Alexander Pope
Windsor Forest
To the Right Honourable GEORGE Lord Lansdown.
Non injussa cano: Te nostræ Vare myricæ
Te Nemus omne canet; nec Phoebo gratior ulla est,
Quam sibi quæ Vari præscripsit pagina nomen.
Virgil
Thy forests, Windsor! and thy green retreats, | ||
At once the Monarch's and the Muse's seats, | ||
Invite my lays. Be present, sylvan maids! | ||
Unlock your springs, and open all your shades. | ||
5 | Granville commands; your aid O Muses bring! | |
What Muse for Granville can refuse to sing? | ||
The groves of Eden, vanish'd now so long, | ||
Live in description, and look green in song: | ||
These, were my breast inspir'd with equal flame, | ||
10 | Like them in beauty, should be like in fame. | |
Here hills and vales, the woodland and the plain, | ||
Here earth and water, seem to strive again; | ||
Not Chaos like together crush'd and bruis'd, | ||
But as the world, harmoniously confus'd: | ||
15 | Where order in variety we see, | |
And where, tho' all things differ, all agree. | ||
Here waving groves a checquer'd scene display, | ||
And part admit, and part exclude the day; | ||
As some coy nymph her lover's warm address | ||
20 | Nor quite indulges, nor can quite repress. | |
There, interspers'd in lawns and opening glades, | ||
Thin trees arise that shun each other's shades. | ||
Here in full light the russet plains extend; | ||
There wrapt in clouds the blueish hills ascend. | ||
25 | Ev'n the wild heath displays her purple dyes, | |
And 'midst the desart fruitful fields arise, | ||
That crown'd with tufted trees and springing corn, | ||
Like verdant isles the sable waste adorn. | ||
Let India boast her plants, nor envy we | ||
30 | The weeping amber or the balmy tree, | |
While by our oaks the precious loads are born, | ||
And realms commanded which those trees adorn. | ||
Not proud Olympus yields a nobler sight, | ||
Tho' Gods assembled grace his tow'ring height, | ||
35 | Than what more humble mountains offer here, | |
Where, in their blessings, all those Gods appear. | ||
See Pan with flocks, with fruits Pomona crown'd, | ||
Here blushing Flora paints th' enamel'd ground, | ||
Here Ceres' gifts in waving prospect stand, | ||
40 | And nodding tempt the joyful reaper's hand; | |
Rich Industry sits smiling on the plains, | ||
And peace and plenty tell, a Stuart reigns. | ||
Not thus the land appear'd in ages past, | ||
A dreary desart and a gloomy waste, | ||
45 | To savage beasts and savage laws a prey, | |
And kings more furious and severe than they; | ||
Who claim'd the skies, dispeopled air and floods, | ||
The lonely lords of empty wilds and woods: | ||
Cities laid waste, they storm'd the dens and caves, | ||
50 | (For wiser brutes were backward to be slaves.) | |
What could be free, when lawless beasts obey'd, | ||
And ev'n the elements a Tyrant sway'd? | ||
In vain kind seasons swell'd the teeming grain, | ||
Soft show'rs distill'd, and suns grew warm in vain; | ||
55 | The swain with tears his frustrate labour yields, | |
And famish'd dies amidst his ripen'd fields. | ||
What wonder then, a beast or subject slain | ||
Were equal crimes in a despotick reign? | ||
Both doom'd alike, for sportive Tyrants bled, | ||
60 | But that the subject starv'd, the beast was fed. | |
Proud Nimrod first the bloody chace began, | ||
A mighty hunter, and his prey was man: | ||
Our haughty Norman boasts that barb'rous name, | ||
And makes his trembling slaves the royal game. | ||
65 | The fields are ravish'd from th' industrious swains, | |
From men their cities, and from Gods their fanes: | ||
The levell'd towns with weeds lie cover'd o'er; | ||
The hollow winds thro' naked temples roar; | ||
Round broken columns clasping ivy twin'd; | ||
70 | O'er heaps of ruin stalk'd the stately hind; | |
The fox obscene to gaping tombs retires, | ||
And savage howlings fill the sacred quires. | ||
Aw'd by his Nobles, by his Commons curst, | ||
Th' Oppressor rul'd tyrannic where he durst, | ||
75 | Stretch'd o'er the Poor and Church his iron rod, | |
And serv'd alike his Vassals and his God. | ||
Whom ev'n the Saxon spar'd, and bloody Dane, | ||
The wanton victims of his sport remain. | ||
But see, the man who spacious regions gave | ||
80 | A waste for beasts, himself deny'd a grave! | |
Stretch'd on the lawn, his second hope survey, | ||
At once the chaser, and at once the prey: | ||
Lo Rufus, tugging at the deadly dart, | ||
Bleeds in the forest, like a wounded hart. | ||
85 | Succeeding Monarchs heard the subjects cries, | |
Nor saw displeas'd the peaceful cottage rise. | ||
Then gath'ring flocks on unknown mountains fed, | ||
O'er sandy wilds were yellow harvests spread, | ||
The forests wonder'd at th' unusual grain, | ||
90 | And secret transport touch'd the conscious swain. | |
Fair Liberty, Britannia's Goddess, rears | ||
Her chearful head, and leads the golden years. | ||
Ye vig'rous swains! while youth ferments your blood, | ||
And purer spirits swell the sprightly flood, | ||
95 | Now range the hills, the thickest woods beset, | |
Wind the shrill horn, or spread the waving net. | ||
When milder autumn summer's heat succeeds, | ||
And in the new-shorn field the partridge feeds, | ||
Before his lord the ready spaniel bounds, | ||
100 | Panting with hope, he tries the furrow'd grounds; | |
But when the tainted gales the game betray, | ||
Couch'd close he lies, and meditates the prey: | ||
Secure they trust th' unfaithful field, beset, | ||
Till hov'ring o'er 'em sweeps the swelling net. | ||
105 | Thus (if small things we may with great compare) | |
When Albion sends her eager sons to war, | ||
Some thoughtless Town, with ease and plenty blest, | ||
Near, and more near, the closing lines invest; | ||
Sudden they seize th' amaz'd, defenceless prize, | ||
110 | And high in air Britannia's standard flies. | |
See! from the brake the whirring pheasant springs, | ||
And mounts exulting on triumphant wings: | ||
Short is his joy; he feels the fiery wound, | ||
Flutters in blood, and panting beats the ground. | ||
115 | Ah! what avail his glossy, varying dyes, | |
His purple crest, and scarlet-circled eyes, | ||
The vivid green his shining plumes unfold, | ||
His painted wings, and breast that flames with gold? | ||
Nor yet, when moist Arcturus clouds the sky, | ||
120 | The woods and fields their pleasing toils deny. | |
To plains with well-breath'd beagles we repair, | ||
And trace the mazes of the circling hare: | ||
(Beasts, urg'd by us, their fellow-beasts pursue, | ||
And learn of man each other to undo.) | ||
125 | With slaught'ring guns th' unweary'd fowler roves, | |
When frosts have whiten'd all the naked groves; | ||
Where doves in flocks the leafless trees o'ershade, | ||
And lonely woodcocks haunt the wat'ry glade. | ||
He lifts the tube, and levels with his eye; | ||
130 | Strait a short thunder breaks the frozen sky: | |
Oft', as in airy rings they skim the heath, | ||
The clam'rous plovers feel the leaden death: | ||
Oft', as the mounting larks their notes prepare, | ||
They fall, and leave their little lives in air. | ||
135 | In genial spring, beneath the quiv'ring shade, | |
Where cooling vapours breathe along the mead, | ||
The patient fisher takes his silent stand, | ||
Intent, his angle trembling in his hand; | ||
With looks unmov'd, he hopes the scaly breed, | ||
140 | And eyes the dancing cork, and bending reed. | |
Our plenteous streams a various race supply, | ||
The bright-ey'd perch with fins of Tyrian dye, | ||
The silver eel, in shining volumes roll'd, | ||
The yellow carp, in scales bedrop'd with gold, | ||
145 | Swift trouts, diversify'd with crimson stains, | |
And pykes, the tyrants of the watry plains. | ||
Now Cancer glows with Phoebus' fiery car; | ||
The youth rush eager to the sylvan war, | ||
Swarm o'er the lawns, the forest walks surround, | ||
150 | Rouze the fleet hart, and chear the opening hound. | |
Th' impatient courser pants in ev'ry vein, | ||
And pawing, seems to beat the distant plain; | ||
Hills, vales, and floods appear already cross'd, | ||
And e'er he starts, a thousand steps are lost. | ||
155 | See! the bold youth strain up the threat'ning steep, | |
Rush thro' the thickets, down the valleys sweep, | ||
Hang o'er their coursers heads with eager speed, | ||
And earth rolls back beneath the flying steed. | ||
Let old Arcadia boast her ample plain, | ||
160 | Th' immortal huntress, and her virgin-train; | |
Nor envy, Windsor! since thy shades have seen | ||
As bright a Goddess, and as chaste a Queen; | ||
Whose care, like hers, protects the sylvan reign, | ||
The Earth's fair light, and Empress of the main. | ||
165 | Here, as old bards have sung, Diana stray'd, | |
Bath'd in the springs, or sought the cooling shade; | ||
And Cynthus' top forsook for Windsor shade; | ||
Here was she seen o'er airy wastes to rove, | ||
Here arm'd with silver bows, in early dawn, | ||
170 | Her buskin'd Virgins trac'd the dewy lawn. | |
Above the rest a rural nymph was fam'd, | ||
Thy offspring, Thames! the fair Lodona nam'd; | ||
(Lodona's fate, in long oblivion cast, | ||
The Muse shall sing, and what she sings shall last.) | ||
175 | Scarce could the Goddess from her nymph be known, | |
But by the crescent and the golden zone. | ||
She scorn'd the praise of beauty, and the care, | ||
A belt her waist, a fillet binds her hair, | ||
A painted quiver on her shoulder sounds, | ||
180 | And with her dart the flying deer she wounds. | |
It chanc'd, as eager of the chace, the maid | ||
Beyond the forest's verdant limits stray'd, | ||
Pan saw and lov'd, and burning with desire | ||
Pursu'd her flight, her flight increas'd his fire. | ||
185 | Not half so swift the trembling doves can fly, | |
When the fierce eagle cleaves the liquid sky; | ||
Not half so swiftly the fierce eagle moves, | ||
When thro' the clouds he drives the trembling doves; | ||
As from the God she flew with furious pace, | ||
190 | Or as the God, more furious, urg'd the chace. | |
Now fainting, sinking, pale, the nymph appears; | ||
Now close behind, his sounding steps she hears; | ||
And now his shadow reach'd her as she run, | ||
His shadow lengthen'd by the setting sun; | ||
195 | And now his shorter breath, with sultry air, | |
Pants on her neck, and fans her parting hair. | ||
In vain on father Thames she call'd for aid, | ||
Nor could Diana help her injur'd maid. | ||
Faint, breathless, thus she pray'd, nor pray'd in vain; | ||
200 | Ah Cynthia! ah tho' banish'd from thy train, | |
Let me, O let me, to the shades repair, | ||
My native shades there weep, and murmur there. | ||
She said, and melting as in tears she lay, | ||
In a soft, silver stream dissolv'd away. | ||
205 | The silver stream her virgin coldness keeps, | |
For ever murmurs, and for ever weeps; | ||
Still bears the name the hapless virgin bore, | ||
And bathes the forest where she rang'd before. | ||
In her chaste current oft' the Goddess laves, | ||
210 | And with celestial tears augments the waves. | |
Oft' in her glass the musing shepherd spies | ||
The headlong mountains and the downward skies, | ||
The watry landskip of the pendant woods, | ||
And absent trees that tremble in the floods; | ||
215 | In the clear azure gleam the flocks are seen, | |
And floating forests paint the waves with green. | ||
Thro' the fair scene rowl slow the ling'ring streams, | ||
Then foaming pour along, and rush into the Thames. | ||
Thou too, great father of the British floods! | ||
220 | With joyful pride survey'st our lofty woods; | |
Where tow'ring oaks their spreading honours rear, | ||
And future navies on thy shores appear. | ||
Not Neptune's self from all his streams receives | ||
A wealthier tribute, than to thine he gives. | ||
225 | No seas so rich, so gay no banks appear, | |
No lake so gentle, and no spring so clear. | ||
Not fabled Po more swells the poet's lays, | ||
While thro' the skies his shining current strays, | ||
Than thine, which visits Windsor's fam'd abodes, | ||
230 | To grace the mansion of our earthly Gods: | |
Nor all his stars a brighter lustre show, | ||
Than the fair nymphs that grace thy side below: | ||
Here Jove himself, subdu'd by beauty still, | ||
Might change Olympus for a nobler hill. | ||
235 | Happy the man whom this bright Court approves, | |
His Sov'reign favours, and his Country loves: | ||
Happy next him, who to these shades retires, | ||
Whom Nature charms, and whom the Muse inspires; | ||
Whom humbler joys of home-felt quiet please, | ||
240 | Successive study, exercise, and ease. | |
He gathers health from herbs the forest yields, | ||
And of their fragrant physic spoils the fields: | ||
With chymic art exalts the min'ral pow'rs, | ||
And draws the aromatic souls of flow'rs: | ||
245 | Now marks the course of rolling orbs on high; | |
O'er figur'd worlds now travels with his eye: | ||
Of ancient writ unlocks the learned store, | ||
Consults the dead, and lives past ages o'er: | ||
Or wand'ring thoughtful in the silent wood, | ||
250- | Attends the duties of the wise and good, | |
T'observe a mean, be to himself a friend, | ||
To follow nature, and regard his end; | ||
Or looks on heav'n with more than mortal eyes, | ||
Bids his free soul expatiate in the skies, | ||
255 | Amid her kindred stars familiar roam, | |
Survey the region, and confess her home! | ||
Such was the life great Scipio once admir'd, | ||
Thus Atticus, and Trumbal thus retir'd. | ||
Ye sacred Nine! that all my soul possess, | ||
260 | Whose raptures fire me, and whose visions bless, | |
Bear me, oh bear me to sequester'd scenes, | ||
The bow'ry mazes, and surrounding greens; | ||
To Thames's banks which fragrant breezes fill, | ||
Or where ye Muses sport on Cooper's hill. | ||
265 | (On Cooper's hill eternal wreaths shall grow, | |
While lasts the mountain, or while Thames shall flow) | ||
I seem thro' consecrated walks to rove, | ||
I hear soft music die along the grove; | ||
Led by the sound, I roam from shade to shade, | ||
270 | By god-like Poets venerable made: | |
Here his first lays majestic Denham sung; | ||
There the last numbers flow'd from Cowley's tongue. | ||
O early lost! what tears the river shed, | ||
When the sad pomp along his banks was led? | ||
275 | His drooping swans on ev'ry note expire, | |
And on his willows hung each Muse's lyre. | ||
Since fate relentless stop'd their heav'nly voice, | ||
No more the forests ring, or groves rejoice; | ||
Who now shall charm the shades, where Cowley strung | ||
280 | His living harp, and lofty Denham sung? | |
But hark! the groves rejoice, the forest rings! | ||
Are these reviv'd? or is it Granville sings? | ||
'Tis yours, my Lord, to bless our soft retreats, | ||
And call the Muses to their ancient seats; | ||
285 | To paint anew the flow'ry sylvan scenes, | |
To crown the forests with immortal greens, | ||
Make Windsor-hills in lofty numbers rise, | ||
And lift her turrets nearer to the skies; | ||
To sing those honours you deserve to wear, | ||
290 | And add new lustre to her silver star. | |
Here noble Surrey felt the sacred rage, | ||
Surrey, the Granville of a former age: | ||
Matchless his pen, victorious was his lance, | ||
Bold in the lists, and graceful in the dance: | ||
295 | In the same shades the Cupids tun'd his lyre, | |
To the same notes, of love, and soft desire: | ||
Fair Geraldine, bright object of his vow, | ||
Then fill'd the groves, as heav'nly Myra now. | ||
Oh would'st thou sing what Heroes Windsor bore, | ||
300 | What Kings first breath'd upon her winding shore, | |
Or raise old warriours, whose ador'd remains | ||
In weeping vaults her hallow'd earth contains! | ||
With Edward's acts adorn the shining page, | ||
Stretch his long triumphs down thro' ev'ry age, | ||
305 | Draw Monarchs chain'd, and Cressi's glorious field, | |
The lillies blazing on the regal shield: | ||
Then, from her roofs when Verrio's colours fall, | ||
And leave inanimate the naked wall, | ||
Still in thy song should vanquish'd France appear, | ||
310 | And bleed for ever under Britain's spear. | |
Let softer strains ill-fated Henry mourn, | ||
And palms eternal flourish round his urn. | ||
Here o'er the martyr-King the marble weeps, | ||
And fast beside him, once-fear'd Edward sleeps: | ||
315 | Whom not th' extended Albion could contain, | |
From old Belerium to the northern main, | ||
The grave unites; where ev'n the Great find rest, | ||
And blended lie th' oppressor and th' opprest! | ||
Make sacred Charles's tomb for ever known, | ||
320 | (Obscure the place, and un-inscrib'd the stone) | |
Oh fact accurst! what tears has Albion shed, | ||
Heav'ns, what new wounds! and how her old have bled? | ||
She saw her sons with purple deaths expire, | ||
Her sacred domes involv'd in rolling fire, | ||
325 | A dreadful series of intestine wars, | |
Inglorious triumphs, and dishonest scars. | ||
At length great Anna said Let Discord cease! | ||
She said, the World obey'd, and all was Peace! | ||
In that blest moment, from his oozy bed | ||
330 | Old father Thames advanc'd his rev'rend head. | |
His tresses drop'd with dews, and o'er the stream | ||
His shining horns diffus'd a golden gleam: | ||
Grav'd on his urn, appear'd the Moon that guides | ||
His swelling waters, and alternate tydes; | ||
335 | The figur'd streams in waves of silver roll'd, | |
And on their banks Augusta rose in gold. | ||
Around his throne the sea-born brothers stood, | ||
Who swell with tributary urns his flood: | ||
First the fam'd authors of his ancient name, | ||
340 | The winding Isis and the fruitful Tame: | |
The Kennet swift, for silver eels renown'd; | ||
The Loddon slow, with verdant alders crown'd; | ||
Cole, whose clear streams his flow'ry islands lave; | ||
And chalky Wey, that rolls a milky wave: | ||
345 | The blue, transparent Vandalis appears; | |
The gulphy Lee his sedgy tresses rears; | ||
And sullen Mole, that hides his diving flood; | ||
And silent Darent, stain'd with Danish blood. | ||
High in the midst, upon his urn reclin'd, | ||
350 | (His sea-green mantle waving with the wind) | |
The God appear'd: he turn'd his azure eyes | ||
Where Windsor-domes and pompous turrets rise; | ||
Then bow'd and spoke; the winds forget to roar, | ||
And the hush'd waves glide softly to the shore. | ||
355 | Hail, sacred Peace! hail long-expected days, | |
That Thames's glory to the stars shall raise! | ||
Tho' Tyber's streams immortal Rome behold, | ||
Tho' foaming Hermus swells with tydes of gold, | ||
From heav'n itself tho' sev'n-fold Nilus flows, | ||
360 | And harvests on a hundred realms bestows; | |
These now no more shall be the Muse's themes, | ||
Lost in my fame, as in the sea their streams. | ||
Let Volga's banks with iron squadrons shine, | ||
And groves of lances glitter on the Rhine, | ||
365 | Let barb'rous Ganges arm a servile train; | |
Be mine the blessings of a peaceful reign. | ||
No more my sons shall dye with British blood | ||
Red Iber's sands, or Ister's foaming flood; | ||
Safe on my shore each unmolested swain | ||
370 | Shall tend the flocks, or reap the bearded grain; | |
The shady empire shall retain no trace | ||
Of war or blood, but in the sylvan chace; | ||
The trumpet sleep, while chearful horns are blown, | ||
And arms employ'd on birds and beasts alone. | ||
375 | Behold! th' ascending Villa's on my side, | |
Project long shadows o'er the crystal tyde. | ||
Behold! Augusta's glitt'ring spires increase, | ||
And temples rise, the beauteous works of Peace. | ||
I see, I see where two fair cities bend | ||
380 | Their ample bow, a new White-ball ascend! | |
There mighty nations shall enquire their doom, | ||
The world's great Oracle in times to come; | ||
There Kings shall sue, and suppliant States be seen | ||
Once more to bend before a British Queen. | ||
385 | Thy trees, fair Windsor! now shall leave their woods, | |
And half thy forests rush into my floods, | ||
Bear Britain's thunder, and her Cross display, | ||
To the bright regions of the rising day; | ||
Tempt icy seas, where scarce the waters roll, | ||
390 | Where clearer flames glow round the frozen Pole; | |
Or under southern skies exalt their sails, | ||
Led by new stars, and borne by spicy gales! | ||
For me the balm shall bleed, and amber flow, | ||
The coral redden, and the ruby glow, | ||
395 | The pearly shell its lucid globe infold, | |
And Phoebus warm the ripening ore to gold. | ||
The time shall come, when free as seas or wind | ||
Unbounded Thames shall flow for all mankind, | ||
Whole nations enter with each swelling tyde, | ||
400 | And seas but join the regions they divide; | |
Earth's distant ends our glory shall behold, | ||
And the new world launch forth to seek the old. | ||
Then ships of uncouth form shall stem the tyde, | ||
And feather'd people croud my wealthy side, | ||
405 | And naked youths and painted chiefs admire | |
Our speech, our colour, and our strange attire! | ||
Oh stretch thy reign, fair Peace! from shore to shore, | ||
'Till Conquest cease, and slav'ry be no more; | ||
'Till the freed Indians in their native groves | ||
410 | Reap their own fruits, and woo their sable loves, | |
Peru once more a race of Kings behold, | ||
And other Mexico's be roof'd with gold. | ||
Exil'd by thee from earth to deepest hell, | ||
In brazen bonds shall barb'rous Discord dwell: | ||
415 | Gigantic Pride, pale Terror, gloomy Care, | |
And mad Ambition, shall attend her there: | ||
There purple Vengeance bath'd in gore retires, | ||
Her weapons blunted, and extinct her fires: | ||
There hateful Envy her own snakes shall feel, | ||
420 | And Persecution mourn her broken wheel: | |
There Faction roar, Rebellion bite her chain, | ||
And gasping Furies thirst for blood in vain. | ||
Here cease thy flight, nor with unhallow'd lays | ||
Touch the fair fame of Albion's golden days: | ||
425 | The thoughts of Gods let Granville's verse recite, | |
And bring the scenes of opening fate to light. | ||
My humble Muse, in unambitious strains, | ||
Paints the green forests and the flow'ry plains, | ||
Where Peace descending bids her olives spring, | ||
430 | And scatters blessings from her dove-like wing. | |
Ev'n I more sweetly pass my careless days, | ||
Pleas'd in the silent shade with empty praise; | ||
Enough for me, that to the list'ning swains | ||
First in these fields I sung the sylvan strains. | ||
This publication dated 1711-1713
Robert Clark