Make sacred Charles' tomb for ever known, (Obscure the place, and uninscribed the stone) Oh fact accursed! what tears has Albion shed, Heavens, what new wounds! and how her old have bled! 320 She saw her sons with purple deaths expire, Her sacred domes involved in rolling fire, A dreadful series of intestine wars, Inglorious triumphs and dishonest scars. At length great Anna said--'Let discord cease!' She said, the world obey'd, and all was peace! In that blest moment, from his oozy bed Old Father Thames advanced his reverend head; His tresses dropp'd with dews, and o'er the stream His shining horns diffused a golden gleam: 330 Graved on his urn appear'd the moon, that guides His swelling waters, and alternate tides; The figured streams in waves of silver roll'd, And on their banks Augusta[53] rose in gold. Around his throne the sea-born brothers stood, Who swell with tributary urns his flood; First the famed authors of his ancient name, The winding Isis and the fruitful Thame: The Kennet swift, for silver eels renown'd; The Loddon slow, with verdant alders crown'd; 340 Cole, whose dark streams his flowery islands lave; And chalky Wey, that rolls a milky wave; The blue, transparent Vandalis appears; The gulfy Lee his sedgy tresses rears; And sullen Mole, that hides his diving flood; And silent Darent, stain'd with Danish blood. High in the midst, upon his urn reclined, (His sea-green mantle waving with the wind) The god appear'd: he turn'd his azure eyes Where Windsor-domes and pompous turrets rise; 350 Then bow'd and spoke; the winds forget to roar, And the hush'd waves glide softly to the shore.