Climes produce:
Whilst the whole World with fear & wonder meets
Our Flags, and pays low homage to our Fleets;
Which still with all their Pride my Eyes can trace,
Winding the River to salute that Place
Which claims their just Obedience, and gives
To them that Succour it from them receives.
Here London swelling, doth it self present
So stately, and with such a huge extent,
That my fix'd Eye, with admiration fill'd,
Dwells on a View, that such a Scene doth yield
Of lofty Monuments, that rise so high,
As if they would again the Heavens defy,
And make the Earth contiguous with the Sky.
Among the rest, contending for the Height,
Two the most eminent engage my Sight:

419

Both with such state, and such a tow'ring rise,
As if they scorn'd the reach of humane Eyes;
But swell'd with emulation would aspire
To be consum'd in Elemental Fire.
As Rival Statesmen, scorning to abide
An Equal, often sink beneath their Pride.

In a more humble, yet a sweet Ascent,
The City's Fortress doth it self present
Full in my Eye, and with an easier Face
(In all its compass Strength unites with Grace)
Diverts the horror of the former sight,
Rais'd by the Rival Spire's amazing height.
From hence our numerous Armies are supply'd
With all their Stores, here William can provide
For greater Forces, nor would yet the Place
Appear exhausted, but disclose a face
Of vast surrounding War, to shew our store
By him made endless, as our Isle secure.
Here are the Regal Ensigns kept with care,
In solemn state, amidst the Pomp of War.
An Emblem of our Monarch's lofty Name,
Who has so much surpass'd all Kings in Fame,
In Fields of Battel, and at home in Peace,
Born to Triumph, and make Disorder cease.

Nor does this famous Tower alone disclose
Peculiar Wonders of our own, but shows
Variety of Creatures hither brought
By curious Men from Countries far remote,
As Presents fit for Kings, who here maintain
The Captive Beasts, such as the Lybian Plain,
And Desarts of wild Africk once obey'd
As Lords of all their Wast, and barb'rous Shade.
Till Men by Stratagem their Power controul'd,
And dar'd to seize them in their strongest Hold.

Now my unsteddy Eye removing flys
O'er all the lofty Buildings; and espies

420

Beyond their wide Extent a spacious Hill,
Whose gentle rise, and fruitful sides reveal
A beauteous Prospect, and whose tow'ring height
Looks o'er the stately Town, and bounds my sight.
Its lofty Top seems level with the Sky,
Affording Wonder, as it gives me Joy:
Whilst o'er its wide, extended face is seen
Perpetual Bloom, and ever-springing Green.

In allusion to Sir John Denham.

O could I rise like thee, and make thy Height
The graceful Measure of my Muse's flight!
Bounded tho wide, tho mild, yet full of state,
High without Force, without aspiring Great.

Here, Hamsted, I should dwell upon thy Praise,
Search all thy Beauties, and delight to gaze
Upon thy Face, could but my lab'ring Eyes
Preserve their Vigour, and avoid Surprize.
But such thy Distance is, and such thy Grace,
That dazled with thy Lustre, and the Space
That lies between, my strain'd o'er-burden'd sight
Is forc'd to lose thy Beauty, and thy Height.

But so surrounded is the lovely Hill,
Whereon I stand, with Perspectives that fill
My Eyes with Admiration and Delight,
That wheresoe'er I turn, I please my sight
With some new Prospect, such Variety,
Such mixture of Extremes in all I see,
Of Joy and Wonder, that my ravish'd Eyes
Descry throughout a perfect Paradise.

But that which most delights me, is that pair
Of Groves, where all that's pleasant, sweet, or fair
In Art or Nature, doth oblige my sight,
And where a Maze of Walks might well invite
The God of Love to keep his amorous Court,
His wanton Revels, and his Midnight Sport.

421

The Muses too with all their Train might here
Indulge their Thoughts apart, nor interfere
With other Pastime, but apply their Trade,
Tune all their Harps, and court Apollo's Aid.
Then in a critical well-chosen Hour,
The God inspiring, use his offer'd Power.
O happy Groves, that thus may conscious prove
Of Heavenly Numbers, and Celestial Love!
Here, various Dames we see, divinely bright,
Walk in these Shades, when Time and Air invite.
Doom'd to disquiet we their steps pursue,
And unprepar'd feel Wounds at every view.
But O! Aurelia shoots the keenest Dart,
Which not my Sense alone, but pierces thro my Heart.

As in the Groves of lofty Cynthus, when
Diana walks with all her shining Train
To seek some cool Retreat, each lovely Maid
Reflects a thousand Graces thro the Shade.
The Goddess by her Stature, Shape, and Air,
Majestically tall, proportion'd, fair,
Surpasses all the rest: such here we see
Aurelia, when she leads her Company
Within the Groves of this delightful Hill;
So doth she shine, such Excellence reveal.

O lovely Greenwich, how dost thou surprize
Our Souls with Wonder, and with Joy our Eyes!
Thy num'rous different Beauties to reherse
Requires the strength of more exalted Verse.
Fain would I trace them, but my stock of Art
Is unproportion'd to the willing part.
Yet sure 'twere stupid to forget to name
The Ranger of thy Park, so high in Fame.
DORSET the Patron, and the Rule of Wit,
The Nation's Honour, and the Court's Delight:
The Soul of Goodness, and the Spring of Sense,
The Poet's Theme, Reward, and Great Defence.

422

Here when the restless Toil of being Great,
Makes him retire from all the Pomp of State,
Free with a chosen Friend, he takes his Ease,
Unbends his Mind, and tasts the Joys of Peace:
Reads o'er the Poets with impartial Eyes,
And then determines who shall fall or rise.
So in old Rome, when weary of Affairs
Of State, Mæcenas would release his Cares;
Fond of Retreat, with Horace only blest,
He left his Grandeur, and his Joy confest:
Judg'd with like Freedom what the Romans writ,
Which was base Metal, and which Standard Wit.

University of Virginia Library

Greenwich-Hill.

A Poem.