University of Virginia Library

Prince Arthur.

BOOK I.

I sing the Briton, and his Righteous Arms,
Who bred to Suff'rings, and the rude Alarms
Of bloody War, forsook his Native Soil,
And long sustain'd a vast Heroick Toil,
Till kinder Fate invited his Return,
To bless the Isle, that did his Absence mourn:
To re-enthrone fair Liberty, and break
The Saxon Yoke, that gall'd Britannia's Neck.
Tell, sacred Muse, what made th' Infernal King
Use all his Arts, and all his Forces bring
The gen'rous Briton's Triumphs to oppose,
Afflict his Friends, and aid his cruel Foes.
Tell, why the angry Pow'rs below, combine
T'oppress a valiant Prince, and thwart his brave Design.
Ambitious Lucifer, depos'd of late
From Bliss Divine, and high Angelick State,
Sinks to the dark, unbottom'd Deep of Hell,
Where Sin, and Death, and endless Sorrow dwell:
Here plung'd in Flame, and tortur'd with Despair
He plots Revenge, and meditates new War.
His Thoughts on deep Designs th' Apostate spent,
When this Conjuncture favour'd his Intent.
A spacious, dusky Plain lay wast and void,
Where yet Creating Power was ne'er imploy'd
To fashion Elements, or strike out Light;
The silent, lonesome Walks of ancient Night.
In th' Archives kept in Heav'n's bright Towers, was found,
A sacred old Decree, wherein the Ground
Was set distinctly out, from Ages past,
For a new World, on this unbounded Wast.
Here did th' Artificer Divine of late,
The World so long before markt out, create.
And gave it to the Man he newly made,
Where all things him, as he did Heav'n, obey'd.
In Eden's Walks he made his blest Abode,
All full of Joy, of Glory, full of God.
Nature with vast Profusion on him pours,
Unmeasur'd Bliss, from unexhausted Stores.
Th' Apostate raging at his own Defeat,
And envying this new Prince his happy Seat;
Labours to win him to his Side, to bear
Arms against Heav'n, and wage Confed'rate War.
Nor did his Arts in vain weak Man assail,
His false Seraphick Tongue, and Charms prevail.
Deluded Man from his high Station fell
Deserting Heav'n, to serve the Cause of Hell.
This fatal Conquest o'er fall'n Adam gain'd,
A mighty Empire Lucifer maintain'd;
Till the blest Prince of Peace, Heav'n's Lord and Heir,
By Pity's Tears, and charming Mercy's Prayer
Drawn down from Heav'n, freed lost Mankind, and broke
The Pow'r of Hell, and Sin's Tyrannick Yoke.
He makes Proud Lucifer his Host disband,
And wrests the Scepter from th' Usurper's Hand.
The Prince of Darkness owns the Conquerour,
And yields his Empire to a mightier Pow'r.
From Idols and their Priests the Nations freed,
Celestial Light, and Truth divine succeed.
Religion large Dominions soon obtain'd,
And daily Conquests, and fresh Laurels gain'd.
To Albion's Shore she early pass'd the Main,
And brought along her bright Etherial Train:
From thence she chas'd Infernal Shades away,
And o'er the Isle, diffus'd a Heav'nly Day.
The Prince of Hell at her Appearance flies,
Spoil'd of his Altars, and his Votaries.
Confin'd to Barb'rous Northern Lands he staid,
Till the fierce Saxon, Albion did invade.
Victorious Octa who his Shrines ador'd,
Rebuilt his Altars, and his Groves restor'd.
Long abdicated Gods make Albion mourn,
At theirs, and their devouring Priests Return.
Th' Arch-Traytor's Rage hence against Arthur rose,
And all th' infernal Pow'rs his Arms oppose:
Conscious should he his glorious End acquire,
And force th' intruding Pagan to retire,
Theirs, with the Saxon Empire must expire.
They must again forsake fair Albion's Land,
And leave Divine Religion to Command.
Scarce had they left the happy Neustrian Coast,
Born with a Prosperous Gale, scarce had they lost
The Tops of Spires, and rising Points of Land,
When Lucifer, that did observing stand
On the high Southern Promontory's Head,
Of Vecta's Isle, the Seas beneath him spread;
With sharp Angelick Ken, views far and wide,
And soon Prince Arthur's hateful Fleet descry'd.
The Heav'ns serenely smil'd, and every Sail
Fill'd its wide Bosom, with th' indulgent Gale.
Mercy, Deliverance, Pity, Hope displaid
Their Silver Wings, and glad attendance paid,
Sung on the Shrowds, or with the Streamers plaid.
Rage flash'd, like Lightning, from th' Apostate's Eyes,
And Envy swell'd him to the vastest Size.
Then thus he to himself.
Was not to me in the fam'd Wars of Heav'n,
The chief Command of all the Forces giv'n,
Sent by Confederate Potentates to wage
Unheard of War, and all Heav'n's Pow'r engage?
When I, to end with Honour the Campaign,
Drew my bright Troops out on the Etherial Plain;
And push'd on that great, last decisive Day,
With God-like Vigour, for th' Imperial Sway.
In Lusture chief, in Danger and Command,
Did I proud Michael's Veteran Troops withstand.
Michael, than whom a Braver Combitant,
For Skill and Strength the Foe could never vaunt.
'Gainst fresh Battalions still pour'd on I stood,
Smeer'd with Celestial Dust, and Seraphs Blood.
Had not our Mould been Æther, Pure and Fine,
Labour'd with Care, anneel'd with Skill divine;
The Blows of mighty Cherubs Death had cloy'd,
Unpeopl'd Heav'n, and the bright Race destroy'd.
With Michael pain'd with ghastly Wounds, at length
I clos'd, and grasp'd him with Immortal Strength;
And down Heav'n's Precipice, had headlong hurl'd
The great Arch-Angel, to th' Infernal World,
Had not swift Uriel trembling at the Sight,
That fill'd all Heav'n, with Horrour and dire Fright,
Rush'd in, to save him from unequal Fight.
Their stagg'ring Army shrunk, and we had won
The Throne we fought for, But th' Almighty's Son
Brought strong Recruits, to reinforce their Host,
And win back what their general Michael lost.
Tho' overmatcht, did I not firmly stand,
The chiefest Mark of his Revenging Hand?
Did I from Posts of greatest Danger run,
Or once his bright Triumphal Chariot shun?
Did I once shrink, when showers of poison'd, Darts,
Dipt in Eternal Wrath, shot thro' our Hearts?
When massy Rocks of Heav'nly Crystal flew,
Which the strong Arms of mighty Seraphs threw?
Did I not run and timely Help afford,
Where Storms of Fire, and loudest Thunder roar'd?
'Tis true, o'er-born with Force, at last I fell,
But got immortal Fame, tho' with it Hell.
Scarce was I vanquish'd and o'erthrown but late
By Power Almighty, and Eternal Fate.
Since that chief Lord, and Prince of Hell I've reign'd
And from the Foe, his new-made World have gain'd
And long maintain'd the Conquests I had won;
Now much lost back to his Almighty Son.
But faithful Octa has once more restor'd
This happy Isle to me its ancient Lord.
Have I been thus for great Atchievements fam'd,
My Deeds throughout all Heav'n and Hell proclaim'd;
And shall this British, despicable Wight,
Me and my Priests, force to a second Flight?
Rifle my Temples, and in Triumph bear,
Thro' shouting Throngs, the Spoils high in the Air?
Who then to me will Hymns of Praise return,
Who on my Altars Odorous Incense burn?
If I chastise not this vain Briton's Pride,
That does insulting on the Ocean ride.
If I secure not my new conquer'd Seat,
And all his wild, ambitious Arms defeat.
This having said, to Heav'n he mounts upright,
And to the Northern Pole directs his Flight.
All fir'd with Rage, and full of anxious Care,
With his swift Wings, he cuts the yielding Air.
As when the Sun pours from his Orb of Light,
A glorious Deluge, on the Face of Night.
His golden Rays shot from the Rosy East,
Reach in a Moment, the remotest VVest,
And smiling on the Mountains Heads are seen,
Th' immense Expansion past, that lies between.
The Prince of Darkness now, once Prince of Light,
With equall Swiftness takes his Airy Flight,
And the vast interval of Seas, and Isles,
Wild Desarts, spacious Forrests, snowy Hills,
Past in a Moment, does on Fiœl Light,
Of Lapland Alpes, chief for amazing Height.
Where Thor resides, who heretofore by Lot
The Sovereign Rule o'er Winds and Tempests got.
Here in strong Prisons bound with heavy Chains,
His howling, savage Subjects he restrains,
And in Eternal Din, and Uproar reigns.
In close Apartments round his Desart Court,
Fierce Pris'ners are confin'd of different sort.
Here boundless Stores, and Treasures Infinite
Of Vapours, Steams, and Exhalations, fit
T'engender Winds, or Snow, or Hail, or Rain,
In Subterranean Magazins remain.
Here new fledg'd Winds, young yelping Monsters try
Their Wings, and sporting round their Prisons fly.
Here whistling East-winds prove their shriller Notes:
Here the hoarse South-winds, strain their hollow Throats.
Boreas the fiercest and most turbulent,
Of the mad Race, raves in his Dungeon pent.
At th' Adamantine Door vast Hills are thrown,
And abrupt Rocks of Ice, pil'd sevenfold on.
Capricious Whirlwinds, of more Force than Sound,
In everlasting Eddys turning round,
Grow Giddy, Furious and Extravagant,
And strive to break from their close Den's restraint.
When Thor unlocks their Prisons, out they fly,
A lawless Rout, and with their Hellish Cry
Out-howl the hideous Monsters of the Seas,
Or savage Roarings of the Wilderness.
Some range the Flats, and scour the Champain Land,
Or roll in tott'ring heaps the Desart Sand.
Some to the lofty Woods direct their Course,
And with an uncontroul'd, impetuous Force
O'erturn opposing Structures in their hast,
Tear up tall Pines, and lay the Forest wast.
Some to the Ocean with like Speed resort,
And in loud Tempests on the Billows sport.
Embroil the Coasts, and in wild Outrages
Turn up to Heav'n, the Bottom of the Seas.
But husht at Thor's Command they all obey,
And to their ancient Prisons haste away.
To him, thus Lucifer: Great Prince, on thee
Fate has bestow'd the Empire of the Sea,
All there concern'd, invoke thy Deity.
The Merchants pray to thee to fill their Sails,
Enrich thy Priests, and purchase prosperous Gales.
I too thy Suppliant, ask thy powerful Aid,
A haughty Prince, designing to invade
My faithful Subject Octa, and beguile
Me of my Hopes of fair Britannia's Isle;
Sails with a numerous Fleet, with Men and Arms,
And Octa trembles at his proud Alarms.
Let him in furious Hurricanes be tost,
Be sunk, or wreckt, or on the Ocean lost,
Beat him at least, from his intended Coast.
Make him thy Vengeance feel, thy Power regard,
And be what e'er thou askest, thy Reward.
Great Prince, then Thor reply'd,
Who rul'st the Realms of Hell with Soveraign Sway,
Whom all th' Infernal Thrones, and Pow'rs obey,
I own Obedience to thy high Command,
Who putt'st this Scepter first into my Hand.
Thou led'st in Heav'n our bright Battalions on,
And bravely didst attempt th' Almighty's Throne;
I saw thy mighty Deeds, and kept my Post
Close by thee, till that Glorious Day was lost.
Thy faded Splendor, and illustrious Scars,
From ghastly Wounds, receiv'd in those just Wars,
I view with Reverence, 'tis true subdu'd
Headlong we fell from Heav'n's high Tow'rs, pursu'd
With Whirlwinds, and loud Thunder, down to Hell,
And Storms of Fire beat on us as we fell.
Yet after that, thou ledst us to invade
This Globous World, which we our Conquest made.
And my Election Patroniz'd by thee,
This great Command and Province fell to me.
That said, by him their heavy Gates unbarr'd,
Which loud on mighty Iron Hinges jarr'd,
Out-ratling Eurus, and loud Boreas fly,
And with Outrageous Tempests fill the Sky.
They bend their Course strait to the British Coast,
And on those Seas lay out their Anger most.
Their furious Wings the swelling Surges beat,
And rouze old Ocean from his peaceful Seat.
The raging Seas in high ridg'd Mountains rise,
And cast their angry Foam against the Skies.
Then gape so deep, that Day Light Hell invades,
And shoots grey Dawning thro' th' affrighted Shades.
Low bellying Clouds soon intercept the Light,
And o'er the Britons spread a Noon Day Night.
Exploded Thunder tears th' Embowel'd Sky,
And Sulphurous Flames a dismal Day supply.
The Dire Convulsions, for a certain Space
Distorted Nature, wresting from it's Place
This Globe, set to the Sun's more oblique View,
And wrench'd the Poles some Leagues yet more askew.
Horrour, Confusion, Uproar, Strife and Fear
In all their wild amazing Shapes appear.
Mean time old Chaos joyful at the Sight,
Look'd and smil'd horrible on older Night,
Hoping that Nature, their grand Foe would crack
With universal Ruin, and her Wreck
Would give them all their lost Dominions back.
The Sailor's Clamour, and enormous Cries,
The Crack of Masts, mixt with th' outrageous Noise
Of Storms and Thunder, rending all the Air,
Form the last Scene of Horror and Dispair.
When the Just Arthur fill'd with Grief and Dread,
And Pale Confusion deeply sigh'd, and said,
O righteous Heav'n, why hast thou rang'd this Day
Against me all thy Terrors in Array!
Arm'd in thy Cause thy Temples to restore,
And give that Aid thy sacred Priests implore.
If thou such fierce Destruction dost dispence,
To punish some unpardon'd old Offence,
On me let all thy fiery Darts be spent,
Let not my Crime involve the innocent.
Whelm o'er my guilty Head these raging Seas,
And let this Sacrifice thy Wrath appease,
But let the British Youth return in Peace.
That said, his Ship unmasted, without Guide,
Driv'n by the Winds and Seas impetuous Tyde,
The Sight of all the scatter'd Navy lost,
Strikes on the Quicksand of an unknown Coast.
Mean time bright Uriel, Heav'n's high Favourite,
Left the celestial Palaces of Light,
Sent by supream Command, and down he flies,
Let by a Golden Sun-beam thro' the Skies.
Meekness divine, serene and Heav'nly Grace,
And fresh immortal Youth shone on his Face.
God-like his Form, his Looks so charming mild
That where she came all ravish'd Nature smil'd.
He strait alights on lofty Gobeum's Head,
Which wonder'd at the Heav'n about it shed,
From the bright Cherubim, who touch'd his Lyre,
Fam'd for its Sweetness in the Heav'nly Quire.
Th' enchanted Winds straightway their Fury laid,
Grew wondrous still, and strict Attention paid.
Aerial Demons that by Twilight stray,
Sport in loud Thunder, and in Tempests play,
Spread their brown Wings, and fly in Clouds away.
The Day returns, the Heav'ns no longer scowl,
And fierce Sea-Monsters charm'd forget to howl.
The Winds retreat, and leave the peaceful Waves;
To rest their Wings, and sleep in Lapland Caves.
Soft Zephirs only stay to fan the Woods,
And play in gentle Gales along the Floods.
The Ocean smiles to see the Tempest fled,
New lays his Waves, and smooths his ruffled Bed.
All things thus husht, great Arthur gave Command,
To quit their Ship, stuck in the barren Sand,
And in their Boats to make the neighb'ring Land.
They spy a Creek not far a peaceful Seat,
Where flying Waves by furious Tempests beat,
Find from the fierce Pursuit a safe Retreat.
Free from th' outrageous Clamours of the Deep,
They rest secure, and unmolested sleep.
Stretcht smooth beneath the shady Trees and Rocks,
That guard them from the Winds impetuous Shocks.
Here smaller Vessels may securely ride
And all th' Assaults of angry Storms deride.
Here they arriv'd, and Heav'n they first ador'd,
Which gave the Aid, their earnest Cries implor'd.
Which sav'd them from the Winds, Waves, Rocks, and Storms,
Deaths of so many, and such hideous Forms.
Then for their parted Friends, with humble Prayer,
They ask Heav'n's Pity, and indulgent Care.
Now Arthur from the Rock, views far and wide
The Seas beneath, if thence might be descry'd
The Friends he lately lost, but views in vain,
No Friend appears on all the Desart Main.
Return'd he thus began:
Too dark th' Eternal's ways are, too profound,
For the most sharp created Wit to sound.
Clouds black, as those that rise the sacred Fence
Of his high Throne, surround his Providence.
Whose walks are trackless, and on ev'ry Hand
About her Paths, shades and thick Darkness stand.
Her ways are so perplext, so wide her steps,
Such turns and windings, and such frightful leaps;
Such Gulphs, and interposing Rocks appear,
There such Ascents, such dreadful Downfalls here,
That Reason strait affrighted stops her Pace,
Is soon thrown off, and quits th' unequal Chase.
Th' Almighty's Councils are so high and steep,
Immense, unbounded, without Bottom deep;
Angels amaz'd from their high Thrones of Bliss,
Trembling look down on this profound Abyss.
Sometimes he seems to thwart his own Intent,
Stop and defeat his long design'd event;
Yet which way e're he steers, his end's attain'd,
By uncouth means, with greater Wonder gain'd.
Sometimes his high Permission, leaves opprest
The Men most like him, and that serve him best:
But still their Sufferings and severer Fate,
Prepare them for some glorious, future state.
Invited by sad Britain's Prayers, and Tears,
To save her State; and ease her deadly Fears,
We arm'd, depos'd Religion to enthrone,
T'enlarge the Christian Empire, not our own.
We arm'd thus, to restore in Hell's Despight,
To Heav'n it's Worship, and to Men their Right.
Resume your Courage then, it can't be true,
That Heav'n's Revenge, should Heav'n's own Cause pursue.
These Evils are not in Displeasure meant,
Heav'n is too Just, and you too Innocent.
Success and Triumph will our Arms attend,
And these rough Ways lead to a glorious End.
With Pleasure we hereafter shall relate
These sufferings, that will greater Joys create.
He said, and all his anxious Cares supprest,
And kept conceal'd his trouble in his Breast.
With looks compos'd, 'twixt Pleasure and Despair,
Grave but serene, he bids them all repair
Their strength, exhausted with much toil and care.
Of Meats and Fruits part of their Naval Store,
Which with them from their Ship they brought ashore:
Their weary Limbs repos'd, beneath the shade
Of well spread Trees, a grateful Meal they made.
Rich Wine of Burgundy, and choice Champaign,
Relieve the Toil, they suffer'd on the Main.
But what more chear'd them than their Meats and Wine,
Was wise Instruction, and Discourse Divine,
From God-like Arthur's Mouth, by Heav'n inspir'd;
Which all their Breasts with sacred Passions fir'd.
Great were his Thoughts, strong and sublime his Sense
Of Heav'n's Decrees, Foreknowledge, Providence.
He reason'd deep of Heav'n's mysterious Ends,
And made stern Justice, and fair Mercy Friends.
How high he soar'd, how noble was his Flight,
Speaking of Truth divine, and Wisdom infinite!
He opens all the Magazins above,
Of boundless Goodness and Eternal Love,
From these rich Stores of Heav'n, these sacred Springs
Of everlasting Joy and Peace, he brings
Ambrosial Food, and rich Nectarean Wine,
Which chear pure Souls, and nourish Life Divine.
He then compar'd this transient, mortal state,
To the sierce Tempest they escap'd so late,
Which here is every great and good Man's Fate.
If God-like Men for Heav'n embark, and stand
Their Course direct, to make the blissful Land;
Strait Hell the bloody signal gives to Arm,
Cain's cruel Offspring takes the dire Alarm;
And potent Fiends by Sea their Forces joyn,
T'obstruct their way, and break their brave design.
All with consummate Malice, furious Rage,
Against th' adventurous Voyagers engage.
Through all the Sky they raise outrageous Storms,
And Death stands threat'ning in a thousand Forms.
Clouds charg'd with loud Destruction drown the day,
And airy Dæmons in wild Whirlwinds play.
Thick Thunderclaps, and Lightning's livid glare
Disturb the Sky, and trouble all the Air.
Outrage, Distraction, Clamour, Tumult Reign
Through the Dominions of th' unquiet Main.
The labouring Bark with Heav'nly Treasure fraught
Now almost sunk, now up in Tempests caught,
Near Sands and Rocks, rides on the dark Abyss,
Long beaten off from the bright Coasts of Bliss.
At last Calm Day succeeds this stormy Night,
And the glad Voyagers find in their sight,
The Realms of Peace, and the blest Shores of Light
Here they arrive, and find a safe Retreat,
And all their Pain, and Labours past forget.
There was a Cave hard by, which Nature made
In the hard Rock, and cover'd with the shade,
Of spreading Trees, that Day could not invade.
Hither the pious British Prince retires,
To offer Praises up, and pure Desires.
Here rapt'rous Converse he with Heav'n maintains,
And aided by Devotion's purest strains,
Combates Almighty Power, and Conquest gains.
Devotion, that oft binds th' Almighty's Arms,
And with her Prayers and Tears, her powerful charms,
Of all its Thunder, his right hand disarms.
She passes quick Heav'ns lofty Crystal Walls,
And the high Gates fly open, when she calls.
The lovely Goddess of Divine Address,
Has to th' Almighty's Presence free Access.
Her Pow'r can sentenc'd Criminals reprieve,
Judgment Arrest, and bid the Rebel live.
Her Voice did once the Sun's swift Chariot stay,
And on the Verge of Heav'n, held back the falling Day.
She makes contentious Winds forget their Strife,
And calls back to the Dead, departed Life,
Charm'd by her Voice, Rivers have stop'd their Course,
And the chill'd Fire laid down its burning Force.
Such is Devotion's Power, which Arthur knew,
And when distress'd still to this Refuge flew.
Much to his Conduct he, much to his Arms,
But more he trusted to Devotion's Charms.
Of Triumph and Success he rarely fail'd,
For those on Earth, and these in Heav'n prevail'd.
Now in the silent, shady Cave retir'd,
He with her sacred Fury lay inspir'd.
The Prince being thus entranc'd, a Heav'nly Light
Shoots smiling through the Wood with silent flight.
The Trees admire the Glory on them shed,
And seem'd to start, and humbly bow their Head;
When fresh arriv'd on Earth, with Heav'n's Commands,
Great Raphael's glorious Form by Arthur stands.
Celestial Sweetness, Mild and Godlike Grace
Ineffable, sate on his blooming Face.
His Cheeks such Beauty shew'd, such Light and Joy his Eyes,
As from full Bliss, fresh Youth, and Strength immortal rise.
The purest piece of Heav'n's Etherial Blue,
In a rich Mantle, from his Shoulders flew.
Celestial Linnen, finely Spun and Wove
On Looms divine, by all the Skill above,
Bleach'd on th' Empyreal Plains till white as Snow,
Made the long Robe which to his Feet did flow.
Immortal Gold, Illustrious as the Morn,
And dazling Gemms by high Arch Angels worn,
With pond'rous Pearl from Heav'n's bright Eastern Shore,
Adorn the shining Garments that he wore.
A Purple Girdle, from the Morning Sky
New rent, does round his starry Vesture tye.
Thus he appear'd, and with the Light he gave,
And unknown fragrancy, fill'd all the Cave.
Then thus he spake, Hail mine and Heav'n's kind Care,
Hither I come, drawn by thy powerful Prayer.
Know Righteous Prince, th' Almighty does approve,
Your firm Adhesion, and unshaken Love.
Ends Great and Wise lodg'd in his secret Breast,
Obstruct your Wishes, and your Course molest.
Yet still pursue your great and just intent,
No Force or Arts shall your Design prevent,
Propitious Heav'n Decrees your wish'd Event.
You on these Coasts for happy Ends are thrown,
And after this, expect the British Crown.
Your Friends and Navy on the Ocean lost,
Are All arriv'd safe on th' Armoric Coast:
By the impetuous Tempest beaten back,
But Men and Ships sav'd from the threatn'd Wreck.
You're cast on Hoel's Lands amidst your Foes,
Who hate your Cause, and your just Arms Oppose.
But fear not Hoel's Power, though now your Foe,
By Hell incens'd, he will not long be so.
Go then directly to his Court, for there,
A Glorious Work demands your pious Care.
That said, with outstrecht Wings he soars upright,
And through the Winds vast Empire takes his flight.
He cuts the Clouds, and by the Planets flies
Up the steep Crystal Mountains of the Skies.
And swiftly passing through the Starry Sphears,
Before the Throne he in his Place appears:
The Cherub's gone, and with him Arthur's fears.
Who to his Lords returns, and to their Heart,
Courage and Joy, his Words and Looks impart.
His God-like Language does their Fears abate,
And with fresh hopes their troubled Breasts dilate.
That said, a Fury crawl'd from out her Cell,
The bloodiest Minister of Death and Hell.
A mostrous Shape, a foul and hideous sight,
Which did all Hell with her dire Looks affright.
Huge, full gorg'd Snakes on her lean Shoulders hung,
And Death's dark Courts with their loud hissing rung.
Her Teeth and Claws were Iron and her Breath,
Like Subterranean Damps, gave present Death.
Flames worse than Hells, shot from her bloody Eyes.
And Fire and Sword Eternally she cries.
No certain Shape, no Feature regular,
No Limbs distinct in th' odious Fiend appear.
Her squallid, bloated Belly did arise,
Swoln with black Gore to a prodigious Size:
Distended vastly, by a mighty Flood
Of slaughter'd Saints, and constant Martyr's Blood.
Part stood out prominent, but part fell down,
And in a swagging heap, lay wallowing on the Ground.
A Monster so deform'd, so fierce as this,
It Self a Hell, ne'er saw the dark Abyss.
Horrour till now the ugliest Shape esteem'd,
So much out-done, a harmless Figure seem'd.
Envy and Hate, and Malice blush'd too see,
Themselves Eclips'd by such Deformity.
Her Feav'rish Thirst drinks down a Sea of Blood,
Not of the impious, but the Just and Good.
'Gainst whom she burns with unextinguish'd Rage,
Nor can th' exhausted World her Wrath asswage.
Then thus the Fury Persecution spake:
I mighty Prince of Hell, will undertake
This glorious Work, I quickly will inspire
Hoel, with my ungovernable Fire.
Without remorse he shall my Will Obey,
And crush this Briton, now his easy Prey.
Nero by me rais'd his illustrious Name,
And Dioclesian got Immortal Fame.
I their rude, inbred Cruelty refin'd,
And stampt my perfect Image on their Mind.
My flames all Love's course mixture did destroy,
And purg'd off soft Compassion's base alloy;
I form'd and dissiplin'd their untaught Hate,
And rais'd their fierceness to a perfect State:
Where shame, and all reflecting Sense is lost,
And Hell can't purer strains of Malice boast.
Inexorable they all Cries withstood,
Ravish'd with Slaughter, and regal'd with Blood.
Hard marble Rocks might with more ease relent,
And Fire and Plague learn sooner to repent.
Then Christian Kings my Fury entertain'd,
And taught by me, in Blood and Slaughter reign'd.
With pious Rage and fierce destructive Zeal,
I first inspir'd their Minds, and did reveal
The mystery, how deep Revenge to take,
And slay the Servants for the Masters sake.
How bloody Wrath might with Devotion joyn,
And sacred Zeal with Cruelty combine.
By me the unknown way they understood,
T'attone the Christian's God with Christian Blood.
By me they shook off Fear's and Love's Restraints;
And on God's Altars burnt his slaughter'd Saints.
I made them call, that all Remorse might cease,
Murder Compassion, Desolation Peace.
Whilst my infernal Heats their Breasts inspir'd,
To the vile Sect their own mad Zeal acquir'd,
Wider Destruction, and more fatal Harms,
Then all your Scythian, or your Gothick Arms:
And Rome, proud Rome her self must owe to me
Her present State, and future Dignity.
The greatest Genius this, I e'er could find,
And to receive my Image best inclin'd.
I will her Mind inspire, and to her Heart
Immortal hate, to Abel's Race impart.
These Breasts she empties with her Infant Jaws,
I file her Teeth, and shape her tender Claws.
I Nurse her on the horrid Alps high Tops,
And feed her hunger with Cerberean Sops
Dipt in Tartarean Gall, and Hemlock Juice,
That in her Veins will noble Blood produce.
Fierce Tygers, Dragons, Wolves about her stay,
They grin, and snap, and bite, and snarling play.
I to her Jaws, throw Infants newly Born;
She sucks their Blood, and by her Teeth are torn
Their tender Limbs, while I rejoyce to see
Such noble Proofs of growing Cruelty.
To her wide Breast, and vast capacious Soul,
I often Torrents of black Poison rowl:
She drinks the livid Flood, and thro her Veins
Mad Fury runs, and wild Distraction reigns.
I'll lead her from the Rocks, her Strength full grown,
Fix her high Seat in the imperial Town,
And give her Scarlet, and a threefold Crown.
No Blood will then her mighty Thirst asswage,
No Ravage cloy her Antichristian Rage.
Her mitred Sons that never can relent,
From the great Cain shall prove their high Descent.
Their Deeds of strange infernal Cruelty,
Shall shew their Race worthy of Him and me.
Lay-Bigots, I with Time and Labour wrought,
Some inward Grudgings still against me fought:
'Twas hard to raise their hate to a degree,
From struggling Nature, and all Pity free.
But these Church-Zealots, of a truer Breed,
Are form'd with Ease, and scarce my Labour need.
Their forward Genius without teaching grows,
And all my hopes, and ev'n my Wish out-does.
How often shall thy Glorious Sons, O Rome,
With Martyrs Flames inlighten Christendom?
How often shall they, to deride their God,
Lift up in Prayer, their Hands all full of Blood?
The wasted World shall feel their loud Alarms,
Their blest Massacres, and their hallowed Arms.
As if their high intent were to Efface,
All Foot-steps left of Abel's hateful Race.
Bloody Tribunals, Rapine, Fire and Sword,
And Desolation, daily Sport afford.
Mankind they shall with such dire Plagues attack,
As will their Church a holy Desart make.
Such is my Zeal to serve th' Infernal State,
And shall this British Prince escape my Hate?
Forbid it Hell, and here she made a pause;
The Lords in Council gave a loud Applause.
The Prince of Darkness leaping from his Place,
Did in his Arms, his darling Fiend embrace:
Her Anger then rose higher, and all Hell
Uneasie seem'd, she grew so terrible.
She strait contracts her vast dilated Size,
And thro' Hell's dusky Void, she upward flies.
As when rich Towns, great Cost and Art employ
In Fire-works, to express their publick Joy,
For some great Vict'ry won by Land or Sea,
Or on some Prince's Coronation Day.
The flaming Rockets hizzing fly by Night,
And fill the Sky with unknown Noise and Light.
The Sphears amaz'd stand, or move slowly on,
And wonder how the day returns so soon,
And what new Stars rise brighter than their own.
So does the Fiend, her Snakes all hissing rise,
Through the thick haggair'd Air, and as she flies,
Leaves tracks of Light, cast from her fiery Eyes.
And now arriv'd on the grey Coasts of Day,
Direct to Hoel's Court she takes her way:
Where she alighted when the Sun had hurl'd
His glorious Orb hence, to th' other World.
'Twas then when all thing's look'd, as if old Night
Had Nature crush'd, and seiz'd her ancient Right.
Whilst Silence, Shades, and Lights around create,
Sad solemn Pomps t'express her Death-like state.
Winds, and wild Beasts, lye in their Dens at rest,
Nor these the Woods, nor those the Seas molest.
The sleeping Vultures drop their Prey, the Dove
Ceases her Cooing, and forgets to love.
The Jocond Fairies dance their silent round,
And with dark Circles mark the trampled ground.
Tartarean Forms Skim o'er the Mountains Heads,
Or lightly sweep along the dewy Meads.
Ghosts leave their Tombs hid Murders to reveal,
Or Treasures which themselves did once conceal.
Visions thro' th' Air, and careless Phantom, stray,
Or round Mens troubled Heads while sleeping play.
The Fury Alman's Reverend Shape assumes,
Odin's High Priest, and so to Hoel comes.
For the Priests Form is fittest to engage
Princes in Blood, and move destructive Rage.
Thus chang'd the Fiend, such is her Craft, appears,
And thus began, just Hoel, all those years
I liv'd, I did with studious Care employ,
How best I might the Christian Crew destroy.
I thy great Soul in this blest Cause engag'd,
Inspir'd with Heats Divine, not yet asswag'd.
I quit Elysian Pleasures to impart,
What does with greater Joy extend my Heart;
And will do thine, Arthur, curst be that Name,
Designing Empire, and Illustrious Fame
Embark'd with Arms, fair Albion to invade
But by just Heav'n, is thy cheap Captive made.
Pursu'd in Thunder, and in Tempests tost,
At last he's Shipwreckt on this happy Coast.
With his sad Friends he wanders up and down,
Naked, perplext, deserted, and undone.
But yet just Heav'n decrees him greater Harm,
But saves that Glory for your Zealous Arm.
To take his Life must be your pious Care,
And with the Gods divided Honour share.
Thus you their En'my, and your own remove,
Secure your Peace, and please the Pow'rs above.
To Christians this can be no Injury,
That call for Torments, and are pleas'd to Dye.
They all seem fond, to wear the Martyr's Crown,
And meet the Flames, with greater of their own.
No Rights, no Rules of Justice you invade,
For Ruin's their Profession, Death their Trade.
Go then, and grace the Briton, that comes on
To meet you, and receive the Martyrs Crown.
Remove this Pillar of the Church, and all
The unsupported Roof, will crack and fall.
Take this Defender of their Faith away,
The passive Rabble, tamely will Obey.
Their Lives in Sport you may at leisure take,
They quickly fall, that no Resistance make.
The Gods into your Hands have cast your Foe,
To take his Life will please Heav'n, him, and you,
That said, she breath'd her Soul into his Breast,
And her wild Fury all his Veins possest.
Infernal Flames Rage in his poison'd Blood,
And his swoln Heart Boils with th' impetuous Flood.
The Fiend her Shape of thickned Air dissolves,
And disappears, Hoel surpriz'd revolves
The welcome message in his Mind, and strait
Commands his Lords and Guards should on him wait,
On the first Shooting of the tender Day,
So eager did he seem to seize the Prey.
Now was the Eastern Sky-dy'd Purple spread,
For fair Aurora's radiant Feet to tread:
She mounts serene, and with mild dawning Light,
Smiles on the lowring, dusky Face of Night;
That to victorious Day yields up her Seat,
Whilst her black Forces silently Retreat.
As when a Lyon at the Fall of Day,
Rouz'd with fierce Hunger up to Hunt his Prey,
Stretches his Limbs out, Yawns, and tries his Paws,
And for sure Death prepares his cruel Jaws.
He stands, and rolls about his angry Eyes,
Lashing his Sides to make his Fury rise.
Then scowrs the Hills, ranges the Forrests o'er,
And thunders thro the Desart with his hideous Roar.
The Winds all husht sit trembling on the Trees,
And scarcely whisper out a gentle Breeze.
Wolves dare not Howl, but grinning softly creep,
And Leopards stretcht out, feign themselves asleep.
Th' affrighted Herds close in their Covert ly,
And to escape his Rage, with Terrour dy.
Thus Hoel, with infernal Rage possest,
With fierce desire speeds to the bloody Feast.
A deadly Storm does on his Forehead lowr,
Himself his Rage, Arthur his Hopes devour.
Breathing out Death he march'd, but at mid-day,
He stands by Heav'n arrested in his way.
The Air serene, a black thick Cloud appear'd,
And as it hover'd o'er their Heads, were heard
Celestial Flutes, and Harps divinely Strung,
With Hymns and Hallelujahs, Set and Sung
By the best Masters of the Quire above,
With Bliss transported, and inspir'd with Love.
Whilst Hoel and his Friends pleas'd, and amaz'd,
Listen'd, and on the Scene descending gaz'd:
The broken Cloud, pours out pure Floods of Light,
Show'rs of Celestial Rays transcendent bright,
And Storms of Splendor, dazling Mortal Sight.
Th' illustrious Tempest does on Hoel beat,
Who falls astonish'd, headlong from his Seat:
Confounded with unsufferable Day,
Groveling in Glory on the shining Way,
And with bright Ruin overwhelm'd, he lay.
'Twas then, a soft, still Heav'nly Voice, that broke
From out the Cloud, to trembling Hoel spoke.
'Gainst me, what Fury did thy Arms engage?
What mov'd thee with inexorable Rage,
Vain Man, to persecute my Saints and Me?
In vain thou seek'st to baffle Heav'n's Decree.
Vain is thy Force, and impotent thy Hate,
Too weak thy Arms, to stem the Tyde of Fate.
The Torrent bears thy faint Resistance down,
Retire, or in Eternal Ruin Drown.
Then Hoel thus, O tell me, who thou art,
Great Spirit, and thy Will to me impart.
Tell me if Error has my Feet misled,
What safer Paths I may hereafter tread.
The Voice reply'd:
I am the Christians God, whom you pursue;
Go meet my Servant Arthur, he shall shew
At large, what thou hast to believe, what do.
The Scene here disappear'd, his Lords came round,
And rais'd reviving Hoel from the Ground.
Who marches on, the British Prince to find,
And Act not what himself, but Heav'n design'd.
With anxious Thoughts the Vision he revolves,
And to Obey Heav'n's high Command resolves.
Whilst to his Lords the Vision he relates,
They find themselves advanc'd to Conda's Gates.
Arthur mean time, to whom great Raphael's word,
Unshaken Hopes, and Courage did afford;
Proceeded on his Way, but sent before
Embassadors to Hoel, to explore
His temper, and the Genius of his Court,
That he just steps might take by their Report.
He chose out to discharge this weighty Trust,
Valiant Pollandor, Roderick the Just;
And Faithful Galbut, Friends that in distress,
(A thing unknown to Courts) their Love express.
Soon after Hoel had his Entrance made,
At the same City they arriv'd, and staid
But little, for th' admission which they pray'd.
Then Hoel first the Britons thus addrest,
Let no sad Thought your pious Prince molest:
A Message sent from Heav'n preventing yours,
To me great Joy, Safety to him procures.
Friendship and Love, fill my enlighten'd Mind,
From Hatred purg'd, from Treachery refin'd.
Return, and let your Valiant Leader know,
His God has to a Friend, transform'd his Foe.
Tell him he's safe from all intended Harms,
And that I hast, t'Embrace him in my Arms.
With Regal Bounty, he to all presents
Rich Swords, and various splendid Ornaments.
To Arthur sends a Chariot, dazling Bright,
Which to the Sun return'd redoubled Light.
And Horses of th' Iberian Noble Race,
That right Descent from the swift Eurus trace.
Bold, Gen'rous, Sprightly, as th' Illustrious Breed,
Which in th' Etherial, blue Enclosures Feed.
That thro' Heav'n's Wast, with the Sun's Chariot play,
And govern Time, by carrying round the Day.
Their Furniture of Gold, their Bridles Gold,
And golden Bits, their champing Mouths did hold.
They hast, and all their Diligence employ,
To fill Just Arthur's Mind, with Peace and Joy.
To him returning they impart at large,
The kind, endearing Things they had in Charge.
As when his Sons to Jacob did relate,
That Joseph liv'd, and liv'd in Regal State;
Telling of all his Riches, Power, Renown,
Egypt's Support, and Prop to Pharoah's Crown.
Resistless Floods of sudden Pleasure Roll
Along his Veins, and break in on his Soul.
He sinks beneath the pressure of his Joy,
And Joseph's Life, does almost his destroy.
Then Doubts and Fears, his Joys high Tyde oppose,
From which Contention fiercer Tempests rose.
While his cross Passions fight with equal Power,
Each Triumphs in his turn, as Conquerour.
The Patriarch in this Distraction lost,
Is in each Storm with equal Danger tost.
But when the Chariots and rich Train he saw,
He did from thence fresh Life and Vigour draw.
His Breast from all contending Passions freed,
Calm Joy, and unmolested Peace succeed.
Enough the Patriarch was heard to Cry,
I'll hast to Joseph's Arms, and in them Dye.
So when Just Arthur heard the Message first,
His wavering Mind with Fears and wise Distrust,
And rising Tydes of suddain Joy was tost,
Uncertain which strong Passion press'd him most.
But when he saw the Presents Hoel sent,
His Doubts suppress'd, he grew more Confident:
And his calm Mind eas'd of his anxious Cares,
T'embrace his new, and generous Friend prepares.
And now advancing Night the Sky invades,
While close pursu'd by the Victorious Shades,
The Rayes that faintly from the Ground recoil,
On the green Fields, let fall their pearly spoil.
When Arthur to his secret Joys retires,
Where his exhaling Soul to Heav'n aspires,
In sacred Anhelations, and inflam'd Desires.
Fixt Contemplation feeds his Hope and Love,
With rapt'rous Preludes to the Joys above.
His ravish'd Eyes view the unmeasur'd Bliss,
In the next Life enjoy'd, believ'd in this.
So David often pass'd the silent Night,
And in his Transports felt sublime Delight,
Surpassing all that mighty Monarchs have,
Which his own Crown, and all his Triumphs gave.
While baser Birds the humble Valley love,
And sing contented with their little Grove;
The Eagle's generous Pride does nobly rise
To Heav'n, and thence does this low World despise.
Scorning a Vulgar Bough, he thinks he sees
Woods in the Clouds, and hanging Groves of Trees.
Thither he hasts, and leaves th' ignoble Brood,
That aim no higher, to their Shrubs and Wood.
If to his Prey he stoops, ashamed he flies
Back to his airy Dwelling in the Skies.
Where in the Clouds he hides his Royal Head,
Safe from the Snares, which watchful Fowlers spread:
So Men of courser Mould, and baser Birth,
Pleas'd with the Dust lye grov'ling on the Earth.
For Food their Souls all foul and bloated, seek
The Damps and Steams, that from its Bowels reek.
While Men divinely Born, still upwards move,
And scorn this World, that courts in vain their Love.
In Flames of Zeal, and Pangs of pure Desire,
These to the Seats of Light and Peace aspire.
Where they converse with the blest Minds above,
And wonder what on Earth invites Mens Love.
This Molehill Earth has lost its former Charms,
Molehill for Bulk, and Stings wherewith it swarms.
With Wonder they observe how Mortals Pride,
Can into Kingdoms this small Heap divide.
How one t'enlarge the Empire he has got,
Invades the Borders of his Neighbour's Spot.
How this proud Monarch of a Turf, is vext
With restless cares, to dispossess the next.
As Heav'ns vast Globes that fill the World with Light,
Seem little Balls to distant Mortals sight,
That in the most capacious Planets, we
No room for States and large Dominions see.
So these more noble Minds advanc'd so high,
Believe the same of us, who from the Sky,
The low-hung Earth's contracted Body Spy.
They keep above free from the fatal Nets,
Which for unwary Feet the Tempter sets.
Free from the Earth's dark smoke, and endless Noise,
They dwell in Peace, and feed on Heav'nly Joys.
Such Pleasures Arthur while retir'd, enjoy'd,
And wish'd he ever might be thus imploy'd.
And now the radiant Gates of th' Eastern Sky,
Unbar'd by bright Aurora, open fly:
Strait issues out the Sun with mighty Force,
As Giants do, prepar'd to run his Course.
The joyful Britons all things ready make,
And their new Friend to meet, their Journy take.
Scarce had the Sun his glitt'ring Chariot driv'n,
Up the steep Brow, and sharp Ascent of Heav'n,
When the glad Princes did each other meet,
And Hoel thus did first the Stranger greet.
Prince Arthur paus'd a while, then silence broke,
And friendly thus th' Armoric King bespoke.
Th' Eternal's Providence I must adore,
That has compell'd me to th' Armoric Shore.
That I might here, serve such a glorious End,
And to the Christian Cause gain such a Friend.
Goodness Divine, King Hoel does invite
By Miracles, t'enjoy Celestial Light.
Cast on your Coasts, with Pleasure I will stay,
To aid and guide you in your Heav'nly way.
To whom th' Armoric Monarch thus Reply'd;
While we to Nannetum together ride,
Instruct, O Pious Prince, my willing Mind:
It is a task your God has you design'd.
Unfold his Heav'nly Will, and let me know,
What Worship to him, what Belief, I owe.
To whom the Prince, this favour first I ask,
Before I undertake the pious Task:
That you'll dispatch your Servants to the Coast,
To seek my Friends out, in the Tempest lost.
And if by chance cast on th' Armoric Shore,
They wander up and down, distress'd and poor,
Your angry Subjects, may not them annoy,
Nor with devouring Flames, their Ships destroy.
This Friendship shewn, I'll with a chearful Mind,
Attempt the Task by you, and Heav'n enjoyn'd.
When the past Night did with her dusky Train
Advance, o'er-shadowing all th' Aerial Plain;
A sudden Transport did my Soul engage,
And all my Limbs shook with the sacred Rage.
Straight caught up from the Body, through the Skies
To the third Heav'n, my ravish'd Soul did rise:
Where Things ineffable I saw, and heard
Divine Instruction, which my Mind prepar'd
To aid you in your Heav'nly Way, and shew
What Worship to th' Eternal Mind is due.
Straight Hoel to the Shores his Servants sent,
Who might the Harms, that Arthur fear'd, prevent.
Who might the hapless Britons kindly treat,
And safe conduct them to his Royal Seat.
Such Love the King to Arthur's Friends exprest,
Who now prepar'd t'obey the King's Request.

BOOK II.

BOOK III.

Now the Victorious Sun the Night invades,
Chasing from Hill to Hill, the flying Shades.
Up rose the Princes, and were soon prepar'd
To take their Way, attended with their Guard.
In the same Chariot friendly they abide,
Maintaining pleasing Converse, as they ride.
The British Captains, and th' Armorick Train,
On either Side their generous Courser's rein.
They past not far, when Hoel thust addrest,
With pleasing Looks, his Pious, British Guest:
Your lofty Subject now, brave Prince, resume,
How shall your Lord from Heav'n to Judgment come,
What follows, what precedes the general Doom?
These Signs first giv'n, amidst the Starry Sphears,
With all the Pomp of Heav'n the Judge appears.
Before his Chariot Wheels, that roll on high,
Whirlwinds, and Clouds discharging Thunder fly,
And curling Lightnings run along the Sky.
Immortal Thrones, pour'd out from Heav'n's bright Gates,
Dominions, Powers, Seraphic Potentates,
Crown'd Saints, and Martyrs rang'd in glorious Rows,
Attend his Chariot, and his State compose.
The dazling Pomp stretches across the Sky,
From utmost East to West, and passing by
The Heav'nly Orbs, comes on descending slow,
Into the Airy Region here below.
O'er all the Sky, Heav'n's mighty Army shines,
And here it halts in deep embattel'd Lines.
In bright Celestial Armour clad, they stand,
Their Swords of temper'd Flame drawn in their Hand:
They mark a Camp of spacious Circuit out,
And cast up Crystal Ramparts round about.
On some fit Eminence, they raise on high
Their Lord's August Pavilion in the Sky:
His bright, sublime Tribunal here they place,
On which he sits, with awful, God-like Grace.
Such Flames of Fire, wheeling in Clouds of Smoak,
Issue from thence, as from Mount Sinai broke.
Array'd with Majesty, and cloath'd with Light,
He Glory darts too fierce for Angels Sight.
In Hallelujahs they his Greatness sing,
And the shook Sphears, with loud Hosannahs ring.
Thus on the Throne, the Saviour sits prepar'd,
To judge the World, to punish and reward.
And now th' unnumber'd Armies ready stand,
Grasping revenging Firebrands in their Hand,
And only wait their Leader's high command.
The Signal giv'n, a general Shout, shall shake
The Heav'n's around, greater than Armies make
Rushing to Battel, or was heard in Rome,
When conquering Cæsar came in Triumph home.
Their furious Arms devouring Tempests throw
On all the guilty, trembling World below.
They pour down mighty, fiery Cataracts,
Flaming Bitumen, and Sulphurous Lakes;
Red Showers of fiery Arrows hissing fly,
And flashing Lightning flames around the Sky.
Fires from above, combin'd with Fires below,
O'er all the Earth in ruddy Torrents flow.
Vengeance Divine, wastes Nature's burning Store,
And drowns the Earth in Fire, all drown'd in Guilt before
The Heat dissolves the Fabrick of the World,
The broken parts fall down, confus'dly hurl'd:
Chaos restor'd does in wild Triumph reign,
And ruin'd Worlds his hideous Throne sustain.
Some great Archangel now springs forth on high,
And with the loudest Trumpet of the Sky,
Summons th' astonish'd, gazing World to come,
To Judgment, and the Universal Doom.
The dreadful Noise shakes Heav'n's Etherial Mounds,
And in loud Ecchoes from the Sphears rebounds:
In Ecchoes terrible, and piercing shrill,
That the low World with dire Amazement fill.
The guilty Fiends shreek out at these Alarms,
That in the Air fly thick in murmuring Swarms:
Their Prince himself trembles, and dares not stay,
But spreads his broad, dun Wings, and shoots away.
They sink confounded to th' Infernal Deep,
Or into Clefts, and hollow Mountains creep.
They find the fatal Hour's arriv'd at last,
That shall revenge their bold Rebellions past:
When to their Torments they shall be restrain'd,
And lie beneath, on flaming Billows chain'd.
When Hell no more its Pris'ners shall release,
And Sin's black Empire must for ever cease.
No less the dreadful Sound, and awful Sight,
Confound proud Tyrants, and their Guards affright.
What Horrour now distracts each guilty Soul,
In their sad Breasts, what storms of Vengeance roll;
How will they bear this dismal Scene of Woe,
Where will they stay secure, or whither go?
Terrour, Distraction, Anguish, fierce Despair
Drink up their Vitals, and their Heart-strings tear.
Ten Thousand poison'd Darts strike thro' their Reins,
And wound them with unsufferable Pains.
The Vulture bred within their Bowels gnaws,
And Conscience gripes them with her Harpy's Claws.
Such Wounds, such Stings, such Pangs must now be born,
Of everlasting Death, the sad Forlorn.
What strange Confusion in their Looks appears,
What wild Amazement, Guilt and deadly Fears!
What howling Lamentation, what dire Cries,
What doleful Shrieks, and Yellings fill the Skies!
Besides, the Trumpet shakes the trembling Ground,
The startled Dead awaken at the Sound:
The Grave resigns its ancient Spoils, and all
Death's Adamantine Prisons burst, and fall.
The Souls that did their forc'd Departure mourn,
To the same Bodies with swift Flight return:
Whose scatter'd Parts God calls together, they,
To their appointed Meeting haste away.
The Crowding Atoms re-unite apace,
All without tumult, know, and take their place.
Th' assembled Bones leap quick into their Frame,
And the warm Blood renews a brighter Flame.
The quicken'd Dust feels fresh and youthful Heats,
While its old Task, the beating Heart repeats.
The Eyes enliven'd with new Vital Light,
Open, admiring whence they had their Sight.
The Veins too, twine their bloody Arms around
The Limbs, and with red, leaping Life abound.
Hard twisted Nerves new brace, and faster bind
The close knit Joynts, no more to be disjoyn'd.
Strong, new-spun Threds Immortal Muscles make,
That justly fixt, their ancient Figure take.
Brisk Spirits take their upper Seats, and dart
Thro' their known Channels thence, to every part.
The Men now draw their long-forgotten Breath,
And striving break the unweildy Chains of Death.
Victorious Life to every Grave resorts,
And rifles Death's unhospitable Courts:
Its Vigour thro' those dark Dominions spread,
From all their gloomy Mansions frees the Dead.
Now ripe Conceptions thro' the Earth abound,
And new sprung Men stand thick on all the Ground.
The Sepulchres are quick, and every Tomb
Labours with Life, and grows a fruitful Womb.
But how the Dead are chang'd, their Bodies more
Unlike each other, than their Souls before!
How monstrous foul the guilty Dead arise,
Each struck with Horrour from his Neighbour flies!
How much deform'd they look, all stain'd with Sin,
Black and mis-shap'd without, but more within.
Ugly and Fiend-like, from their Graves they crawl,
And on the Ground, like bloated Vermin, sprawl:
And like them too, their Bodies have their Birth,
From putred Damps and Vapours in the Earth.
So Serpents that entangled lay asleep,
From out their Beds disturb'd, and waken'd creep:
They hiss, and cast their fiery Eyes around,
And with their loathsome Bellies mark the Ground.
For flight their Poysonous Volumes they display,
And urg'd with Fear and Anguish, haste away.
So this foul Brood are forc'd their Graves to leave,
And to the Ground their grov'ling Bellies cleave:
Earthy and Black, confin'd so long to Night,
They dread the Horrours of the chearful Light.
Amazing change! see, some of these were they,
Whose Heads were crown'd, whose Hands did Scepters sway.
These did rich Purple, and fine Linnen wear,
And every Meal fed on delicious Fare.
That hideous Thing, that for a Covert seeks,
With hollow Eyes, fall'n Jaws, and ghastly Cheeks,
That monstrous Thing, was once, when kept with Care,
Proud of its Beauty, and look'd wondrous Fair,
Set off with all the Ornaments, that please
The Eye, and pamper'd with Luxurious Ease.
But how the guilty Crowd, wreckt with Despair,
With dismal Cries fill all the ecchoing Air;
When they the Trumpet's dreadful Summons hear,
And find the Universal Judgment near!
Back to their Graves, the ugly Monsters fly,
And in those Coverts would for ever lie.
They call aloud for Death, and wish they might
Melt to thin Air, be drown'd, and lost in Night.
But when Blest Minds their Bodies meet, no Pair
Can look more Beautiful, and charming Fair.
The happy Souls shoot swiftly thro' the Sky,
And to the Graves and Sepulchers they fly:
Where they their long-forsaken Bodies greet,
Which, like old Friends, they with fresh Pleasure meet.
Bodies, that seem, they are so Pure and Bright,
All thicken'd Glory, close compacted Light;
Purg'd and refin'd from all that's course and gross,
As melted Gold throws off the baser Dross.
Smiling they rise, such Charms, so sweet a Grace
They shew, as dwell not on a Mortal Face.
These rising Stars their Heav'nly Beams display,
Bright Harbingers of Everlasting Day.
Such Beauties, such mild Glories shall we see,
In the glad Spring of Immortality.
Yet these blest Sons of Light, that Angel-like,
Would Mortal Eyes, with deadly Lustre strike,
Were those, that once their Excellence disguis'd,
Liv'd here oppress'd, and like their Lord, despis'd.
Welcom to them this long-expected Hour,
Safe by their Judge's Favour, from his Power:
High Tides of Joy into their Bosoms run,
And Everlasting Life they feel begun.
This shall past Griefs in deep Oblivion drown,
Compleat their Triumphs, and their Virtues Crown.
These in the Spring, great Care and Toil bestow'd,
And water'd with their Tears, the Seed they sow'd:
The Harvest now their happy Hours employs,
In reaping Pleasures and Immortal Joys.
Bright Cherubims descending thro' the Air,
To these blest Men with speedy Flight repair,
Then to the gen'ral Doom aloft they fly,
And on their Wings convey them thro' the Sky.
In all the way encouraging their Charge,
Telling of all the Joys of Heav'n at large.
Plac'd in the Presence of their Lord, they stand
In their appointed Seats, at his Right-hand.
Whilst other Angels from the Deep of Hell,
Drive up the Fiends that in those Regions dwell.
With Swords of keenest Flame compelling some,
And dragging others to the gen'ral Doom.
In Anguish and Despair, the yelling Fiends,
Curse, Gnash, and Bite th' Eternal Chain that binds
So close, and strait, then turn their Heads away,
From the fierce Terrour of so bright a Day.
And impious Men, in no less Horrour, fly
To all the Shades, and Coverts they descry:
Mountains and Rocks their fruitless Cries invite,
To fall, and hide them from the Judge's Sight.
For rise they must, and lose their vain Desire,
Caught up in Whirlwinds, and in Storms of Fire.
Before the Judge the Pris'ners stand in sight,
And take the Left-hand, as the Just the Right.
Th' Eternal Books before the Judge are brought,
Where all Mens long-forgotten Deeds are wrote.
And first are read the Vertues of the Just,
Their Zeal for Heav'n, their Courage, Hope, and Trust:
The Prayers, the Tears, the Alms themselves conceal'd,
Before applauding Angels are reveal'd.
The righteous Judge their Innocence declar'd,
Allots the glorious Kingdom, he prepar'd
For pure and holy Minds a blest Reward.
Their Guardian Angels at their Lord's Command,
Crown the glad Saints with an Officious Hand.
Who now in perfect Bliss, their time employ,
Discoursing, to promote their mutual Joy,
How first they left the pleasurable way,
Where wanton Streams of soft Delights, convey
Charm'd Souls, that with the treach'rous Tyde must go,
To the dead Lake of Pain, and endless Woe.
How first they lik'd the dark and lonesome Road,
Which leads to Bliss, and the blest Minds Abode.
How when in Shades they mourn'd, a Heav'nly Ray
Darted a welcome, tho' imperfect Day.
How Vertue's guidance they implor'd and gain'd,
And what blest Converse with her they maintain'd:
How thro' dark Pathes she did their Feet conduct,
Correct the Wanderers, and the rest instruct.
How by her Aids they bore tempestuous Shocks,
Climb'd o'er opposing Hills, and hanging Rocks;
Till they at length the Peaceful Realms did gain,
Where Joys Divine, and endless Transports reign.
How sweet and fair Crown'd Innocence appears,
No more tost on the Waves of Hopes and Fears?
On Mortal Face such Beauties never shone,
Like those of Virtue, seated on her Throne.
Next this, th' Apostate Angels are accus'd,
That open Force, or secret Arts they us'd,
To set their Leader, on th' Eternal's Throne,
Subvert Christ's Empire, and advance their own.
That Man by them seduc'd, did first Rebel,
Relinquish'd Heav'n, and to their Party fell.
That they the curst Defection did support,
And new-born Men, to new Rebellions Court.
That they with indefatigable Care,
Fresh Heats fomented, and renew'd the War.
Whence Plagues and Desolation wide, and vast,
And uncontroll'd Destruction laid all waste:
Hence Noah's universal Deluge came,
And hence the World lies now o'erwhelm'd in Flame.
For these black Crimes they're sentenc'd to the Pains,
Of fiercer Fire, and doom'd to heavier Chains.
Next Cain's Rebellious Off-spring are accus'd,
As Heav'n's inveterate Foes, who long abus'd
Goodness Divine, whom Everlasting Love,
And Life Eternal, had no Charms to move.
They would no reconciling Terms embrace,
Alike by Threats unchang'd, or Acts of Grace.
They did with Wine and Noise the Method find,
To Calm a Conscious, self-revenging Mind.
To lay asleep th' uneasie Judge within,
Till they with Care and Pains, grew bold in Sin.
For when the sacred Spirit, did convey
Into their Breasts, a secret Heav'nly Ray,
Which did, where cherish'd, soon bring on the Day:
With hasty Care they choak'd the new-sprung Light,
Calling to Aid the Shades of Hell, and Night.
Divine Compassion's Force they never felt,
Nor would in Flames of Love Eternal melt.
Their Hearts untouch'd did all Heav'n's Stroaks repel,
Temper'd, and harden'd in the Forge of Hell.
No Overtures of Peace, no Offers made,
Tho' of an endless Kingdom, could perswade
The unrelenting Rebels, to lay down
Their impious Arms, to take a Heav'nly Crown.
They still asserted with their latest Breath,
Their fixt Confed'racy with Hell, and Death.
'Tis on them charg'd, that others too that fell,
Drawn by their Arts, embark'd for Death and Hell.
They led them to the flow'ry Banks, and show'd
The flatt'ring Tide, where smiling Pleasures flow'd.
Where the charm'd Voyagers did careless ride,
Bewitching Syrens singing on their Side:
Till the false Flood betray'd them thither, where
It falls into the Gulph of black Despair.
Here secret Crimes are publish'd, and his Name
Who lov'd the Sin, but fear'd th' attendant Shame.
The sly Adulterer, who till the late
Approach of Night, and silent Shades did wait,
For the Caresses of the Harlot's Bed,
And at the early Dawn of Twilight fled;
Is here upbraided, for his careful Flight
Of Mens, whilst he contemn'd th' Almighty's Sight.
Th' Audacious Wretch, who did Heav'n's Laws deride,
And all its Thunder and dire Threats defy'd;
Who did cloy'd Nature to fresh Guilt excite,
Beyond her own ev'n Vicious Appetite:
Anti-Platonic that could Pleasure take
In naked Vice, and sinn'd for sinning's Sake;
Who could, abstracted from Enjoyment, sport
With Guilt, and Vice ev'n in Idea court.
Who did himself, so much he lov'd the Fame,
The secret Triumphs of his Lusts proclaim,
Strives in the Crowd to hide his guilty Head,
Whilst his high Charge, and black Indictment's read.
Th' astonish'd Wretch Sinks, Trembles, Dies to see
Enrag'd Omnipotence, and frowning Majesty.
Such deadly Torments on his Bowels feed,
Such Agonies he feels, as far exceed
All Shapes of Horrour, Mortals ever saw,
Poets invent, or troubl'd Fancies draw.
That There's a God, he gives a full Assent,
On the most sure, but saddest Argument:
He can his Being, and his Power attest,
From the Almighty Vengeance in his Breast.
Thus he at last believes, and trembles too,
On the same grounds that tortur'd Spirits do.
The Droll'ry which derided Heav'n's just Cause,
He hears repeated, but without Applause.
His Jests and bold Discourses, will not fit
This place, nor pass, ev'n with his Friends, for Wit.
Will he his feeble Arguments produce,
And make them here, renew their former Use?
Will he assert his Innocence, and plead,
'Twas only harmless Nature he obey'd?
That he to Vice did not his Mind enslave,
But only pleas'd the Appetites Heav'n gave.
Will he inform the Judge, it cannot be,
A Being Good, and Merciful, as He,
Can so much Rigour to his Errors show,
And make a Creature for Eternal Woe?
The Wretch's bold Objections will appear,
His wanton Fancy's wild Capriches here.
Able no more to stifle with their Night,
The natural Dictates of his inbred Light.
They can't the deadly Stings within controul,
Nor ease the Horrors of his tortur'd Soul.
And now less hardy Pris'ners are Arraign'd,
Which had not this obdurate temper gain'd.
Of such a Pendulous, Distracted Mind,
That oft to Heav'n, and oft to Hell inclin'd:
To make up Peace, they would with neither part,
But shar'd between them a divided Heart.
These travell'd on so long the happy Way,
Which leads to Life, and pure Etherial Day:
Till they reach'd Heav'n's bright Confines, could descry
The Peaceful World of Immortality.
But then, discourag'd at the steep Ascent,
And the strait Gate, thro' which the Trav'llers went,
Gave back, and did of their past Toil repent.
But how they now abhor the Cowardize,
Which made them almost Conquerors, miss the Prize:
Made them desert a prosperous Cause as lost,
Which could so many Spoils, and Triumphs boast.
Curst Sloth, that could perswade them to forsake
Christ's Camp, when such a Kingdom was at Stake.
Each hears his aggravated Crimes at large,
Devils accuse, and Conscience backs the Charge.
They can't excuse, or hide their Crimes, nor fly,
Nor what's the Refuge of the wretched, dy.
Now let their past Enjoyments Succour give,
Let Wit, and Wine their deadly Fears relieve.
Let their dear Riches their Assistance lend,
Honour and Pomp th' ambitious Man defend.
Let them sollicite with their loudest Cries,
Those Gods, they serv'd, to save their Votaries.
Blest Heav'n, that Man with such a swift Career,
Pursues those Toys which are so useless here.
The Judge will all his Terrours now assume,
And thus pronounce the Pris'ners dreadful Doom.
For ever cursed Souls from me depart,
As you did oft my Cause, I you desert.
Go, burn in Everlasting Fire, prepar'd
For Devils, take that sad, but just Reward.
Sink to the Bottomless Abyss of Hell,
Where Agonies, and endless Sorrow dwell:
Go to those Mansions of Despair, and lie
In never-ceasing Torments, go, and die.
The Rebels this expected Sentence past,
With Thunder and Tempestuous Fire are chas'd,
To Hell's black Gulph, thro' all th' Etherial Waste.
Where they shall see no chearful Ray of Light,
Doom'd to the Horrours of Eternal Night.
Th' Almighty's Arrows Fester in their Heart,
Drink up their Blood, and gall with deadly Smart.
His Wrath consumes the Wretch, his Power sustains,
And, like fierce Poison, o'er their Vitals reigns.
They waste their Souls in Cries, and howling Moans,
And spend Eternity in fruitless Groans.
Now the abstrusest Paths of Providence,
Which gave the wisest Men so great Offence,
Are so unriddl'd, and made easie here;
The Night dispell'd, they shine as Noon-day, clear.
Justice, that did till now her Graces shrowd,
And walk'd on Earth, encircled with a Cloud;
That did such by, and uncouth Ways frequent,
Perplex'd with Windings, frightful for Ascent;
See this bright Goddess to her Throne restor'd,
Unveils her Majesty to be ador'd.
Her Cloud thrown off, her Form is all Divine,
No Lustre now, her Glory can out-shine.
Such are the Beauties of her Charming Face,
Fair Mercy's Self, looks not with sweeter Grace.
Rivals no longer, they are here combin'd,
And in so strict a Bond of Friendship joyn'd;
They seem distinguish'd only by their Name,
Their Charms alike, their Votaries the same,
And both are Worship'd with an equal Flame.
Justice to all in such due Measures shown,
The Judge returns to his Celestial Throne:
And as he goes, crown'd Saints, and Seraphs sing
Loud Songs of Praise to their Triumphant King.
He enters Heav'n attended with his Train,
Who in the new Jerusalem shall reign.
The City stands on pure expanded Fields
Of rising Ether, which wide Prospect yields,
O'er all the Gulph, and out-stretcht Vales below,
O'er all th' Inferiour, spacious Orbs can show.
The Walls are Marble of the richest Vein,
And their high Towers, o'er-look the Azure Plain.
Of polish'd Gold the glorious Structures rise,
With gilded Spires, and Turrets in the Skies.
From Heav'nly Quarries on their Front appear
Rich Stones, like Winter Stars, but far more clear:
Immortal Rubies, Diamonds, Saphires met,
In beauteous Mixture, and bright Orders set.
Rare Works, where Cost immense, and Art combine,
Built and adorn'd by th' Architect Divine,
To be for Holy Minds a blest Abode,
Th' Imperial Seat, and Residence of God.
The Streets are all of fine, Etherial Glass,
Pure, like the spotless Minds, that thro' them pass.
Thro' these Eternal, living Rivers flow,
Trees on their Banks, in goodly Ranges grow,
Which with their golden Fruit, immortal health bestow.
Twelve Gates of Orient Pearl unshaken stand,
Shut, and unbarr'd by the Almighty's Hand.
A steepy Gulph is plac'd beneath the Walls;
And down as low as Hell's Abyss, it falls;
Lest Hostile Fiends should leave their burning Lake,
And bold Excursions to these Regions make.
The Air's Serene, and fit for happy Minds,
Secure from Thunder, and th' Assaults of Winds.
No Clouds, but those of curling Incense rise,
By playing Zephirs tost about the Skies;
Which with their gentle Breath sweet Odours blow,
Which from Blest Woods, and Heav'nly Gardens flow.
No noxious Damps, the Region's so sublime,
From Hell's Infernal Caves, can hither Climb.
No foul terrestrial Steams pollute the Air,
No Breaths ascend, but those of Praise and Prayer.
Essential Glory from th' Almighty's Face,
With its resplendent Efflux, lights the Place.
All Heav'n's fair Orbs, thinn'd and beat out in Light,
Would not spread out a Day, so pure and bright,
As that, the Saints Illustrious Order sheds,
From the encircling Glory round their Heads.
The vanquish'd Sun would there seem Dark, his Light
Whence our course Day proceeds, would there make Night.
So Glorious are the Dwellings of the Saints,
Out-done by nothing, but th' Inhabitants.
On lofty Thrones the Heav'nly Princes sit,
In Robes as white as new-fall'n Snow, and writ
In Golden Characters, their Foreheads bear
Their Saviour's Name, their Breasts his Image wear.
Immortal Vigour shines on ev'ry Face,
They look with Mild, but with Majestick Grace.
Thick Beams of Light stream out from ev'ry Head,
Each Saint does his own Heav'n about him spread,
His radiant Feet on pointed Glory tread.
Safe on the Shore with Pleasure they behold,
How the thick Waves are on each other rowl'd.
What Dangers of a strange amazing Shape,
What fatal Rocks, they scarcely did escape.
They hear the Winds grow loud and turbulent,
See Clouds swoln big, with Thunder in 'em pent,
With which the lowring Sky is over-cast,
Hang down upon the Seas which they have past.
Viewing these Woes themselves did once endure,
They stand surpriz'd, as if not yet secure.
Amaz'd at all the Glory they possess,
Wonder almost suspends their Happiness.
They on so sweet, and rich a Climate thrown,
Forget their Dangers, now for ever gone.
Th' Almighty they enjoy, at whose Right-hand
Fulness of Joy, and Life Eternal stand.
Down from his Throne, as Light does from the Sun,
Rivers of fresh Delight for ever run:
With ravish'd Eyes they drink in Heav'nly Beams,
Which from his Face flow down in Glorious Streams.
They gaze so on the Beatifick Sight,
Till they become all Intellectual Light:
So long they his substantial Brightness view,
Till they all grow Divine, and God-like too.
So quick they feel the mighty Influx come,
The most Capacious, thirsty Souls want room:
They widen and extend themselves, to hold
Those Floods of Joys, which to their Breasts are roll'd;
Till they a vast, unmeasur'd Bliss possess,
And strive beneath th' unweildy Happiness.
If but a Glimpse of Heav'n, whose Glory streams
Thro' the thick Clouds in weak, refracted Beams,
Can please so much, what Joys have those above,
Where perfect Knowledge, kindles perfect Love?
Transports Ineffable their Minds employ,
Delug'd in Glory, lost in Tides of Joy.
Here Innocence will all its Lustre show,
The mournful Looks thrown off, it wore below.
Sorrows for ever banish'd hence, repair
To the low, guilty Regions of the Air.
There no black Clouds of Discontent appear,
Which spread themselves o'er these dark Vallies here:
No Groans are heard, no Tears fall down the Face,
To interrupt the Joy, of this blest Place.
No crossing Arms, or sad dejected Eyes,
Seek out the secret Corners of the Skies.
If Course, Terrestrial Pleasures, court the Sense
With such strong Charms, that few can make defence;
When backward Nature's forc'd by Wit, and Art,
All her delicious Treasures to impart.
When the short Days in all Delights are spent,
Which soft, luxurious Asia can invent:
What are the Nobler Pleasures, which transport
The blest, that reign in this Celestial Court?
Which no Decay, or Intermission know,
Debas'd, when liken'd to the best below.
The Clouds all broke, the Tempest chas'd away,
The smiling Skies disclose a chearful Day.
They've chang'd the Desart's dry and barren Sand,
For all the Riches of a fruitful Land:
Where with Immortal Food they're ever fed,
And drink pure Pleasures at the Fountain's Head.
Hatred, Distress, and Grief, are banish'd hence,
The sad Companions once, of Innocence.
No dying Martyrs Flames, or private Cries
Of Innocents opprest, disturb the Skies.
Here our Delights are mixt with base Allay,
We have at best but a Tempestuous Day:
Our Sweets are still attended with a Sting,
And great Enjoyments, greater Sorrows brings.
Delights, those Beautiful Illusions, play
Around us, and, when grasp'd, they glide away.
Here tempting Joys, our fond Embraces fly,
Choice, Foreign Flow'rs, they only Blow, and Dye.
They shew themselves, but will not with us dwell,
But, like hot Gleams, approaching Storms foretel.
Pure unmixt Pleasures on us never flow'd,
But stream, like watry Sun-beams, thro' a Cloud.
But those above, see no unlovely Day,
Their Joys no Mixture know, nor fear Decay.
In those blest Realms they know no thoughtful Care,
Ever to Triumph is th' Employment there.
There's no Vicissitude of Day, and Night,
No Years, or Ages, measure Heav'n's Delight;
Time has quite finish'd, and gone thro' its Round,
It did their Grief, but can't their Pleasure Bound.
Its Streams here disembogu'd for ever ly,
Lost in th' Abyss of Immortality.
They no sad Fears of future Sorrows know,
Compleatly Happy, and for ever so.
For Ever!
We strive in vain to hold this Boundless Space;
Too wide and vast, for Mortals to Embrace.
Our Arms may clasp the Earth with greater Ease,
And spread themselves a-shore round all the Seas.
When Ages have their widest Circle run,
Heav'n wears not, still its Joys are but begun.
The Hero's here forget their toil and pain,
And in Eternal Peace, and Triumph reign.
No more the Scoffer mocks their pious Care,
As Native Dulness, and ungrounded Fear.
How different Fate he and the Impious kind,
Chain'd in the dark infernal Prisons, find?
Near the wild Deep where restless Atoms fight,
And th' unfrequented Coasts of ancient Night,
Where Nature ne'er on Pregnant Matter sate,
To hatch warm Life, and its straight Bounds dilate:
There stands the vast, unbottom'd Gulph of Hell,
Where Sin and Death, in all their Terrors dwell.
Beyond the Verge of Day, these Regions lie,
As low and black, as Heav'n is bright and high.
Horror, and Night hang dismal o'er the place,
And grizly Forms fill all the gloomy space.
Dead Seas of pond'rous Darkness lie around,
And the sad Realms, from Light's grey Frontiers bound.
Darkness which blunts the sharpest pointed Ray,
And unannoy'd, repels th' Invading Day.
The sluggish Air is choak'd with soultry Gleams,
With poisonous Damps, and suffocating Steams;
Which from wide Lakes of boiling Sulphur rise,
Laden with Groans, and Everlasting Cries.
No such malignant Breaths, such deadly Reeks,
The delving Miner that hid Treasure seeks,
E'er let out from a subterranean Cell,
As those which break from the black mouth of Hell.
A fiery Sea burns fiercely all beneath,
Blown up, and kindled by th' Almighty's Breath.
In flaming Heaps the livid Ocean rolls,
And scalding Waves involve despairing Souls.
The boiling Floods terrific Colours shew,
Some deeply Red, and others faintly Blue.
These with the Shades contend, but can't dispel
The Darkness which surrounds the burning Cell:
Or if they do, they dart pale, dismal Light,
Worse than the Horrors of the blackest Night.
The troubled Whirlpool belches Burnings out,
And throws red Seas of Sulphur round about.
Columns of Smoke, with spiral Flames of Fire
Inwreath'd, from wide-mouth'd Furnaces aspire.
Hence the black Region is annoy'd with Fumes,
Stench, Reeks, and Flame, which kills, but not consumes.
So when a Mount, hot with metallick Seeds,
In its rich Sides a secret Burning feeds;
Soultring within, it casts up Pitchy Smoke,
And the dead Air ascending Vapours choak.
In mighty Floods the wide Volcano's throw
Their melted Treasures out, and overflow
With glowing Torrents, all the Neighb'ring Ground,
Which lies beneath a burning Deluge drown'd.
Thro' all the Air the liquid Riches fly,
And Floods of Fire dash thick against the Sky
All Hope for ever banish'd flies this Place,
And fixt Despair sits Pale on ev'ry Face.
Grief, Anguish, Terrour, Shame, Confusion here,
In Forms more terrible than Death, appear.
Here hateful Sin throws off its flatt'ring Charms,
And shews a Monster in the Sinner's Arms.
It now no more can please awaken'd Eyes,
Stript of stoll'n Beauties, and the fair Disguise
Of promis'd Good, it does it self disclose
Its hideous Shape, and ghastly Visage shows.
Th' affrighted Sinner seeing, fain would fly
Th' Embraces of such foul Deformity:
He would forget their past Endearments now,
And from the Monster strives in haste to go:
But 'twill not be; those Friends on Earth must dwell
For ever, sad Companions too, in Hell.
This fiery Gulph, was as their just reward,
For Lucifer, and his black Host prepar'd;
Where now the Fiends, once fairest Sons of Light,
Lie plung'd in Flame, chain'd in Eternal Night,
These wretched Minds, once pure and free from Stain,
In the bright Palaces of Heav'n did reign.
Array'd with dazling Brightness, there they dwelt,
Blest with their great Creator's sight, and felt
The beaming Influx breaking from his Face,
And shar'd the Pleasures of that Blissful Place.
Till with the task of blest Obedience tir'd,
They to th' Eternal's Sacred Throne aspir'd.
Incens'd with such Ambitious Aims, their Lord
Strikes thro' the Rebels with his flaming Sword.
Headlong he casts them from the Seats above,
No longer now, the Creatures of his Love.
Flaming, and Thunder-struck, the Traytors fell,
And sunk down to the fiery Jaws of Hell.
As when strong-rising Flames resistance find,
Beat downwards, by a fierce, impetuous Wind:
The liquid Pyramids, with labour bend
Their tops, and sink, still struggling to ascend.
So did these Beings of a Heav'nly Race,
Fall from the Regions of their Native Place;
Still working up, they sunk in Pain and Toil,
For downwards thrown, their Natures still recoil.
So difficult's an Angel's Fall, and thus
Sinking's to them, what rising is to us.
But who has Strength t'oppose th' Almighty's Hand,
Who can against his deadly Terrours stand?
He with a single Word, an angry Frown,
Subdu'd this Host, and cast them headlong down.
Confounded, and amaz'd they sink, and all
Heav'n's Plagues, and Wrath, pursu'd them in their Fall.
Here they must lie far from the Coasts of Bliss,
Chain'd in the Dungeons of the dark Abyss:
Where now they feel what Guilt's Demerits are,
Weltring in Fire, and tortur'd with Despair.
How much they curse the sad Exchange, black Night,
And endless Death, for Heav'nly Joy and Light.
Sunk deep in liquid Fire they lift their Eyes,
Red both with Heat and Anguish, to the Skies:
Then rave aloud, to think what Joys they've lost,
To think how dear their bold Rebellion cost.
Nor is the Change of these two Dwellings such,
So great, but they themselves, are chang'd as much.
See how deform'd they are, to what before,
Stript of the Glory that in Heav'n they wore;
How much they look too like their guilty State,
How foul, and how unlike themselves of late.
Such fatal Changes one bold Crime can make,
Heav'n's lost, nay more left for a burning Lake.
Man's Crime th' Infernal Gates did open lay,
And rais'd, and pav'd, a broad and easie Way;
Leading a-cross the Gulph from Earth to Hell,
Where now, lost Men, with impious Spirits dwell.
A Way that's throng'd with mighty Crowds of those,
That for Delight and Ease, this Passage chose.
In Sports and Mirth they journey on, and find
All the Delights which please a Vicious Mind.
The Way's so wondrous smooth, so prone and broad,
They rather fall, than travel down this Road.
But how surprizing is their Journey's End,
To what dire Seats does this smooth Passage tend?
Down to th' Infernal Gulph they sporting glide,
Born on enchanting Pleasure's wanton Tide.
A sad exchange they meet, outrageous Seas
Of Sulphurous Fire, for Luxury and Ease.
In Darkness chain'd, on flaming Billows tost,
Too late they find themselves for ever lost;
Hopeless they rave, and curse the easie Way,
That did their Feet to these sad Realms betray.
Hither the Damn'd, the final Sentence past,
With Cherubs bright, revenging Swords are chas'd:
Pursu'd with everlasting Wrath, they take
Their woful Refuge, in the burning Lake.
Transfixt on unextinguish'd Fire they lie,
Burn without waste, without expiring die.
Those Agonies, those Terrors here they know,
That from a self-revenging Conscience flow.
Grip'd with the sad Remembrance of their Sin,
They feel the Stygian Viper gnaw within.
With deadly Stings, th' Almighty wounds their Hearts,
And in their Breasts sticks deep his fiery Darts.
Along their Veins tempestuous Vengeance rolls,
Pouring Despair, and Horrour on their Souls.
Who can with everlasting Burnings dwell,
And bear the Guilt, and Punishment of Hell?
What Strength or Courage can support the Load
Of Wrath, inflicted by th' Almighty God?
Hear how the Damn'd devour'd with Plagues, begin
To curse aloud their Judge, Themselves, their Sin.
Transported with their Anguish, Grief, and Shame,
They gnash their Teeth, and bite the raging Flame.
Then sunk in deep Despair, such Sighs they breath,
Such dismal Groans, which but to hear, is Death.
A secret Fire their Breasts, like Ætna, feed,
And like that too, do their own Thunder breed.
Their Hellish Nature its own Punishment,
Is a worse Plague, than Furies can invent.
Their Lusts, like Vultures, tear their inward parts,
And never-ceasing Torments, rend their Hearts.
Their vicious Appetites, not yet destroy'd,
Still crave the Pleasures, they on Earth enjoy'd:
Though those are gone, the fierce, untam'd Desire
Remains, and burns worse than their Lake of Fire.
But what's the most afflicting Plague of Hell,
With all these Woes, they must for ever dwell.
For Ever! fatal State, for Ever! who
Can bear the Doom of Everlasting Woe?
What deadly Pangs, what fierce Convulsions rend
Their Breasts, who know their Pains shall never end?
How the despairing Damn'd cry out, Is this
The Place we chose, instead of Heav'nly Bliss?
Is this black Prison, these tormenting Chains,
This Lake of Fire, and these Eternal Pains,
The dismal Recompence our Crimes afford,
And must we thus curst, tortur'd, and abhor'd,
In these consuming Flames, these Torments ly,
To all the Ages of Eternity?
Curst be the fatal Crimes, which we obey'd,
Which stole our Hearts, and have our Lives betray'd.
Curst be the transient false Delights that shew'd
The Charms, which we so greedily pursu'd;
Till down the steepy Precipice, we fell
Into this deep Abyss of Death, and Hell;
Curst be the treacherous Joys, that leave us now
Doom'd to Despair, lost in Eternal Woe.
He ended, Hoel highly pleas'd, exprest
The grateful Sense, which fill'd his joyful Breast.
Methinks he cry'd, I view th' Infernal Caves,
And see the Damn'd float on the raging Waves
In the dire Lake, where flaming Brimstone rolls,
And hear the dismal Groans of tortur'd Souls:
Then looking up, I see the Blest above,
Dissolv'd in Raptures of Eternal Love.
I seem to view their bright, triumphant Throngs,
And hear their Harps, and sweet Harmonious Songs.
Then he the Briton various questions asks,
Who with great Joy performs the pious Tasks,
He teaches sacred Myst'ries yet behind,
And stamps the Christian Image on his Mind.

BOOK IV.

In such Divine Discourse, on things sublime,
The Royal Pair with Pleasure pass'd their Time.
Now the day wears, the Sun-beams faintly bound,
And taller Shadows stretch along the Ground.
Advanc'd, the rising Eminence they gain,
Which gave full prospect o'er the fertile Plain,
Where the Imperial Seat of Hoel stands,
And all the Soil and Towns around, commands.
Fair Liger the Armoric Region's Pride,
Does thro' the Vale in smooth Meanders glide,
And rolls his Silver Volumes by its side.
Here the Nannetian Heroes did of old,
For Arms and Wisdom fam'd, the Scepter hold.
Arthur the Structure's height, and Pomp admires,
The lofty Walls, strong Towers, and glitt'ring Spires.
He views the rich and fruitful Region round,
Where wanton Nature sate in Pleasure crown'd,
Scattering with lavish Bounty on the Soil,
Riches and Joys, without the Owner's Toil.
To Martial Sports by thirst of Honour led,
The active Youth o'er all the Fields are spread.
Some of robuster Limbs advance their Name
In wrestling Rings, the fam'd Olympick Game.
Some rein their manag'd Steeds with Manly grace,
Some swift in running, strain to win the Race.
Some hurling pond'rous Balls their Fellows brave,
Some twang the Bow, and some the Colours wave.
But all desert their Games, and Warlike sport,
And round the Kings, run shouting to the Court.
Which was an ancient, stately Pile, that stood
On the sweet Banks of Liger's peaceful Flood.
Alighted here, th' Armoric Prince exprest,
All signs of welcom to his Royal Guest.
He leads him to a fair and spacious Room,
Hung with rich Pieces, from the finest Loom:
Rare Workmanship, where fam'd Sydonian Art
Did all her Force, and happy Strokes impart.
Each piece fresh Pleasure, and new Wonder feeds,
Fill'd with th' Armoric Kings Heroick Deeds:
Their great Exploits in single Combate done:
The Towns they conquer'd, and the Fields they won.
Pleas'd with the Skill, and Story, Arthur stands,
And much of this, and much of that, demands.
Mean time, within a Supper they prepare,
With great Magnificence, and Regal Fare.
Strong, brawny Servants sweat, and panting strode,
O'er-burden'd with the Meats unweildy Load.
The Iv'ry Tables groan beneath the weight,
Of high pil'd Dishes, all of massy Plate,
In decent Order set, and Princely State.
All things appear, which curious search can find,
Or in the Finny, or the Feather'd Kind:
Which Hills, or ransack'd Forests can impart,
Profusely heap'd, set off with costly Art.
Of Polish'd Gold capacious Goblets shine,
With sparkling Stones enrich'd, and sparling Wine.
Delicious Fruit crown'd with fresh Laurel stood
In lofty Pyramids, a golden Wood.
Great Lights in silver Sconces plac'd on high,
Shine round the Room, and more than Day supply.
The Kings both sate, the Britons take their place,
The other side th' Armorick Captains grace.
Chearful and highly pleas'd, they sit, and eat,
And now the Art they praise, and now the Meat.
Choice Instruments, some Strung, and some of Wind,
Were heard, in sweet melodious Consort joyn'd,
The lively Hoboy, and the sweet-mouth'd Flute,
The sprightly Violin, and warbling Lute;
With the sonorous Viol, mingling sound,
Soft Ayres, and Heav'nly Harmony compound.
But that which Arthur with most pleasure heard,
Were noble Strains, by Mopas sung the Bard,
Who to his Harp in lofty Verse began;
And thro' the secret Maze of Nature ran.
He the great Spirit sung, that all things fill'd,
That the tumultuous Waves of Chaos still'd.
Whose Nod dispos'd the jarring Seeds to Peace,
And made the Wars of hostile Atomes cease.
All Beings we in fruitful Nature find,
Proceeded from the great Eternal Mind;
Streams of his unexhausted Spring of Power,
And cherish'd with his Influence, endure.
He spread the pure Cerulean Fields on high,
And Arch'd the Chambers of the Vaulted Sky:
Which he, to suit their Glory with their Height,
Adorn'd with Globes, that reel, as drunk with Light.
His Hand directed all the tunefull Sphears,
He turn'd their Orbs, and polish'd all the Stars.
He fill'd the Sun's vast Lamp with golden Light,
And bid the silver Moon, adorn the Night.
He spread the Airy Ocean without Shores,
Where Birds are wafted with their feather'd Oars.
Then sung the Bard how the light Vapours rise
From the warm Earth, and Cloud the smiling Skies.
He sung how some, chill'd in their Airy flight,
Fall scatter'd down in pearly Dew by Night.
How some, rais'd higher, sit in secret Steams
On the reflected Points of bounding Beams;
Till chill'd with Cold, they shade th' Etherial Plain,
Then on the thirsty Earth descend in Rain.
How some, whose parts a slight Contexture show,
Sink hov'ring thro' the Air, in fleecy Snow.
How part is spun in silken Threads, and clings
Entangled in the Grass in glewy Strings.
How others stampt to Stones, with rushing sound
Fall from their Crystal Quarries, to the Ground.
How some are laid in Trains, that kindled fly
In harmless Fires by Night, about the Sky.
How some in Winds blow with impetuous Force,
And carry Ruine where they bend their Course:
While some conspire to form a gentle Breez,
To fan the Air, and play among the Trees.
How some enrag'd grow turbulent, and loud,
Pent in the Bowels of a frowning Cloud;
That cracks, as if the Axis of the World
Was broke, and Heav'n's bright Towers were downwards hurl'd.
He sung how Earth's wide Ball at Jove's command,
Did in the midst on Airy Columns stand.
And how the Soul of Plants, in Prison held,
And bound with sluggish Fetters lies conceal'd,
Till with the Spring's warm Beams, almost releast
From the dull weight, with which it lay opprest,
Its Vigour spreads, and makes the teeming Earth
Heave up, and labour with the sprouting Birth:
The active Spirit freedom seeks in vain,
It only works and twists a stronger Chain.
Urging its Prison's sides to break away,
It makes that wider, where 'tis forc'd to stay:
Till having form'd its living House, it rears
Its Head, and in a tender Plant appears.
Hence springs the Oak, the Beauty of the Grove,
Whose stately Trunk, fierce Storms can scarcely move.
Hence grows the Cedar, hence the swelling Vine
Does round the Elm its purple Clusters twine.
Hence painted Flowers the smiling Gardens bless,
Both with their fragrant Scent, and gawdy Dress.
Hence the white Lilly in full Beauty grows,
Hence the blue Violet, and blushing Rose.
He sung how Sun-beams brood upon the Earth,
And in the Glebe hatch such a numerous Birth;
Which way the genial warmth in Summer Storms
Turns putrid Vapours to a Bed of Worms.
How Rain, transform'd by this prolifick Power,
Falls from the Clouds, an animated Shower.
He sung the Embryo's growth within the Womb,
And how the Parts their various Shapes assume.
With what rare Art the wondrous Structure's wrought,
From one crude Mass to such Perfection brought;
That no part useless, none misplac'd we see,
None are forgot, and more would Monstrous be.
Such was the splendor of King Hoel's Feast;
Which ended, Arthur straight retires to rest.
Hoel not so, but with the Britons sate,
Asking of Albion's past, and present State.
Much he inquires of their intestine Jars,
Much of the Picts, and of the Saxon Wars.
At last, requested Lucius to relate,
Prince Arthur's Story, and King Uter's Fate:
Lucius began, the rest attentive wait.
How sad a Task do your Commands impose,
Which must renew unsufferable Woes?
Which must our Grief with fresh Affliction feed,
And make your generous Heart with pity bleed.
Whilst I the dismal Scene of Ills disclose,
And bleeding Albion's ghastly Wounds expose:
The cruel Foes in telling would relent,
And with their Tears, the Spoils they caus'd, lament.
Pity would Picts and Saxon Breasts invade,
And make them mourn, o'er the dire Wounds they made,
But since you're pleas'd to hear our Country's Fate,
I'll pay Obedience, and our Woes relate.
Great Empires, like their Founders, Mortal are,
And the sad marks of Age, and Sickness bear.
Their strong Foundations mouldring wear away,
And sapp'd by Time's devouring Teeth, decay.
Triumphant Rome, with Pomp and Grandeur crown'd,
Proudly survey'd the Conquer'd World around.
The Cold and Burning Zone obey'd her Arms,
And either Pole trembled at her Alarms.
Where Storms can beat, or angry Billows foam,
Where Sails can fly, or savage Beasts can roam,
Proud Tyber's swelling Tide no Banks withstood,
Which o'er the Globe roll'd her Victorious Flood.
To so sublime a pitch of Power and Fame,
Rome's wise and valiant Sons advanc'd her Name.
Sons, that she bore when vigorous Youth did crown
Her Limbs with Beauty, and with Strength full grown:
Enervated with Age and Vice at last,
She found her Strength, and Youthful Vigour waste.
Decrepit grown, a puny wither'd Race,
Feeble of Head and Arms, her Womb disgrace.
Of all her Romans, Rome remains bereft,
Old Names alone, with modern Vices left.
The Noble Scipios, and brave Cæsars gone,
A starv'ling Brood puts their great Titles on.
Her Legions now can no new Triumphs sing,
Her molting Eagles hang their sickly Wing.
To break her Yoke the Provinces rebel,
Those she invaded, now she can't repel.
Fierce Northern Storms chastise old Tyber's Pride,
And to its Banks chase the retreating Tide;
Loud, foaming Torrents, from high Scythian Hills,
From bleaky Continents, and frozen Isles,
In one vast Sea combin'd, come pouring down.
And Rome's fair Cities, and rich Valleys drown,
A barb'rous Flood of Vandals, Goths, and Huns,
Their Banks broke down, the Provinces o'er-runs.
As a tall Oak that Young and Verdant stood
Above the Grove, it self a Nobler Wood;
His wide extended Limbs the Forest drown'd,
Shading its Trees, as much, as they, the Ground.
Young, murmuring Tempests in his Boughs are bred,
And gathering Clouds frown round his lofty Head.
Outrageous Thunder, stormy Winds, and Rain,
Discharge their Fury, on his Head, in vain.
Earthquakes below, and Light'ning from above,
Rend not his Trunk, nor his fixt Root remove:
But then his Strength, worn by destructive Age,
He can no more his angry Foes engage.
He spreads to Heav'n his naked, wither'd Arms,
As Aid imploring, from invading Harms.
From his dishonour'd Head the slightest Storm
Can tear its Beauties, and his Limbs deform.
He rocks with every Wind, while on the Ground
Dry Leaves, and broken Arms lie scatter'd round.
So Rome decay'd.
Britannia's warlike Youth on this Pretence,
Is call'd off from her own, to Rome's defence.
Till the exhausted, weak, deserted Isle,
Tempted fierce Neighbours, to an easie Spoil.
Britannia of her Valiant Son's bereft,
Expos'd to every Ravisher is left.
The savage Foes, that did her Anger dread,
And from her Arms, to Wilds and Mountains fled,
Now leave the Coverts, where they sculking staid,
And roaring out, th' unguarded Land invade.
A cruel Rout of Northern Scots and Picts,
The direful Marks of barb'rous Rage inflicts.
Their Arms from Blood and Ravage never cease,
Where once they basely crouch'd, and fawn'd for Peace.
Wide Ruine, Desolation, Rapine, Spoil,
Rage in the Bowels of th' unhappy Isle.
So Wolves, the faithful Mastiffs gone, grow bold,
And fiercely leap into th' unguarded Fold:
The trembling Flock they seize with eager Claws,
And tear their mangled Limbs with ravening Jaws.
Till they stand panting with th' uneasie load,
O'ercloy'd with Carnage, and opprest with Blood.
Britannia thus dishonour'd, spoil'd, distrest,
And by her proud, insulting Foes opprest,
Is forc'd of stronger Neighbours, to implore
That Aid and Help, she us'd to lend before.
Urg'd by her Fate, and hard Necessity,
She dreads th' Expedient, that she's forc'd to try.
Hard fate of Princes, who to prop their State
Opprest and sinking, heap on greater weight!
Fatal Distemper, where we seek for Ease
From Drugs, more dang'rous than the sharp Disease.
A Warlike Race in frozen Climates bred,
Leaving their Wilds, by Valiant Captains led;
A fertile Soil, and milder Regions sought,
And won the happy Seats for which they fought.
Bold by Success, which waited on their Arms,
They still advanc'd in thick, victorious Swarms.
Till Seas as wild, oppos'd their Torrent's Force,
And watry Banks restrain'd their rapid Course.
They stretcht their Seats along the Belgian Coast;
No Soil, can more of Nature's Favour boast:
No Region's blest with more indulgent Beams,
With fatter Glebe, with more, or sweeter Streams.
The warlike Saxons here their Empire rear'd,
With Plenty crown'd, and by their Neighbours fear'd.
King Vortigern, unable to oppose
The barb'rous Picts, and fierce Albanian Foes,
With humble Language, and rich Presents pray'd
This mighty Nation to afford him Aid.
The Saxon Princes with his Prayer comply'd,
Britannia was too fair, to be deny'd.
As Friends they landed on our naked Coasts,
And still pour'd on their fresh, unnumber'd Hosts.
They chas'd indeed the barb'rous Picts away,
But seiz'd, themselves, the Kingdom as their Prey.
The Lyon's Title to the Crown they plead,
As Friends receiv'd, as Conquerors obey'd.
No more let States, vext with Intestine Wars,
Call in great Princes to compose their Jars.
What Britons by their sad Deliverance won,
Was, by a stronger Foe, to be undone.
'Tis true, opprest, they did their Wrongs resent,
But 'twas too late their Counsels to repent.
Britannia's weak, precarious Kings obey
The proud Protector's Arbitrary Sway.
Our Forts, and Navies, and the chief Commands,
Were, on Pretence of Caution, in their Hands.
Th' insatiate Leeches do for ever crave,
And for their Service, ask us, all we have.
Our Strength is spent, and barb'rous Avarice
Draws all our Wealth into her deep Abyss.
Rapine and Murder all our Cities fill,
Our haughty Friends take leave to Spoil and Kill.
These dire Protectors, arm'd with Lawless Power,
The Plowman's Hopes, and Merchant's Gains devour.
What we prepare, the ravenous Harpies eat,
And from our frighted Children tear their Meat.
We starve and die, while they possess our Food,
Grow Sleek with Ease, and Fat with Spoil and Blood.
Villains dishonour Virgins in our sight;
And bloody Ruffians break our Doors by Night.
To seek redress, and of our Wrongs complain,
Was but to add Derision to our Pain.
How bitter then were sad Britannia's Moans,
What deep-fetch'd Sighs were heard, what deadly Groans?
Betray'd and ruin'd by a treacherous Friend,
We saw the Error, which we could not mend:
We curst our Folly, but we curst too late,
And all that our Mistake should imitate.
We wish'd Ten Thousand Woes and Plagues might light
On their curst Heads, who should again invite
Victorious Kings, with Foreign Arms to bless
Their Native Country, and their Wrongs redress;
They'll readily assist your Cause, and fight,
To do, to injur'd States, and Princes, Right:
But still they keep, what, by their Arms, is won;
Great Monarchs conquer for themselves alone.
They want a fair Pretence to seize the Prey;
They come as Friends, but will as Masters stay.
Thus Albion far'd, may Heav'n her Sons restrain,
From splitting on this fatal Rock again.
In vain we strove to break the servile Yoke,
Our Impotent Attempts new Wrongs provoke.
At last, no greater Evils left to fear,
We took fresh Hope, and Courage from Despair:
Fury from Ruine sprung rag'd in our Veins,
And Death's seem'd lighter, than the Saxon Chains.
Each free-born Briton thought the Choice more brave,
To die their Victim, than to live their Slave.
We that could ne'er the Tyrant's Yoke endure,
Boyl with Revenge, now Slaves to Foreign Power.
Kings Uter's Breast swells with distracting Rage,
Whose wounded Soul, no Language could asswage;
Asham'd his Country's Freedom to out-live,
He takes the Councils, Grief and Fury give.
His Knights together call'd attentive wait,
While Uter sits on his high Chair of State.
His troubled Looks reveal'd his inward wound,
And Storms of Fury on his Forehead frown'd.
Who thus began; you see what Tides of Woe,
What angry Seas o'er all your Country flow.
Th' insulting Saxon claims our Land, and draws
From greater Power, the Justice of his Cause.
Thro' all our Towns our Foes triumphant ride,
Wearing their awful Title by their side.
They shed your Blood, and helpless Maids deflow'r,
Exhaust your Treasure, and your Land devour.
A faithless Nation, that no Rule of Right,
Reveres as sacred, but superiour Might.
We oft our Fate in bloody Fields have try'd,
But Heav'n has Vict'ry to our Arms deny'd.
Egyptian Plagues lay waste our ruin'd Land,
No Moses here, holds his controlling Wand.
Humbly invok'd, Heav'n will perhaps relent,
And of its fierce, accustom'd Wrath repent.
Perhaps the Saxons Crimes with louder Cries,
For greater Vengeance importune the Skies:
Let us howe'er make one strong Effort more,
Our Country's Peace, and Freedom to restore.
We'll take the Field, 'twill gain us greater Fame,
To perish there, than here, with Grief and Shame.
How much my Soul disdains th' Inglorious Chain?
I'll fall with Honour, or with Honour reign.
Tumultuous Passions, Wrath, Revenge, and Shame
Invade our Breasts, and our gall'd Souls enflame.
Strait, with one Voice, we all for Arms declare,
And every Breast already feels the War.
Resolv'd to make the vanquish'd Saxons fly,
Or in the just and brave Attempt to dy.
With Fury urg'd, we part from Uter's sight,
Resolv'd for Freedom, and our Native Right.
Thro' all our Towns we spread the loud Alarm,
And animated all our Men to Arm;
To vindicate their ravish'd Country's Cause,
To banish Foreign Gods, and Foreign Laws.
'Tis strange, how soon the Britons Blood was fir'd,
What Life and Hope their drooping Hearts inspir'd.
They saw fair Liberty extended lie,
The Saxon Whips and Torments lying by:
They view her squallid Face, exhausted Veins,
And beauteous Limbs eat in with rusty Chains.
They heard her mournful Groans, and piercing Cries,
Her interrupted Sobs, and dying Sighs.
They saw from gaping Wounds, the gushing Blood
Enrich the Pavement, with a noble Flood.
While Pity, Mercy, Hope in Sorrow drown'd,
To finish the sad Scene, stood weeping round.
The Britons rave, resolving her Defence,
And vow her Rescue at their Blood's expence.
In Albion this fair Emp'ress still obey'd,
An uncontested Scepter ever sway'd.
As universal Soul she Life diffus'd,
And Warmth to all the heaving Mass infus'd:
She ever gave to all true Britons Hearts
More Vigour, than their own warm Blood imparts.
'Tis quick'ning Liberty, that gives us Breath,
Her Absence more, than that of Life, is Death.
Such love to Liberty the Britons show,
Such were her Charms, and may they still be so.
May never Briton, ceasing to be Brave,
Submit his Neck, content to be a Slave:
May those be doubly curst, that would betray
Their Country's Freedom, to a Foreign Sway.
Our Men enrag'd, in numerous Bodies meet,
Arm, Arm, was heard the Cry in every Street.
The Plowman hastens to a nobler Toil,
Unyokes his Ox, and leaves untill'd the Soil.
Abandons all his Hopes, and rustick Care,
Lays down his Goad, and shakes the warlike Spear.
The Tradesman quits his Shop, and takes the Field,
And makes his thirst of Gain, to thirst of Honour yield.
Arm'd Tenants crowd about their valiant Lords,
And full of Courage, wave their threatning Swords.
Near Sorbiodunum's stately Walls, a Town
For Strength and Beauty, of the first Renown;
Whose spacious Plains rich Seas of waving Corn,
And lowing Herds, and woolly Flocks adorn;
Our Universal Rendezvous was set,
Where all our Squadrons, and Battalions met.
Mean time the Cautious Saxon was alarm'd,
And to dispel the gathering Tempest, arm'd.
Octa the famous Hengist's Son, a bold
And warlike Prince, did then the Scepter hold.
Hengist that did the first our Land invade,
And brought to Albion his destructive Aid.
The Fifth from mighty Odin, whose great Name,
Had tir'd the flaggy Wings of weary Fame.
The Stock, from which a Race Illustrious springs
Of numerous Hero's, and Victorious Kings.
That founded Empires, and that living led
Their Conquering Armies, and their God, when dead.
They soon the Hills by their long Marches gain,
And with their Troops o'erspread the spacious Plain.
We with their hasty March alarm'd, prepare
To guard our Camp, and wait th' approaching War.
Our Parties now in rude Rencounters, try'd
Their Courage, still th' advantage on our side.
Th' advancing Host at last appear'd in sight,
But Toil and wearing Day, deferr'd the Fight.
Now Night advancing, draws her Sable Train
Along the Air, and shades th' Etherial Plain.
King Uter with his Lords in Council sate,
Things of th' important Juncture to debate.
Where Measures were concerted to oppose
With warlike Arts, and Force, th' impending Foes.
Their Provinces the great Commanders share,
And from the Council to their Posts repair:
Where they their Troops dispose, and Orders give,
How the Invading Saxon to receive.
Encamp'd we lay on advantageous Ground,
With strong Entrenchments, and high Works around.
Our chearful Troops great Joy and Courage show,
And from the Works defie the powerful Foe.
All things dispos'd with Military Care,
We wait in Arms, th' approach of Day and War.
Now did the Morn disclose her smiling Ray,
And from the East let forth th' important Day.
To bloody Labour all things did invite,
And sounding Trumpets Martial Heat excite.
Heav'n's starry Roof resounds with warlike Noise,
With Horses Thunder, and their Riders Voice
The Saxons and the Britons stand prepar'd,
Those, to attack, and these, their Posts to guard.
King Octa leads his numerous Army on,
And at their Head in dazling Armour shone.
Drawn on the Right our rang'd Battalions stood,
Our Left a River guards, the Rear, a Wood.
Octa here makes his warlike Columns halt,
Detaching Horsa to begin th' Assault:
Whose chosen Troops a furious Onset make,
With no less Brav'ry, ours sustain'd th' Attack.
They mount our Works, and our high Ramparts scale,
And with projected Fires our Men assail:
Our Troops unbroken stout Resistance make,
And always forc'd th' invading Saxon back.
As when a Mold repels th' invading Seas,
Protects the Ships, and gives the Harbour Peace;
The foaming Tempest on high Billows rides,
And Storms with watry Troops, its lofty Sides:
Th' unshaken Structure all their Fury braves,
And stops the Current of th' insulting Waves.
The angry Seas break on th' opposing Shore,
And beaten back with Indignation roar.
No less unmov'd our valiant Britons stood,
Against the Insults of the Saxon Flood.
Fresh Bodies still pour'd on, their loss supply,
But still Repuls'd, they from our Trenches fly.
Enrag'd, about our Lines King Octa flew,
To find where best he might th' Assault renew:
To see what place lay most expos'd, and where
Our Troops did on the Works but thin appear.
As when a Wolf, pinch'd by Nocturnal Cold,
And Hunger-starv'd, scours round the lofty Fold;
He licks his rabid Jaws, and seems possest
Already of his Prey, and bloody Feast:
He offers oft to enter, while the Lambs
Affrighted, tremble round their bleating Dams.
So Octa thirsts for Blood, and scouring round,
Surveys our Lines, and well observes the Ground.
Now with fresh Rage his Troops our Walls ascend,
Which we with Show'rs of Darts and Stones defend.
What Shouts, what noise of Arms the Air confound?
What Ruine, what slain Heaps deform the Ground?
The Earth grows slipp'ry all distain'd with Blood,
Which fills the Ditches with a Crimson Flood.
The Dead make Bulwarks, which the Living climb,
That in the Air, rise, like our Walls, sublime.
O'erpower'd and weaken'd by the Men they lost,
And faint with Toil, the Britons quit their Post.
Thrice the invading Saxon forc'd our Lines,
And to their Arms, thrice Victory inclines.
The valiant Uter that had still withstood
Their fiercest Troops, all smear'd with Dust and Blood;
Who still to Posts of greatest danger flew,
And with unerring Arms their Squadrons slew:
Who spread fresh Life and Vigour where he came,
And in our Breasts renew'd the Martial Flame.
For where we saw his shining Arms appear,
Our Men reviv'd, and straight forgot to fear;
Observing his disorder'd Troops retir'd,
His boiling Soul distracting Passion fir'd.
He spurs his furious Steed, and thundring thro'
The thickest Ranks of the Victorious Foe;
Stay, foolish Britons, stay, he cries from far,
Save yet your Country, and renew the War:
Come follow me your King, I'll lead you on,
And chase the Saxons from the Posts they've won.
The Britons Hearts were touch'd with gen'rous shame,
Love to their Country, and to Martial Fame,
With noble Ardour does their Souls inflame.
Their Leaders Rally all their Troops that fled,
And Charge the Foe, King Uter at their Head.
With unresisted Fury they attack
The Saxon Troops, resolv'd to force them back.
Now what Destruction, what wide Ruine reign,
What heaps of slaughter'd Saxons load the Plain?
Now arm'd with hissing Death thick Arrows flew,
And out-stretcht Arms as fatal Javelins threw.
Then what vast Havock did the Sword employ?
What Troops did Uter's single Hand destroy?
What sever'd Limbs lay scatter'd on the Ground,
What Streams of Blood gush from each ghastly Wound,
What Shields and Spears in the red Deluge drown'd?
Here first brave Arthur did his Courage prove,
His Age then fitter for the Field of Love.
God-like his Face, and God-like was his Mind,
To virtuous Deeds, and warlike Games inclin'd.
The Down of Manhood on his Face appears,
And blooming Beauty grac'd his youthful years:
Yet Wise and Manly, far beyond his Age;
His early Deeds the Hero did presage.
Till now the Woods and Forests were his Joy,
Where he the Savage-kind strove to destroy,
That did the Herds, and bleating Flocks annoy.
He chas'd the Fox, the rav'nous Wolf and Bear,
His Country's Pest, dy'd by his fatal Spear.
The People blest him, as a Saviour sent,
And thought kind Heav'n, some great Deliv'rer meant.
He ne'er before had brac'd the Helmet on,
Nor in the Field in polish'd Armour shone.
His Sword had ne'er been stain'd with humane Gore,
Nor had he grip'd the Shield, or Gauntlet wore.
His Country's Cause, and Military Fame,
Invite the Youth to chase a nobler Game.
No more his Thoughts his rural Sports pursue,
Tyrants and savage Men he'll now subdue.
For warlike Toil he leaves the gameful Wood,
And flesht his Courage first in Saxon Blood.
The greatest Captains the brave Youth esteem'd,
He fought like Mars, though Mercury he seem'd.
Like some fair Cherub, or the Beamy God,
He wav'd his flaming Sword, and thro' their squadrons rode.
His youthful Veins Heroick Ardor fir'd,
And more than humane Force his Breast inspir'd:
For the great Deeds his fatal Arms atchiev'd,
Were by th' amaz'd Spectators scarce believ'd.
At last amidst the Foe advanc'd too far,
Alone he long sustain'd th' unequal War.
Surrounding Throngs the fainting Youth opprest,
And Showers of Death flew pointed at his Breast:
His weary Arm supports his Shield with Pain,
And his bruis'd Armour Streams of Blood distain.
Here the young Hero had been crush'd, and all
Our Hopes and Joy had perish'd in his Fall;
Had not brave Malgo a Dimetian Chief,
Forc'd the thick Foe, and flown to his relief.
Then, when the warlike Youth was most distrest,
And Elfrick's Sword, was falling on his Crest
With dreadful Sway; Malgo its Fury broke,
And on his Shield receiv'd the mighty Stroke.
The Prince thus guarded from the fatal Blow,
Bold Malgo's Spear transfixt th' audacious Foe.
Groveling in Death he murmur'd on the Ground,
And pour'd his Life out, from his gaping Wound.
Here Vortipor advancing did attack
Their plying Troops, and forc'd the Saxon back:
While Octa's wavering Men began to yield,
And to pursuing Uter quit the Field.
As when a Lyon, that with Fury ran
To seize by Night, some weary Caravan,
That lay encampt on an Arabian wild,
Repuls'd by Fires, and of his Prey beguil'd;
With hideous Roar he raves at his Defeat,
Oft stands, looks back, and makes a sowre Retreat.
King Octa's Soul like Indignation fir'd,
That raving, with his vanquish'd Men retir'd.
But, oh, how soon was this serener Day
By Clouds, and rising Tempests chas'd away?
How short a space could we our Conquests boast?
How soon were all our Hopes of Freedom lost?
Thro' the brown Shades at last, they found the way
To the Pavilion, where King Uter lay:
Who soon, awaken'd with the Clamour, rose,
And form'd his Troops th' Invaders to oppose.
Long their unequal Force he did repel,
Till, pierc'd by Cerdick's fatal Spear, he fell.
Urg'd to retire, Arthur our Prayer withstood,
Tho' faint with Labour, Wounds, and loss of Blood.
We prest him our remaining Hopes to spare,
And not of Albion's Fortune to despair.
He does at last to our Entreaties yield,
And with reluctant Steps forsakes the Field.
We thro' the Wood retreated, where the shade
With Cynthia's Rays, uncertain Twilight made.
When the succeeding Day declin'd, we came,
To Alda's Gates, a Port of ancient Fame:
Where we the Night in various Sorrows spent,
Now Uter, now our Country we lament;
Just Catel's now, now great Dunwallo's Fate,
And faithful Edwal's Fall, fresh Grief create.
While our sad Minds endur'd so rude a Storm,
Entring the Room, great Gabriel's God-like Form,
Mild Glory, and Celestial Day diffus'd,
Advanc'd, he these kind words to Arthur us'd.
Now Albion sinks beneath the Saxon weight,
So Heav'n decrees, 'tis so ordain'd by Fate:
But after Ten times the revolving Sun,
His crooked Race, has thro' the Zodiack run,
The Clouds dispell'd, propitious Heav'n shall smile,
On Uter's House, and this reviving Isle.
Octa shall feel just Heav'n's revenging Stroke,
And Albion's Youth shall break the Saxon Yoke.
Mean time, brave Prince, whom universal Love
Attends beneath, and Grace Divine above:
To Neustrian Odar's Court with speed repair,
Go, Albion's Hopes, and my great Trust and Care;
Go, Albion's Hopes with Triumph to return,
And Rescue those, which shall your absence mourn.
That said, his Heav'nly Glory he withdrew,
And to th' immortal Seats, of happy Spirits flew.
Now the fair Morn smiles with a Purple Ray,
Clearing before the Sun the Eastern Way.
Whose radiant Train pours from the Gates of Light,
And the new Day does to new Toil invite.
We the Celestial Message to obey,
On a stout Ship, that in the Haven lay
Ready to Sail, embark and haste away.
The Sky serene, a fresh and prosp'rous Gale,
Sprang from the Shore, and swell'd out ev'ry Sail.
Albion's white Cliffs and Towers we quickly lost,
Standing our Course strait to the Neustrian Coast:
Where when the Sun twice starting from the East,
Had ran his Race, and reach'd the falling West,
We safe arriv'd at fair Cartinia's Port,
And took our way from thence to Odar's Court.
Odar, a Prince indulgent, valiant, good,
Ally'd to Uter by the Mother's Blood,
The barb'rous Goths Incursions, then withstood.
His beauteous Queen, with Joy the Prince receiv'd,
Her Words our Grief, her Gifts our Wants reliev'd.
Here we to ease our troubled Minds remain'd,
Till Arthur perfect Strength and Vigour gain'd:
Then taking leave, we straight direct our way
Unto the Camp, where Odar's Forces lay.
And as we pass'd to mitigate our Grief,
And to our Woes to give Divine Relief,
From his blest Tongue such Heav'nly Language flows,
As did the Greatness of his Mind disclose.
We thought some God-like Cherub to us spoke,
When from his Lips these high Expressions broke.
Heav'n's Off-spring, with Divine Contentment blest,
Enjoy the Empire of a guiltless Breast.
Tho' spoil'd by prosp'rous Robbers, still they find,
The large Possessions of a peaceful Mind.
Content alone can all their wrongs redress,
Content, that other name for Happiness.
Free from Desire, they are as free from Want,
And from the Cares, that envy'd Greatness haunt.
'Tis equal, if our Fortunes should augment,
And stretch themselves to the same vast Extent
With our Desires, or those Desires abate,
Shrink, and contract themselves, to fit our State.
Pois'd on their own unshaken Base they view,
All the Vicissitudes, that Time can shew.
They, like tall Mountains, are advanc'd so high,
That the low Clouds do all beneath them fly.
Hence while loud Storms inferiour Seats molest,
They undisturb'd, enjoy soft Peace and Rest.
These Men that suit their Wishes to their State,
And, pleas'd still with themselves, enjoy their Fate:
Whose modest Passions Reason's Nod obey,
Are greater Kings, than those who Scepters sway.
They can the Triumphs of a Court despise,
And the rich Toys, that charm deluded Eyes.
They rather chuse to tame their Thirst, than have
All the Supplies their Feaverish Drought can crave.
Desires for Freedom first make humble Suit,
And modestly demand th' unlawful Fruit:
But when set loose, they know not where to stay,
But lawless thro' the World's Dominions stray.
So subterranean Vapours, that contain'd
In some close Cavern, are with Ease restrain'd;
When once releas'd, ungovernable grow,
And prove fierce Storms, which no Resistance know.
Th' unhappy Man, slave to his wild Desire,
By feeding it, foments the raging Fire.
His Gains augment his unextinguish'd Thirst,
With Plenty Poor, and with Abundance Curst.
But greater Minds, which can themselves subdue,
Preserve their Peace, and still their Joys renew.
They never by a Vile, or Impious Course,
Protect their Wealth from rising Tempests force.
They face the Storm, and stand its fiercest Shocks,
Bold as the Winds, unshaken as the Rocks.
No Tempest that invades th' ambitious Breast,
Can the calm Region of their Mind molest.
So Winds, which Rivulets disturb, will play
In harmless Breezes, on the wider Sea.
Sowre Discontent, that quarrels with our Fate,
May give fresh smart, but not the old abate.
Envenom'd with its Sting, each harmless loss,
Grows wondrous sharp, and proves a deadly cross.
Th' uneasie Passion's disingenious Wit
The Ill reveals, but hides the Benefit.
It makes a Toy press with prodigious weight,
And swells a Mole-hill, to a Mountain's height.
So melancholy Men lie down, and groan,
Prest with the Burden of themselves alone.
Crusht with Phantastick Mountains, they despair,
Their Heads are grown vast Globes too big to bear.
A little Spark becomes a raging Flame,
And each weak Blast, a Storm too fierce to tame.
So peevish is the quarrelsome Disease,
No prosp'rous Fortune can procure it Ease.
Their Breasts are ne'er from inbred Tempests free,
Restless as Winds, and troubled as the Sea:
The Pleasure now they seek would bring Content;
But when enjoy'd, 'twas somewhat else, they meant:
Some absent Happiness they still pursue,
Dislike the present Good, and long for New.
The Man now thinks he sees his Bliss, and flies
With greedy Arms to grasp the gaudy Prize;
But then, enquiring what his Hopes have won,
Vain Man, he finds the cheating Shadow gone.
Oft does the fair Illusion by him stand,
But when pursu'd, gives back, and mocks his Hand.
Sometimes he sees the beck'ning Phantome here,
Which, when he follows, does elsewhere appear.
The Wretch, though tantaliz'd, and always crost,
Yet still pursues, though still that Labour's lost.
The God-like Arthur with such pious Words,
Divine Instruction, and Delight affords.
And while his Language, with a Heav'nly Flame
Thus warm'd our Breasts, to Odar's Camp we came;
Where to the Neustrian King the Prince addrest,
Who all the highest Signs of Love exprest.
The Royal Exile he embrac'd with Tears,
And by these tender words himself endears.
King Uter's Fall, your loss, and Albion's Fate,
Wound me with Grief too mighty to relate.
Long to Misfortunes, and great Wrongs inur'd,
I pity those that have like Ills endur'd.
You are a Stranger here, but not your Name,
Your early Worth is told aloud by Fame.
Arthur's preserv'd to be the Saxons dread,
And rear opprest Britannia's drooping Head.
While you are safe, Britannia must revive,
And Uter still in valiant Arthur live:
While you survive, King Octa's Fears remain,
And Albion hopes to break her pond'rous Chain.
Hero's are for Heroick Deeds design'd,
And noble Work, attends a noble Mind.
Mean time, while here your Choice is to reside,
No Succours, no supplies shall be deny'd.
And if your Britons, banish'd from their home,
Drawn by their Prince's Fame, shall hither come;
Briton and Neustrian shall like Treatment find,
I'll be to both, without distinction, kind:
And when mild Days shall your Return invite,
My Arms shall Aid you, to assert your Right.
The Prince reply'd:
Divine Compassion melts your Royal Breast,
And makes your Bounty flow on all distrest.
Like Heav'n, you Succours to th' Afflicted grant,
Comfort their Sorrows, and supply their Want:
You crush Oppressors, to th' Opprest are kind,
Such gen'rous Deeds reveal a God-like Mind.
O'er Uter's House the Saxon Power prevails,
And sad Britannia her dire Fate bewails.
The World's supream Director so ordains,
Hence in my Soul no murmuring Passion reigns.
Pleas'd or Contented, still I meet my Fate,
Would not be Impious, though Unfortunate.
Your gen'rous Offer of Protection here,
With such engaging Language, such an Air,
As Love and Friendship seek out to endear;
Perswade, that here my Refuge is design'd,
Till Albion grows more Just, and Heav'n more Kind.
Here your Example shall my Mind prepare,
For all the high Concerns of Peace and War.
Till Albion call us back, I'll here remain,
And in your Service shall grow fit to Reign.
Here in the Camp the pious Briton staid,
To whom the Neustrian Chiefs great Honour paid.
For his high Merit could not be conceal'd
His valiant Deeds the Hero soon reveal'd.
Loud Fame his God-like Virtues did proclaim,
And either Camp resounds with Arthur's Name.
He still the Posts of highest Danger sought,
And Death and Vict'ry follow'd, where he fought.
When he advanc'd, the Goths unnumber'd Swarms
Fled from the Terror of his fatal Arms.
Like Love and Wonder Camp and Court express,
That did the Hero, this the Saint confess.
His Sword still won fresh Laurels in the Field,
And to his Virtues ev'n Court-Vices yield:
And 'tis more easie to reduce a Fort,
Or win a Battel, than reform a Court.
He the fixt Mounds of trembling Europe stood,
And still repell'd the Goths impetuous Flood.
When he appear'd, their Men, tho' fierce and bold,
Grow chill with Fear, as when at home with Cold.
Thro' the admiring World his Fame was spread,
The Christian's Joy, and barb'rous Nations Dread.
Where gagg'd with Ice, the Waves no longer roar,
But with stiff Arms embrace the silent Shoar:
Where naked Hills in frozen Armour stand,
Where raging Sirius fries the thirsty Land,
And rich Pactolus rolls his golden Sand;
Thither his Triumphs and Illustrious Name,
His gen'rous Deeds, and loud Applauses came.
His wondrous Virtues, wondrous Love engage,
That reach'd Perfection, long before his Age.
Odar embrac'd him, as an Angel sent
To guard his Throne, and threaten'd Fall prevent.
He own'd his bright Example did support,
Th' esteem of Virtue in the Neustrian Court.
Their Peace at home proceeded from his Care,
And from his Courage their Success in War.
When we, our hopes of sinking Albion lost,
Made by Divine Command the Neustrian Coast;
The Gothick Arms that Kingdom had o'er-run,
Surpriz'd their Forts, and fairest Cities won.
All Banks born down, so high the Deluge rose,
Before King Odar could its Course oppose.
'Twas then the young Deliv'rer Arthur came,
To drive the Goths, and win immortal Fame.
He soon reduc'd the Cities, and restor'd
A peaceful Country, to its peaceful Lord.
Mean time the British Knights opprest at home,
Drawn by his Fame, to find a Leader come.
So thick they Land, our Troops were numerous grown,
And Arthur led an army of his own.
Ten times the Sun had pass'd his oblique way,
By turns contracting, and increasing Way,
Darting to either Pole a warmer Ray:
And now the British Lords, who though opprest,
The Western Region of their Isle possest:
Whither retreating, they remain'd secure,
And from their Hills defy'd the Saxon Power:
Encourag'd by his war-like Fame, invite
The Valiant Arthur to assert his Right.
To make a bold Descent upon their Coast,
And win the Regions back that Uter lost.
Ten chosen Orators were straight dispatcht,
The chief whose charming Tongue was never matcht.
Was the great Tylon, whose Immortal Worth,
Raises to Heav'n the Isle that gave him Birth.
A sacred Man, a venerable Priest,
Who never spake, and Admiration mist.
Of Good and Kind he the just Standard seem'd,
Dear to the Best, and by the Worst esteem'd.
A gen'rous Love diffus'd to Humane Kind,
Divine Compassion, Mercy unconfin'd,
Still reign'd Triumphant in his God-like Mind.
Greatness and Modesty their Wars compose,
Between them here a perfect Friendship grows.
His Wit, his Judgment, Learning, equal Rise,
Divinely Humble, yet Divinely Wise.
He seem'd Express on Heav'n's high Errand sent,
As Moses Meek, as Aaron Eloquent.
Nectar Divine flows from his Heav'nly Tongue,
And on his Lips charming Perswasion hung.
When he the sacred Oracles reveal'd,
Our ravish'd Souls in blest Enchantments held,
Seem'd lost in Transports of Immortal Bliss,
No simple Man could ever speak like this.
Arm'd with Celestial Fire his sacred Darts
Glide thro' our Breasts, and melt our yielding Hearts.
So Southern Breezes, and the Spring's mild Ray,
Unbind the Glebe, and thaw the Frozen Clay.
He triumph'd o'er our Souls, and at his Will
Bid this touch'd Passion rise, and that be still.
Wolves, Tygers, grizly Lyons did admire,
As Poets feign, the famous Orphean Lyre:
Charm'd with sweet Tylon's Voice, a Kind more wild,
More fierce and savage, grow divinely Mild.
Lord of our Passions he with wondrous Art,
Can strike the secret movements of our Heart;
Release our Souls, and make them soar above,
Wing'd with Divine Desires, and Flames of Heav'nly Love.
He still convey'd sublime, seraphick Sense,
In unaffected Strains of Eloquence.
Easie and wonderful is all he says,
Does both Delight, and Admiration raise.
His pious Soul did in sad Accents mourn
Britannia's Chains, and Pagan Gods return:
But hop'd, kind Heav'n would free, by Arthur's Hand
Of barb'rous Laws, and Gods, th' afflicted Land.
With the great Tylon young Pollander went,
Fam'd for his Valour, and of high Descent:
With these wise Galbut and Mordennan joyn,
Whose Virtues vye with their Illustrious Line.
Valiant Giralden worn with War and Age,
Does in th' Important Embassy engage.
Gisan was added, a Dobunian Knight,
Bold in the Senate, and as Brave in Fight.
Hobar, Mansellan, Cadel, Milo, skill'd
In Arms and Eloquence, the number fill'd.
Such Orators they chose, fit to excite
The Pious Arthur, and his Arms invite.
Thus Tylon to the Pious Prince addrest,
And found the Passage open to his Breast:
Britannia crush'd beneath the Saxon Yoke,
Does with her mournful Prayer your Arms invoke.
Enslav'd by Foreign Power, Distrest, Undone,
She sues for Aid to you, her valiant Son,
And hopes for Succour from your Sword alone.
Octa all Right, and ancient Law subverts,
And uncontroll'd Tyrannick Power asserts.
His Lawless Will grasps Arbitrary Sway,
And British Slaves, without Reserve, Obey.
The sacred Bounds and Lines, which Right and Law,
Round all those just and happy Kingdoms draw;
Which from the Waste of Tyranny they gain,
Where Uproar, Rage, and wild Confusion reign,
These broken down, Octa does open lay,
And throw the goodly Island up a Prey
To Furies, which in lawless Kingdoms stray.
Britannia by the Conqu'ror ravish'd first,
Then giv'n to Priests, and Soldiers raging Lust:
Wretched Britannia, sunk in deep Despair,
Beats her white Breasts, and tears her golden Hair.
Dying with Anger, Shame and Grief, she lies,
And Floods of Tears gush from her beauteous Eyes;
Which swell the silver Tide of mournful Thames,
And grieve old Ocean with the troubled Streams.
Hear, pious Prince, how to the Neustrian Shoar,
Complaining Waves roll the sad Treasure o'er:
How murmuring Winds waft o'er Britannia's Sighs,
Can Arthur disregard his Country's Cries?
With words like these, and such a moving Art
As can't be told, he touch'd the Prince's Heart.
With so much Life, he spake sad Albion's Moans,
We thought we felt her smart, and heard her Groans.
Nor did the Pious Prince their Prayer oppose,
But soon resolv'd to ease Britannia's Woes.
To Odar he reveal'd his high Intent,
Who Ships, and Men, and Arms rejoycing lent:
Supplying all things our Descent requir'd,
And heaping Gifts, more than our selves desir'd.
Our Ships prepar'd, with chearful Zeal and Care,
We went on Board, and soon embark'd the War.
Our Anchors weigh'd, and Topsails loos'd, a Gale
Sprang up, and swell'd the Womb of every Sail.
Old Ocean pleas'd our bounding Vessels laves,
Which with sharp Keels cut thro' the foaming Waves.
Th' astonish'd Saxons see, and fear from far,
The long Succession of the Sailing War.
They spread thro' all the Isle the loud Alarm,
And trembling Octa hastes his Men to Arm.
We Sail'd not long before the Sea ran high,
And gathering Clouds deform'd the lowring Sky:
The fearful Storm arose, wherein we lost
Th' extinguish'd Day, and on the Billows tost,
We drove, till forc'd upon th' Armoric Coast.
He ceas'd, and now the Shades of wearing Night,
Did the pleas'd Audience to their Rest invite.

BOOK V.

BOOK VI.

BOOK VII.

BOOK VIII.

BOOK IX.

BOOK X.