In that bless'd moment, from his

oozy bed Old father Thames advanced his reverend head; His tresses dropp'd with dews, and o'er the

stream

331

His shining horns diffused a golden gleam;
Graved on his urn appear'd the moon, that guides
His swelling waters, and alternate tides;

The figured streams in waves of silver roll'd, 335
And on her banks Augusta rose in gold.
Around his throne the sea-born brothers stood,
Who swell with tributary urns his flood:
First the famed authors of his ancient name,
The winding Isis and the fruitful Thame;
The Kennet swift, for silver eels renown'd;
The Lodden slow, with verdant alders crown'd;
Cole, whose dark streams his flowery islands
lave;

And chalky Wey, that rolls a milky wave:
The blue, transparent Vandalis appears;
The gulfy Lea his sedgy tresses rears;
And sullen Mole, that hides his diving flood;
And silent Darent, stain'd with Danish blood.

340

345

High in the midst, upon his urn reclined, His sea-green mantle waving with the wind, 350 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 :

356

Hail, sacred Peace! hail, long-expected days, That Thames's glory to the stars shall raise! Though Tiber's streams immortal Rome behold," Though foaming Hermus swells with tides of

gold,

365

From heaven itself though seven-fold Nilus flows,
And harvests on a hundred realms bestows;- 360
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;
Let barbarous Ganges arm a servile train :
Be mine the blessings of a peaceful reign.
No more my sons shall die with British blood
Red Iber's sands, or Ister's foaming flood:
Safe on my shore each unmolested swain
Shall tend the flocks, or reap the bearded grain :
The shady empire shall retain no trace
Of war or blood, but in the sylvan chase;
The trumpet sleep while cheerful horns are blown,
And arms employ'd on birds and beasts alone.
Behold the ascending villas on my side
Project long shadows o'er the crystal tide;
Behold! Augusta's glittering spires increase,
And temples rise, the beauteous works of peace.
I see, I see, where two fair cities bend

371

375

Their ample bow, a new Whitehall ascend! 380

378 And temples rise. The fifty new churches.-Pope.

380 A new Whitehall. The splendid fragment of Whitehallpalace, which exists as the banqueting-room, has excited perpetual lamentations that the design was not completed: yet Walpole, an incomparable critic on all writings, characters, and buildings, but his own, throws strong doubt on its probable excellence. 'Several plates of the intended new palace of Whitehall,' says he, have been given, but I believe from no finished design of Inigo Jones. ***** The strange kind of cherubims on the towers at the end are preposterous ornaments; and, whether of Inigo or not, bear no relation to the rest. The great towers in the front are too near, and evidently borrowed from what he had seen in Gothic, not in

There mighty nations shall inquire 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.

6

Thy trees, fair Windsor! now shall leave their

woods,

385

And half thy forests rush into thy 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,
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,

The pearly shell its lucid globe infold,
And Phoebus warm the ripening ore to gold.

391

395

Roman buildings. The circular court is a picturesque thought, but without meaning or utility.'

It is true that he equally doubts the published design to be the final one. The four great sheets are evidently made up from general hints; nor could such a source of invention and taste, as the mind of Inigo, ever produce such sameness.' But whether the design were regal or not, the situation showed a regal sense. The position of the palace on the Thames was fit for the sea-king: its command of the rising country in front gave it the brightness and beauty of the English landscape, before that fine space was overrun with graceless building. The king of England has now a new palace near the Thames, but without communication; and near the country, but without prospect. Yet the architecture has been needlessly criticised: with some striking errors, it has many beauties. Blackened by smoke and buried in fog, what architecture can struggle against its location? A happier site would discover in it details of elegance, novelty, and grandeur.

400

The time shall come, when free as seas or wind,
Unbounded Thames shall flow for all mankind,
Whole nations enter with each swelling tide,
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 tide,
And feather'd people crowd my wealthy side;
And naked youths and painted chiefs admire 405
Our speech, our color, and our strange attire.
O, stretch thy reign, fair Peace! from shore to
shore,

411

415

Till conquest cease, and slavery be no more;
Till the freed Indians in their native groves
Reap their own fruits, and woo their sable loves;
Peru once more a race of kings behold,
And other Mexicos be roof'd with gold.
Exiled by thee from earth to deepest hell,
In brazen bonds shall barbarous Discord dwell:
Gigantic Pride, pale Terror, gloomy Care,
And mad Ambition shall attend her there:
There purple Vengeance bathed in gore retires,
Her weapons blunted, and extinct her fires:
There hated Envy her own snakes shall feel,
And Persecution mourn her broken wheel:
There Faction roar, Rebellion bite her chain,
And gasping Furies thirst for blood in vain.'

420

Here cease thy flight, nor with unhallow'd lays

Touch the fair fame of Albion's golden days:
The thoughts of gods let Granville's verse recite,
And bring the scenes of opening fate to light. 426

My humble Muse, in unambitious strains, Paints the green forests and the flowery plains, Where Peace descending bids her olive spring, And scatters blessings from her dove-like wing. Ev'n I more sweetly pass my careless days, Pleased in the silent shade with empty praise: Enough for me, that to the listening swains First in these fields I sung the sylvan strains.

6

431

428 Paints the green forests. Pope, 'it seems, was of opinion that descriptive poetry is a composition as absurd as a feast made up of sauces.' So says Warton: but Pope expresses nothing of the kind; and Warton's illustration is idle, unless the crime of descriptive poetry were in its piquancy. Its failure is in the want of sauces: it wearies by its insipidity. He attempts a renewal of the panegyric by reminding its contemners, that, in a sister art, landscape painting claims the very next rank to history painting, being ever preferred to single portraits, to pieces of still life,' &c. Even this is not always true; but if it were, the critic overlooks the palpable distinction between the pencil and the pen. The natural province of the pencil is to represent things fixed; its difficulty is to represent things in motion: the natural province of the pen is to represent things in motion, changes of action, character, and thought; its natural difficulty is to represent things fixed, scenery, &c. Thus, in the natural employment of the pencil, landscape painting, it may rise to great power: on the other hand, the pen, in the unnatural province of description, always encounters a difficulty, and always has a tendency to fail.