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Updated: May 11, 2025
I'll bet a guinea that however clever a fellow you may be you never sang anything in praise of your landlord's housekeeping equal to what Dafydd Nanmor sang in praise of that of Ryce of Twyn four hundred years ago: 'For Ryce if hundred thousands plough'd The lands around his fair abode; Did vines of thousand vineyards bleed, Still corn and wine great Ryce would need; If all the earth had bread's sweet savour, And water all had cyder's flavour, Three roaring feasts in Ryce's hall Would swallow earth and ocean all.
It is such a compliment as a poet might pay to a conqueror and head of the state without the possibility of self-degradation: Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud, Not of war only, but detractions rude, Guided by faith and matchless fortitude, To peace and truth thy glorious way hast plough'd, And on the neck of crowned fortune proud Hast rear'd God's trophies and his work pursued While Darwen stream with blood of Scots imbrued, And Dunbar field resounds thy praises loud, And Worcester's laureat wreath.
Virgil, in his first Georgic, refers to the possible future discovery of Roman remains, and Dryden translates the passage thus: "Then after lapse of time, the lab'ring swains, Who turn the turfs of these unhappy plains, Shall rusty piles from the plough'd furrows take, And over empty helmets pass the rake."
Truth, Modesty, and Shame the world forsook; Fraud, Avarice, and Force their places took. Then sails were spread to every wind that blew; Raw were the sailors, and the depths were new: Trees rudely hollowed did the waves sustain, Ere ships in triumph plough'd the watery plain. Then landmarks limited to each his right; For all before was common as the light.
The poet shall not spend his time in unneeded work. He shall know that the ground is already plough'd and manured; others may not know it, but he shall. He shall go directly to the creation. His trust shall master the trust of everything he touches and shall master all attachment. The known universe has one complete lover, and that is the greatest poet.
The Heavens here were ever serene; no Thunder-bearing Cloud obscur'd the Sky; the whispering Zephyrs wanton'd in the Leaves, and gently bore along the enchanting Musick of the feather'd Choir: The Sea here knew no Storms, nor threatning Wave, with Mountain swell, menaced the Ships, which safely plough'd the peaceful Bosom of the Deep.
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