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KENSINGTON GARDEN.
Its deep foundations his strong trident cleaves,And high in air th' uprooted empire heaves;On his broad engine the vast ruin hung,Which on the foe with force divine he flung;Aghast the legions, in th' approaching shade,Th' inverted spires and rocking domes survey'd,That downward tumbling on the host belowCrush'd the whole nation at one dreadful blow.Towers, arms, nymphs, warriors, are together lost,And a whole empire falls to sooth sad Albions ghost. Such was the period, long restrain'd by Fate,And such the downfall of the fairy state.This dale, a pleasing region, not unbless'd,This dale possess'd they; and had still possess'dHad not their monarch, with a fathers pride,Rent from her lord th' inviolable bride,Rash to dissolve the contract seal'd above,The solemn vows, and sacred bonds of love.Now, where his elves so brightly danced the round,No violet breathes, nor daisy paints the ground,His towers and people fill one common grave,A shapeless ruin, and a barren cave. Beneath huge hills of smoking piles he layStunn'd and confounded a whole summers day.At length awaked (for what can long restrainUnbody'd spirits?) but awaked in pain:
