Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, FOR THE KING'S BIRTHDAY 1790, by THOMAS WARTON THE ELDER


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

FOR THE KING'S BIRTHDAY 1790, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Within what fountain's craggy cell
Last Line: And wafts their pomp of war, and spreads their thunder wide!
Subject(s): Courts & Courtiers; Crowns; George Iii, King Of England (1738-1820); Health


Within what fountain's craggy cell
Delights the goddess Health to dwell,
Where from the rigid roof distills
Her richest stream in steely rills?
What mineral gems intwine her humid locks?
Lo! sparkling high from potent springs
To Britain's sons her cup she brings!
Romantic Matlock! are thy tufted rocks,
Thy fring'd declivities, the dim retreat
Where the coy nymph has fix'd her favourite seat,
And hears, reclin'd along the thundering shore,
Indignant Darwent's desultory tide
His rugged channel rudely chide,
Darwent, whose shaggy wreath is stain'd with Danish gore?
Or does she dress her naiad cave
With coral spoils from Neptune's wave,
And hold short revels with the train
Of nymphs that tread the neighbouring main,
And from the cliffs of Avon's cavern'd side
Temper the balmy beverage pure,
That, fraught with drops of precious cure,
Brings back to trembling hope the drooping bride,
That in the virgin's cheek renews the rose,
And wraps the eye of pain in quick repose?
While oft she climbs the mountain's shelving steeps,
And calls her votaries wan to catch the gale,
That breathes o'er Ashton's elmy vale,
And from the Cambrian hills the billowy Severn sweeps!

Or broods the nymph with watchful wing
O'er ancient Badon's mystic spring,
And speeds from its sulphureous source
The steamy torrent's secret course,
And fans th' eternal sparks of hidden fire,
In deep unfathom'd beds below
By Bladud's magic taught to glow,
Bladud, high theme of Fancy's gothic lyre?
Or opes the healing power her chosen fount
In the rich veins of Malvern's ample mount,
From whose tall ridge the noontide wanderer views
Pomona's purple realm, in April's pride,
Its blaze of bloom expanding wide,
And waving groves array'd in Flora's fairest hues?

Haunts she the scene, where Nature low'rs
O'er Buxton's heath in lingering show'rs?
Or loves she more, with sandal fleet
In matin dance the nymphs to meet,
That on the flowery marge of Chelder play?
Who, boastful of the stately train,
That deign'd to grace his simple plain,
Late with new pride along his reedy way
Bore to Sabrina wreaths of brighter hue,
And mark'd his pastoral urn with emblems new.
Howe'er these streams ambrosial may detain
Thy steps, O genial Health, yet not alone
Thy gifts the naiad sisters own;
Thine too the briny flood, and Ocean's hoar domain.

And lo, amid the watery roar
In Thetis' car she skims the shore,
Where Portland's brows, embattled high
With rocks, in rugged majesty
Frown o'er the billows, and the storm restrain,
She beckons Britain's scepter'd pair
Her treasures of the deep to share!
Hail then, on this glad morn, the mighty main!
Which leads the boon divine of lengthen'd days
To those who wear the noblest regal bays:
That mighty main, which on its conscious tide
Their boundless commerce pours on every clime,
Their dauntless banner bears sublime;
And wafts their pomp of war, and spreads their thunder wide!





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