Hollands Arcadia, of de vermaarde rivier den Amstel; : vertónende alle deszelfs lustplaatz...

Boasts with its praise in the neatly shorn hedges,
There Lord GRAVER finds rest on hot summer days,
When he, having escaped the city bustle, lives merrily here,
And has a delightful view along the Amstel a river in the Netherlands stream,
Where so many yachts with the flags of the States boast,
That the eye must lose its way in the number of the ships.
Farewell! O BOESSENBURG! bloom to Lord GRAVERS's pleasure,
So that he may long find with you concord, joy, and rest.
The printing of the Cotton comes to my view here again,
I can hear the workmen in their busy tasks,
But I step forward here, I have already satisfied my desire
To go and see this art of printing and its splendor.
The mill that used to grind here in days of yore,
And used to boast of its height with its wings,
Is now entirely destroyed, broken, and vanished,
Thus my desire to sing has been satisfied at this corner.
What beautiful and broadly built structure appears here again?
I stand amazed, am I being deceived by my sight?
Is this a Print-works for the Indian Cotton?
It cannot be: no! I must satisfy my desire,
And step closer to behold it from nearby.
I am satisfied, I must hold it for the truth.
Here Lord VANDEN BERG praises the benefit of the Craftsman,
Who zealously toils and sweats, firmly thinking that he
Must live daily from his labor with wife and children:
Happy is he, to whom those senses are given,
That, while he must work, he keeps an eye on his labor,
Before he falls into poverty through his own fault,
And in a miserable state, in his waning days,
Must regret his lost time through later repentance.
Bloom long then Print-works! Bloom long Lord VANDEN BERG!
Bloom long then Craftsmen! While I urge my Song-nymph
To go further now to meet AMSTELBURG,
And to greet it respectfully from this side,
Although the Amstel flows foamingly between us.
The building, grown wide and broad in this garden,
Prevents me from seeing the house, where on summer days
Lord VENING finds his pleasure, his rest, and delight.
I see nothing but how it lifts its crown bravely in the air,
And adorns itself with its Gallery, fearing no misfortune
As long as its Master lives, and in the green lanes
Refreshes his care, to pave for himself a path to rest,
Where the airy birds hover on all sides,
And in the summertime live singing merrily,
By the pleasant greenery of the high and low plants.
The summerhouse, divided into eight equal sides,
Bears on its crown a Vase, like a king’s crown,
The magnificent garden fence, as perfect in art as it is beautiful,
Shows the Amstelburg, where it is adorned on both sides
With green hedges, which protect the flower-growth
From harsh winds, and limit the curious eye
In its path, for everything here is thickly
Grown, and planted with high or low trees.
May the Master of the House long find his rest and pleasure here!
Having gone a bit further, I see the KATOENBOOM Cotton-tree again,
So wide, so splendidly built to be a delight
To its Master, the alert VISSER.
But this view from the stream can draw my attention more,
Where the airy MEERMOND invites me to its land-pleasures.
Yet my Song-heroine dares, stripped of spirit and strength.

To approach the pleasure-ground where the Netherlands' truest Father,
The support of Amsterdam, its consolation, its help, and counselor,
Rejoices for a little time by the summer green,
Weary of the burdensome office which his perfect virtue
So wisely governed to bear in the state administration:
Yet although MEERMOND can please him with its ornaments,
His concern still watches at the IJ the body of water/harbor at Amsterdam for the welfare of city and state.
O Fruitful MEERMOND, what ornamentation you receive
When that Citizen-Lord comes to enjoy himself by your greenery!
Then a double joy seems to touch the trees and flowers,
Then everything shines with a fresher dew and scent,
The rose and carnation lift their colors,
To receive Amstel’s Palinurus mythological helmsman; here, a metaphor for a statesman with cheerfulness,
The bright Nightingale sings nothing but songs of welcome,
Forgetting all the sorrow done to her by Tereus,
I hear the Echo strike against the trees and house and hedges,
To pair itself with the rustling of the Amstel stream.
Bloom long, MEERMOND, mirror your crown in the flat of the waves!
And you, O Summer-house! remain blessed in your state,
When VAN DEN BEMPDEN seeks rest in the quiet country!
But dear pleasure-ground, must I not mention Lord SIX here,
Whom you dare to praise as the Owner of your ground?
O yes! That Citizen-Lord is the honor-crown of my song,
Whose care is never wearied in the important state interest,
But watches for city and state with more than Argus eyes.
If old Rome’s council ever raised its honor to the peak,
Two Reguluses are paired here together,
Where all his Councilors, and Reformers, however renowned,
Must yield to him in steadfastness and morals.
Praise then great AGTH'REN! refers to the Van Agthoven/Agteren family live in your dignities,
For the welfare of the Merchant-city still for a long series of time,
Where the grateful heart of the citizens is dedicated to you,
To preserve your memory for the descendant,
When your soul has already entered into the stars!
Now with a pleasure-boat rowed to the other side
Through the white crystal, that flows along the green edges,
To behold MEERHUIZEN and its beautiful state there.
What a merry country view, ornament of the garden buildings,
What wide breadth you grant to the wandering eye,
Which loses itself in such a far-reaching vista,
Yes, thinks, while the sight cannot bring it to an end,
That the clouds mingle with the earth.
The opened garden gate seems to grant me entry,
But softly, my Song-nymph, it is not fitting to go further,
Than what we behold from the road, or on the bridge;
Too great a freedom is considered reckless,
Cast then your eyes on the Garden-building, which,
Constructed with its Gallery of wood and stone,
Boasts with its rising roof-work far above all trees,
How beautiful and proud they also appear here:
The green hedges from afar and on the side,
They lend this garden even more splendor,
To receive COOPS for his diligence by the summer green.
But there HOGERMEER invites me, in the middle of my songs,
To its garden-view, although it has little opening,
And from the walkway offers no access to the eye,

Still, the beautiful state from the outside can please me;
The more so because VALKENIER, who helps to support justice,
And wields Astraea’s sword Astraea is the goddess of justice; the sword symbolizes judicial authority. on the marble Capitol,
Finds here a sweet rest, when the swift Aeolus God of the winds,
Lets his western breezes play through this pleasure-ground,
To caress tree and field-growth with a coolness,
When Apollo the Sun has finished his day-journey.
The garden buildings and the airy summerhouse stand
Most proudly raised to enchant the eyes;
Happy is he who is destined for this state of health,
That he refreshes his care by the lovely country-pleasures,
Here VALKENIER presents himself to us as a clear beacon,
Who comes to rest his state-cares at HOGERMEER,
Yet will never neglect the useful for the sake of pleasure.
Bloom! bloom then HOGERMEER to Lord VALKENIER's joy,
As my Song-nymph wishes as a reward for his virtue.
Now AMSTELZIGT followed in my country-songs.
The eye remains as if enchanted, hanging on this pleasure-ground,
There its greatest state, and neatness of building,
That many a small Prince would shame his Court.
The gate of the entrance boasts with rising pillars,
And further foliage, where strength and art pair,
To be freed at night from Laverna’s brood, Laverna was the Roman goddess of thieves; here a metaphor for burglars.
Which mostly shows its swiftness by faint moonlight,
To unexpectedly rob others of their belongings;
O AMSTELZIGT! you strive to rise above this misfortune
Through BONTEKONING'S care, and what he does for you
Demands from you in return a fruitful abundance
Of flowers, fruits, and further garden-ornaments,
Which at once satisfy the sight and also the taste.
This my Song-nymph wishes for you and your Master!
See how the youth here tries with their Angling-rod
To beguile the darting little Fish in the streams,
Which, having first arrived lightheartedly at the bait,
There misses the dear life, thus one learns from a young age
The crooked paths also on the world's slippery track,
To harm one’s fellow man with deceit and cunning,
Yes, the false mind does not spare betraying its friend,
If it yields profit: the outward appearance
Shows virtue, while the heart is pregnant with vice,
To fleece the innocent under the cloak of godliness,
Which we see daily more than too clearly,
For no traitors are so vile, so full of venom,
Than those who only love religion in appearance.
Where do I wander by seeing these youths?
Can their fishing close me in my singing?
Thus I follow the example of Prince Ulysses,
Who with cunning withdrew himself from the threatening danger
Of the Sea-sirens, who with their magic songs,
To which the ear remained enchanted even against its will,
Led so many innocents to death;
My rowboat is ready, my Song-nymph has no need,
We cleave the Amstel-water to behold OVERMEER:
In its hospitality I dare to trust myself confidently,
While courtesy has established its seat here.
Lovely country-pleasure! How you strive for my sight,
When I see Lord SCHYWERT'S spirit in your garden-ornaments,
That great genius, garlanded with eternal laurel-leaves,
First sketched you, where the gardener’s hand,
And the noble Architecture built and planted you,
To give the country-pleasure to Lord WITTEBOL.
The exquisite neatness is raised here on the throne,

It lives on this ground, although of no spacious extent;
The Master of the House opens the closed Gate for me,
Where the sight loses itself in the beauty of the Yew-trees;
The winding flower-bed seems to restrain my progress,
It holds the sight and scent captivated by color and fragrance,
While the glistening purple blooms here with more beautiful splendor,
And reflects on the green of the neatly shorn hedges,
Than the Snail-blood a reference to the expensive Tyrian purple dye extracted from murex snails., upon which old Tyre dared to wear its glory.
Farewell courteous Lord! but before I may go further,
I must observe the Garden-gate and its fencing,
So proudly built with niches and pillars,
Whereon the Vases equal the beauty of the Estate;
And as from the outside they make us see what elegance
Is prepared for the eye inside on its ground.
Now I go: no I can, I cannot yet depart,
A new pleasure comes to reveal itself here to the eye,
They are the Ducks, which on the surface of the flowing crystal,
Caress themselves swimming in the clear sunshine,
And find a free playground in front of the court,
To bind all the country-pleasure to this place.
But it is too long an effort, my desire to sing drives me forward.
There I see, on the other side of the Amstel’s green bank;
THE SCHULP and ITS BRIDGE famous for the crossing,
And the swarming back and forth of a thousand wanderers,
Whom the airy Diemer lake lures outside,
Or sends back city-wards; the number is often so great
That all the Boats can scarcely carry the people,
And it seems that they flow together on the pool of the Amstel,
And a pontoon bridge stands on the flowing water.
With what joy is my Song-nymph affected
Now that she may behold her Mother-city from afar:
She sees her magnificence and extended power
With as much joy, as the great Brutus once
Saw old Rome’s freedom, when he, the war-gear,
For Lucretia’s revenge, dared to turn against Tarquinus's laws,
To magnanimously crush the yoke of tyranny,
Through which that world-city obtained its greatest happiness,
Just as the glory of mighty Amsterdam rises.
How I see golden Freedom living all around here,
First given to us through the wise policy of Nassau’s blood,
And now maintained by the Fathers of the state,
It stretches a gem of pride to every subject.
But there is TROMPENBURG, how beautifully it stands boasting,
Still bravely on the fame of the head of the Admirals,
From whom it derives its name: yes great water-lion,
I still celebrate your Honor-name, you have often stopped the fierce screaming
Of the sea-monsters through flashes of lightning,
When the thunder flew from your water-chariot,
And drove miserable death and fear on every side,
Or when your war-torch set the enemy’s fleet on fire,
And shattered keel after keel with your stem.
Your name, O Tromp! remains living eternally through your deeds,
Where your memory is preserved by TROMPENBURG.
After you, this place was made renowned by WITTE’S name:
The great Witsen, who, in his days of life,
Helped carry the important state administration on his shoulders,
And watched as Citizen-Lord at the merchant-rich IJ,
This pleasure-ground covered itself in black mourning-livery,
When that Alcides of the state was taken away,
The sage plants, the house, the hedges, and trees,