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WINDSOR-FOREST.
To the Right Honourable
GEORGE Lord LANSDOWN.
hy 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. 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, 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: 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 Nor quite indulges, nor can quite repress. There, interspers'd in lawns and opening glades, Thin trees arise that shun each others shades. Here in full light the russet plains extend; There wrapt in clouds the blueish hills ascend: Ev'n the wild heath displays her purple dyes, And 'midst the desert fruitful fields arise, That crown'd with tufted trees and springing corn, Like verdant isles the fable waste adorn. Let India boast her plants, nor envy we 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 fight, Tho' Gods assembled grace his tow'ring height, 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, 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 desert and a gloomy waste, To savage beasts and [1]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; (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; The swain with tears to beasts his labour yields, And famish'd dies amidst his ripen'd fields. No wonder savages or subjects slain Were equal crimes in a despotic reign, Both doom'd alike for sportive Tyrants bled, But subjects starv'd while savages were 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. The [2]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; O'er heaps of ruin stalk'd the ſtately hind; The fox obscene to gaping tombs retires, And wolves with howling fill the sacred Quires. Aw'd by his Nobles, by his Commons curst, Th' oppressor rul'd tyrannic where he durst, Stretch'd o'er the Poor, and Church, his iron rod, And treats 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 A Waste for beasts, himself deny'd a grave! Stretch'd on the lawn his [3]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. 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, 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, Now range the hills, the thickest woods beset, Wind the thrill 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, 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. Thus (if small things we may with great compare) When Albion sends her eager sons to war, Pleas'd, in the Gen'ral's sight, the host lie down Sudden, before some unsuspecting town, The captive Race, one instant makes our prize, 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. 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? Page:The Works of Alexander Pope (1717).djvu/92Page:The Works of Alexander Pope (1717).djvu/93Page:The Works of Alexander Pope (1717).djvu/94Page:The Works of Alexander Pope (1717).djvu/95Page:The Works of Alexander Pope (1717).djvu/96Page:The Works of Alexander Pope (1717).djvu/97Page:The Works of Alexander Pope (1717).djvu/98
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hy forests, Windsor! and thy green retreats,