The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 1/On the Queen's repairing Somerset-house
ON THE
QUEEN'S REPAIRING SOMERSET-HOUSE.
When God (the cause to me and men unknown)Forsook the royal houses, and his own,And both abandon'd to the common foe;How near to ruin did my glories go!Nothing remain'd t' adorn this princely placeWhich covetous hands could take, or rude deface.In all my rooms and galleries I foundThe richest figures torn, and all aroundDismember'd statues of great heroes lay;Such Naseby's field seem'd on the fatal day!And me, when nought for robbery was left,They starv'd to death: the gasping walls were cleft,The pillars sunk, the roofs above me wept,No sign of spring, or joy, my garden kept;Nothing was seen which could content the eye,Till dead the impious tyrant here did lie. See how my face is chang'd! and what I amSince my true mistress, and now foundress, came!It does not fill her bounty to restoreMe as I was (nor was I small before):She imitates the kindness to her shown;She does, like Heaven (which the dejected throneAt once restores, fixes, and higher rears),Strengthen, enlarge, exalt, what she repairs. And now I dare (though proud I must not be,Whilst my great mistress I so humble seeIn all her various glories) now I dareEv'n with the proudest palaces compare.My beauty and convenience will, I'm sure,So just a boast with modesty endure;And all must to me yield, when I shall tellHow I am plac'd, and who does in me dwell. Before my gate a street's broad channel goes,Which still with waves of crowding people flows;And every day there passes by my side,Up to its western reach, the London tide,The spring-tides of the term: my front looks downOn all the pride and business of the town;My other front (for, as in kings we seeThe liveliest image of the Deity,We in their houses should heaven's likeness find,Where nothing can be said to be Behind)My other fair and more majestic face(Who can the fair to more advantage place?)For ever gazes on itself below,In the best mirror that the world can show. And here behold, in a long bending row,How two joint-cities make one glorious bow!The midst, the noblest place, possest by me,Best to be seen by all, and all o'er-see!Which way soe'er I turn my joyful eye,Here the great court, there the rich town, I spy;On either side dwells safety and delight;Wealth on the left, and power upon the right. T' assure yet my defence, on either hand,Like mighty forts, in equal distance standTwo of the best and stateliest piles which e'erMan's liberal piety of old did rear;Where the two princes of th' Apostles' band,My neighbours and my guards, watch and command. My warlike guard of ships, which farther lie,Might be my object too, were not the eyeStopt by the houses of that wondrous streetWhich rides o'er the broad river like a fleet.The stream's eternal siege they fixt abide,And the swoln stream's auxiliary tide,Though both their ruin with joint power conspire;Both to out-brave, they nothing dread but fire.And here my Thames, though it more gentle beThan any flood so strengthen'd by the sea,Finding by art his natural forces broke,And bearing, captive-like, the arched yoke,Does roar, and foam, and rage, at the disgrace,But re-composes straight, and calms his face;Is into reverence and submission strook,As soon as from afar he does but lookTow'rds the white palace, where that king does reignWho lays his laws and bridges o'er the main. Amidst these louder honours of my seat,And two vast cities, troublesomely great,In a large various plain the country tooOpens her gentler blessings to my view:In me the active and the quiet mind,By different ways, equal content may find. If any prouder virtuoso's senseAt that part of my prospect take offence,By which the meaner cabins are descry'd,Of my imperial river's humbler side—If they call that a blemish—let them know,God, and my godlike mistress, think not so;For the distress'd and the afflicted lieMost in their care, and always in their eye. And thou, fair river! who still pay'st to meJust homage, in thy passage to the sea,Take here this one instruction as thou go'st—When thy mixt waves shall visit every coast;When round the world their voyage they shall make,And back to thee some secret channels take;Ask them what nobler sight they e'er did meet,Except thy mighty master's sovereign fleet,Which now triumphant o'er the main does ride,The terror of all lands, the ocean's pride. From hence his kingdoms, happy now at last,(Happy, if wise by their misfortunes past!)From hence may omens take of that successWhich both their future wars and peace shall bless.The peaceful mother on mild Thames does build;With her son's fabricks the rough sea is fill'd.