Poetical Works of Edmund Waller and Sir John Denham Part 10

Charm all her senses, till the joyful sun Without a rival half his course has run; Who, while my hand that fairer light confines, May boast himself the brightest thing that shines. 40

[1] 'Maeonian': Homer.

PUERPERIUM.[1]

1 You G.o.ds that have the power To trouble and compose All that's beneath your bower, Calm silence on the seas, on earth impose.

2 Fair Venus! in thy soft arms The G.o.d of Rage confine; For thy whispers are the charms Which only can divert his fierce design.

3 What though he frown, and to tumult do incline?

Thou the flame Kindled in his breast canst tame, With that snow which unmelted lies on thine.

4 Great G.o.ddess! give this thy sacred island rest; Make heaven smile, That no storm disturb us while Thy chief care, our halcyon, builds her nest.

5 Great Gloriana! fair Gloriana!

Bright as high heaven is, and fertile as earth, Whose beauty relieves us, Whose royal bed gives us Both glory and peace, Our present joy, and all our hopes' increase.

[1] 'Puerperium ': Fenton conjectures that this poem was written in 1640, when the Queen was delivered of her fourth son, the Duke of Gloucester.

A LA MALADE.

Ah, lovely Amoret! the care Of all that know what's good or fair!

Is heaven become our rival too?

Had the rich gifts conferr'd on you So amply thence, the common end Of giving lovers--to pretend?

Hence, to this pining sickness (meant To weary thee to a consent Of leaving us) no power is given 9 Thy beauties to impair; for heaven Solicits thee with such a care, As roses from their stalks we tear, When we would still preserve them new And fresh, as on the bush they grew.

With such a grace you entertain, And look with such contempt on pain, That languishing you conquer more, And wound us deeper than before.

So lightnings which in storms appear, Scorch more than when the skies are clear. 20

And as pale sickness does invade Your frailer part, the breaches made In that fair lodging, still more clear Make the bright guest, your soul, appear.

So nymphs o'er pathless mountains borne, Their light robes by the brambles torn From their fair limbs, exposing new And unknown beauties to the view Of following G.o.ds, increase their flame And haste to catch the flying game. 30

UPON THE DEATH OF MY LADY RICH.[1]

May those already cursed Ess.e.xian plains, Where hasty death and pining sickness reigns, Prove all a desert! and none there make stay, But savage beasts, or men as wild as they!

There the fair light which all our island graced, Like Hero's taper in the window placed, Such fate from the malignant air did find, 7 As that exposed to the boist'rous wind.

Ah, cruel Heaven! to s.n.a.t.c.h so soon away Her for whose life, had we had time to pray, With thousand vows and tears we should have sought That sad decree's suspension to have wrought.

But we, alas! no whisper of her pain Heard, till 'twas sin to wish her here again.

That horrid word, at once, like lightning spread, Struck all our ears--The Lady Rich is dead!

Heart-rending news! and dreadful to those few Who her resemble, and her steps pursue; That death should license have to rage among The fair, the wise, the virtuous, and the young! 20

The Paphian queen from that fierce battle borne, With gored hand, and veil so rudely torn, Like terror did among th'immortals breed, Taught by her wound that G.o.ddesses may bleed.

All stand amazed! but beyond the rest th'heroic dame whose happy womb she bless'd,[2]

Moved with just grief, expostulates with Heaven, Urging the promise to th'obsequious given, Of longer life; for ne'er was pious soul More apt t'obey, more worthy to control. 30 A skilful eye at once might read the race Of Caledonian monarchs in her face, And sweet humility; her look and mind At once were lofty, and at once were kind.

There dwelt the scorn of vice, and pity too, For those that did what she disdain'd to do; So gentle and severe, that what was bad, At once her hatred and her pardon had.

Gracious to all; but where her love was due, 39 So fast, so faithful, loyal, and so true, That a bold hand as soon might hope to force The rolling lights of heaven, as change her course.

Some happy angel, that beholds her there, Instruct us to record what she was here!

And when this cloud of sorrow's overblown, Through the wide world we'll make her graces known.

So fresh the wound is, and the grief so vast, That all our art and power of speech is waste.

Here pa.s.sion sways, but there the Muse shall raise Eternal monuments of louder praise. 50

There our delight, complying with her fame, Shall have occasion to recite thy name, Fair Saccharissa!--and now only fair!

To sacred friendship we'll an altar rear (Such as the Romans did erect of old), Where, on a marble pillar, shall be told The lovely pa.s.sion each to other bare, With the resemblance of that matchless pair.

Narcissus to the thing for which he pined Was not more like than yours to her fair mind, 60 Save that she graced the several parts of life, A spotless virgin, and a faultless wife.

Such was the sweet converse 'twixt her and you, As that she holds with her a.s.sociates now.

How false is hope, and how regardless fate, That such a love should have so short a date!

Lately I saw her, sighing, part from thee; (Alas that that the last farewell should be!) So looked Astraea, her remove design'd, On those distressed friends she left behind. 70 Consent in virtue knit your hearts so fast, That still the knot, in spite of death, does last; For as your tears, and sorrow-wounded soul, Prove well that on your part this bond is whole, So all we know of what they do above, Is that they happy are, and that they love.

Let dark oblivion, and the hollow grave, Content themselves our frailer thoughts to have; Well-chosen love is never taught to die, But with our n.o.bler part invades the sky. 80 Then grieve no more that one so heavenly shaped The crooked hand of trembling age escaped; Rather, since we beheld her not decay, But that she vanish'd so entire away, Her wondrous beauty, and her goodness, merit We should suppose that some propitious spirit In that celestial form frequented here, And is not dead, but ceases to appear.

[1] 'Lady Rich': she was the daughter of the Earl of Devonshire, and married to the heir of the Earl of Warwick.

[2] 'Womb she blessed': the Countess of Devonshire, a very old woman, the only daughter of Lord Bruce, descended from Robert the Bruce.

OF LOVE.

Anger, in hasty words or blows, Itself discharges on our foes; And sorrow, too, finds some relief In tears, which wait upon our grief; So every pa.s.sion, but fond love, Unto its own redress does move; But that alone the wretch inclines To what prevents his own designs; Makes him lament, and sigh, and weep, Disorder'd, tremble, fawn, and creep; 10 Postures which render him despised, Where he endeavours to be prized.

For women (born to be controll'd) Stoop to the forward and the bold; Affect the haughty and the proud, The gay, the frolic, and the loud.

Who first the gen'rous steed oppress'd, Not kneeling did salute the beast; But with high courage, life, and force, Approaching, tamed th'unruly horse. 20

Unwisely we the wiser East Pity, supposing them oppress'd With tyrants' force, whose law is will, By which they govern, spoil and kill: Each nymph, but moderately fair, Commands with no less rigour here.

Should some brave Turk, that walks among His twenty la.s.ses, bright and young, And beckons to the willing dame, Preferr'd to quench his present flame, 30 Behold as many gallants here, With modest guise and silent fear, All to one female idol bend, While her high pride does scarce descend To mark their follies, he would swear That these her guard of eunuchs were, And that a more majestic queen, Or humbler slaves, he had not seen.

All this with indignation spoke, In vain I struggled with the yoke 40 Of mighty Love; that conqu'ring look, When next beheld, like lightning strook My blasted soul, and made me bow Lower than those I pitied now.

So the tall stag, upon the brink Of some smooth stream about to drink, Surveying there his armed head, 47 With shame remembers that he fled The scorned dogs, resolves to try The combat next; but if their cry Invades again his trembling ear, He straight resumes his wonted care, Leaves the untasted spring behind, And, wing'd with fear, outflies the wind.