Both doom'd alike, for sportive Tyrants bled,
But while the subject starv'd, the beast was fed. 60
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 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 through naked temples roar;
Round broken columns clasping ivy twin'd;
O'er heaps of ruin stalk'd the stately hind;

NOTES.

70

Ver. 65. The fields are ravish'd, &c.] Alluding to the destruction made in the New Forest, and the tyrannies exercised there by William I.

P.

I have the authority of three or four of our best antiquarians to say, that the common tradition of villages and parishes, within the compass of thirty miles, being destroyed, in the New Forest, is absolutely groundless, no traces or vestiges of such being to be discovered, nor any other parish named in Doomsday Book, but what now remains. Of late years, some minute enquiries have been made on this subject, by accurate and well-informed judges, who are clearly of this opinion. The President Hainault has given us a more amiable idea of our Norman Conqueror than is here exhibited. Warton.

IMITATIONS.

Ver. 65. The fields are ravish'd from th' industrious swains,
From men their cities, and from Gods their fanes :]

Translated from

"Templa adimit divis, fora civibus, arva colonis,"

an old monkish writer, I forget who.

P.

In Camden's Britannia, first edition, in the account of Somersetshire, it is said of Edgar,

66

Templa Deo, Templis Monachos, Monachis dedit agros."

Warton.

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,
Stretch'd o'er the Poor and Church his iron rod, 75
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
A waste for beasts, himself deny'd a grave!

NOTES.

80

Ver. 74.] A fine remain of ancient art and ancient customs, a piece of tapestry, said to be the work of Queen Matilda, is annually exhibited in the cathedral church of Bayeux, in Normandy, representing the expedition of William the Conqueror, and containing a most minute picture of every part of that event, from his landing in England to the battle of Hastings. An engraving of it is given in the tenth volume of the Memoirs of the Academy of Belles Lettres. Warton.

Ver. 80.] In St. Foix's entertaining historical Essays on Paris, it is related, p. 95, tom. 5, that just as the body of William I. was going to be put into the grave, a voice cried aloud, "I forbid his interment. When William was only Duke of Normandy, he seized this piece of Land from my father, on which he built this abbey of St. Stephen, without making me a recompence, which I now demand." Prince Henry, who was present, called out the man, who was only a common farrier, and agreed to give him an hundred crowns for this burial-place. Except the former conquest of England by the Saxons, (says Hume, vol. 1.) who were induced, by peculiar circumstances, to proceed even to the extermination of the natives, it would be difficult to find in all history, a revolution

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 72. And wolves with howling fill, &c.]

The author thought this an error, wolves not being common in England at the time of the Conqueror.

P.

25

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 sable waste adorn.

30

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 sight,
Tho' Gods assembled grace his tow'ring height,
Than what more humble mountains offer here, 35
Where, in their blessings, all those Gods appear.
See Pan with flocks, with fruits Pomona crown'd,
Here blushing Flora paints th' enamell'd ground,

NOTES.

Ver. 33. Not proud Olympus, &c.] Sir J. Denham, in his Cooper's Hill, had said,

"Than which a nobler weight no mountain bears,

But Atlas only, which supports the spheres."

The comparison is childish, as the taking it from fabulous history destroys the compliment. Our Poet has shewn more judgment; he has made as manly use of as fabulous a circumstance by the artful application of the mythology.

"Where, in their blessings, all those Gods appear," &c. Making the nobility of the hills of Windsor-Forest to consist in supporting the inhabitants in plenty. Warburton.

This appears an idle play on the word "supporting." Warton. Ver. 37. The word crown'd is exceptionable; it makes Pan crowned with flocks.

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 25. Originally thus:

Why should I sing our better suns or air,

Whose vital draughts prevent the leach's care,

Warton.

While through fresh fields th' enliv'ning odours breathe;
Or spread with vernal blooms the purple heath?

P.

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 gameful woods beset, 95
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,
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 them sweeps the swelling net.
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;

Ver. 91.

VARIATIONS.

O may no more a foreign master's rage,
With wrongs yet legal, curse a future age!

Still spread, fair Liberty! thy heav'nly wings,

Breathe plenty on the fields, and fragrance on the springs. P. Ver. 97.

When yellow autumn summer's heat succeeds,

And into wine the purple harvest bleeds,1
The partridge feeding in the new-shorn fields,

Both morning sports and ev'ning pleasures yields.

1 Perhaps the Author thought it not allowable to describe the season by a circumstance not proper to our climate, the vintage.

P.

Sudden they seize th' amaz'd, defenceless prize,
And high in air Britannia's standard flies.

110

See! from the brake the whirring pheasant

springs,

115

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?
Nor yet, when moist Arcturus clouds the sky,
The woods and fields their pleasing toils deny. 120
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.)

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.

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 107. It stood thus in the first Editions:

Pleas'd in the Gen'ral's sight, the host lie down
Sudden before some unsuspecting town;

The young, the old, one instant makes our prize,

And o'er their captive heads Britannia's standard flies.

Ver. 126. O'er rustling leaves around the naked groves.
This is a better line.

Warton.

IMITATIONS.

Ver. 115.

nec te tua plurima, Pantheu, Labentem pietas, vel Apollinis insula texit."

Virg. Warburton.