Hollands tempe verhérelykt, vertoond in dertig gezigten; beginnende van Amsterdam af langs de Haarlemmer...

To greet you anew, now that the Winter has departed,
Speak, speak old Merestyn, for it has become evident to you,
That Haringkarspel leaves you, and finds again,
As the fresh scent of Astraea binds Boreas's cold,
And locks up the winter frost, and causes the days to grow,
To make Flora and Pomona Goddesses of flowers and fruit, respectively. bloom with their gifts.
Old Merestyn, formerly called the Wyckerschans Literal meaning: "Wijk rampart/defense work.",
Your Haringkarspel makes your name famous everywhere,
And gives you more luster than all your gracefulness.
Farewell old Merestyn! I must tread further again,
Where noble Adrichem invites me with its beauty.
Oh praiseworthy landscape! Your glory is too great
For my meager song to give you your due fame:
Antiquity once described you with the name of Arkum,
When you mirrored yourself in the bright Swan-lake,
Which has now dried up, in order to show you a new
Delight in its greenery, in place of its water.
It seems that all the ornament wishes to crown you alike,
Where you thrust your proud gable-splendor and tower
High at Sint Aagte-dyk, freed from the war-steel
Of the small Frisians, which you once had to feel,
When the war, to cool its courage on your Castle,
Destroyed, ruined, and demolished it to the ground,
And heaped the former ornament in ruins together,
From which Lord vander Burg has reborn you again,
And placed you in a better state than ever before,
Just as we, oh Adrichem! now see in your condition,
And discover your ornament from afar along your broad Lane,
Planted on both sides with high trees.
Oh beautiful sight! You can awaken my heart to joy,
The more so, when I think of who often enjoys rest here,
The alert Trip A prominent Amsterdam patrician family known for their wealth and political involvement., who hears the Y and the Amstel
Being brought to the jurisdiction of Themis's laws Themis is the Greek goddess of divine law and order. and her tribunal,
Has chosen this old noble House for his pleasure.
What salvation, oh Adrichem! do you enjoy through your Lord,
When he lays his care down upon your ground,
To find a little rest there, unconcerned?
To which he feels himself bound by the office of Alderman,
To close off evil through the cut of the lawful sword.
Even though our Amsterdam is renowned throughout the Universe,
By power and commerce, by thousands of ships,
Which carry the finest of the East and the West on our Y-stream,
It still needs greater fame, since justice with wise policy
Is constantly maintained there, in order to punish
Evil with caution, and to reward the good.
Oh noble Trip! That praise must crown you first,
To which you constantly devote your care, and diligence, and time,
When you step onto our Capitol at the marble Tribunal,
To weigh lawful justice with Astraea's scales Astraea is the goddess of justice.,
May heaven give you its salvation and favor and blessing!
And keep your Adrichem in the same state with you!
While my Songstress leaves this landscape,
To behold the stately Merestyn by the shading green.
Has one of the Gods founded this ornament of country buildings
For his pleasure? Oh Yes! I do not doubt,
Whether Faunus Roman god of the forest, plains, and fields. holds supreme rule here,
Since the care for the Land has been given to him by fate.
Oh Faunus! I then approach your green walking-paths,

But with the reverence that befits your greatness.
My Songstress shall, joyous and doubly satisfied,
If you deign to hear her lowly Song,
Depart from here, for nothing can charm her more,
Than to proclaim your praise and glory everywhere,
And spell In Dutch, "spelt" can mean "spells out" or "articulates." The text plays on the surname "Vander Spelt." Faunus's great name in her Songs.
But Echo, what do you wish to make known to me?
Why have you driven the Name of Spelt to me again?
What can, what shall I understand from this single word?
Speak Echo! Speak on now! But alas! What ails me,
That I ask of you the speech that has long since vanished,
From the time that Narcissus made you weep for his unrequited love?
Have you vanished into air, and do you keep only the reverberation,
How then do I become aware of the word Spelt through you?
How do I find this secret, or what it wishes to show?
Am I deceived? How! Would Faunus not live here?
Oh No! For Merestyn belongs to Lord vander Spelt.
Oh Echo! You have presented the truth to me,
Though like the Sphinx formerly let his riddles be heard.
Oh airy Merestyn! You can charm the eye
Through your perfect state, and neatly planted lane;
How far can the lush eye safely pasture here,
To obtain all the land- and court-pleasures at once,
In the shadow of the high-topped trees:
Your neat square building caused my doubting,
When I first received your beautiful sight,
Which made me conclude that one of the Gods
Had fled the hall of Jove Jupiter. for your pleasure,
To find his delight here in solitude,
But no, Lord vander Spelt finds his joy and rest here,
When the flowering season makes tree, and herb, and flower bloom.
Oh Merestyn! You must always grow in esteem,
So that your luster increases even more day by day,
Farewell! Since Heemskerk invites me with its beauty,
Therefore I step forward to amuse myself there further.
Old and graceful Village! You make my zeal blaze,
When I see your neat building of Church and Tower,
My attention is enraptured and absorbed, who
Does not also marvel, who beholds you, after so many years,
In such a state? Preserved from the dangers
Of domestic discord, whose bloody war-glow
Has destroyed, ruined, and turned so many Cities
Into a heap of ruins in mad arrogance,
Who counts the Villages and Castles together,
That she has cast down! When the raging war-sword
Of the Hook and Cod factions everywhere sullied the fertile earth
With the blood of miserable subjects,
Which often made orphans and widows melt in their tears.
Happy Heemskerk! That you are still preserved,
As the state shows, in which one greets you,
To sing your praise also with my Songstress.
The Second William William II, Count of Holland. could force the power of the Frisians here,
Through the built-up Castle, for your safety,
Thus one turns away an enemy through wisdom and policy,
To save the subjects from his rage,
Resistance alone makes his vengeful courage subside,
When he threatens everything with fire and steel and cord.
Inhuman war, what people you have murdered,
And ruined field and land, and ravaged them,
For all horrors are bound together with you:
Here the Farmer is chased from his hut and stable,
There the child is un-souled, yonder one violates a chaste Virgin,

And sets house and home ablaze with the war-torch:
One sees the withering old age wandering along the lands,
Plundered and chased, stripped of property,
The infant is killed in its mother’s arms.
But how! What urges me to paint those horrors?
Your antiquity, Heemskerk, made me wander from the path,
Thus I turn again anew to your land-ornament.
How joyfully you stroke the eye, when one goes playing
Along this road, which the trees give shadow,
Let Tiberius live in his lust
On the wanton Caprea, I choose your humility,
Where virtue joins itself, which spreads a more beautiful luster
Than any luxurious court can show to the eye,
Farewell, Marquette must in the end crown my song
With its widely famous and ancient foundation,
Which King Willem, Count of Holland, has erected,
Just as my Muse just sang by Heemskerk,
Whereby the wild Frisian was tamed and subdued
In his wantonness: We still see the remnant
Of the strength in the old Roundel, although the noble castle
Is destroyed and ruined by stinging war-flags;
The Kennemerlander thus seemed to gnaw even his own heart,
To smother Heemstede, Brederode, and Assendelft in their fall
Under the rubble of this demolished rampart.
Oh blind revenge! What horrors can you provide!
Marquette felt the suffering that Haarlem had committed,
That noble castle suffered for your fierce rage and hatred:
One judges its strength and firmly built state,
When Duke Albrecht with his gathered servants,
Had to besiege the noble castle here for eleven weeks,
Before the Lord of Heemskerk bowed to his war-power,
But Haarlem! Although you brought this house to a fall,
What did you accomplish, other than to have its proud gable
Lift itself high again with new luster,
Out of the overturned rubble, and out of the dreadful... The text "Juiſter" appears to be an archaic or corrupted term for gloom or sorrow.
You have not hit the mark at all, although the bow
Of your fury was drawn to the most intense degree,
To overcome everything by violence and rage:
But strong and old Roundel, is it truth, what they say,
Stood in your center-round a Tower erected,
Which could serve as a beacon to the sailors,
To discover their right course at night, through the burning light?
But how! You do not answer, and feed my doubting,
I leave that uncertain matter then as I received it,
To trace the origin of your Name, Marquette:
The house at Heemskerk you were called before,
Or otherwise the house at Zevenbergen, but
When the old and knightly lineage of Heemskerk was
Deprived of the light of life, you passed to Vianen,
From there to Arenberg, to thus clear the path
Through which Lord de Hartaln bought you for money,
And brought the new name Marquette to you,
According to the village Marquette, situated in the land of Flanders.
Thus you have many times received a different lord,
Before Rendorp made you his property,
Marquette, how much sweet and sour have you tasted,

Since your construction, now almost five centuries ago?
What has one many times fought for around your ground?
That grass, and flower, and herb seemed to be only blood;
But after those storms you received a lovely sunshine
Of concord and pleasure, just as we see you now,
Where you can keep the eye busy in wonder.
When one meets your Foregate along the Heinigen,
By the shadowing trees, which moderate Phoebus's The sun's. bright glow
A little, in order to find more pleasure here.
Marquette I would always bind myself to your sight,
Unless the Amstel-city forced me to go back,
Since my songstress has completed her wandering.
Long must you, oh noble house! lift your small Tower!
Never must adversity, or disaster, or misfortune meet you!
But stretch to Rendorp's joy, when he comes to seek
The outside air on your ground, to receive there the sweet fruit
Of lovely solitude with cheerfulness,
Thus your both Names stretch the end of my songs.
Oh Kennemerland what are you obligated to the event,
Where so many land-ornaments have been founded on your ground
Of Villages, Castles, and famous Noble-courts;
It seems you wish to rob Italy of its luster
With your excellent ornaments, beauty, and splendor,
Nature has, it seems, brought everything here
That her power has ever given to a region,
She has also driven the policy and art hitherward,
To pair itself with her affection,
Which has spread so many wonders upon your ground.
If you could now lift yourself once from the grave,
With what wonder would Kennemerland strike you?
Your old dwelling-place would be unrecognizable to you,
The dense forests, which formerly prevented the bright sunshine
From approaching the earth,
Are now entirely scattered, destroyed, to make room
For Houses, Gardens, and for Villages of great state,
When the Eagle-standard was planted on your ground
By Rome's military force, then you lay almost buried
In deep ignorance, one knew of neither land nor harbor,
One knew neither region nor path, but a wild ground,
And gloomy forests, where you undertook yourself
To honor the Gods of this land with the sacrifice,
Thus nature and time know how to turn everything.
Farewell then Kennemerland! Grow from day to day
In beauty and ornament! While I go with deep awe
From your grounds, to find elsewhere again
What I leave in you, although you seem to bind me
To what I have seen, and met on my way.
May heaven give you its salvation and abundance,
To please your Lords, and inhabitants!
My Poem-nymph must conduct herself toward the Art of Drawing
Where she leads her legs, there she follows on the trail.
Well then, Terpsichore! The muse of dance and chorus. Go then freely ahead,
I shall constantly pair my songstress to your Etching-needle,
No Concord can bear more joy, or greater delight,
Than where the Art of Drawing pairs with Poetry,
Which both confirm their throne at the Y.
Here my songstress is silent to catch her breath,
Until she comes to paint the land-pleasure again anew,
And with a new lust begins a new journey,
Since she finds herself satisfied with Kennemerland for now.