The Forest of Dean from Poly-Olbion by Michael Drayton

Here (The queen of forests all, that west of Severne lie);
Her broad and bushy top Deane holdeth up so high,
The lesser are not seen, she is so tall and large.
And standing in such state upon the winding marge.

§ Within her hollow woods the Satyrs did won
In gloomy secret shades, not pierc’d with summer’s sun,
Under a false pretence the Nymphs to entertain,
Oft ravish’d the choice of Sabrin’s watr’y train;
And from their Mistress’; banks them taking as a prey,
Unto their woody caves have carried them away:
Then from her inner groves for succour when they cried,
She retchless of their wrongs (her Satyrs’; scapes to hide)
Unto their just complaint not once her ear inclines:
So fruitful in her woods, and wealthy in her mines,
That Leden which her way doth through the desert make,
Though near to Deane allied, determin’d to forsake
Her course, and her clear limbs amongst the bushes hide,
Lest by the Sylvans (should she chance to be espied)
She might unmaid’ned go unto her Sovereign flood:
So many were the rapes done on the wat’ry brood,
That Sabrine to her sire (great Neptune) forc’d to sue,
The riots to repress of this outrageous crew,
His arm’d orks he sent her milder stream to keep,
To drive them back to Deane that troubled all the deep.

This is an extract from Poly-Olbion by Michael Drayton


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