Poetical Works of Edmund Waller and Sir John Denham by Edmund Waller; John Denham

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This to thyself.--Now to thy matchless book,
Wherein those few that can with judgment look,
May find old love in pure fresh language told,
Like new-stamp'd coin made out of angel-gold.
Such truth in love as th'antique world did know,
In such a style as courts may boast of now;
Which no bold tales of gods or monsters swell,
But human passions, such as with us dwell. 30
Man is thy theme; his virtue or his rage
Drawn to the life in each elaborate page.
Mars nor Bellona are not named here,
But such a Gondibert as both might fear;
Venus had here, and Hebe, been outshined
By the bright Birtha and thy Rhodalind.
Such is thy happy skill, and such the odds
Betwixt thy worthies and the Grecian gods!
Whose deities in vain had here come down,
Where mortal beauty wears the Sovereign crown; 40
Such as of flesh compos'd, by flesh and blood,
Though not resisted, may be understood.

[1] 'Sir William Davenant': Davenant fled to France in fear of the
displeasure of the Parliament, and there wrote the two first cantos
of _Gondibert_.

TO MY WORTHY FRIEND, MR WASE, THE TRANSLATOR OF GRATIUS.[1]

1 Thus, by the music, we may know
When noble wits a-hunting go,
Through groves that on Parnassus grow.

2 The Muses all the chase adorn;
My friend on Pegasus is borne;
And young Apollo winds the horn.

3 Having old Gratius in the wind,
No pack of critics e'er could find,
Or he know more of his own mind.

4 Here huntsmen with delight may read
How to choose dogs for scent or speed,
And how to change or mend the breed;

5 What arms to use, or nets to frame,
Wild beasts to combat or to tame;
With all the myst'ries of that game.

6 But, worthy friend! the face of war
In ancient times doth differ far
From what our fiery battles are.

7 Nor is it like, since powder known,
That man, so cruel to his own,
Should spare the race of beasts alone.

8 No quarter now, but with the gun
Men wait in trees from sun to sun,
And all is in a moment done.

9 And therefore we expect your next
Should be no comment, but a text
To tell how modern beasts are vex'd.

10 Thus would I further yet engage
Your gentle Muse to court the age
With somewhat of your proper rage;

11 Since none does more to Phoebus owe,
Or in more languages can show
Those arts which you so early know.

[1] 'Mr. Wase': Wase was a fellow of Cambridge, tutor to Lord Herbert,
and translator of Grathis on 'Hunting,' a very learned man.

TO A FRIEND, ON THE DIFFERENT SUCCESS OF THEIR LOVES.[1]

Thrice happy pair! of whom we cannot know
Which first began to love, or loves most now;
Fair course of passion! where two lovers start,
And run together, heart still yoked with heart;
Successful youth! whom love has taught the way
To be victorious in the first essay.
Sure love's an art best practised at first,
And where th'experienced still prosper worst!
I, with a different fate, pursued in vain
The haughty Caelia, till my just disdain 10
Of her neglect, above that passion borne,
Did pride to pride oppose, and scorn to scorn.
Now she relents; but all too late to move
A heart directed to a nobler love.
The scales are turn'd, her kindness weighs no more
Now, than my vows and service did before.
So in some well-wrought hangings you may see
How Hector leads, and how the Grecians flee;
Here, the fierce Mars his courage so inspires,
That with bold hands the Argive fleet he fires; 20
But there, from heaven the blue-eyed virgin[2] falls,
And frighted Troy retires within her walls;
They that are foremost in that bloody race,
Turn head anon, and give the conqu'rors chase.
So like the chances are of love and war,
That they alone in this distinguish'd are,
In love the victors from the vanquish'd fly;
They fly that wound, and they pursue that die.

[1] 'Their loves': supposed to be Alexander Hampden, involved with
Waller in the plot. See 'Life'
[2] 'Blue-eyed virgin': Minerva.

TO ZELINDA.[1]

Fairest piece of well-form'd earth!
Urge not thus your haughty birth;
The power which you have o'er us lies
Not in your race, but in your eyes.
'None but a prince!'--Alas! that voice
Confines you to a narrow choice.
Should you no honey vow to taste,
But what the master-bees have placed
In compass of their cells, how small
A portion to your share would fall! 10
Nor all appear, among those few,
Worthy the stock from whence they grew.
The sap which at the root is bred
In trees, through all the boughs is spread;
But virtues which in parents shine,
Make not like progress through the line.
'Tis not from whom, but where, we live;
The place does oft those graces give.
Great Julius, on the mountains bred,
A flock perhaps, or herd, had led. 20
He that the world subdued,[2] had been
But the best wrestler on the green.
'Tis art and knowledge which draw forth
The hidden seeds of native worth;
They blow those sparks, and make them rise
Into such flames as touch the skies.
To the old heroes hence was given
A pedigree which reached to heaven;
Of mortal seed they were not held, 29
Which other mortals so excell'd.
And beauty, too, in such excess
As yours, Zelinda! claims no less.
Smile but on me, and you shall scorn,
Henceforth, to be of princes born.
I can describe, the shady grove
Where your loved mother slept with Jove;
And yet excuse the faultless dame,
Caught with her spouse's shape and name.
Thy matchless form will credit bring
To all the wonders I shall sing. 40

[1] 'Zelinda': referring to a novel where the lady, a princess, refuses
a lover, saying, 'I will have none but a prince!'
[2] 'World subdued': Alexander.

TO MY LADY MORTON, ON NEW-YEAR'S DAY,[1]
AT THE LOUVRE IN PARIS.

Madam! new years may well expect to find
Welcome from you, to whom they are so kind;
Still as they pass, they court and smile on you,
And make your beauty, as themselves, seem new.
To the fair Villiers we Dalkeith prefer,
And fairest Morton now as much to her;
So like the sun's advance your titles show,
Which as he rises does the warmer grow.

But thus to style you fair, your sex's praise,
Gives you but myrtle, who may challenge bays; 10
From armed foes to bring a royal prize,
Shows your brave heart victorious as your eyes.
If Judith, marching with the gen'ral's head,
Can give us passion when her story's read,
What may the living do, which brought away,
Though a less bloody, yet a nobler prey;
Who from our flaming Troy, with a bold hand,
Snatch'd her fair charge, the Princess, like a brand?
A brand! preserved to warm some prince's heart,
And make whole kingdoms take her brother's part. 20
So Venus, from prevailing Greeks, did shroud
The hope of Rome, and saved him in a cloud.

This gallant act may cancel all our rage,
Begin a better, and absolve this age.
Dark shades become the portrait of our time;
Here weeps Misfortune, and there triumphs Crime!
Let him that draws it hide the rest in night;
This portion only may endure the light,
Where the kind nymph, changing her faultless shape,
Becomes unhandsome, handsomely to 'scape, 30
When through the guards, the river, and the sea,
Faith, beauty, wit, and courage, made their way.
As the brave eagle does with sorrow see
The forest wasted, and that lofty tree
Which holds her nest about to be o'erthrown,
Before the feathers of her young are grown,
She will not leave them, nor she cannot stay,
But bears them boldly on her wings away;
So fled the dame, and o'er the ocean bore
Her princely burthen to the Gallic shore. 40
Born in the storms of war, this royal fair,
Produced like lightning in tempestuous air,
Though now she flies her native isle (less kind,
Less safe for her than either sea or wind!)
Shall, when the blossom of her beauty's blown,
See her great brother on the British throne;
Where peace shall smile, and no dispute arise,
But which rules most, his sceptre, or her eyes.

[1] 'New-year's day': Lady Morton, daughter of Sir Edward Villiers,
niece of the Duke of Buckingham, and wife of Lord Douglas, of
Dalkeith, one of the most celebrated beauties of her day. She
accompanied the Princess Henrietta in disguise to Paris. Waller,
then in France, wrote these lines in 1650.

TO A FAIR LADY, PLAYING WITH A SNAKE.

1 Strange! that such horror and such grace
Should dwell together in one place;
A fury's arm, an angel's face!

2 'Tis innocence, and youth, which makes
In Chloris' fancy such mistakes,
To start at love, and play with snakes.

3 By this and by her coldness barr'd,
Her servants have a task too hard;
The tyrant has a double guard!

4 Thrice happy snake! that in her sleeve
May boldly creep; we dare not give
Our thoughts so unconfined a leave.

5 Contented in that nest of snow
He lies, as he his bliss did know,
And to the wood no more would go.

6 Take heed, fair Eve! you do not make
Another tempter of this snake;
A marble one so warm'd would speak.

TO HIS WORTHY FRIEND MASTER EVELYN,[1] UPON HIS TRANSLATION OF
'LUCRETIUS.'

Lucretius, (with a stork-like fate,
Born, and translated, in a state)
Comes to proclaim, in English verse,
No Monarch rules the universe;
But chance, and atoms, make this All
In order democratical,
Where bodies freely run their course,
Without design, or fate, or force.
And this in such a strain he sings,
As if his Muse, with angels' wings, 10
Had soar'd beyond our utmost sphere,
And other worlds discover'd there;
For his immortal, boundless wit,
To Nature does no bounds permit,
But boldly has removed those bars
Of heaven, and earth, and seas, and stars,
By which they were before supposed,
By narrow wits, to be enclosed,
Till his free Muse threw down the pale,
And did at once dispark them all. 20

So vast this argument did seem,
That the wise author did esteem
The Roman language (which was spread
O'er the whole world, in triumph led)
A tongue too narrow to unfold
The wonders which he would have told.
This speaks thy glory, noble friend!
And British language does commend;
For here Lucretius whole we find,
His words, his music, and his mind. 30
Thy art has to our country brought
All that he writ, and all he thought.
Ovid translated, Virgil too,
Show'd long since what our tongue could do;
Nor Lucan we, nor Horace spared;
Only Lucretius was too hard.
Lucretius, like a fort, did stand 37
Untouch'd, till your victorious hand
Did from his head this garland bear,
Which now upon your own you wear:
A garland made of such new bays,
And sought in such untrodden ways,
As no man's temples e'er did crown,
Save this great author's, and your own!

[1] 'Master Evelyn': the well-known author of 'Sylva,' translated the
first book of Lucretius, 'De Rerum Natura.'

TO HIS WORTHY FRIEND SIR THOMAS HIGGONS,[1]
UPON HIS TRANSLATION OF 'THE VENETIAN TRIUMPH.'

The winged lion's not so fierce in fight
As Liberi's hand presents him to our sight;
Nor would his pencil make him half so fierce,
Or roar so loud, as Businello's verse;
But your translation does all three excel,
The fight, the piece, and lofty Businel.
As their small galleys may not hold compare
With our tall ships, whose sails employ more air;
So does th'Italian to your genius vail,
Moved with a fuller and a nobler gale. 10
Thus, while your Muse spreads the Venetian story,
You make all Europe emulate her glory;
You make them blush weak Venice should defend
The cause of Heaven, while they for words contend;
Shed Christian blood, and pop'lous cities raze,
Because they're taught to use some different phrase.
If, list'ning to your charms, we could our jars
Compose, and on the Turk discharge these wars,
Our British arms the sacred tomb might wrest 19
From Pagan hands, and triumph o'er the East;
And then you might our own high deeds recite,
And with great Tasso celebrate the fight.

[1] 'Sir T. Higgons': a knight of some note, who translated the
'Venetian Triumph,' an Italian poem by Businello, addressed to
Liberi, the painter.

TO A LADY
SINGING A SONG OF HIS COMPOSING.

1 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.

2 That eagle's fate[1] and mine are one,
Which, on the shaft that made him die,
Espied a feather of his own,
Wherewith he wont to soar so high.

3 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.

[1] 'Eagle's fate': Byron copies this thought in his verses on Kirke
White

TO THE MUTABLE FAIR.

Here, Caelia! for thy sake I part
With all that grew so near my heart;
The passion that I had for thee,
The faith, the love, the constancy!
And, that I may successful prove,
Transform myself to what you love.

Fool that I was! so much to prize
Those simple virtues you despise;
Fool! that with such dull arrows strove,
Or hoped to reach a flying dove; 10
For you, that are in motion still,
Decline our force, and mock our skill;
Who, like Don Quixote, do advance
Against a windmill our vain lance.

Now will I wander through the air,
Mount, make a stoop at every fair;
And, with a fancy unconfined
(As lawless as the sea or wind),
Pursue you wheresoe'er you fly,
And with your various thoughts comply. 20

The formal stars do travel so,
As we their names and courses know;
And he that on their changes looks,
Would think them govern'd by our books;
But never were the clouds reduced
To any art; the motions used
By those free vapours are so light,
So frequent, that the conquer'd sight
Despairs to find the rules that guide
Those gilded shadows as they slide; 30
And therefore of the spacious air,
Jove's royal consort had the care;
And by that power did once escape,
Declining bold Ixion's rape;
She with her own resemblance graced
A shining cloud, which he embraced.

Such was that image, so it smiled
With seeming kindness which beguiled
Your Thyrsis lately, when he thought
He had his fleeting Caelia caught. 40
'Twas shaped like her, but, for the fair,
He fill'd his arms with yielding air.

A fate for which he grieves the less,
Because the gods had like success;
For in their story one, we see,
Pursues a nymph, and takes a tree;
A second, with a lover's haste,
Soon overtakes whom he had chased,
But she that did a virgin seem,
Possess'd, appears a wand'ring stream; 50
For his supposed love, a third
Lays greedy hold upon a bird,
And stands amazed to find his dear
A wild inhabitant of the air.

To these old tales such nymphs as you
Give credit, and still make them new;
The am'rous now like wonders find
In the swift changes of your mind.

But, Caelia, if you apprehend
The Muse of your incensed friend, 60
Nor would that he record your blame,
And make it live, repeat the same;
Again deceive him, and again,
And then he swears he'll not complain;
For still to be deluded so,
Is all the pleasure lovers know;
Who, like good falc'ners, take delight,
Not in the quarry, but the flight.

TO A LADY,
FROM WHOM HE RECEIVED A SILVER PEN.

1 Madam! intending to have tried
The silver favour which you gave,
In ink the shining point I dyed,
And drench'd it in the sable wave;
When, grieved to be so foully stain'd,
On you it thus to me complain'd.

2 'Suppose you had deserved to take
From her fair hand so fair a boon,
Yet how deserved I to make
So ill a change, who ever won
Immortal praise for what I wrote,
Instructed by her noble thought?

3 'I, that expressed her commands
To mighty lords, and princely dames,
Always most welcome to their hands,
Proud that I would record their names,
Must now be taught an humble style,
Some meaner beauty to beguile!'

4 So I, the wronged pen to please,
Make it my humble thanks express
Unto your ladyship, in these:
And now 'tis forced to confess
That your great self did ne'er indite,
Nor that, to one more noble, write.

TO CHLORIS.

Chloris! since first our calm of peace
Was frighted hence, this good we find,
Your favours with your fears increase,
And growing mischiefs make you kind.

So the fair tree, which still preserves
Her fruit and state while no wind blows,
In storms from that uprightness swerves,
And the glad earth about her strows
With treasure, from her yielding boughs.

TO A LADY IN RETIREMENT.

1 Sees not my love how time resumes
The glory which he lent these flowers?
Though none should taste of their perfumes,
Yet must they live but some few hours:
Time what we forbear devours!

2 Had Helen, or the Egyptian Queen,[1]
Been ne'er so thrifty of their graces,
Those beauties must at length have been
The spoil of age, which finds out faces
In the most retired places.

3 Should some malignant planet bring
A barren drought, or ceaseless shower,
Upon the autumn or the spring,
And spare us neither fruit nor flower;
Winter would not stay an hour.

4 Could the resolve of love's neglect
Preserve you from the violation
Of coming years, then more respect
Were due to so divine a fashion,
Nor would I indulge my passion.

[1] 'Egyptian Queen': Cleopatra.

TO MR GEORGE SANDYS,[1]
ON HIS TRANSLATION OF SOME PARTS OF THE BIBLE.

1 How bold a work attempts that pen,
Which would enrich our vulgar tongue
With the high raptures of those men
Who, here, with the same spirit sung
Wherewith they now assist the choir
Of angels, who their songs admire!

2 Whatever those inspired souls
Were urged to express, did shake
The aged deep and both the poles;
Their num'rous thunder could awake
Dull earth, which does with Heaven consent
To all they wrote, and all they meant.

3 Say, sacred bard! what could bestow
Courage on thee to soar so high?
Tell me, brave friend! what help'd thee so
To shake off all mortality?
To light this torch, thou hast climb'd higher
Than he who stole celestial fire.[2]

[1] 'Sandys,' besides his 'Ovid,' which Pope read and relished in his
boyhood, versified some of the poetical parts of the Bible.
[2] 'Celestial fire': Prometheus.

TO THE KING,
UPON HIS MAJESTY'S HAPPY RETURN.

The rising sun complies with our weak sight,
First gilds the clouds, then shows his globe of light
At such a distance from our eyes, as though
He knew what harm his hasty beams would do.

But your full majesty at once breaks forth
In the meridian of your reign. Your worth,
Your youth, and all the splendour of your state,
(Wrapp'd up, till now, in clouds of adverse fate!)
With such a flood of light invade our eyes,
And our spread hearts with so great joy surprise, 10
That if your grace incline that we should live,
You must not, sir! too hastily forgive.
Our guilt preserves us from th'excess of joy,
Which scatters spirits, and would life destroy.
All are obnoxious! and this faulty land,
Like fainting Esther, does before you stand,
Watching your sceptre. The revolted sea
Trembles to think she did your foes obey.

Great Britain, like blind Polypheme, of late,
In a wild rage, became the scorn and hate 20
Of her proud neighbours, who began to think
She, with the weight of her own force, would sink.
But you are come, and all their hopes are vain;
This giant isle has got her eye again.
Now she might spare the ocean, and oppose
Your conduct to the fiercest of her foes.
Naked, the Graces guarded you from all
Dangers abroad; and now your thunder shall.
Princes that saw you, diff'rent passions prove,
For now they dread the object of their love; 30
Nor without envy can behold his height,
Whose conversation was their late delight.
So Semele, contented with the rape
Of Jove disguised in a mortal shape,
When she beheld his hands with lightning fill'd,
And his bright rays, was with amazement kill'd.

And though it be our sorrow, and our crime,
To have accepted life so long a time
Without you here, yet does this absence gain
No small advantage to your present reign; 40
For, having view'd the persons and the things,
The councils, state, and strength of Europe's kings,
You know your work; ambition to restrain,
And set them bounds, as Heaven does to the main.
We have you now with ruling wisdom fraught,
Not such as books, but such as practice, taught.
So the lost sun, while least by us enjoy'd,
Is the whole night for our concern employ'd;
He ripens spices, fruits, and precious gums,
Which from remotest regions hither comes. 50

This seat of yours (from th'other world removed)
Had Archimedes known, he might have proved
His engine's force, fix'd here; your power and skill
Make the world's motion wait upon your will.

Much suffring monarch! the first English born
That has the crown of these three nations worn!
How has your patience, with the barb'rous rage
Of your own soil, contended half an age?
Till (your tried virtue, and your sacred word,
At last preventing your unwilling sword) 60
Armies and fleets which kept you out so long,
Own'd their great sov'reign, and redress'd his wrong;
When straight the people, by no force compell'd,
Nor longer from their inclination held,
Break forth at once, like powder set on fire,
And, with a noble rage, their king require.
So th'injured sea, which from her wonted course,
To gain some acres, avarice did force,
If the new banks, neglected once, decay,
No longer will from her old channel stay; 70
Raging, the late got land she overflows,
And all that's built upon't to ruin goes.

Offenders now, the chiefest, do begin
To strive for grace, and expiate their sin.
All winds blow fair, that did the world embroil;
Your vipers treacle yield, and scorpions oil.

If then such praise the Macedonian[1] got,
For having rudely cut the Gordian knot,
What glory's due to him that could divide
Such ravell'd interests; has the knot untied, 80
And without stroke so smooth a passage made,
Where craft and malice such impeachments laid?

But while we praise you, you ascribe it all
To His high hand, which threw the untouch'd wall
Of self-demolish'd Jericho so low;
His angel 'twas that did before you go,
Tamed savage hearts, and made affections yield,
Like ears of corn when wind salutes the field.

Thus, patience-crown'd, like Job's, your trouble ends,
Having your foes to pardon, and your friends; 90
For, though your courage were so firm a rock,
What private virtue could endure the shock?
Like your Great Master, you the storm withstood,
And pitied those who love with frailty show'd.

Rude Indians, tort'ring all the royal race,
Him with the throne and dear-bought sceptre grace
That suffers best. What region could be found, 97
Where your heroic head had not been crown'd?

The next experience of your mighty mind
Is, how you combat Fortune, now she's kind.
And this way, too, you are victorious found;
She flatters with the same success she frown'd.
While to yourself severe, to others kind,
With pow'r unbounded, and a will confined,
Of this vast empire you possess the care,
The softer parts fall to the people's share.
Safety, and equal government, are things
Which subjects make as happy as their kings.

Faith, Law, and Piety, (that banished train!)
Justice and Truth, with you return again. 110
The city's trade, and country's easy life,
Once more shall flourish without fraud or strife.
Your reign no less assures the ploughman's peace,
Than the warm sun advances his increase;
And does the shepherds as securely keep
From all their fears, as they preserve their sheep.

But, above all, the Muse-inspired train
Triumph, and raise their drooping heads again!
Kind Heaven at once has, in your person, sent
Their sacred judge, their guard, and argument. 120

Nec magis expressi vultus per ahenea signa,
Quam per vatis opus mores, animique, virorum
Clarorum apparent.... HOR.

[1] 'Macedonian': Alexander.

TO A LADY,
FROM WHOM HE RECEIVED THE COPY OF THE POEM ENTITLED 'OF A TREE CUT IN
PAPER,' WHICH FOR MANY YEARS HAD BEEN LOST.

Nothing lies hid from radiant eyes;
All they subdue become their spies.
Secrets, as choicest jewels, are
Presented to oblige the fair;
No wonder, then, that a lost thought
Should there be found, where souls are caught.

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