Triumph, triumph,
victorious
soul !
Marvell - Poems
Which burns the fields and mower both.
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92 TUB POKMS
Which made the dog, aiid makes the san
Hotter than his own Phaeton ;
Not July causeth tliesc extremes,
But Juliana's scorching beams.
Tell me where I may pass the fires
Of the hot day, or hot desires ;
To what cool cave shall I descend.
Or to what gelid fountain bend ?
Alas ! I look for ease in vain,
\Vhen remedies themselves complain,
No moisture but my tears do rest,
Nor cold but in her icy breast.
How long wilt thou, fair shepherdess,
Esteem me and my presents less ?
To thee the harmless snake I bring.
Disarmed of its teeth and sting ;
To thee chameleons, changing hue,
And oak leaves tipt with honey dew ;
Yet thou ungrateful hast not sought
Nor what they are, nor who them brought.
I am the mower Damon, known
Through all the meadows I have mown.
On me the morn her dew distils
Before her darling daffodils.
And, if at noon my toil me heat,
The sun himself licks off my sweat ;
While going home the evening sweet
In cowslip-water batlis my feet.
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OF MARVELL. 93
What though the piping shepherd stock
The plains with an unnumbered flock.
This scythe of mine discovers wide
More ground than all his sheep do hide.
With this the golden fleece I shear
Of all these closes every year,
And though in wool more poor than they,
Yet I am richer far in hay.
Nor am I so deformed to sight.
If in my scythe I looked right ;
In which I see my picture done.
As in a crescent moon the sun.
The deathless fairies take me ofl
To lead them in their dances soft,
And when I tune myself to sing.
About me they contract their ring.
How happy might I still have mowed.
Had not Love here his thistle sowed I
But now I all the day complain.
Joining my labour to my pain,
And with my scythe cut down the grass.
Yet still my grief is where it was ;
But when the iron blunter grows,
Sighing I whet my scythe and woes.
While thus he drew his elbow round,
Depopulating all the ground,
And, with his whistling scythe, does cut
Each stroke between the earth and root,
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94 THE POEMS
The edged steel, by careless chance,
Did into his own ankle glance,
And there among the grass fell down.
By his own scythe the mower mown.
Alas ! said he, these hurts are slight
To those that die by love's despite.
With shepherd's-purse, and clown's all-heal,
The blood I stanch and wound I seal.
Only for him no cure is found,
Whom Juliana's eyes do wound ;
'Tis death alone that this must do ;
For, Death, thou art a Mower too.
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OF BIARVELL. 95
THE MOWER TO THE GLOW WORMS.
Ye living lamps, by whose dear light
The nightingale does sit so late.
And studying all the summer night,
Her matchless songs does meditate ;
ir.
Ye country comets, that portend
No war nor prince's funeral,
Shining unto no other end
Than to presage the grass's fall ;
III.
Ye Glow-worms, whose officious flame
To wandering mowers shows the way,
That in the night have lost their aim,
And afler foolish fires do stray ;
IV.
Your courteous lights in vain you waste,
Since Juliana here is come.
For she my mind hath so displaced.
That I shall never find my home.
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96 THE POEMS
THE MOWER'S SONG.
Mt mind was once the true survey
Of all these meadows fresh and gay,
And in the greenness of the grass
Did see its hopes as in a glass,
When Juliana came, and she,
What I do to the grass, does to my thoughts
and me.
II.
But these, while I with sorrow pine,
Gi-ew more luxuriant still and fine,
That not one blade of grass you spied,
But had a flower on either side, —
When Juliana came, and she,
What I do to the grass, does to my tlioughts
and me.
III.
Unthankful meadows, could you so
A fellowship so true forego,
And in your gaudy May-games meet.
While I lay trodden under feet,
Digitized by
OF MARVELL. 97
When Juliana came, and she,
What I do to the grass, does to mj thoughts
and me ?
rv.
But what you in compassion ought.
Shall now by my revenge be wrought,
And flowers, and grass, and I, and all,
Will in one common ruin fell ;
For Juliana comes, and she.
What I do to the grass, does to my thoughts
and me.
V.
And thus, ye meadows, which have been
Companions of my thoughts more green,
Shall now the heraldry become
With which I shall adorn my tomb ;
For Juliana comes, and she,
What I do to the grass, does to my thoughts
and me.
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98 THE POEMS
AMETAS AND THESTYLIS MAKING HAY-
ROPES.
AMETAS.
Think'st thou that this love can stand,
Whilst thou still dost say me nay ?
Love unpaid does soon disband :
Love binds love, as hay binds hay.
THESTYLIS.
Think'st thou that this rope would twine.
If we both should turn one way ?
Where both parties so combine,
Neither love will twist, nor hay.
AMETAS.
Thus you vain excuses find.
Which yourself and us delay :
And love ties a woman's mind.
Looser than with ropes of hay.
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OF MARVELL. 99
THESTTLIS.
What 70U cannot constant hope
Must be taken as you may.
AMETAS.
Then let's both lay by our rope,
And go kiss within the hay.
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100 THE POEMS
MUSICS EMPIRE.
First was the world as one great cymbal made^
Where jarring winds to infant nature played ;
AH music was a solitary sound,
To hollow rocks and murmuring fountains bound.
Jubal first made the wilder notes agree,
And Jubal tuned Music's Jubilee ;
He called the echoes from their sullen cell.
And built the organ's city, where they dwell ;
Each sought a consort in that lovely place,
And virgin trebles wed the manly base,
From whence the progeny of numbers new
Into harmonious colonies withdrew ;
Some to the lute, some to the viol went,
And others chose the comet eloquent ;
These practising the wind, and those the win*.
To sing man's triumphs, or in heaven's choir.
Then music, the mosaic of the air.
Did of all these a solemn noise prepare,
With which she gained the empire of the ear,
Including all between the earth and sphcri? .
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OP MARVELL. 101
Victorious sounds ! yet here your homage do
Unto a gentler conqueror tlian you ;
Who, though he flies the music of iiis praise,
Would with you heaven's hallelujahs raise.
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102 THE POEMS
TO HIS
WORTHY FRIEND DOCTOR WITTY,
UPON HIS TBANSLATION OF THE POPULAR ERltOK. S.
Sit farther and make room for thine own fame,
Where just desert enrolls thj honoured name.
The Grood Interpreter. Some in this task
Take off the cypress veil, but leave a mask,
Changing the Latin, but do more obscure
That sense in English which was bright and
pure.
So of translators they are authors grown.
For ill translators make the book their own.
Others do strive with words and forced phrase
To add such lustre, and so many rays.
That but to make the vessel shining, they
Much of the precious metal rub away.
He is translation's thief that addeth more,
As much as he that taketh from the store
Of the first author. Here he maketh blots,
That mends ; and added beauties are but spots.
C^LIA whose English doth more richly flow
Than Tagus, purer than dissolved snow.
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OP MARVELL. 103
And sweet as are her lips that speak it, she
Now learns the tongues of France and Italy ;
But she is C^elia still ; no other grace
But her own smiles commend that lovely face ;
Her native beauty's not Italianated,
Nor her chaste mind into the French translated ;
Her thoughts are English, tl>ough her speaking
wit
With other language doth them featly fit.
Translators, learn of her : but stay, I slide
Down into error with the vulgar tide ;
Women must not teach here : the doctor doth
Stint them to cordials, almond-milk, and broth.
Now I reform, and surely so will all
Whose happy eyes on thy translation fall.
I see the people hastening to thy book.
Liking themselves the worse the more they look.
And so disliking, that they nothing see
Now worth the liking, but thy book and thee.
And (if I judgment have) 1 censure right,
For something guides mj hand that I must
write;
You have translation's statutes best fulfilled,
That handUng neither sully nor would gild.
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104 THE rOKMS
ON MILTON'S PARADISE LOST.
When IH)eheld the poet blind, yet bold,
In slender book his vast design unfold,
Messiah crowned, God*s reconciled decree,
Rebelling angels, the forbidden tree,
Heaven, hell, earth, chaos, all ; the argument
Held me awhile misdoubting his intent,
That he would ruin (for I saw him strong)
The sacred truths to fable and old song ;
So Samson groped the temple's posts in spite.
The world o'erwhelming to revenge his sight
Yet as I read, soon growing less severe,
I liked his project, the success did fear ;
Through that wide field how he his way should
find,
O'er which lame faith leads understanding blind ;
Lest he'd perplex the things he would explain.
And what was easy he should render vain.
Or if a work so infinite he spanned,
Jealous I was that some less skilful hand
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OF MARVELL. 105
(Such as disquiet always what is well,
And by ill imitating would excel)
Might hence presume the whole creation's day
To change in scenes, and show it in a play.
Pardon me, mighty poet, nor despise
My causeless, yet not impious, surmise.
But I am now convinced, and none will dare
Within thy labours to pretend a share.
Thou hast not missed one thought that could
befit,
And all that was improper dost omit ;
So that no room is here for writers lefl,
But to detect their ignorance or theft.
That majesty which through thy work doth
reign
Draws the devout, deterring the profane ;
And things divine thou treat'st of in such state
As them preserves, and thee, inviolate.
At once delight and horror on us seize,
Thou sing'st with so much gravity and ease.
And above human fiight dost soar aloft,
With plume so strong, so equal, and so soft :
The bird named from that paradise you sing
So never flags, but always keeps on wing.
Where couldst thou words of such a compass find ?
Whence furnish such a vast expanse of mind ?
Just heaven thee, like Tiresias, to requite,
Rewards with prophecy thy loss of sight.
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106 THE POEMS
Well might thou scorn thy readers to allure
With tinkling rhyme, of thy own sense secure.
While the Town-Bay es writes all the while «nd
spells^
And like a pack-horse tires without his bells.
Their fancies like our bushy points appear :
The poets tag them, we for fashion wear.
I too, transported by the mode, offend,
And while I meant to praise thee, must commend ;
Thy verse created like thy theme sublime.
In number, weight, and measure, needs not
rhyme.
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OP MARVELL. 107
AN EPITAPH.
Enough ; and leave the rest to fame ;
Tis to commend her, but to name.
Courtship, which, living, she declined,
When dead, to offer were unkind.
Where never any could speak ill,
Who would officious praises spill ?
Nor can the truest wit, or friend,
Without deti'acting, her commend ;
To say, she lived a virgin chaste
In this age loose and all unlaced,
Nor was, when vice is so allowed,
Of virtue or ashamed or proud ;
That her soul was on heaven so bent,
No minute but it came and went;
That, ready her last debt to pay.
She summed her life up every day ;
Modest as moim, as mid-day bright.
Gentle as evening, cool as night ;
*Tis true ; but all too weakly said :
*Twas more significant, she's dead.
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108 THE POEMS
TRANSLATED FROM SENECA'S TRAGEDY
OF THYESTES.
CHORUS II.
Climb, at court, for me, that wiU,
Tottering favour's pinnacle ;
All I seek is to lie still :
Settled in some secret nest,
In calm leisure . let me rest,
And, far off the public stage.
Pass away my silent age.
Thus, when, without noise, unknown,
I have lived out all my span,
I shall die, without a groan.
An old honest countryman.
Who, exposed to other's eyes.
Into his own heart never pries.
Death to him*s a strange surprise.
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OF MARy£LL. 109
A DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE RESOLVED
SOUL, AND CREATED PLEASURE.
Courage, my soul ! now learn to wield
The weight of thine immortal shield ;
Close on thy head thy helmet bright ;
Balance thy sword against the fight ;
See where an army, strong as fair,
With silken banners spread the air !
Now, if thou be'st that thing divine,
In this day's combat let it shine.
And show that nature wants an art
To conquer one resolved heart.
PLEASURE.
Welcome ; the creation's guest,
Lord of earth, and heaven's heir I
Lay aside that warlike crest,
And of nature's banquet share.
Where the souls of fruits and flowers.
Stand prepared to heighten yours.
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110 THE POEMS
SOUL.
I sup above, and cannot stay,
To bait so long upon the way.
PLEASURE.
On these downy pillows lie,
Whose soft plumes will thither fly :
On these roses, strewed so plain
Lest one leaf thy side should strain.
80UL.
My gentler rest is on a thought,
Conscious of doing what I ought.
PLEASURE.
If thou be*st with perfumes pleased,
Such as ofl the gods appeased,
Thou in fragrant clouds shalt show.
Like another god below.
SOUL.
A soul that knows not to presume.
Is Heaven's, and its own, perfume.
PLEASURE.
Every thing does seem to vie
Which should first attract thine eye :
But since none deserves that grace,
In this crystal view thy face.
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OP MARVELL. Ill
SOUL.
When the Creator's skill is prized,
The rest is all but earth disguised.
PLEASURE.
Hark how music then prepares
For thy stay these charming airs,
Which the posting winds recall,
And suspend the river's fall.
SOUL.
Had I but any time to lose,
On thb I would it all dispose.
Cease tempter ! None can chain a mind,
Whom this sweet cordage ainnot bind.
CHORUS.
Earth cannot show so brave a sight,
As when a single soul does fence
The battery of alluring sense.
And Heaven views it with delight.
Then persevere ; for still new charges sound,
And if thou overcom*st thou shalt be crowned.
PLEASURE.
All that's costly, fair, and sweet,
Which scatteringly doth shine.
Shall within one beauty meet.
And she be only thine.
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112 THE POEMS
SOUL.
If things of sight such heavens he,
What heavens are those we cannot see ?
PLEASURE.
Wheresoe'er thy foot shall go
The minted gold shall lie,
Till thou purchase all helow,
And want new worlds to buy.
SOUL.
Wer't not for price who*d value gold ?
And that's worth naught that can be sold.
PLEASURE.
Wilt thou all the glory have
That war or peace commend ?
Half the world shall be thy slave,
The other half thy friend.
SOUL.
What friends, if to myself untrue ?
What slaves, unless I captive you ?
PLEASURE.
Thou shalt know each hidden cause,
And see the future time,
Try what depth the centre draws,
And then to heaven climb.
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OF MARVELL. 113
SOUL.
None thither mounts by the degree
Of knowledge, but humility.
CHORUS.
Triumph, triumph, victorious soul !
The world has not one pleasure more :
The rest does lie beyond the pole,
And is thine everlasting store.
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114 THE POEMS
A DROP OF DEW.
(TRAjrtLATSD. )
See, how the orient ^ew.
Shed from the bosom of the mom^
Into the blowing roses,
(Yet careless of its mansion new,
For the clear region where 'twas bom,)
Round in itself incloses
And, in its little globe's extent,
Frames, as it can, its native element.
How it the purple flower does shgbt,
Scarce touching where it lies ;
But gazing back upon the skies,
Shines with a mournful light,
Like its own tear,
Because so long divided from the sphere.
Restless it rolls, and unsecure,
Trembling, lest it grow impure ;
Till the warm sun pities its pain,
And to the skies exhales it back a<;ain.
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OF MABYELL. 115
So the souly that drop, that raj,
Of the clear fountain of eternal day,
Could it within the human flower be seen,
Remembering still its former height.
Shuns the sweet leaves, and blossoms green,
And, recollecting its own light.
Does, in its pure and circling thoughts, express
The greater heaven in a heaven less.
In how coy a figure wound.
Every way it turns away,
So the world excluding round,
Yet receiving in the day.
Dark beneath, but bright above.
Here disdaining, there in love.
How loose and easy hence to go ;
How girt and ready to ascend ;
Moving but on a point below.
It all about does upwards bend.
Such did the manna's sacred dew distil.
White and entire, although congealed and chill ;
Congealed on earth; but does, dissolving, run
Into the glories of the almighty sun.
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116 THE P0E3JS
THE GARDEN.
(TRANSLATED. )
How vainly men themselves amaze,
To win the palm, the oak, or bajs,
And their incessant labours see
Crowned from some single herb, or tree,
Whose short and narrow-verged shade
Does prudently their toils upbraid,
While all the flowers, and trees, do close.
To weave the garlands of repose !
Fair Quiet, have I found thee here.
And Innocence, thy sister dear?
Mistaken long, I sought you then
In busy companies of men.
Your sacred plants, if here below,
Only among the plants will grow ;
Society is all but rude
To this delicious solitude.
Ko white nor red was ever seen
So amorous as this lovely green.
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Cfit'
OP MARVKLL. 117
Fond lovers, cruel as their Dame,
Cut in these trees their mistress' name :
Little, alas I they know or heed,
How far these beauties her exceed !
Fair trees 1 where'er your barks I wound,
No name shall but your own be found.
When we have run our passion's heat,
Love hither makes his best retreat.
The godsj who mortal beauty chase,
Still in a tree did end their race ;
Apollo hunted Daphne so.
Only that she might laurel grow ;
And Pan did after Syrinx speed.
Not as a nymph, but for a reed.
'•^ What wond'rous life is this I lead !
Ripe apples drop about my head ;
The luscious clusters of the vine
Upon my mouth do crush their wine ;
The nectarine, and curious peach.
Into my hands themselves do reach ;
Stumbling on melons, as I pass,
Insnared with flowers, I fall on grass.
Meanwhile the mind, from pleasure k\so,
Withdraws into its happiness ;; —
The mind, that ocean where each kind
Does straight its own resemblance find ; —
Tet it creates, transcending these,
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118
THE POEMS
9
J
(Far other worlds, and other seas.
Annihilating all that's made
\ To a green thought in a green shade.
Here at the ^untain's sliding foot.
Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root.
Casting the body's vest aside,
My soul into the boughs does glide :
lliere, like a bird, it sits and sings,
Then whets and claps its silver wings,
And, till prepared for longer flight.
Waves in its plumes the various light.
Such was that happy garden-state.
While man there walked without a mate
After a place so pure and sweet, :,
What other help could yet be meet ! ^'
But 'twas beyond a mortal's share
To wander solitary there :
fTwo paradises are in one,
(To live in paradise alone.
]
i
C'^^ ^
How well the skilful gardener drew
Of flowers, and herbs, this dial new.
Where, from above, the milder sun
Does through a fragrant zodiac run,
tAnd, as it works, the industrious bee
iComputes its time as well as we !
How could such sweet and wholesome hour-%
Be reckoned but with herbs and flowers ?
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OF MAR YELL. 119
ON THE
VICTORY OBTAINED BY BLAKE,
OVER THE SPANIARDS, IN THE BAY OF SANTA
CRUZ IN THE ISLAND OF TENERIFFE, 1657.
Now does Spain's fleet her spacious wings unfold,
Leaves the new world, and hastens for the old ;
But though the wind was fair, they slowly swum,.
Freighted with acted guilt, and guilt to come ;.
For this rich load, of which so proud they are,.
Was raised by tyranny, and raised for war.
Every capacious galleon's womb was filled
With what the womb of wealthy kingdoms yield ;.
The new world's wounded entrails they had^ tore.
For wealth wherewith to wound the old once
more.
Wealth which all other's avarice might cloy,
But yet in them caused as much fear, as joy.
For now upon the main themselves they saw
That boundless empire, where you give the law ;,
Of wind's and water's rage they feaiful be,
But much more fearful are your flags to see.
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120 THE POEHS
Day, that to those who sail upon the deep,
More wished for and more welcome is than sleep,
They dreaded to behold, lest the sun*s light.
With English streamers should salute their
sight :
In thickest darkness they would choose to steer.
So that such darkness might suppress their fear ;
At length it vanishes, and fortune smiles.
For they behold the sweet Canary isles.
One of which doubtless is by nature blessed
Above both worlds, since 'tis above the rest
For lest some gloominess might stain her sky,
Trees there the duty of the clouds supply :
O noble trust which heaven on this isle pours,
Fertile to be, yet never need her showers !
A happy people, which at once do gain
The benefits, without the ills, of rain !
Both health and profit fate cannot deny.
Where still the earth is moist, the air still dry 4
The jarring elements no discord know.
Fuel and rain together kindly grow ;
And coolness there with heat does never fight,
This only rules by day, and that by night.
Your worth to all these isles a jut-t right brings,
The best of lands should have the best of kings.
And these want nothing heaven can afford,
Unless it be, the having you their lord ;
But this great want will not a long one prove,
Your conquering sword will soon that want
remove ;
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OF MARVELL. 121
For Spain had better, she'll ere long confess,
Have broken all her swords, tlian this one
peace;
Casting that league off, which she held so long,
She cast off that which only made her strong.
Forces and art, she soon will feel, are vain,
Peace, against you, was the sole strength of
Spain ;
By that alone those islands she secures.
Peace makes them hers, but war will make them
yours.
There the rich grape the soil indulgent breeds.
Which of the gods the fancied drink exceeds.
They still do yield, such is their precious mould.
All that is good, and are not cursed with gold ;
With fatal gold, for still where that does grow
Neither the soil, nor people, quiet know ;
Which troubles men to raise it when 'tis ore.
And when 'tis raised does trouble them much
more.
Ah, why was thither brought that cause of war.
Kind nature had from thence removed so faj^ !
In vain doth she those islands free from ill.
If fortune can make guilty what she will.
But whilst I draw that scene, where you, ere
long.
Shall conquests act, you present are unsung.
For Santa Cruz the glad fleet takes her way.
And safely there casts anchor in the bay.
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122 THE POEMS
Never so many, with one joyful cry,
That place salated, where they all must die.
Deluded men I Fate with you did hut sport,
You 'scaped the sea, to perish in your port
Twas more for England's fame you should die
there,
Where you had most of strength and least of
fear.
The Peak's proud height the Spaniards all
admire,
Yet in their breasts carry a pride much higher.
Only to this vast hill a power is given,
At once both to inhabit earth and heaven.
But this stupendous prospect did not near
Make them admire, so much as they did fear.
For here they met with news, which did pro-
duce
A grief, above the cure of grape's best juice.
They learned with terror, that nor summer's heat,
Nor winter's storms, had made your fleet retreat.
To fight against such foes was vain, they knew.
Which did the rage of elements subdue.
Who on the ocean, that does horror give
To all beside, triumphantly do live.
With haste they therefore all their galleons
moor.
And flank with cannon from the neighbouring
shore ;
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OP MARVELL. 123
Forts, lines, and sconces, all the bay along,
They build, and act all that can make them
strong.
Fond men ! who knew not whilst such works
they raise,
They only labour to exalt your praise.
Yet they by restless toil became at length.
So proud and confident of their made strength,
That they with joy their boasting general heard
Wish then for that assault he lately feared.
His wish he had, for now undaunted Blake,
With winged speed, for Santa Cruz does make.
For your renown, the conquering fleet does ride,
O'er seas as vast as is the Spaniard's pride.
Whose fleet and trenches viewed, you soon did
say,
We to their strength are more obliged tlian
they;
Wer't not for that, they firom their fate would
run.
And a third world seek out, our arms to shun.
Those forts, which there so high and strong
appear,
Do not so much suppress, as show their fear.
Of speedy victory let no man doubt.
Our worst work passed, now we have found
them out.
Behold their navy does at anchor lie.
And they are ours, for now they cannot fly.
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124 THE rOEMS
This said, the whole fleet gave it their ap-
plause,
And all assume your courage, in your cause.
That bay they enter, which unto them owes
The noblest wreaths which victory bestows ;
Bold Stanier leads ; this fleet's designed by fate
To give him laurel, as the last did plate.
The thundering cannon now begins the fight,
And, though it be at noon, creates a night ;
The air was soon, after the fight begun.
Far more enfiamed by it, than by the sun.
Never so burning was that climate known ;
War turned the temperate, to the torrid zone.
Fate these two fleets, between both worlds, had
brought,
Who fight, as if for both those worlds they
sought.
Thousands of ways, thousands of men there die,
Some ships are sunk, some blown up in the sky.
Nature ne'er made cedars so high aspire
As oaks did then, urged by the active fire
Which, by quick powder's force, so high was
sent
That it returned to its own element.
Torn limbs some leagues into the island fiy,
Whilst others lower, in the sea, do lie ;
Scarce souls from bodies severed are so far
By death, as bodies there were by the war.
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OP MARVELL. 125
The all-seeing sun ne'er gazed on such a sight,
Two dreadful navies there at anchor fight,
And neither have, or power, or will, to fly ;
There one must conquer, or there both must
die.
Far different motives yet engaged them thus.
Necessity did them, but choice did us,
A choice which did the highest worth express.
And was attended by as high success ;
For your resistless genius there did reign.
By which we laurels reaped e'en on the main.
So prosperous stars, though absent to the sense,
Bless those they shine for by their influence.
Our cannon now tears every ship and sconce.
And o'er two elements triumphs at once.
Their galleons sunk, their wealth the sea does
fill.
The only place where it can cause no ill.
Ah ! would those treasures which both Indias
hare
Were buried in as large, and deep a grave !
War's chief support with them would buned be.
And the land owe her peace unto the sea.
Ages to come your conquering arms will bles. -*,
There they destroyed what had destroyed their
peace ;
And in one war the present age may bojjst,
The certain seeds of many wai's are lost.
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126 THE POEMS
All the foe's ships destroyed by sea or Hre,
Victorious Blake does from the bay retire.
His siege of Spain he then again pursues,
And there first brings of his success the news ;
The saddest news that e*er to Spain was broiijjiht,
Their rich fleet sunk, and ours with laurel fraught,
Whilst fame in every place her trumpet blows.
And tells the world how much to you it owes.
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OF MABVELL. 127
THE LOYAL SCOT.
BT CLEVELAND'S GHOST, UPON THE DEATH OF
CAPTAIN DOUOLASy WHO WAS BURNED ON HIS
SHIP AT CHATHAM.
Of the old heroes when the warlike shades
Saw Douglas marching on the Elysian glades,
They all, consulting, gathered in a ring,
Which of the poets should his welcome sing ;
And, as a favourable penance, chose
Cleveland, on whom they would that task impose.
He understood, but willingly addressed
His ready muse, to court that noble guest.
Much had he cured the tumour of his vein.
He judged more clearly now and saw more
plain ;
For those soft airs had tempered every thought.
Since of wise Lethe he had drunk a draught.
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128 THE POEMS
Abruptly he begun, disguising art,
As of his satire this had been a part*
Not so, brave Douglas, on whose lovely chin
Tlie early down but newly did begin.
And modest beauty yet his sex did veil
While envious virgins hope he is a male.
His yellow locks curl back themselves to seek.
Nor other courtship knew but to his cheek.
Oft as he in chill Esk or Tyne, by night,
Hardened and cooled his limbs, so soft, so white,
Among the reeds, to be espied by him.
The nymphs would rustle, he would forward
swim.
They sighed, and said, fond boy, why so untame,
To fly love's fires, reserved for other fiame ?
First on his ship he faced that horrid day,
And wondered much at those who ran away.
No other fear himself could comprehend.
Than lest heaven fall ere thither he ascend :
But entertains the while his time, too short,
With birding at the Dutch, as if in sport ;
Or waves his sword, and, could he them conjure
Within his circle, knows himself secure.
• Cleveland wrote a poem, in Latin and English, which ho
called, JiebeUis ScotuSy The Rebel Soot: A sntirc on the
oatioa in general. He ends thus,
"A Scot, when from the gallows-tree got loose,
*^ Drops into Styx, and turns a Solund goose. **
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OF MARVELL. 129
The fatal bark him boards with grappling fire,
And safely through its port the Dutch retire.
That precious life he yet disdains to save,
Or with known art to try the gentle wave.
Much him the honour of his ancient race
Inspired, nor would he his own deeds deface ;
And secret joy in his calm soul does rise,
That Monk looks on to see liow Douglas dies.
Like a glad lover the fierce fiames lie meets.
And tries his first embraces in their sheets ;
His shape exact, which the bright fiames
enfolds
Like the sun's statue stands of burnished gold ;
Round the transparent fire about him glows,
As the clear amber on the bees does close.
And, as on angels' heads their glories shine,
His burning locks adorn his face divine.
But when in his immortal mind he felt
His altering form and soldered limbs to melt,
Down on the deck he laid himself, and died,
With his dear sword reposing by his side.
And on the fiaming plank so rests his head.
As one that warmed himself, and went to bed.
His ship bums down, and with his relics sinks,
And the sad stream beneath his ashes drinks.
Fortunate boy ! if either pencil's fame,
Or if my verse can propagate thy name.
When CEta and Alcides are forgot,
Our English youth shall sing the valiant Scot.
9
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180 THE POEMS
Sbip-saddles, Pegasas, thou needst not brag,
Sometimes the galloway proves the better nag.
Shall not a death so generous, when told,
Unite our distance, fill our breaches old ?
So in the Roman foinim, Curtius brave
Galloping down, closed up the gaping cave.
No more discourse of Scotch and English race.
Nor chant the fabulous hunt of Chevy-Chace ;
Mixed in Corinthian metal at thy flame.
Our nations melting thy Colossus frame.
Prick down the point, whoever has the art,
Where nature Scotland does from England
part; —
Anatomists may sooner ^x the cells
Where life resides, and understanding dwelb.
But this we know, though that exceeds our
skill,
That whosoever separates them does ill.
Will you the Tweed that sullen bounder call,
Of soil, of wit, of manners, and of all ?
Why draw you not, as well, the thrifty line
From Thames, from Humber, or at least the
Tyne?
So may we the state-corpulence redress,
And little England, when we please, make less.
What ethic river is this wond'rous Tweed,
Whose one bank virtue, t'other vice, does
breed ?
Or what new perpendicular does rise.
Up from her streams, continued to the skies.
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OF MARVELL. 131
That between us the common air should bar,
And split the influence of every star ?
But *who considers right, will find indeed,
'Tis Holy Island parts us, not the Tweed.
Nothing but clergy could us two seclude,
No Scotch was ever like a bishop's feud.
All Litanies in this have wanted faith.
There's no deliver us from a bishop* s wrath.
Never shall Calvin pardoned be for sales, \
Never, for Burnet's sake, the Lauderdales ;r C
For Becket's sake, Kent always shall have tales. )
Who fcermons e'er can pacify and prayers ?
Or to the joint stools reconcile the chairs ?
