« ПредишнаНапред »
Noble and great endeavours did he bring
To save his country, and restore his king;
And, whilst the manly half of him (which those
Who know not love, to be the whole suppose)
Perform'd all parts of Virtue's vigorous life;
The beauteous half, his lovely wife,'
Did all his labours and his cares divide;
Nor was a lame nor paralytic side:
In all the turns of human state,
And all th' unjust attacks of Fate,
She bore her share and portion still,
And would not suffer any to be ill.
Unfortunate for ever let me be,
If I believe that such was he
Whom in the storms of bad success, And all that errour calls unhappiness,
His virtue and his virtuous wife did still accompany;
With these companions 'twas not strange
That nothing could his temper change.
His own and country's union had not weight
Enough to crush his mighty mind:
He saw around the hurricanes of state,
Fixt as an island 'gainst the waves and wind.
Thus far the greedy sea may reach;
All outward things are but the beach;
A great man's soul it doth assault in vain!
Their God himself the ocean doth restrain
With an imperceptible chain,
And bid it to go back again.
His wisdom, justice, and his piety,
His courage both to suffer and to die,
His virtues, and his lady too,
Were things celestial. And we see,
In spite of quarrelling Philosophy,
How in this case 'tis certain found,
That Heaven stands still, and only Earth goes round.
And dance, like fairics, a fantastic round,
But neither change their motion nor their ground:
Had Harvey to this road confin'd his wit,
His noble circle of the blood had been untrodden
UPON DR. HARVEY.
Coy Nature (which remain'd, though aged grown,
A beauteous virgin still, enjoy'd by none,
Nor seen unveil'd by any one)
When Harvey's violent passion she did see,
Began to tremble and to flee;
Took sanctuary, like Daphne, in a tree :
There Daphne's lover stopp'd, and thought it much New dieted, put forth to clearer air;
Great Doctor! th' art of curing's cur'd by thee; ·
We now thy patient, Physic, see
From all inveterate diseases free,
Furg'd of old errours by thy care,
The very leaves of her to touch: But Harvey, our Apollo, stopp'd not so;
Into the bark and root he after her did go ?
It now will strong and healthful prove;
Itself before lethargic lay, and could not move!
These useful secrets to his pen we owe !
And thousands more 'twas ready to bestow;
No smallest fibres of a plant.
For which the eye-beams' point doth sharpness Of which a barbarous war's unlearned rage
Has rolb'd the ruin'd age:
My dearest Acme, if I be
Once alive, and love not thee
With a passion far above
All that e'er was called love;
In a Libyan desert may
I become some lion's prey;
Let him, Acme, let him tear
My breast, when Acne is not there."
The god of love, who stood to hear him
(The god of love was always near him)
Pleas'd and tickled with the sound,
Sneez'd aloud; and all around
The little Loves, that waited by,
Bow'd, and blest the augury.
Acme, enflam'd with what he said,
Rear'd her gently-bending head;
And, her purple mouth with joy
Stretching to the delicious boy,
Twice (and twice could scarce suffice)
She kist his drunken rolling eyes.
So may thy passion last for me,
As I a passion have for thee,
Greater and fiercer much than can
Be conceiv'd by thee a man!
Into my marrow is it gone,
Fixt and settled in the bone;
It reigns not only in my heart,
But runs, like life, through every part."
She spoke; the god of love aloud
Sneez'd again; and all the crowd
Of little Loves, that waited by,
Bow'd, and blest the augury.
This good omen thus from Heaven
Like a happy signal given,
Their loves and lives (all four) embrace,
Aud hand in hand run all the race.
To poor Septimius (who did now
Nothing else but Acme grow)
Acme's bosom was alone
The whole world's imperial throne;
And to faithful Acme's mind
Septimius was all human-kind.
If the gods would please to be
But advis'd for once by me,
I'd advise them, when they spy
Any illustrious piety,
To reward her, if it be she-
To reward him, if it be he-
With such a husband, such a wife;
With Acme's and Septimius' life.
UPON HIS MAJESTY'S RESTORATION AND RETURN.
-Quod optanti divûm promittere nemo
Auderet, volvenda dies, en, attulit ultro.
Now blessings on you all, ye peaceful stars,
Which meet at last so kindly, and dispense
Your universal gentle influence
To calm the stormy world, and still the rage of wars!
Nor, whilst around the continent
Plenipotentiary beams ye sent,
Did your pacific lights disdain
In their large treaty to contain
The world apart, o'er which do reign
Your seven fair brethren of great Charles his wain; No star amongst ye all did, I believe,
Such vigorous assistance give, As that which, thirty years ago, At Charles's birth 3, did, in despite Of the proud Sun's meridian light, His future glories and this year foreshow. No less effects than these we may Be assur'd of from that powerful ray, Which could out-face the Sun, and overcome the day,
Auspicious star! again arise,
And take thy noon-tide station in the skies,
Again all heaven prodigiously adorn;
For lo! thy Charles again is born.
He then was born with and to pain;
With and to joy he's born again.
And, wisely for this second birth,
By which thou certain were to bless
The land with full and flourishing happiness,
Thou mad'st of that fair month thy choice, In which heaven, air, and sea, and earth, And all that's in them, all, does smile and does rejoice.
'Twas a right season; and the very ground Ought with a face of Paradise to be found,
Then, when we were to entertain
Felicity and Innocence again..
Shall we again (good Heaven!) that blessed pair be
Which the abused people fondly sold
For the bright fruit of the forbidden tree,
By seeking all like gods to be? Will Peace her halcyon nest venture to build Upon a shore with shipwrecks fill'd, And trust that sea, where she can hardly say She has known these twenty years one calmy day?
3 The star that appeared at noon, the day of the king's birth, just as the king his father was riding to St. Paul's to give thanks to God for that blessing.
Ah! mild and gall-less dove,
Which dost the pure and candid dwellings love,
Canst thou in Albion still delight?
Still canst thou think it white?
Will ever fair Religion appear
In these deform'd ruins? will she clear
Th' Augean stables of her churches here?
Will Justice hazard to be seen
Where a high court of justice e'er has been?
Will not the tragic scene,
And Bradshaw's bloody ghost, affright her there,
Her, who shall never fear?
Then may Whitehall for Charles's seat be fit,
If Justice shall endure at Westminster to sit.
Of all, methinks, we least should see
The chearful looks again of Liberty.
That name of Cromwell, which does freshly still
The curses of so many sufferers fill,
Is still enough to make her stay,
And jealous for a while remain,
Lest, as a tempest carried him away,
Some hurricane should bring him back again.
Or, she might justlier be afraid
Lest that great serpent, which was all a tail,
(And in his poisonous folds whole nations pri-
Should a third time perhaps prevail To join again, and with worse sting arise, As it had done when cut in pieces twice. Return, return, ye sacred Four! And dread your perish'd enemies no more. Your fears are causeless all, and vain, Whilst you return in Charles's train; For God does him, that he might you, restore, Nor shall the world him only call Defender of the Faith, but of you all.
Along with you plenty and riches go,
With a full tide to every port they flow,
With a warm fruitful wind o'er all the country
Honour does, as ye march, her trumpet sound,
The Arts encompass you around,
And, against all alarms of 'Fear,
Safety itself brings up the rear. And, in the head of this angelic band, Lo! how the goodly prince at last does stand (O righteous God!) on his own happy land: 'Tis happy now, which could with so much ease Recover from so desperate a disease; A various complicated ill,
Whose every symptom was enough to kill;
In which one part of three frenzy possest,
And lethargy the rest:
'Tis happy, which no bleeding does endure,
A surfeit of such blood to cure:
"Tis happy, which beholds the flame
In which by hostile hands it ought to burn,
Or that which, if from Heaven it caine,
It did but well deserve, all into bonfire turn.
We fear'd (and almost touch'd the black degree
Of instant expectation)
That the three dreadful angels we, Of famine, sword, and plague, should here establish'd see,
(God's great triumvirate of desolation!)
To scourge and to destroy the sinful nation.
Justly might Heaven Protectors such as those,
And such committees, for their safety, impose
Upon a land which scarcely better chose.
We fear'd, that the fanatic war, Which men against God's houses did declare, Would from the Almighty enemy bring down A sure destruction on our own. We read th' instructive histories which tell Of all those endless mischiefs that befel The sacred town which God had lov'd so well, After that fatal curse had once been said, "His blood be upon ours and on our children's head."
We know, though there a greater blood was spilt, 'Twas scarcely done with greater guilt. We know those miseries did befal Whilst they rebell'd against that prince, whom all The rest of mankind did the love and joy of mankind call.
Already was the shaken nation
Into a wild and deform'd chaos brought,
And it was hasting ou (we thought)
Even to the last of ills-annihilation:
When, in the midst of this confused night,
Lo! the blest Spirit mov'd, "and there was light;"
For, in the glorious general's previous ray,
We saw a new created day:
We by it saw, though yet in mists it shone,
The beauteous work of Order moving on.
Where are the men who bragg'd that God did bless,
And with the marks of good success
Sign his allowance of their wickedness?
Vain men! who thought the Divine Power to find
In the fierce thunder and the violent wind:
God came not till the storm was past;
In the still voice of Peace he came at last!
The cruel business of destruction
May by the claws of the great fiend be done;
Here, here we see th' Almighty's hand indeed,
Both by the beauty of the work we see't, and by
He who had seen the noble British heir,
Even in that ill disadvantageons light
With which misfortune strives t'abuse our sight-
He who had seen him in his cloud so bright-
He who had seen the double pair
Of brothers, heavenly good! and sisters, heavenly fair!
Might have perceiv'd, methinks, with ease, (But wicked men see only what they please) That God had no intent t' extinguish quite The pious king's eclipsed right. He who had seen how by the Power Divine All the young branches of this royal line Did in their fire, without consuming, shineHow through a rough Red-sea they had beented, By wonders guarded, and by wonders fedHow many years of trouble and distress They 'ad wander'd in their fatal wilderness, And yet did never murmur or repine;
Might, methinks, plainly understand, That, after all these conquer'd trials past, Th' Almighty mercy would at last Conduct them, with a stong unerring hand, To their own promis'd land: For all the glories of the Earth
Ought to b' entail'd by right of birth; And all Heaven's blessings to come down Upon his race, to whom alone was given The double royalty of Earth and Heaven; Who crown'd the kingly with the martyr's
The martyrs' blood was said, of old, to be
The seed from whence the church did
The royal blood which dying Charles did sow
Becomes no less the seed of royalty:
"Twas in dishonour sown;
We find it now in glory grown, The grave could but the dross of it devour; ""Twas sown in weakness, and 'tis rais'd in power."
We now the question well decided see,
Which eastern wits did once contest,
At the great monarch's feast,
"Of all on earth what things the strongest be?" And some for women, some for wine, did plead; That is, for folly and for rage,
Two things which we have known indeed
Strong in this latter age;
But, as 'tis prov'd by Heaven, at length,
The king and Truth have greatest strength,
When they their sacred force unite,
And twine into one right:
No frantic commonwealths or tyrannies;
No cheats, and perjuries, and lies;
No nets of human policies;
Besides, ev'n in this world below,
To those who never did ill-fortune know, The good does nauseous or insipid grow. Consider man's whole life, and you'll confess The sharp ingredient of some bad success
Is that which gives the taste to all his happiness. But the true method of felicity
Of human life is plac'd the first,
And when the child's correction proves to be
The cause of perfecting the man:
Let our weak days lead up the van;
Let the brave second and Triarian baud
Firm against all impression stand:
The first we inay defeated see;
The virtue of the force of these are sure of victory.
Such are the years, great Charles! which now we
Begin their glorious march with thee: Long may their march to Heaven, and still triumphant be!
Now thou art gotten once before,
Ill-fortune never shall o'er-take thee more.
Cast a disdainful look behind;
No stores of arms or gold (though you could join To see 't again, and pleasure in it find,
Those of Peru to the great London mine);
No towns; no fleets by sea, or troops by land;
No deeply-entrench'd islands, can withstand,
So fatal to our monarchy became ;
Things which offend when present, and affright,
In memory well-painted move delight.
Enjoy then all thy afflictions now—
Thy royal father's came at last;
Thy martyrdom's already past:
And different crowns to both ye owe.
No gold did e'er the kingly temples bind,
Than thine more try'd and more refin'd,
As a choice medal for Heaven's treasury,
The image of his suffering humanity:
God did stamp first upon one side of thee
On th' other side, turn'd now to sight, does shine
The glorious image of his power divine!
So, when the wisest poets seek
In all their liveliest colours to set forth
A picture of heroic worth,
Which o'er our heads in such proud horrour stood, (The pious Trojan or the prudent Greek)
Insatiate with our ruin and our blood?
The fiery tail did to vast length extend;
And twice for want of fuel did expire,
And twice renew'd the dismal fire':
'Though long the tail, we saw at last its end.
The flames of one triumphant day.
Which, like an anti-comet here,
Did fatally to that appear,
For ever frighted it away:
Then did th' allotted hour of dawning right
First strike our ravish'd sight;
Which Malice or which Art no more could stay,
Than witches' charms can a retardment bring
To the resuscitation of the Day,
Or resurrection of the Spring..
We welcome both, and with improv'd delight
Bless the preceding Winter, and the Night!
Man ought his future happiness to fear,
If he be always happy here-
He wants the bleeding marks of grace,
The circumcision of the chosen race.
If no one part of him supplies
The duty of a sacrifice,
He is, we doubt, reserv'd entire
As a whole victim for the fire,
They chuse some comely prince of heavenly
(No proud gigantic son of Earth, Who strives t' usurp the gods' forbidden scat) They feed him not with nectar, and the meat That cannot without joy be ate;
But, in the cold of want, and storms of adverse chance,
They harden his young virtue by degrees:
The beauteous drop first into ice does freeze,
And into solid crystal next advance.
His murder'd friends and kindred he does see
And from his flaming country flee:
Much is he tost at sea, and much at land;
Does long the force of angry gods withstand:
He does long troubles and long wars sustain,
Ere he his fatal birth-right gain.
With no less time or labour can
Destiny build up such a man,
Who's with sufficient virtue fill'd
His ruin'd country to rebuild.
Nor without cause are arms from Heaven,
To such a hero by the poets given
No human metal is of force t' oppose
So many and so violent blows.
Such was the helmet, breast-plate, shield | The starry worlds, which shine to us, afar,
Which Charles in all attacks did wield:
And all the weapons Malice e'er could try,
Of all the several makes of wicked Policy,
Against this armour struck, but at the stroke,
Like swords of ice, in thousand pieces broke.
To angels and their brethren spirits above,
No show on Earth can sure so pleasant prove,
As when they great misfortunes see
With courage borne, and decency.
So were they borne when Worcester's dismal day
Did all the terrours of black Fate display!
So were they borne when no disguises' cloud
His inward royalty could shrowd;
And one of th' angels whom just God did send
To guard him in his noble flight
(A troop of angels did him then attend!)
Assur'd me, in a vision th' other night,
That he (and who could better judge than he?)
Did then more greatness in him see,
More lustre and more majesty,
Than all his coronation-pomp can show to human
Him and his royal brothers when I saw
New marks of honour and of glory
From their affronts and sufferings draw,
And look like heavenly saints e'en in their
Methought I saw the three Judean youths
(Three unhurt martyrs for the noblest truths!)
In the Chaldean furnace walk;
How cheerfully and unconcern'd they talk!
No hair is sing'd, no smallest beauty blasted!
Like painted lamps they shine unwasted!
The greedy fire itself dares not be fed
With the blest oil of an anointed head.
The honourable flame
(Which rather light we ought to name)
Does like a glory compass them around,
And their whole body's crown'd.
What are those two bright creatures which we see
Walk with the royal three
Where's now the royal mother, where,
To take her mighty share
In this so ravishing sight,
And, with the part she takes, to add to the delight?
Ah! why art thou not here,
Thou always best, and now the happiest queen!
To see our joy, and with new joy be seen;
God has a bright example made of thee,
To show that woman-kind may be
Above that sex which her superior seems,
In wisely managing the wide extremes
Of great affliction, great Felicity.
How well those different virtues thee become,
Daughter of triumphs, wife of martyrdom !
pur-Thy princely mind with so much courage bore
Affliction, that it dares return no more;
With so much goodness us'd felicity,
That it cannot refrain from coming back to thee;
'Tis come, and seen to-day in all its bravery!
Who's that heroic person leads it on,
And gives it, like a glorious oride,
(Richly adorn'd with nuptial pride)
Into the hands now of thy son?
'Tis the good general, the man of praise.
Whom God at last, in gracious pity,
Did to th' enthralled nation raise,
Their great Zerubbabel to be;
To loose the bonds of long captivity,
And to rebuild their temple and their city!
For ever blest may he and his remain,
Who, with a vast, though less appearing, gain,
Preferr'd the solid great above the vain,
And to the world this princely truth has shown→→→→
That more 'tis to restore, than to usurp a crown!
Thou worthiest person of the British story!
(Though 'tis not small the British glory) Did I not know my humble verse must be But ill-proportion'd to the height of thee,
Thou and the world should see
How much my Muse, the fee of flattery,
Does make true praise her labour and design;
An Iliad or an Eneid should be thine.
And ill should we deserve this happy day,
If no acknowledgments we pay
To you, great patriots of the two
Most truly other houses now,
Who have redeem'd from hatred and from shame
A parliament's once venerable name;
And now the title of a house restore,
To that which was but slaughter house before,
If my advice, ye worthies! might be ta'en,
Within those reverend places,
Which now your living presence graces,
Your marble statues always should remain,
To keep alive your useful memory,
And to your successors th' example be
Of truth, religion, reason, loyalty:
In the same ordeal fire,
And mutual joys inspire?
Sure they the beauteous sisters are,
Who, whilst they seek to bear their share,
Will suffer no affliction to be there.
Less favour to those three of old was shown:
To solace with their company
The fiery trials of adversity!
Two angels join with these, the other had but
Come forth, come forth, ye men of God belov'd!
And let the power now of that flame,
Which against you so impotent became,
On all your enemies be prov'd.
Come, mighty Charles! desire of nations! come;
Come, you triumph exile, home.
He's come, he's safe at shore; I hear the noise
Of a whole land which does at once rejoice,
I hear th' united people's sacred voice.
The sea which circles us around,
Ne'er sent to land so loud a sound;
The mighty shout sends to the sea a gale,
And swells up every sail :
The bells and guns are scarcely heard at all;
The artificial joy's drown'd by the natural.
All England but one bonfire scems to be,
One Etna shooting flames into the sea:
Take ours at this time for a star.
With wine all rooms, with wine the conduits, flow;
And we, the priests of a poetic rage,
Wonder that in this golden age
The rivers too should not do so.
There is no Stoic, sure, who would not now
Ev'n some excess allow ;
And grant that one wild fit of cheerful folly
Should end our twenty years of dismal melan-