When for more worlds the Macedonian cry'd,
He wist not Thetis in her lap did hide
Another yet a world reserv'd for you,
To make more great than that he did subdue.
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.
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.
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.
But when your troubled country call'd you forth,
Your flaming courage and your matchless worth,
Dazzling the eyes of all that did pretend,
To fierce contention gave a prosperous end.
Still, as you rise, the state, exalted too,
Finds no distemper while 'tis chang'd by you;
Chang'd like the world's great scene! when
without noise,
The rising sun night's vulgar lights destroys.
Had you, some ages past, this race of glory Run, with amazement we should read your story:
But living virtue, all achievements past,
Meets envy still, to grapple with at last.
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.
That sun once set, a thousand meaner stars,
Gave a dim light to violence and wars;
To such a tempest as now threatens all,
Did not your mighty arm prevent the fall.
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
To rule victorious armies, but by you?
You! that had taught them to subdue their foes,
Could order teach, and their high spirits
To every duty could their minds engage, Provoke their courage, and command their
So, when a lion shakes his dreadful mane,
And angry grows, if he that first took pain
To tame his youth, approach the haughty
beast,
He bends to him, but frights away the rest.
As the vex'd world, to find repose, at last
Itself into Augustus' arms did cast;
So England now does, with like toil opprest,
Her weary head upon your bosom rest.
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;
Tell of towns storm'd, of armies over-run,
And mighty kingdoms by your conduct won;
How, while you thunder'd, clouds of dust did
choke
Contending troops, and seas lay hid in smoke.
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
To crown your head, while you in triumph ride
O'er vanquish'd nations, and the sea beside;
While all your neighbour princes unto you,
Like Joseph's sheaves, pay reverence and bow.
Edmund Waller.-Born 1605, Died 1687.
588.-AT PENSHURST.
While in this park I sing, the list'ning deer
Attend my passion, and forget to fear;
When to the beeches I report my flame,
They bow their heads, as if they felt the same.
To gods appealing, when reach their bowers
With loud complaints, they answer me in
showers.
To thee a wild and cruel soul is given,
More deaf than trees, and prouder than the heav'n!
Love's foe profess'd! why dost thou falsely feign
Thyself a Sidney? from which noble strain
He sprung, that could so far exalt the name
Of Love, and warm our nation with his flame;
That all we can of love or high desire,
Seems but the smoke of amorous Sidney's fire.
Nor call her mother who so well does prove
One breast may hold both chastity and love.
Never can she, that so exceeds the spring
In joy and bounty, be supposed to bring
One so destructive. To no human stock
We owe this fierce unkindness, but the rock;
That cloven rock produced thee, by whose side
Nature, to recompense the fatal pride
Of such stern beauty, placed those healing springs
Which not more help than that destruction
Thy heart no ruder than the rugged stone,
I might, like Orpheus, with my num'rous moan
Melt to compassion; now my trait'rous song
With thee conspires to do the singer wrong;
While thus I suffer not myself to lose
The memory of what augments my woes;
But with my own breath still foment the fire,
Which flames as high as fancy can aspire!
This last complaint the indulgent ears did pierce
Of just Apollo, president of verse;
Highly concern'd that the Muse should bring
Damage to one whom he had taught to sing :
Thus he advised me : "On yon aged tree Hang up thy lute, and hie thee to the sea, That there with wonders thy diverted mind Some truce, at least, may with this passion find."
Ah, cruel nymph! from whom her humble swain
Flies for relief unto the raging main,
And from the winds and tempests does expect
A milder fate than from her cold neglect !
Yet there he'll pray that the unkind may prove
Blest in her choice; and vows this endless
love
Springs from no hope of what she can confer, But from those gifts which Heav'n has heap'd on her.
Edmund Waller.-Born 1605, Died 1687.
Fair dream! if thou intend'st me grace,
Change that heavenly face of thine;
Paint despised love in thy face,
And make it t' appear like mine.
Pale, wan, and meagre, let it look,
With a pity-moving shape,
Such as wander by the brook
Of Lethe, or from graves escape.
Then to that matchless nymph appear,
In whose shape thou shinest so;
Softly in her sleeping ear
With humble words express my woe.
Perhaps from greatness, state, and pride, Thus surprised, she may fall;
Sleep does disproportion hide,
And, death resembling, equals all.
Edmund Waller.-Born 1605, Died 1687.
Stronger by weakness, wiser men become,
As they draw near to their eternal home.
Leaving the old, both worlds at once they
view,
That stand upon the threshold of the new.
Edmund Waller.-Born 1605, Died 1687.
Who already have of me
All that's not idolatry:
Which, though not so fierce a flame,
Is longer like to be the same.
Then smile on me, and I will prove
Wonder is shorter-lived than love.
Edmund Waller.-Born 1605, Died 1687.
Fair! that you may truly know,
What you unto Thyrsis owe;
I will tell you how I do
Sacharissa love, and you.
Joy salutes me, when I set
My blest eyes on Amoret :
But with wonder I am strook,
While I on the other look.
If sweet Amoret complains, I have sense of all her pains : But for Sacharissa I
Do not only grieve, but die.
All that of myself is mine, Lovely Amoret! is thine, Sacharissa's captive fain Would untie his iron chain;
And, those scorching beams to shun To thy gentle shadow run.
If the soul had free election
To dispose of her affection;
I would not thus long have borne
Haughty Sacharissa's scorn:
But 'tis sure some power above,
Which controls our wills in love!
If not a love, a strong desire
To create and spread that fire
In my breast solicits me,
Beauteous Amoret! for thee.
'Tis amazement more than love,
Which her radiant eyes do move :
If less splendour wait on thine,
Yet they so benignly shine,
I would turn my dazzled sight
To behold their milder light.
But as hard 'tis to destroy
That high flame, as to enjoy :
Which how eas'ly I may do,
Heaven (as eas'ly scaled) does know!
Amoret as sweet and good
As the most delicious food,
Which, but tasted, does impart
Life and gladness to the heart.
Sacharissa's beauty 's wine,
Which to madness doth incline:
Such a liquor, as no brain
That is mortal can sustain.
Scarce can I to Heaven excuse
The devotion, which I use
Unto that adorèd dame:
For 'tis not unlike the same,
Which I thither ought to send.
So that if it could take end,
"Twould to Heaven itself be due,
To succeed her, and not you:
Phyllis why should we delay
Pleasures shorter than the day?
Could we (which we never can!)
Stretch our lives beyond their span,
Beauty like a shadow flies,
And our youth before us dies.
Or, would youth and beauty stay,
Love hath wings, and will away.
Love hath swifter wings than Time;
Change in love to Heaven does climb.
Gods, that never change their state,
Vary oft their love and hate.
Phyllis to this truth we owe
All the love betwixt us two:
Let not you and I inquire,
What has been our past desire ;
On what shepherd you have smiled,
Or what nymphs I have beguiled:
Leave it to the planets too,
What we shall hereafter do:
For the joys we now may prove,
Take advice of present love.
Edmund Waller.-Born 1605, Died 1687.
That whom ill Fate would ruin, it prefers,
For all the miserable are made hers.
So the fair tree whereon the eagle builds,
Poor sheep from tempests, and their shep-
herds, shields:
The royal bird possesses all the boughs,
But shade and shelter to the flock allows.
Edmund Waller.-Born 1605, Died 1687.
596.-ON MY LADY SYDNEY'S PICTURE.
Such was Philoclea, and such Dorus' flame!
The matchless Sydney, that immortal frame
Of perfect beauty, on two pillars placed,
Not his high fancy could one pattern, graced
With such extremes of excellence, compose
Wonders so distant in one face disclose!
Such cheerful modesty, such humble state,
Moves certain love, but with as doubtful fate
As when, beyond our greedy reach, we see
Inviting fruit on too sublime a tree.
All the rich flowers through his Arcadia found,
Amazed we see in this one garland bound.
Had but this copy (which the artist took
From the fair picture of that noble book)
Stood at Kalander's, the brave friends had
jarr'd,
And, rivals made, th' ensuing story marr'd.
Just Nature, first instructed by his thought,
In his own house thus practised what he taught.
This glorious piece transcends what he could
think,
So much his blood is nobler than his ink!
Edmund Waller.-Born 1605, Died 1687.
597.-OF MY LADY ISABELLA PLAYING THE LUTE.
Such moving sounds from such a careless touch!
So unconcern'd herself, and we so much! What art is this, that with so little pains Transports us thus, and o'er our spirits reigns? The trembling strings about her fingers crowd, And tell their joy for ev'ry kiss aloud.
Small force there needs to make them tremble
Touch'd by that hand, who would not tremble too?
Here love takes stand, and while she charms
Empties his quiver on the list'ning deer.
Music so softens and disarms the mind,
That not an arrow does resistance find.
Thus the fair tyrant celebrates the prize,
And acts herself the triumph of her eyes;
So Nero once, with harp in hand, survey'd
His flaming Rome, and as it burn'd he play'd.
Edmund Waller.-Born 1605, Died 1687.
SINGING A SONG OF HIS COMPOSING.
Chloris, yourself you so excel,
When you vouchsafe to breathe my thought, That, like a spirit, with this spell
Of my own teaching, I am caught.
That eagle's fate and mine are one,
Which, on the shaft that made him die,
Espy'd a feather of his own,
Wherewith he wont to soar so high.
Had Echo with so sweet a grace
Narcissus' loud complaints return'd,
Not for reflection of his face,
But of his voice, the boy had burn'd.
Edmund Waller.-Born 1605, Died 1687.
599.-LOVE'S FAREWELL. 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.
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.
Thus the tall oak, which now aspires
Above 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.
Edmund Waller.-Born 1605, Died 1687.
600.-ON LOVING AT FIRST SIGHT.
Not caring to observe the wind,
Or the new sea explore,
Snatch'd from myself how far behind
Already I behold the shore!
May not a thousand dangers sleep
In the smooth bosom of this deep?
No: 'tis so reckless and so clear,
That the rich bottom does appear
Paved all with precious things; not torn
From shipwreck'd vessels, but there born.
Sweetness, truth, and every grace,
Which time and use are wont to teach,
The eye may in a moment reach
And read distinctly in her face.
|