1 Treading the path to nobler ends,A long farewell to love I gave,Resolved my country, and my friends,All that remain'd of me should have.
2 And this resolve no mortal dame,None but those eyes could have o'erthrown;The nymph I dare not, need not name,So high, so like herself alone.
3 Thus the tall oak, which now aspiresAbove the fear of private fires,Grown and design'd for nobler use,Not to make warm, but build the house,Though from our meaner flames secure,Must that which falls from heaven endure.
Madam, as in some climes the warmer sunMakes it full summer ere the spring's begun,And with ripe fruit the bending boughs can load,Before our violets dare look abroad;So measure not by any common useThe early love your brighter eyes produce.When lately your fair hand in woman's weedWrapp'd my glad head, I wish'd me so indeed,That hasty time might never make me growOut of those favours you afford me now; 10That I might ever such indulgence find,And you not blush, nor think yourself too kind;Who now, I fear, while I these joys express,Begin to think how you may make them less.The sound of love makes your soft heart afraid,And guard itself, though but a child invade,And innocently at your white breast throwA dart as white-a ball of new fallen snow.
That which her slender waist confined,Shall now my joyful temples bind;No monarch but would give his crown,His arms might do what this has done.
It was my heaven's extremest sphere,The pale which held that lovely deer.My joy, my grief, my hope, my love,Did all within this circle move!
A narrow compass! and yet thereDwelt all that's good, and all that's fair;Give me but what this ribband bound,Take all the rest the sun goes round.
See! how the willing earth gave way,To take th'impression where she lay.See! how the mould, as both to leaveSo sweet a burden, still doth cleaveClose to the nymph's stain'd garment. HereThe coming spring would first appear,And all this place with roses strow,If busy feet would let them grow.Here Venus smiled to see blind chanceItself before her son advance, 10And a fair image to present,Of what the boy so long had meant.'Twas such a chance as this, made allThe world into this order fall;Thus the first lovers, on the clay,Of which they were composéd, lay;So in their prime, with equal grace,Met the first patterns of our race.Then blush not, fair! or on him frown,Or wonder how you both came down; 20But touch him, and he'll tremble straight,How could he then support your weight?How could the youth, alas! but bend,When his whole heaven upon him lean'd?If aught by him amiss were done,'Twas that he let you rise so soon.
1 Our sighs are heard; just Heaven declaresThe sense it has of lovers' cares;She that so far the rest outshined,Sylvia the fair, while she was kind,As if her frowns impair'd her brow,Seems only not unhandsome now.So, when the sky makes us endureA storm, itself becomes obscure.
2 Hence 'tis that I conceal my flame,Hiding from Flavia's self her name,Lest she, provoking Heaven, should proveHow it rewards neglected love.Better a thousand such as I,Their grief untold, should pine and die;Than her bright morning, overcastWith sullen clouds, should be defaced.
1 Lately on yonder swelling bush,Big with many a coming rose,This early bud began to blush,And did but half itself disclose;I pluck'd it, though no better grown,And now you see how full 'tis blown.
2 Still as I did the leaves inspire,With such a purple light they shone,As if they had been made of fire,And spreading so, would flame anon.All that was meant by air or sun,To the young flower, my breath has done.
3 If our loose breath so much can do,What may the same in forms of love,Of purest love, and music too,When Flavia it aspires to move?When that, which lifeless buds persuadesTo wax more soft, her youth invades?
1 Pygmalion's fate reversed is mine;[1]His marble love took flesh and blood;All that I worshipp'd as divine,That beauty! now 'tis understood,Appears to have no more of lifeThan that whereof he framed his wife.
2 As women yet, who apprehendSome sudden cause of causeless fear,Although that seeming cause take end,And they behold no danger near,A shaking through their limbs they find,Like leaves saluted by the wind:
3 So though the beauty do appearNo beauty, which amazed me so;Yet from my breast I cannot tearThe passion which from thence did grow;Nor yet out of my fancy razeThe print of that supposèd face.
4 A real beauty, though too near,The fond Narcissus did admire:I dote on that which is nowhere;The sign of beauty feeds my fire.No mortal flame was e'er so cruelAs this, which thus survives the fuel!
[1] 'Mine': Ovid,Met. x.
1 Not caring to observe the wind,Or the new sea explore,Snatch'd from myself, how far behindAlready I behold the shore!
2 May not a thousand dangers sleepIn the smooth bosom of this deep?No; 'tis so reckless and so clear,That the rich bottom does appearPaved all with precious things; not tornFrom shipwreck'd vessels, but there born.
3 Sweetness, truth, and every graceWhich time and use are wont to teach,The eye may in a moment reach,And read distinctly in her face.
4 Some other nymphs, with colours faint,And pencil slow, may Cupid paint,And a weak heart in time destroy;She has a stamp, and prints the boy:Can, with a single look, inflameThe coldest breast, the rudest tame.
1 It is not that I love you less,Than when before your feet I lay;But to prevent the sad increaseOf hopeless love, I keep away.
2 In vain, alas! for everythingWhich I have known belong to you,Your form does to my fancy bring,And makes my old wounds bleed anew.
3 Who in the spring, from the new sun,Already has a fever got,Too late begins those shafts to shun,Which Phoebus through his veins has shot;
4 Too late he would the pain assuage,And to thick shadows does retire;About with him he bears the rage,And in his tainted blood the fire.
5 But vow'd I have, and never mustYour banish'd servant trouble you;For if I break, you may mistrustThe vow I made—to love you too.
1 While with a strong and yet a gentle hand,You bridle faction, and our hearts command,Protect us from ourselves, and from the foe,Make us unite, and make us conquer too;
2 Let partial spirits still aloud complain,Think themselves injured that they cannot reign,And own no liberty but where they mayWithout control upon their fellows prey.
3 Above the waves as Neptune show'd his face,To chide the winds, and save the Trojan race,So has your Highness, raised above the rest,Storms of ambition, tossing us, repress'd.
4 Your drooping country, torn with civil hate,Restored by you, is made a glorious state;The seat of empire, where the Irish come,And the unwilling Scots, to fetch their doom.
5 The sea's our own; and now all nations greet,With bending sails, each vessel of our fleet;Your power extends as far as winds can blow,Or swelling sails upon the globe may go.
6 Heaven (that hath placed this island to give law,To balance Europe, and her states to awe),In this conjunction doth on Britain smile;The greatest leader, and the greatest isle!
7 Whether this portion of the world were rent,By the rude ocean, from the continent,Or thus created, it was sure design'dTo be the sacred refuge of mankind.
8 Hither th'oppressed shall henceforth resort,Justice to crave, and succour, at your court;And then your Highness, not for ours alone,But for the world's Protector shall be known.
9 Fame, swifter than your winged navy, fliesThrough every land that near the ocean lies,Sounding your name, and telling dreadful newsTo all that piracy and rapine use.
10 With such a chief the meanest nation bless'd,Might hope to lift her head above the rest;What may be thought impossible to doBy us, embraced by the sea and you?
11 Lords of the world's great waste, the ocean, weWhole forests send to reign upon the sea,And every coast may trouble, or relieve;But none can visit us without your leave.
12 Angels and we have this prerogative,That none can at our happy seats arrive;While we descend at pleasure, to invadeThe bad with vengeance, and the good to aid.
13 Our little world, the image of the great,Like that, amidst the boundless ocean set,Of her own growth hath all that Nature craves,And all that's rare, as tribute from the waves.
14 As Egypt does not on the clouds rely,But to the Nile owes more than to the sky;So what our earth, and what our heaven denies,Our ever constant friend, the sea, supplies.
15 The taste of hot Arabia's spice we know,Free from the scorching sun that makes it grow;Without the worm, in Persian silks we shine;And, without planting, drink of every vine.
16 To dig for wealth we weary not our limbs;Gold, though the heaviest metal, hither swims;Ours is the harvest where the Indians mow;We plough the deep, and reap what others sow.
17 Things of the noblest kind our own soil breeds;Stout are our men, and warlike are our steeds;Rome, though her eagle through the world had flown,Could never make this island all her own.
18 Here the Third Edward, and the Black Prince, too,France-conqu'ring Henry flourish'd, and now you;For whom we stay'd, as did the Grecian state,Till Alexander came to urge their fate.
19 When for more worlds the Macedonian cried,He wist not Thetis in her lap did hideAnother yet; a world reserved for you,To make more great than that he did subdue.
20 He safely might old troops to battle lead,Against th'unwarlike Persian and the Mede,Whose hasty flight did, from a bloodless field,More spoils than honour to the victor yield.
21 A race unconquer'd, by their clime made bold,The Caledonians, arm'd with want and cold,Have, by a fate indulgent to your fame,Been from all ages kept for you to tame.
22 Whom the old Roman wall so ill confined,With a new chain of garrisons you bind;Here foreign gold no more shall make them come;Our English iron holds them fast at home.
23 They, that henceforth must be content to knowNo warmer regions than their hills of snow,May blame the sun, but must extol your grace,Which in our senate hath allowed them place.
24 Preferr'd by conquest, happily o'erthrown,Falling they rise, to be with us made one;So kind Dictators made, when they came home,Their vanquish'd foes free citizens of Rome.
25 Like favour find the Irish, with like fate,Advanced to be a portion of our state;While by your valour and your bounteous mind,Nations, divided by the sea, are join'd.
26 Holland, to gain your friendship, is contentTo be our outguard on the Continent;She from her fellow-provinces would go,Rather than hazard to have you her foe.
27 In our late fight, when cannons did diffuse,Preventing posts, the terror and the news,Our neighbour princes trembled at their roar;But our conjunction makes them tremble more.
28 Your never-failing sword made war to cease;And now you heal us with the acts of peace;Our minds with bounty and with awe engage,Invite affection, and restrain our rage.
29 Less pleasure take brave minds in battles won,Than in restoring such as are undone;Tigers have courage, and the rugged bear,But man alone can, whom he conquers, spare.
30 To pardon willing, and to punish loth,You strike with one hand, but you heal with both;Lifting up all that prostrate lie, you grieveYou cannot make the dead again to live.
31 When fate, or error, had our age misled,And o'er this nation such confusion spread,The only cure, which could from Heaven come down,Was so much power and piety in one!
32 One! whose extraction from an ancient lineGives hope again that well-born men may shine;The meanest in your nature, mild and good,The noblest rest secured in your blood.
33 Oft have we wonder'd how you hid in peaceA mind proportion'd to such things as these;How such a ruling sp'rit you could restrain,And practise first over yourself to reign.
34 Your private life did a just pattern give,How fathers, husbands, pious sons should live;Born to command, your princely virtues slept,Like humble David's, while the flock he kept.
35 But when your troubled country called you forth,Your flaming courage, and your matchless worth,Dazzling the eyes of all that did pretend,To fierce contention gave a prosp'rous end.
36 Still as you rise, the state, exalted too,Finds no distemper while 'tis changed by you;Changed like the world's great scene! when, without noise,The rising sun night's vulgar light destroys.
37 Had you, some ages past, this race of gloryRun, with amazement we should read your story;But living virtue, all achievements past,Meets envy still, to grapple with at last.
38 This Cæsar found; and that ungrateful age,With losing him went back to blood and rage;Mistaken Brutus thought to break their yoke,But cut the bond of union with that stroke.
39 That sun once set, a thousand meaner starsGave a dim light to violence and wars,To such a tempest as now threatens all,Did not your mighty arm prevent the fall.
40 If Rome's great senate could not wield that sword,Which of the conquer'd world had made them lord;What hope had ours, while yet their power was new,To rule victorious armies, but by you?
41 You! that had taught them to subdue their foes,Could order teach, and their high sp'rits compose;To every duty could their minds engage,Provoke their courage, and command their rage.
42 So when a lion shakes his dreadful mane,And angry grows, if he that first took painTo tame his youth approach the haughty beast,He bends to him, but frights away the rest.
43 As the vex'd world, to find repose, at lastItself into Augustus' arms did cast;So England now does, with like toil oppress'd,Her weary head upon your bosom rest.
44 Then let the Muses, with such notes as these,Instruct us what belongs unto our peace;Your battles they hereafter shall indite,And draw the image of our Mars in fight;
45 Tell of towns storm'd, of armies overrun,And mighty kingdoms by your conduct won;How, while you thunder'd, clouds of dust did chokeContending troops, and seas lay hid in smoke.
46 Illustrious acts high raptures do infuse,And every conqueror creates a Muse.Here, in low strains, your milder deeds we sing;But there, my lord! we'll bays and olive bring,
47 To crown your head; while you in triumph rideO'er vanquish'd nations, and the sea beside;While all your neighbour princes unto you,Like Joseph's sheaves,[2] pay reverence, and bow.
[1] Written about 1654. [2] 'Joseph's sheaves': Gen. xxxvii.
So we some antique hero's strengthLearn by his lance's weight and length,As these vast beams express the beastWhose shady brows alive they dress'd.Such game, while yet the world was new,The mighty Nimrod did pursue.What huntsman of our feeble race,Or dogs, dare such a monster chase,Resembling, with each blow he strikes, 9The charge of a whole troop of pikes?O fertile head! which every yearCould such a crop of wonder bear!The teeming earth did never bringSo soon, so hard, so huge a thing;Which might it never have been cast(Each year's growth added to the last),These lofty branches had suppliedThe earth's bold sons' prodigious pride;Heaven with these engines had been scaled,When mountains heap'd on mountains fail'd. 20
Balls of this metal slack'd At'lanta's pace,And on the am'rous youth[1] bestow'd the race;Venus (the nymph's mind measuring by her own),Whom the rich spoils of cities overthrownHad prostrated to Mars, could well adviseTh' advent'rous lover how to gain the prize.Nor less may Jupiter to gold ascribe;For, when he turn'd himself into a bribe,Who can blame Danaë[2], or the brazen tower,That they withstood not that almighty shower 10Never till then did love make Jove put onA form more bright, and nobler than his own;Nor were it just, would he resume that shape,That slack devotion should his thunder 'scape.'Twas not revenge for griev'd Apollo's wrong, 15Those ass's ears on Midas' temples hung,But fond repentance of his happy wish,Because his meat grew metal like his dish.Would Bacchus bless me so, I'd constant holdUnto my wish, and die creating gold.
[1] 'Am'rous youth': Hippomenes.[2] Transcriber's note: The original text has a single dot over thesecond "a" and another over the "e", rather than the moreconventional diaresis shown here.
Hylas, O Hylas! why sit we mute,Now that each bird saluteth the spring?Wind up the slacken'd strings of thy lute,Never canst thou want matter to sing;For love thy breast does fill with such a fire,That whatsoe'er is fair moves thy desire.
Sweetest! you know, the sweetest of thingsOf various flowers the bees do compose;Yet no particular taste it bringsOf violet, woodbine, pink, or rose; 10So love the result is of all the gracesWhich flow from a thousand sev'ral faces.
Hylas! the birds which chant in this grove,Could we but know the language they use,They would instruct us better in love,And reprehend thy inconstant Muse;For love their breasts does fill with such a fire, 17That what they once do choose, bounds their desire.
Chloris! this change the birds do approve,Which the warm season hither does bring; 20Time from yourself does further removeYou, than the winter from the gay spring;She that like lightning shined while her face lasted,The oak now resembles which lightning hath blasted.
Stay here, fond youth! and ask no more; be wise;Knowing too much long since lost Paradise.
And, by your knowledge, we should be bereftOf all that Paradise which yet is left.
The virtuous joys thou hast, thou wouldst should stillLast in their pride; and wouldst not take it illIf rudely from sweet dreams, and for a toy,Thou waked; he wakes himself that does enjoy.
How can the joy, or hope, which you allowBe styled virtuous, and the end not so? 10Talk in your sleep, and shadows still admire!'Tis true, he wakes that feels this real fire;But—to sleep better; for whoe'er drinks deepOf this Nepenthe, rocks himself asleep.
Fruition adds no new wealth, but destroys,And while it pleaseth much, yet still it cloys.Who thinks he should be happier made for that,As reasonably might hope he might grow fatBy eating to a surfeit; this once past,What relishes? even kisses lose their taste. 20
Blessings may be repeated while they cloy;But shall we starve, 'cause surfeitings destroy?And if fruition did the taste impairOf kisses, why should yonder happy pair,Whose joys just Hymen warrants all the night,Consume the day, too, in this less delight?
Urge not 'tis necessary; alas! we knowThe homeliest thing that mankind does is so.The world is of a large extent we see,And must be peopled; children there must be: 30So must bread too; but since there are enowBorn to that drudgery, what need we plough?
I need not plough, since what the stooping hine[1]Gets of my pregnant land must all be mine;But in this nobler tillage 'tis not so;For when Anchises did fair Venus know,What interest had poor Vulcan in the boy,Famous Aeneas, or the present joy?
Women enjoy'd, whate'er before they've been, 39Are like romances read, or scenes once seen;Fruition dulls or spoils the play much moreThan if one read, or knew the plot before.
Plays and romances read and seen, do fallIn our opinions; yet not seen at all,Whom would they please? To an heroic taleWould you not listen, lest it should grow stale?
'Tis expectation makes a blessing dear;Heaven were not heaven, if we knew what it were.
If 'twere not heaven if we knew what it were,'Twould not be heaven to those that now are there. 50
And as in prospects we are there pleased most,Where something keeps the eye from being lost,And leaves us room to guess; so here, restraintHolds up delight, that with excess would faint.
Restraint preserves the pleasure we have got,But he ne'er has it that enjoys it not.In goodly prospects, who contracts the space,Or takes not all the bounty of the place?We wish remov'd what standeth in our light,And nature blame for limiting our sight; 60Where you stand wisely winking, that the viewOf the fair prospect may be always new.
They, who know all the wealth they have, are poor;He's only rich that cannot tell his store.
Not he that knows the wealth he has is poor,But he that dares not touch, nor use, his store.
[1] 'Hine': hind.
1 They that never had the useOf the grape's surprising juice,To the first delicious cupAll their reason render up;Neither do, nor care to know,Whether it be best or no.
2 So they that are to love inclined,Sway'd by chance, not choice or art,To the first that's fair, or kind,Make a present of their heart;'Tis not she that first we love,But whom dying we approve.
3 To man, that was in th'ev'ning made,Stars gave the first delight,Admiring, in the gloomy shade,Those little drops of light;Then at Aurora, whose fair handRemoved them from the skies,He gazing t'ward the east did stand,She entertain'd his eyes.
4 But when the bright sun did appear,All those he 'gan despise;His wonder was determined there,And could no higher rise;He neither might, nor wished to knowA more refulgent light;For that (as mine your beauties now)Employ'd his utmost sight.
Darkness, which fairest nymphs disarms,Defends us ill from Mira's charms;Mira can lay her beauty by,Take no advantage of the eye,Quit all that Lely's art can take,And yet a thousand captives make.Her speech is graced with sweeter soundThan in another's song is found!And all her well-placed words are darts,Which need no light to reach our hearts. 10As the bright stars and Milky Way,Show'd by the night, are hid by day;So we, in that accomplish'd mind,Help'd by the night, new graces find,Which, by the splendour of her view,Dazzled before, we never knew.While we converse with her, we markNo want of day, nor think it dark;Her shining image is a lightFix'd in our hearts, and conquers night. 20Like jewels to advantage set,Her beauty by the shade does get;There blushes, frowns, and cold disdain,All that our passion might restrain,Is hid, and our indulgent mindPresents the fair idea kind.Yet, friended by the night, we dareOnly in whispers tell our care;He that on her his bold hand lays,With Cupid's pointed arrows plays; 30They with a touch (they are so keen!)Wound us unshot, and she unseen.All near approaches threaten death;We may be shipwreck'd by her breath;Love, favour'd once with that sweet gale,Doubles his haste, and fills his sail,Till he arrive where she must proveThe haven, or the rock, of love.So we th'Arabian coast do knowAt distance, when the spices blow; 40By the rich odour taught to steer,Though neither day nor stars appear.
As gather'd flowers, while their wounds are new,Look gay and fresh, as on the stalk they grew;Torn from the root that nourish'd them, awhile(Not taking notice of their fate) they smile,And, in the hand which rudely pluck'd them, showFairer than those that to their autumn grow;So love and beauty still that visage grace;Death cannot fright them from their wonted place.Alive, the hand of crooked Age had marr'd,Those lovely features which cold Death has spared.
No wonder then he sped in love so well,When his high passion he had breath to tell;When that accomplish'd soul, in this fair frame,No business had but to persuade that dame,Whose mutual love advanced the youth so high,That, but to heaven, he could no higher fly.
Twice twenty slender virgin-fingers twineThis curious web, where all their fancies shine.As Nature them, so they this shade have wrought,Soft as their hands, and various as their thought;Not Juno's bird when, his fair train dispread,He woos the female to his painted bed,No, not the bow, which so adorns the skies,So glorious is, or boasts so many dyes.
Now, for some ages, had the pride of SpainMade the sun shine on half the world in vain;While she bid war to all that durst supplyThe place of those her cruelty made die.Of Nature's bounty men forebore to taste,And the best portion of the earth lay waste.From the new world, her silver and her goldCame, like a tempest, to confound the old;Feeding with these the bribed electors' hopes,Alone she gives us emperors and popes; 10With these accomplishing her vast designs,Europe was shaken with her Indian mines.
When Britain, looking with a just disdainUpon this gilded majesty of Spain,And knowing well that empire must decline,Whose chief support and sinews are of coin,Our nation's solid virtue did opposeTo the rich troublers of the world's repose.
And now some months, encamping on the main,Our naval army had besiegèd Spain; 20They that the whole world's monarchy design'd,Are to their ports by our bold fleet confined;From whence our Red Cross they triumphant see,Riding without a rival on the sea.
Others may use the ocean as their road,Only the English make it their abode,Whose ready sails with every wind can fly,And make a cov'nant with th'inconstant sky;Our oaks secure, as if they there took root, 29We tread on billows with a steady foot.
Meanwhile the Spaniards in America,Near to the line the sun approaching saw,And hoped their European coasts to findClear'd from our ships by the autumnal wind;Their huge capacious galleons stuff'd with plate,The lab'ring winds drive slowly t'wards their fate.Before St. Lucar they their guns dischargeTo tell their joy, or to invite a barge;This heard some ships of ours (though out of view),And, swift as eagles, to the quarry flew; 40So heedless lambs, which for their mothers bleat,Wake hungry lions, and become their meat.
Arrived, they soon begin that tragic play,And with their smoky cannons banish day;Night, horror, slaughter, with confusion meets,And in their sable arms embrace the fleets.Through yielding planks the angry bullets fly,And, of one wound, hundreds together die;Born under diff'rent stars, one fate they have,The ship their coffin, and the sea their grave! 50Bold were the men which on the ocean firstSpread their new sails, when shipwreck was the worst;More danger now from man alone we findThan from the rocks, the billows, or the wind.They that had sail'd from near th'Antarctic Pole,Their treasure safe, and all their vessels whole,In sight of their dear country ruin'd be,Without the guilt of either rock or sea!What they would spare, our fiercer art destroys,Surpassing storms in terror and in noise. 60Once Jove from Ida did both hosts survey,And, when he pleased to thunder, part the fray;
Here, heaven in vain that kind retreat should sound,The louder cannon had the thunder drown'd.Some we made prize; while others, burn'd and rent,With their rich lading to the bottom went;Down sinks at once (so Fortune with us sports:)The pay of armies, and the pride of courts.Vain man! whose rage buries as low that store,As avarice had digg'd for it before; 70What earth, in her dark bowels, could not keepFrom greedy hands, lies safer in the deep,Where Thetis kindly does from mortals hideThose seeds of luxury, debate, and pride.
And now, into her lap the richest prizeFell, with the noblest of our enemies;The Marquis[2](glad to see the fire destroyWealth that prevailing foes were to enjoy)Out from his flaming ship his children sent,To perish in a milder element; 80Then laid him by his burning lady's side,And, since he could not save her, with her died.Spices and gums about them melting fry,And, phoenix-like, in that rich nest they die;Alive, in flames of equal love they burn'd,And now together are to ashes turn'd;Ashes! more worth than all their fun'ral cost,Than the huge treasure which was with them lost.These dying lovers, and their floating sons,Suspend the fight, and silence all our guns; 90Beauty and youth about to perish, findsSuch noble pity in brave English minds,That (the rich spoil forgot, their valour's prize,)All labour now to save their enemies.
How frail our passions! how soon changèd are 95Our wrath and fury to a friendly care!They that but now for honour, and for plate,Made the sea blush with blood, resign their hate;And, their young foes endeav'ring to retrieve,With greater hazard than they fought, they dive. 100
With these, returns victorious Montague,With laurels in his hand, and half Peru.Let the brave generals divide that bough,Our great Protector hath such wreaths enow;His conqu'ring head has no more room for bays;Then let it be as the glad nation prays;Let the rich ore forthwith be melted down,And the state fix'd by making him a crown;With ermine clad, and purple, let him holdA royal sceptre, made of Spanish gold. 110
[1] 'Fight at sea': see any good English History, under date 1656. [2] 'Marquis': of Badajos, viceroy of Mexico.
We must resign! Heaven his great soul does claimIn storms, as loud as his immortal fame;His dying groans, his last breath, shakes our isle,And trees uncut fall for his funeral pile;About his palace their broad roots are toss'dInto the air.[1]—So Romulus was lost!New Rome in such a tempest miss'd her king,And from obeying fell to worshipping.On Oeta's top thus Hercules lay dead, 9With ruin'd oaks and pines about him spread;The poplar, too, whose bough he wont to wearOn his victorious head, lay prostrate there;Those his last fury from the mountain rent:Our dying hero from the ContinentRavish'd whole towns: and forts from Spaniards reftAs his last legacy to Britain left.The ocean, which so long our hopes confined,Could give no limits to his vaster mind;Our bounds' enlargement was his latest toil,Nor hath he left us pris'ners to our isle; 20Under the tropic is our language spoke,And part of Flanders hath received our yoke.From civil broils he did us disengage,Found nobler objects for our martial rage;And, with wise conduct, to his country show'dThe ancient way of conquering abroad.Ungrateful then! if we no tears allowTo him, that gave us peace and empire too.Princes, that fear'd him, grieve, concern'd to seeNo pitch of glory from the grave is free. 30Nature herself took notice of his death,And, sighing, swell'd the sea with such a breath,That, to remotest shores her billows roll'd,The approaching fate of their great ruler told.
[1] 'The air': a tremendous tempest blew over England (not on the day), but a day or two before Cromwell's death. It was said that something of the same sort, along with an eclipse of the sun, took place on the removal of Romulus.
Of the first Paradise there's nothing found;Plants set by Heaven are vanish'd, and the ground;Yet the description lasts; who knows the fateOf lines that shall this paradise relate?
Instead of rivers rolling by the sideOf Eden's garden, here flows in the tide;The sea, which always served his empire, nowPays tribute to our Prince's pleasure too.Of famous cities we the founders know;But rivers, old as seas, to which they go, 10Are Nature's bounty; 'tis of more renownTo make a river, than to build a town.
For future shade, young trees upon the banksOf the new stream appear in even ranks;The voice of Orpheus, or Amphion's hand,In better order could not make them stand;May they increase as fast, and spread their boughs,As the high fame of their great owner grows!May he live long enough to see them allDark shadows cast, and as his palace tall! 20Methinks I see the love that shall be made,The lovers walking in that am'rous shade;The gallants dancing by the river side;They bathe in summer, and in winter slide.Methinks I hear the music in the boats,And the loud echo which returns the notes;While overhead a flock of new-sprung fowlHangs in the air, and does the sun control,Dark'ning the sky; they hover o'er, and shroud 29The wanton sailors with a feather'd cloud.Beneath, a shoal of silver fishes glides,And plays about the gilded barges' sides;The ladies, angling in the crystal lake,Feast on the waters with the prey they take;At once victorious with their lines, and eyes,They make the fishes, and the men, their prize.A thousand Cupids on the billows ride,And sea-nymphs enter with the swelling tide,From Thetis sent as spies, to make report,And tell the wonders of her sovereign's court. 40All that can, living, feed the greedy eye,Or dead, the palate, here you may descry;The choicest things that furnish'd Noah's ark,Or Peter's sheet, inhabiting this park;All with a border of rich fruit-trees crown'd,Whose loaded branches hide the lofty mound,Such various ways the spacious alleys lead,My doubtful Muse knows not what path to tread.Yonder, the harvest of cold months laid up,Gives a fresh coolness to the royal cup; 50There ice, like crystal firm, and never lost,Tempers hot July with December's frost;Winter's dark prison, whence he cannot fly,Though the warm spring, his enemy, draws nigh.Strange! that extremes should thus preserve the snow,High on the Alps, or in deep caves below.
Here, a well-polished Mall gives us the joyTo see our Prince his matchless force employ;His manly posture, and his graceful mien,Vigour and youth in all his motions seen; 60His shape so lovely and his limbs so strong,Confirm our hopes we shall obey him long.
No sooner has he touch'd the flying ball, 63But 'tis already more than half the Mall;And such a fury from his arm has got,As from a smoking culv'rin it were shot.[2]
Near this my Muse, what most delights her, seesA living gallery of aged trees;Bold sons of earth, that thrust their arms so high,As if once more they would invade the sky. 70In such green palaces the first kings reign'd,Slept in their shades, and angels entertain'd;With such old counsellors they did advise,And, by frequenting sacred groves, grew wise.Free from th'impediments of light and noise,Man, thus retired, his nobler thoughts employs.Here Charles contrives th'ordering of his states,Here he resolves his neighb'ring princes' fates;What nation shall have peace, where war be made,Determined is in this oraculous shade; 80The world, from India to the frozen north,Concern'd in what this solitude brings forth.His fancy objects from his view receives;The prospect thought and contemplation gives.That seat of empire here salutes his eye,To which three kingdoms do themselves apply;The structure by a prelate[3] raised, Whitehall,Built with the fortune of Rome's capitol;Both, disproportion'd to the present stateOf their proud founders, were approved by Fate. 90From hence he does that antique pile[4] behold,Where royal heads receive the sacred gold;It gives them crowns, and does their ashes keep;There made like gods, like mortals there they sleep;Making the circle of their reign complete,Those suns of empire! where they rise, they set.When others fell, this, standing, did presageThe crown should triumph over popular rage;Hard by that House,[5] where all our ills were shaped,Th' auspicious temple stood, and yet escaped. 100So snow on Aetna does unmelted lie,Whence rolling flames and scatter'd cinders fly;The distant country in the ruin shares;What falls from heaven the burning mountain spares.Next, that capacious Hall[6] he sees, the roomWhere the whole nation does for justice come;Under whose large roof flourishes the gown,And judges grave, on high tribunals, frown.Here, like the people's pastor he does go,His flock subjected to his view below; 110On which reflecting in his mighty mind,No private passion does indulgence find;The pleasures of his youth suspended are,And made a sacrifice to public care.Here, free from court compliances, he walks,And with himself, his best adviser, talks;How peaceful olives may his temples shade,For mending laws, and for restoring trade;Or, how his brows may be with laurel charged,For nations conquer'd and our bounds enlarged. 120Of ancient prudence here he ruminates,Of rising kingdoms, and of falling states;What ruling arts gave great Augustus fame,And how Alcides purchased such a name.
His eyes, upon his native palace[7] bent,Close by, suggest a greater argument.His thoughts rise higher, when he does reflectOn what the world may from that star expectWhich at his birth appear'd,[8] to let us seeDay, for his sake, could with the night agree; 130A prince, on whom such diff'rent lights did smile,Born the divided world to reconcile!Whatever Heaven, or high extracted bloodCould promise, or foretell, he will make good;Reform these nations, and improve them more,Than this fair park, from what it was before.
[1] See 'Macaulay.' [2] Pall Mall derived its name from a particular game at bowls, in which Charles II. excelled. [3] 'Prelate': Cardinal Wolsey. [4] 'Antique pile': Westminster Abbey. [5] 'House': House of Commons. [6] 'Hall': Westminster Hall. [7] 'Palace': St. James's Palace, where Charles II. was born. [8] 'Birth appeared ': it seems a new star appeared in the heavens at the birth of the king.
Heroic nymph! in tempests the support,In peace the glory of the British Court!Into whose arms the church, the state, and allThat precious is, or sacred here, did fall.Ages to come, that shall your bounty hear,Will think you mistress of the Indies were;Though straiter bounds your fortunes did confine,In your large heart was found a wealthy mine;Like the bless'd oil, the widow's lasting feast,Your treasure, as you pour'd it out, increased. 10
While some your beauty, some your bounty sing,Your native isle does with your praises ring;But, above all, a nymph of your own train[2]Gives us your character in such a strain,As none but she, who in that Court did dwell,Could know such worth, or worth describe so well.So while we mortals here at heaven do guess,And more our weakness, than the place, express,Some angel, a domestic there, comes down,And tells the wonders he hath seen and known. 20
[1] 'Prince of Orange': Mary, Princess of Orange, and sister to CharlesII.[2] 'Train': Lady Anne Hyde, daughter of the Earl of Clarendon, andafterwards Duchess of York, and mother of Queen Mary and Queen Anne.
Great Queen! that does our island blessWith princes and with palaces;Treated so ill, chased from your throne,Returning you adorn the Town;And, with a brave revenge, do showTheir glory went and came with you.
While peace from hence and you were gone,Your houses in that storm o'erthrown,Those wounds which civil rage did give,At once you pardon, and relieve. 10
Constant to England in your love,As birds are to their wonted grove,Though by rude hands their nests are spoil'd,There the next spring again they build.
Accusing some malignant star,Not Britain, for that fatal war,Your kindness banishes your fear,Resolved to fix for ever here.[2]But what new mine this work supplies?Can such a pile from ruin rise? 20This, like the first creation, showsAs if at your command it rose.
Frugality and bounty too(Those diff'ring virtues), meet in you;From a confined, well-managed store,You both employ and feed the poor.
Let foreign princes vainly boastThe rude effects of pride, and costOf vaster fabrics, to which theyContribute nothing but the pay; 30This, by the Queen herself design'd,Gives us a pattern of her mind;The state and order does proclaimThe genius of that Royal Dame.Each part with just proportion graced,And all to such advantage placed,That the fair view her window yields,The town, the river, and the fields,Ent'ring, beneath us we descry,And wonder how we came so high. 40
She needs no weary steps ascend;All seems before her feet to bend;And here, as she was born, she lies;High, without taking pains to rise.
[1] 'Somerset House': Henrietta, Queen-mother, who returned to England in 1660, and lived in Somerset House, which she greatly improved. [2] 'Ever here': she left, however, in 1665.
Fair hand! that can on virgin paper write,Yet from the stain of ink preserve it white;Whose travel o'er that silver field does showLike track of leverets in morning snow.Love's image thus in purest minds is wrought,Without a spot or blemish to the thought.Strange, that your fingers should the pencil foil,Without the help of colours or of oil!For though a painter boughs and leaves can make,'Tis you alone can make them bend and shake;Whose breath salutes your new-created grove,Like southern winds, and makes it gently move.Orpheus could make the forest dance; but youCan make the motion and the forest too.
When as of old the earth's bold children strove,With hills on hills, to scale the throne of Jove,Pallas and Mars stood by their sovereign's side,And their bright arms in his defence employ'd;While the wise Phoebus, Hermes, and the rest,Who joy in peace, and love the Muses best,Descending from their so distemper'd seat,Our groves and meadows chose for their retreat.There first Apollo tried the various use 9Of herbs, and learn'd the virtues of their juice,And framed that art, to which who can pretendA juster title than our noble friend,Whom the like tempest drives from his abode,And like employment entertains abroad?This crowns him here, and in the bays so earn'd,His country's honour is no less concern'd,Since it appears not all the English rave,To ruin bent; some study how to save;And as Hippocrates did once extendHis sacred art, whole cities to amend; 20So we, great friend! suppose that thy great skill,Thy gentle mind, and fair example will,At thy return, reclaim our frantic isle,Their spirits calm, and peace again shall smile.
First draw the sea, that portion which betweenThe greater world and this of ours is seen;Here place the British, there the Holland fleet,Vast floating armies! both prepared to meet.Draw the whole world, expecting who should reign,After this combat, o'er the conquer'd main.
Make Heaven concern'd, and an unusual star 7Declare th'importance of th'approaching war.Make the sea shine with gallantry, and allThe English youth flock to their Admiral,The valiant Duke! whose early deeds abroad,Such rage in fight, and art in conduct show'd.His bright sword now a dearer int'rest draws,His brother's glory, and his country's cause.
Let thy bold pencil hope and courage spread,Through the whole navy, by that hero led;Make all appear, where such a Prince is by,Resolved to conquer, or resolved to die.With his extraction, and his glorious mind,Make the proud sails swell more than with the wind; 20Preventing cannon, make his louder fameCheck the Batavians, and their fury tame.So hungry wolves, though greedy of their prey,Stop when they find a lion in their way.Make him bestride the ocean, and mankindAsk his consent to use the sea and wind;While his tall ships in the barr'd channel stand,He grasps the Indies in his armed hand.
Paint an east wind, and make it blow awayTh' excuse of Holland for their navy's stay; 30Make them look pale, and, the bold Prince to shun,Through the cold north and rocky regions run.To find the coast where morning first appears,By the dark pole the wary Belgian steers;Confessing now he dreads the English moreThan all the dangers of a frozen shore;While from our arms security to find,They fly so far, they leave the day behind.Describe their fleet abandoning the sea,And all their merchants left a wealthy prey; 40
Our first success in war make Bacchus crown,And half the vintage of the year our own.The Dutch their wine, and all their brandy lose,Disarm'd of that from which their courage grows;While the glad English, to relieve their toil,In healths to their great leader drink the spoil.
His high command to Afric's coast extend,And make the Moors before the English bend;Those barb'rous pirates willingly receiveConditions, such as we are pleased to give. 50Deserted by the Dutch, let nations knowWe can our own and their great business do;False friends chastise, and common foes restrain,Which, worse than tempests, did infest the main.Within those Straits, make Holland's Smyrna fleetWith a small squadron of the English meet;Like falcons these, those like a numerous flockOf fowl, which scatter to avoid the shock.There paint confusion in a various shape;Some sink, some yield; and, flying, some escape. 60Europe and Africa, from either shore,Spectators are, and hear our cannon roar;While the divided world in this agree,Men that fight so, deserve to rule the sea.
But, nearer home, thy pencil use once more,And place our navy by the Holland shore;The world they compass'd, while they fought with Spain,But here already they resign the main;Those greedy mariners, out of whose wayDiffusive Nature could no region lay, 70At home, preserved from rocks and tempests, lie,Compell'd, like others, in their beds to die.Their single towns th'Iberian armies press'd;We all their provinces at once invest;And, in a month, ruin their traffic moreThan that long war could in an age before.
But who can always on the billows lie?The wat'ry wilderness yields no supply.Spreading our sails, to Harwich we resort,And meet the beauties of the British Court. 80Th' illustrious Duchess, and her glorious train(Like Thetis with her nymphs), adorn the main.The gazing sea-gods, since the Paphian QueenSprung from among them, no such sight had seen.Charm'd with the graces of a troop so fair,Those deathless powers for us themselves declare,Resolved the aid of Neptune's court to bring,And help the nation where such beauties spring;The soldier here his wasted store supplies,And takes new valour from the ladies' eyes. 90
Meanwhile, like bees, when stormy winter's gone,The Dutch (as if the sea were all their own)Desert their ports, and, falling in their way,Our Hamburg merchants are become their prey.Thus flourish they, before th'approaching fight;As dying tapers give a blazing light.
To check their pride, our fleet half-victuall'd goes,Enough to serve us till we reach our foes;Who now appear so numerous and bold,The action worthy of our arms we hold. 100A greater force than that which here we find,Ne'er press'd the ocean, nor employ'd the wind.Restrain'd a while by the unwelcome night,Th' impatient English scarce attend the light.But now the morning (heaven severely clear!)To the fierce work indulgent does appear;And Phoebus lifts above the waves his light,That he might see, and thus record, the fight.
As when loud winds from diff'rent quarters rush, 109Vast clouds encount'ring one another crush;With swelling sails so, from their sev'ral coasts,Join the Batavian and the British hosts.For a less prize, with less concern and rage,The Roman fleets at Actium did engage;They, for the empire of the world they knew,These, for the Old contend, and for the New.At the first shock, with blood and powder stain'd,Nor heaven, nor sea, their former face retain'd;Fury and art produce effects so strange,They trouble Nature, and her visage change. 120Where burning ships the banish'd sun supply,And no light shines, but that by which men die,There York appears! so prodigal is heOf royal blood, as ancient as the sea,Which down to him, so many ages told,Has through the veins of mighty monarchs roll'd!The great Achilles march'd not to the fieldTill Vulcan that impenetrable shield,And arms, had wrought; yet there no bullets flew,But shafts and darts which the weak Phrygians threw, 130Our bolder hero on the deck does standExposed, the bulwark of his native land;Defensive arms laid by as useless here,Where massy balls the neighb'ring rocks do tear.Some power unseen those princes does protect,Who for their country thus themselves neglect.
Against him first Opdam his squadron leads,Proud of his late success against the Swedes;Made by that action, and his high command,Worthy to perish by a prince's hand. 140The tall Batavian in a vast ship rides,Bearing an army in her hollow sides;
Yet, not inclined the English ship to board,More on his guns relies than on his sword;From whence a fatal volley we received;It miss'd the Duke, but his great heart it grieved;Three worthy persons from his side it tore,And dyed his garment with their scatter'd gore.Happy! to whom this glorious death arrives,More to be valued than a thousand lives! 150On such a theatre as this to die,For such a cause, and such a witness by!Who would not thus a sacrifice be made,To have his blood on such an altar laid?The rest about him struck with horror stood,To see their leader cover'd o'er with blood.So trembled Jacob, when he thought the stainsOf his son's coat had issued from his veins.He feels no wound but in his troubled thought;Before, for honour, now, revenge he fought; 160His friends in pieces torn (the bitter newsNot brought by Fame), with his own eyes he views.His mind at once reflecting on their youth,Their worth, their love, their valour, and their truth,The joys of court, their mothers, and their wives,To follow him abandon'd—and their lives!He storms and shoots, but flying bullets now,To execute his rage, appear too slow;They miss, or sweep but common souls away;For such a loss Opdam his life must pay. 170Encouraging his men, he gives the word,With fierce intent that hated ship to board,And make the guilty Dutch, with his own arm,Wait on his friends, while yet their blood is warm.His winged vessel like an eagle shows,When through the clouds to truss a swan she goes;
The Belgian ship unmoved, like some huge rock 177Inhabiting the sea, expects the shock.From both the fleets men's eyes are bent this way,Neglecting all the business of the day;Bullets their flight, and guns their noise suspend;The silent ocean does th'event attend,Which leader shall the doubtful victory bless,And give an earnest of the war's success;When Heaven itself, for England to declare,Turns ship, and men, and tackle, into air.
Their new commander from his charge is toss'd,Which that young prince[2] had so unjustly lost,Whose great progenitors, with better fate,And better conduct, sway'd their infant state. 190His flight t'wards heaven th'aspiring Belgian took,But fell, like Phaëton, with thunder strook;From vaster hopes than his he seemed to fall,That durst attempt the British Admiral;From her broad sides a ruder flame is thrownThan from the fiery chariot of the sun;That bears the radiant ensign of the day,And she the flag that governs in the sea.
The Duke (ill pleased that fire should thus preventThe work which for his brighter sword he meant), 200Anger still burning in his valiant breast,Goes to complete revenge upon the rest.So on the guardless herd, their keeper slain,Rushes a tiger in the Libyan plain.The Dutch, accustom'd to the raging sea,And in black storms the frowns of heaven to see,Never met tempest which more urged' their fears.Than that which in the Prince's look appears.
Fierce, goodly, young! Mars he resembles, when 209Jove sends him down to scourge perfidious men;Such as with foul ingratitude have paidBoth those that led, and those that gave them aid.Where he gives on, disposing of their fates,Terror and death on his loud cannon waits,With which he pleads his brother's cause so well,He shakes the throne to which he does appeal.The sea with spoils his angry bullets strow,Widows and orphans making as they go;Before his ship fragments of vessels torn,Flags, arms, and Belgian carcasses are borne; 220And his despairing foes, to flight inclined,Spread all their canvas to invite the wind.So the rude Boreas, where he lists to blow,Makes clouds above, and billows fly below,Beating the shore; and, with a boist'rous rage,Does heaven at once, and earth, and sea engage.
The Dutch, elsewhere, did through the wat'ry fieldPerform enough to have made others yield;But English courage, growing as they fight,In danger, noise, and slaughter, takes delight; 230Their bloody task, unwearied still, they ply,Only restrain'd by death, or victory.Iron and lead, from earth's dark entrails torn,Like showers of hail from either side are borne;So high the rage of wretched mortals goes,Hurling their mother's bowels at their foes!Ingenious to their ruin, every ageImproves the arts and instruments of rage.Death-hast'ning ills Nature enough has sent,And yet men still a thousand more invent! 240
But Bacchus now, which led the Belgians on,So fierce at first, to favour us begun;Brandy and wine (their wonted friends) at lengthRender them useless, and betray their strength.So corn in fields, and in the garden flowers,Revive and raise themselves with mod'rate showers;But overcharged with never-ceasing rain,Become too moist, and bend their heads again.Their reeling ships on one another fall,Without a foe, enough to ruin all. 250Of this disorder, and the favouring wind,The watchful English such advantage find,Ships fraught with fire among the heap they throw,And up the so-entangled Belgians blow.The flame invades the powder-rooms, and then,Their guns shoot bullets, and their vessels men.The scorch'd Batavians on the billows float,Sent from their own, to pass in Charon's boat.
And now, our royal Admiral success(With all the marks of victory) does bless; 260The burning ships, the taken, and the slain,Proclaim his triumph o'er the conquer'd main.Nearer to Holland, as their hasty flightCarries the noise and tumult of the fight,His cannons' roar, forerunner of his fame,Makes their Hague tremble, and their Amsterdam;The British thunder does their houses rock,And the Duke seems at every door to knock.His dreadful streamer (like a comet's hair,Threatening destruction) hastens their despair; 270Makes them deplore their scatter'd fleet as lost,And fear our present landing on their coast.The trembling Dutch th'approaching Prince behold,As sheep a lion leaping tow'rds their fold;Those piles, which serve them to repel the main,They think too weak his fury to restrain.
'What wonders may not English valour work, 277Led by th'example of victorious York?Or what defence against him can they make,Who, at such distance, does their country shake?His fatal hand their bulwarks will o'erthrow,And let in both the ocean, and the foe;'Thus cry the people;—and, their land to keep,Allow our title to command the deep;Blaming their States' ill conduct, to provokeThose arms, which freed them from the Spanish yoke.
Painter! excuse me, if I have a whileForgot thy art, and used another style;For, though you draw arm'd heroes as they sit,The task in battle does the Muses fit; 290They, in the dark confusion of a fight,Discover all, instruct us how to write;And light and honour to brave actions yield,Hid in the smoke and tumult of the field,Ages to come shall know that leader's toil,And his great name, on whom the Muses smile;Their dictates here let thy famed pencil trace,And this relation with thy colours grace.
Then draw the Parliament, the nobles met,And our great Monarch high above them set; 300Like young Augustus let his image be,Triumphing for that victory at sea,Where Egypt's Queen,[3] and Eastern kings o'erthrown,Made the possession of the world his own.Last draw the Commons at his royal feet,Pouring out treasure to supply his fleet;They vow with lives and fortunes to maintainTheir King's eternal title to the main;And with a present to the Duke, approve 309His valour, conduct, and his country's love.
[1] See History of England. [2] 'Young prince': Prince of Orange. [3] 'Egypt's Queen': Cleopatra.