The second of eight poems by Finch which appear in from Poems on Several Occasions, By His Grace the Duke of Buckingham, Mr. Wycherly, Lady Winchelsea, Sr. Samuel Garth, N. Rowe Esq; Mrs. Singer, Bevil Higgins Esq. And other eminent Hands. LONDON; Printed for BERNARD LINTOT between the Temple-Gate, 1717, a miscellany edited and collected by Alexander Pope, most of whose poems are by Pope (not mentioned in the list), printed July 13, 1717, pp 118-23. This is the second of eight poems in the book.

See Annotated Chronology No. 106 (April 1703). This is an extremely rare poem unknown to Reynolds when she produced her 1903 book. The book in which it was printed exists in only 4 copies; the 1935 reprint by Norman Ault was in a limited edition. It is, to most readers of Ann Finch, unknown.

Anne Finch also wrote a prefatory panegyric for Pope's acknowledged 1717 Mr Pope's Works.

Here is a full listing of the poems by Anne Finch which appear in this volume:

A Table of Contents of Eight Poems by Anne Kingsmill Finch, Countess of Winchilsea, to be found in 1935/75 Pope's Own Miscellany, a reprint of an anonymous Poems on Several Occasions 1717 (of which only four copies are today known definitely to exist), actually by Alexander Pope, edited by Norman Ault, published on July 13, 1717 by Bernard Lintot. Reprint: London: The Nonesuch Press, 1935. Of eighty-nine poems, nine are by Mrs. Finch, one is placed separately, then 6 (1st calls her Mrs. FINCH, the third Lady WINCHELSEA), then an eighth attributed to her as Mrs. Finch, probably therefore an earlier poem by her which Pope took from a different manuscript collection.

  1. To Mr. POPE, in answer to a Copy of Verses, occasion'd by a little Dispute upon four Lines in the RAPE OF THE LOCK. By a Lady of Quality. DISARM'D, with so genteel an air, p 79 (also MS Wellesley 96-8; MS Add 4457, 57-8; printed in 1751 Birch, X, 179 (complete)
  2. An Invocation to the southern Winds inscrib'd to the right honourable CHARLES Earl of WINCHELSEA at his Arrival in LONDON, after having been long detained on the coast of HOLLAND. By the honourable Mrs. FINCH. NOW blow, ye Southern winds, with full release p118. NO MS text extant
  3. An Epistle to the honourable Mrs. THYNNE [Grace Strode Thynne], persuading her to have a Statue made of her youngest Daughter [Mary Thynne], now Lady BROOKE. By the same Hand. THINK not a partial fondness sway'd my mind, p123. NO MS text extant
  4. On a double Stock July-flower, full blown in January, presented to me by the [Lady Selena Finch Shirley,] Countess of FERRERS. By the right honourable the Lady WINCHELSEA. HOW is it in this chilling time, p126. NO MS text extant
  5. The TOAD undrest. By the same Hand. A TOAD just crawling up to town, p128. NO MS text extant
  6. The MASTIF and CURS, A Fable inscrib'd to Mr. POPE. By the same Hand. A MASTY of our English breed, p131. NO MS text extant
  7. A FAble. By the same. A MAN whose house had taken fire, p133. NO MS text extant
  8. The FAll of Caesar. By the Honourable Mrs. FINCH. WHEN Caesar fell, he brav'd each killing wound (one of pair, the other is in MS Finch-Hatton, "THough Caesar falling shew'd no sign of fear"), p165 NO MS text extant.

An Invocation to the southern Winds inscrib'd to the right honourable CHARLES Earl of WINCHELSEA, at his Arrival in LONDON, after having been long detained on the coast of HOLLAND By the honourable Mrs. FINCH, pp. 118-123.

NOW blow, ye Southern winds, with full release,
Bring on the show'rs which give the year encrease,
Shed new perfumes, and cherish those that rose
Ev'n whilst our wishes did your gales oppose;
And all our thoughtful longings were addrest,
To court the blasts of unproducing East.
Eurus! to thee, had so our faith allow'd,
Not only hecatombs all hearts had vow'd,
But plains that fed them had devoted stood,
The fat'ning pasture, and the shelt'ring wood:
The fruitfull walls with the adorn'd parterres,
Had all been offer'd to appease our cares:
Since only thou, who do'st destroy the spring,
Our long expected Winchelsea could'st bring.
A woodbine is the best my fate allows,
Which o're my window spreads its od'rous boughs.
Refreshing, with a secret sweet content,
My lonely sight and my enliven'd scent:
And when to verse my ready thoughts incline,
The fighter's laurell and the drinker's vine
Are prov'd inferior to the favourite tree,
So lov'd it grows, so magnify'd by me.
Yet this I destin'd Eurus to thy breath,
And had with pleasure seen it struck to death.
But now ye Southern winds! with full release,
Since he's return'd and such told wishes cease,
Bring on the show'rs which give the year encrease!

Ill art thou seated, Belgia , to our land,
Since none who hence e'ere touches on thy strand
Can back return without th'offensive aid
Of eastern wind which all our sweets invade;
Destroy the plenty of our gen'rous soile,
And like some hostile force exhaust the ruin'd isle.
No element the balefull Holland knows,
That rarify'd or unencumber'd flows:
Corrupt her waters, gloomy are her streams,
Her earth untemper'd, and her air but steams.
Old Chaos still does there in all preside,
As if Creating pow'r did ne're that mass divide.
How should we then expect, the health we bear
To such a climate, should attend us there?
Nor unassail'd by her contagious harms,
This Lord escap'd, whose full discov'ry warms
Those who deplor'd the sickness he endur'd,
Who languish'd whilst he lay, and by his help were cur'd.
Yet let past ills no present bliss destroy,
But how we griev'd be measur'd by our joy.
When providence the better scene has turn'd,
And gives us comforts for the days we mourn'd,
To hug the image of departed grief
Ungrateful seems, and baffles the relief.
Then let the southern winds with full release,
(Since he's return'd and our distresses cease)
Bring on the show'rs which give the year encrease.

How forreign courts received him be the care
Of our Historians rightly to declare.
Never my thoughts have to far countreys stray'd,
Nor ever to a mind that seeks the shade,
Are glorious tidings brought, or courtly pomps convey'd.
The Muses part is to unfold the worth,
In which unwilling Albion sent him forth.
Desert's our own, and if from thence we claim,
How Others act, nor helps nor shrinks our fame,
Firm stands that basis whilst the billows play,
And sometimes swell the tide, and sometimes float away.
Rich in desert, and ev'ry winning grace,
We grudg'd his absence for the shortest space:
And long'd again united to behold
In him such gifts as ne'er were join'd of old.
Stern was the Roman virtue at the best,
And something of their Founder's nurse confest.
A proud disdain with affectation reign'd
O're Attica , and her perfections stain'd.
Uncleanly Sparta taught contempt of death,
By making life not worth th'expence of breath.
Only our Britain to her sons imparts,
The boldest spirits, with softest hearts.
Unvainted eloquence and wit she gives,
And life's there risqu'd by him that nobly lives.
Among the foremost which she proudly bears
To such applause, her Winchelsea appears.
And may'st thou Britain still this praise possess,
As all my vows are form'd for thy success,
Since none can love thee more, tho' no one shares the less.
Then blow ye southern winds with full release,
Give this distinguish't land a large encrease,
And heaven to plenty add protecting peace.

Whilst Eastwell park does each soft gale invite,
There let them meet and revel in delight,
Amidst the silver beeches spread their wings
Where ev'ry bird as in Arcadia sings.
Where the tall stag in the descending boughs,
May brush the beamy product of his brows.
Where lesser deer o're run th'extended lawns,
And does are follow'd by unnumber'd fawns.
The even plains invite the racer's feet,
As valour steady and as fancy fleet.
Whilst fragrant turf the Rider's heart revives,
And paradise surrounds him while he strives.
Where two fair heads the true Parnassus grace,
And Poetry's a native of the place.
Those Eastwell hills let ev'ry breeze renew,
Which from adjoining seats kind neighbours view;
Pleas'd in the artfull gardens which they boast,
With such a prospect rais'd at nature's cost.
Whilst sailors note them as on waves they rowl,
And make the owner's health add spirits to the bowl.
Far seen they stand, but farther spreads the love,
His condescension does in all improve.
Greatness like Epicurus ' god might lie,
Unheeded if still stretcht above the sky;
Whilst men adore the condescending part,
And worthily he stoops who gathers up a heart,
Take then, my Lord, the hearts which thus are yours,
With all the tribute that this grace procures.
Chear'd by your least regard their love returns,
To greet the influence whence it shines and burns.
Whilst those of rank, plac'd nearer to your height,
Enjoy your spendour with more rais'd delight,
Observe the excellence your thoughts dispense,
And brighter grow from what's reflected thence.
So Phoebus , whilst his beneficial rays,
Attract the plants and every flower displays.
Exhaling from the shrubs which he inspires,
A grateful incense nourisht by his fires,
Round his own orb unmeasur'd light bestows,
There every star and radiant planet glows.
Whose borrow'd heat and affluence of beams,
But magnify the lustre whence it streams.
So happy Kent which your affection shares,
Unbounded joy to meet that love prepares.
Acknowledging from you it takes the heat,
By which it stands confest polite and great.
Come then, my lord, and tread that fruitful earth,
Which courts your presence as it gave you birth.
Come and whilst in your sight all sorrows cease,
Let every gentle wind with full release,
Reresh the fields, and give this year encrease.

A beautiful poem; shows her love for her nephew, for nature, for modern decent values of peace, prosperity, learning, kindliness.

Refrain with triple rhyme of "release, cease, encrease" with variation of "peace" for third, and repeating lines of "blow ye southern winds with full release" and "bring on the show'rs which give the year release" would please Charles; reminders of their collaboration for Gilden's 1701 New Miscellany and other hours translating and reading together.

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