AS when our Kings (Lords of the spacious Main) Take, in just wars, a rich Plate-Fleet of Spain; The rude unshapen Ingots they reduce Into a Form of Beauty, and of use; On which the Conqueror's Image now does shine, Not His whom it belong'd to in the Mine; So in the mild Contentions of the Muse (The War which Peace it self loves and persues) So have you home to us in triumph brought, This Cargazon of Spain with Treasures fraught. You have not basely gotten it by stealth, Nor by Translation borrow'd all its wealth, But by a pow'rful Spirit made it your own, Metal before, Money by you 'tis grown. 'Tis currant now, by your adorning it With the fair stamp of your victorious wit: But though we praise this voyage of your Mind, And though ourselves enricht by it we find, We're not contented yet, because we know What greater stores at home within it grow; We've seen how well you foreign Oars refine, Produce the Gold of your own Nobler Mine. The world shall then our Native plenty view And fetch materials for their wit from you, They all shall watch the travails of your Pen, And Spain on you shall make Reprisals then. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AUTUMN MOVEMENT by CARL SANDBURG TO A WATERFOWL by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT THE SONG OF THE SMOKE by WILLIAM EDWARD BURGHARDT DU BOIS SANCTUARY by LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY I WOULD NOT LIVE ALWAY by WILLIAM AUGUSTUS MUHLENBERG FOR 'OUR LADY OF THE ROCKS' (BY LEONARDO DA VINCI) by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI |