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COOPER'S HILL.

As it was Published after the RESTORATION.

S

By Sir John Denham, Knight of the Bath.

NURE there are Poets which did never dream

Upon Parnaffus, nor did tafte the Stream

Of Helicon; we therefore may suppose

Those made not Poets, but the Poets those.

And as Courts make not Kings, but Kings the Court,
So where the Mufes and their Train refort,
Parnaffus ftands; if I can be to thee
A Poet, thou Parnaffus art to me.

Nor wonder, if (advantag'd in my Flight,
By taking Wing from thy aufpicious Height)
Through untrac'd ways, and airy Paths I fly,
More boundlels in my Fancy than my Eye:
My Eye, which swift as Thought contracts the Space -
That lyes between, and first falutes the place
Crown'd with that facred Pile, fo vast, so high,
That whether 'tis a part of Earth, or Sky,
Uncertain feems, and may be thought a proud
Afpiring Mountain, or defcending Cloud:
Paul's, the late Theme of fuch a

Mufe whofe flight
Has bravely reach'd and foar'd above thy height;
Now shalt thou ftand, though Sword, or Time, or Fire,
Or Zeal, more fierce than they, thy Fall confpire,
Secure, whilft thee the best of Poets fings,
Preferv'd from Ruin by the best of Kings.
Under his proud Survey the City lyes,
And like a Mift beneath the Hill doth rife;
Whofe State and Wealth, the Business and the Crowd,
Seems at this Diftance but a darker Cloud :.

* M. W,

And is to him who rightly things efteems,
No other in Effect than what it feems:

Where, with like hafte, though feveral ways they run,
Some to undo, and fome to be undone ;
While Luxury and Wealth, like War and Peace,
Are each the others Ruin, and Encreafe;
As Rivers loft in Seas fome fecret Vein
Thence re-conveys, there to be loft again.
O Happiness of fweet retir'd Content!
To be at once fecure, and innocent.
Windfor the next (where Mars with Venus dwells,
Beauty with Strength) above the Valley swells
Into my Eye, and doth it self present
With fuch an eafie and unforc'd Afcent,
That no ftupendous Frecipice denies
Accefs, no Horror turns away our Eyes:
But fuch a Rife as doth at once invite

A Pleasure and a Reverence from the Sight.
Thy mighty Mafter's Emblem, in whofe Face
Sate Meekness, heighten'd with Majestick Grace;
Such feems thy gentle Height, made only proud
To be the Bafis of that pompous Load,

Than which, a nobler Weight no Mountain bears,
But Atlas only that fupports the Sphears.

When Nature's Hand this Ground did thus advance,
'Twas guided by a wifer Power than Chance;
Mark'd out for fuch a Ufe, as if 'twere meant
T'invite the Builder, and his Choice prevent.
Nor can we call it Choice, when what we chufe,
Folly, or Blindness only could refuse.

A Crown of fuch Majeftick Tow'rs doth grace
The Gods great Mother, when her heavenly Race
Do Homage to her; yet the cannot boast,
Amongst that numerous, and Celestial Hoft,
More Hero's than can Windfor, nor doth Fame's
Immortal Book record more noble Names.
Not to look back fo far, to whom this Ille
Owes the first Glory of fo brave a File,

Whether to Cafar, Albanact, or Brute,
The British Arthur, or the Danish Knute,
(Though this of old no less Contest did move,
Than when for Homer's Birth feven Cities ftrove)
(Like him in Birth, thou should'st be like in Fame,
As thine his Fate, if mine had been his Flame)
But whofoe'er it was, Nature defign'd

Firft a brave Place, and then as brave a Mind.
Not to recount those several Kings, to whom
It gave a Cradle, or to whom a Tomb,
But thee (great Edward) and thy greater Son,
(The Lilies which his Father wore, he won)
And thy † Bellona, who the Confort came
Not only to thy Bed, but to thy Fame,
She to thy Triumph led one ‡ Captive King,
And brought that Son, which did the second bring.
Then didst thou found that Order, (whether Love
Or Victory thy Royal Thoughts did move)
Each was a Noble Cause, and nothing less
Than the Design, has been the great Succefs:
Which Foreign Kings and Emperors esteem -
The fecond Honour to their Diadem,
Had thy great Destiny but giv'n thee Skill
To know, as well as Power to act her Will,
That from those Kings, who then thy Captives were,
In after-times fhould fpring a Royal Pair,
Who fhould poffefs all that thy mighty Power,
Or thy Defires more mighty, did devour;
To whom their better Fate referves whate'er
The Victor hopes for, or the Vanquish'd fear;

That Blood, which thou and thy great Grandfire shed,
And all that fince these Sifter Nations bled,
Had been unfpilt, had happy Edward known
That all the Blood he fpilt had been his own.
When he that Patron chofe, in whom are joyn'd
Soldier and Martyr, and his Arms confin'd

Edward the Third, and the Black Prince.

↑ Queen Philippa, The Kings of France and Scotland,

Within the azure Circle, he did feem
But to foretell, and prophesie of him,

Who to his Realms that Azure round hath join'd,
Which Nature for their Bound at first design'd.
That Bound, which to the World's extreaméft Ends,
Endless it felf, it's liquid Arms extends;

Nor doth he need those Emblems which we paint,
But is himself the Soldier and the Saint.

Here should my Wonder dwell, and here my Praife,
But my fixt Thoughts my wandring Eye betrays,
Viewing a Neighbouring Hill, whofe top of late
A Chappel crown'd, till in the common Fate
Th' adjoyning Abby fell: (may no fuch Storm
Fall on our Times, where Ruin muft reform.)
Tell me (my Mufe) what monftrous dire Offence,
What Crime could any Christian King incense
To fuch a Rage? Was't Luxury, or Luft?
Was he fo temperate, fo chaft, so just?
Were these their Crimes? they were his own much
But Wealth is Crime enough to him that's poor,
Who having spent the Treasures of his Crown,
Condemns their Luxury to feed his own.
And yet this A&t, to varnish o'er the Shame
Of Sacrilege, muft bear Devotion's Name.
No Crime fo bold, but would be understood
A real, or at least a feeming Good.

[more:

Who fears not to do ill, yet fears the Name,
And free from Confcience is a Slave to Fame.
Thus he the Church at once protects, and fpoils:
But Princes Swords are sharper than their Stiles.
And thus to th' Ages past he makes amends,
Their Charity deftroys, their Faith defends.
Then did Religion in a lazy Cell,
In empty, airy Contemplations dwell;
And like the Block, unmoved lay: but ours,
As much too active, like the Stork devours.
Is there no temperate Region can be known,
Betwixt their Frigid, and our Torrid Zone?

Could we not wake from that Lethargick Dream,
But to be reftlefs in a worse Extream?

And for that Lethargy was there no Cure,
But to be caft into a Calenture?

Can Knowledge have no Bound, but muft advance
So far, to make us with for Ignorance?
And rather in the dark to grope our Way,
Than led by a false Guide to err by day?
Who fees thefe difmal Heaps, but would demand
What barbarous Invader fack'd the Land?
But when he hears, no Goth, no Turk did bring
This Defolation, but a Chriftian King;
When nothing, but the Name of Zeal appears,
'Twixt our beft Actions, and the worst of theirs,
What does he think our Sacrilege would spare,
When fuch th'Effects of our Devotions are?
Parting from thence, 'twixt Anger, Shame and Fear,
Thofe for what's paft, and this for what's too near:
My Eye defcending from the Hill, furveys
Where Thames amongst the wanton Vallies ftrays.
Thames, the moft lov'd of all the Ocean's Sons
By his old Sire, to his Embraces runs,
Hafting to pay his Tribute to the Sea,
Like mortal Life to meet Eternity.

Though with those Streams he no resemblance hold,
Whofe Foam is Amber, and their Gravel Gold;
His Genuine, and lefs guilty Wealth t'explore,
Search not his bottom, but furvey his Shore;
O'er which he kindly spreads his fpacious Wing,
And hatches Plenty for th'enfuing Spring:
Nor then deftroys it with too fond a stay,
Like Mothers which their Infants overlay :
Nor with a fudden and impetuous Wave,
Like profufe Kings, refumes the Wealth he gave:
No unexpected Inundations fpoil

The Mowers hopes, nor mock the Plowman's toyl:
But God-like his unwearied Bounty flows;

Firft loves to do, then loves the Good he does:

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