THE LONGEST 1 Tyranny that ever swayd | |
| Was that wherein our Ancestors betrayd | |
| Their free-born Reason to the Stagirite, | |
| And made his Torch their universal Light. | |
| So Truth, while onely one supplid the State, | 5 |
| Grew scarce, and dear, and yet sophisticate; 2 | |
| Until twas 3 bought, like Emprique Wares, or Charms, | |
| Hard words seald up with Aristotles Armes. | |
| Columbus was the first that shook his Throne; | |
| And found a Temprate in a Torrid Zone, | 10 |
| The fevrish aire fannd by a cooling breez, | |
| The fruitful Vales set round with shady Trees; | |
| And guiltless Men, who dancd away their time, | |
| Fresh as their Groves and Happy as their Clime. | |
| Had we still paid that homage to a Name, | 15 |
| Which only God and Nature justly claim, | |
| The Western Seas had been our utmost bound, | |
| Where Poets still might dream the Sun was drownd: | |
| And all the Starrs, that shine in Southern Skies, | |
| Had been admird by none but Salvage Eyes. | 20 |
| Among th Assertors of free Reasons claim, | |
| Th English are 4 not the least in Worth, or Fame. | |
| The World to Bacon does not onely owe | |
| Its present Knowledge, but its future too. | |
| Gilbert shall live, till Lode-stones cease to draw | 25 |
| Or British Fleets the boundless Ocean awe. | |
| And noble Boyle, not less in Nature seen, | |
| Than his great Brother 5 read in States and Men. | |
| The Circling streams, once thought but pools, of blood | |
| (Whether Lifes fewel or the Bodies food) | 30 |
| From dark Oblivion Harveys name shall save; | |
| While Ent keeps all the honour that he gave. | |
| Nor are You, Learned Friend, the least renownd; | |
| Whose Fame, not circumscribd with English ground, | |
| Flies like the nimble journeys of the Light; | 35 |
| And is, like that, unspent too in its flight. | |
| Whatever Truths have been, by Art, or Chance, | |
| Redeemd from Error, or from Ignorance, | |
| Thin in their Authors, (like rich veins of 6 Ore) | |
| Your Works unite, and still discover more. | 40 |
| Such is the healing virtue of Your Pen, | |
| To perfect Cures on Books, as well as Men. | |
| Nor is This Work the least: You well may give | |
| To Men new vigour, who make Stones to live. | |
| Through You the DANES (their short Dominion lost) | 45 |
| A longer Conquest than the Saxons boast. | |
| STONE-HENG, once thought a Temple, You have found | |
| A Throne where Kings, our Earthly Gods, were Crownd. | |
| Where by their wondring Subjects They were seen, | |
| Joyd with 7 their Stature and their Princely meen. | 50 |
| Our Soveraign here above the rest might stand; | |
| And here be chose again to rule the Land. | |
| These Ruines sheltered once His Sacred Head, | |
| Then when 8 from Worsters fatal Field He fled; | |
| Watchd by the Genius of this Royal place, | 55 |
| And mighty Visions of the Danish Race, | |
| His Refuge then was for a Temple shown: | |
But, He Restord, tis now become a Throne.
JOHN DRIDEN. | |