Poetical Works of Edmund Waller and Sir John Denham Part 16

UPON THE DEATH OF THE LORD PROTECTOR.

We must resign! Heaven his great soul does claim In storms, as loud as his immortal fame; His dying groans, his last breath, shakes our isle, And trees uncut fall for his funeral pile; About his palace their broad roots are toss'd Into the air.[1]--So Romulus was lost!

New Rome in such a tempest miss'd her king, And from obeying fell to worshipping.

On Oeta's top thus Hercules lay dead, 9 With ruin'd oaks and pines about him spread; The poplar, too, whose bough he wont to wear On his victorious head, lay prostrate there; Those his last fury from the mountain rent: Our dying hero from the Continent Ravish'd whole towns: and forts from Spaniards reft As his last legacy to Britain left.

The ocean, which so long our hopes confined, Could give no limits to his vaster mind; Our bounds' enlargement was his latest toil, Nor hath he left us pris'ners to our isle; 20 Under the tropic is our language spoke, And part of Flanders hath received our yoke.

From civil broils he did us disengage, Found n.o.bler objects for our martial rage; And, with wise conduct, to his country show'd The ancient way of conquering abroad.

Ungrateful then! if we no tears allow To him, that gave us peace and empire too.

Princes, that fear'd him, grieve, concern'd to see No pitch of glory from the grave is free. 30 Nature herself took notice of his death, And, sighing, swell'd the sea with such a breath, That, to remotest sh.o.r.es her billows roll'd, The approaching fate of their great ruler told.

[1] 'The air': a tremendous tempest blew over England (not on the day), but a day or two before Cromwell's death. It was said that something of the same sort, along with an eclipse of the sun, took place on the removal of Romulus.

ON ST JAMES'S PARK, AS LATELY IMPROVED BY HIS MAJESTY.[1]

Of the first Paradise there's nothing found; Plants set by Heaven are vanish'd, and the ground; Yet the description lasts; who knows the fate Of lines that shall this paradise relate?

Instead of rivers rolling by the side Of Eden's garden, here flows in the tide; The sea, which always served his empire, now Pays tribute to our Prince's pleasure too.

Of famous cities we the founders know; But rivers, old as seas, to which they go, 10 Are Nature's bounty; 'tis of more renown To make a river, than to build a town.

For future shade, young trees upon the banks Of the new stream appear in even ranks; The voice of Orpheus, or Amphion's hand, In better order could not make them stand; May they increase as fast, and spread their boughs, As the high fame of their great owner grows!

May he live long enough to see them all Dark shadows cast, and as his palace tall! 20 Methinks I see the love that shall be made, The lovers walking in that am'rous shade; The gallants dancing by the river side; They bathe in summer, and in winter slide.

Methinks I hear the music in the boats, And the loud echo which returns the notes; While overhead a flock of new-sprung fowl Hangs in the air, and does the sun control, Dark'ning the sky; they hover o'er, and shroud 29 The wanton sailors with a feather'd cloud.

Beneath, a shoal of silver fishes glides, And plays about the gilded barges' sides; The ladies, angling in the crystal lake, Feast on the waters with the prey they take; At once victorious with their lines, and eyes, They make the fishes, and the men, their prize.

A thousand Cupids on the billows ride, And sea-nymphs enter with the swelling tide, From Thetis sent as spies, to make report, And tell the wonders of her sovereign's court. 40 All that can, living, feed the greedy eye, Or dead, the palate, here you may descry; The choicest things that furnish'd Noah's ark, Or Peter's sheet, inhabiting this park; All with a border of rich fruit-trees crown'd, Whose loaded branches hide the lofty mound, Such various ways the s.p.a.cious alleys lead, My doubtful Muse knows not what path to tread.

Yonder, the harvest of cold months laid up, Gives a fresh coolness to the royal cup; 50 There ice, like crystal firm, and never lost, Tempers hot July with December's frost; Winter's dark prison, whence he cannot fly, Though the warm spring, his enemy, draws nigh.

Strange! that extremes should thus preserve the snow, High on the Alps, or in deep caves below.

Here, a well-polished Mall gives us the joy To see our Prince his matchless force employ; His manly posture, and his graceful mien, Vigour and youth in all his motions seen; 60 His shape so lovely and his limbs so strong, Confirm our hopes we shall obey him long.

No sooner has he touch'd the flying ball, 63 But 'tis already more than half the Mall; And such a fury from his arm has got, As from a smoking culv'rin it were shot.[2]

Near this my Muse, what most delights her, sees A living gallery of aged trees; Bold sons of earth, that thrust their arms so high, As if once more they would invade the sky. 70 In such green palaces the first kings reign'd, Slept in their shades, and angels entertain'd; With such old counsellors they did advise, And, by frequenting sacred groves, grew wise.

Free from th'impediments of light and noise, Man, thus retired, his n.o.bler thoughts employs.

Here Charles contrives th'ordering of his states, Here he resolves his neighb'ring princes' fates; What nation shall have peace, where war be made, Determined is in this oraculous shade; 80 The world, from India to the frozen north, Concern'd in what this solitude brings forth.

His fancy objects from his view receives; The prospect thought and contemplation gives.

That seat of empire here salutes his eye, To which three kingdoms do themselves apply; The structure by a prelate[3] raised, Whitehall, Built with the fortune of Rome's capitol; Both, disproportion'd to the present state Of their proud founders, were approved by Fate. 90 From hence he does that antique pile[4] behold, Where royal heads receive the sacred gold; It gives them crowns, and does their ashes keep; There made like G.o.ds, like mortals there they sleep; Making the circle of their reign complete, Those suns of empire! where they rise, they set.

When others fell, this, standing, did presage The crown should triumph over popular rage; Hard by that House,[5] where all our ills were shaped, Th' auspicious temple stood, and yet escaped. 100 So snow on Aetna does unmelted lie, Whence rolling flames and scatter'd cinders fly; The distant country in the ruin shares; What falls from heaven the burning mountain spares.

Next, that capacious Hall[6] he sees, the room Where the whole nation does for justice come; Under whose large roof flourishes the gown, And judges grave, on high tribunals, frown.

Here, like the people's pastor he does go, His flock subjected to his view below; 110 On which reflecting in his mighty mind, No private pa.s.sion does indulgence find; The pleasures of his youth suspended are, And made a sacrifice to public care.

Here, free from court compliances, he walks, And with himself, his best adviser, talks; How peaceful olives may his temples shade, For mending laws, and for restoring trade; Or, how his brows may be with laurel charged, For nations conquer'd and our bounds enlarged. 120 Of ancient prudence here he ruminates, Of rising kingdoms, and of falling states; What ruling arts gave great Augustus fame, And how Alcides purchased such a name.

His eyes, upon his native palace[7] bent, Close by, suggest a greater argument.

His thoughts rise higher, when he does reflect On what the world may from that star expect Which at his birth appear'd,[8] to let us see Day, for his sake, could with the night agree; 130 A prince, on whom such diff'rent lights did smile, Born the divided world to reconcile!

Whatever Heaven, or high extracted blood Could promise, or foretell, he will make good; Reform these nations, and improve them more, Than this fair park, from what it was before.

[1] See 'Macaulay.'

[2] Pall Mall derived its name from a particular game at bowls, in which Charles II. excelled.

[3] 'Prelate': Cardinal Wolsey.

[4] 'Antique pile': Westminster Abbey.

[5] 'House': House of Commons.

[6] 'Hall': Westminster Hall.

[7] 'Palace': St. James's Palace, where Charles II. was born.

[8] 'Birth appeared ': it seems a new star appeared in the heavens at the birth of the king.

OF HER ROYAL HIGHNESS, MOTHER TO THE PRINCE OF ORANGE;[1]

AND OF HER PORTRAIT, WRITTEN BY THE LATE d.u.c.h.eSS OF YORK, WHILE SHE LIVED WITH HER.

Heroic nymph! in tempests the support, In peace the glory of the British Court!

Into whose arms the church, the state, and all That precious is, or sacred here, did fall.

Ages to come, that shall your bounty hear, Will think you mistress of the Indies were; Though straiter bounds your fortunes did confine, In your large heart was found a wealthy mine; Like the bless'd oil, the widow's lasting feast, Your treasure, as you pour'd it out, increased. 10

While some your beauty, some your bounty sing, Your native isle does with your praises ring; But, above all, a nymph of your own train[2]

Gives us your character in such a strain, As none but she, who in that Court did dwell, Could know such worth, or worth describe so well.

So while we mortals here at heaven do guess, And more our weakness, than the place, express, Some angel, a domestic there, comes down, And tells the wonders he hath seen and known. 20

[1] 'Prince of Orange': Mary, Princess of Orange, and sister to Charles II.

[2] 'Train': Lady Anne Hyde, daughter of the Earl of Clarendon, and afterwards d.u.c.h.ess of York, and mother of Queen Mary and Queen Anne.

UPON HER MAJESTY'S NEW BUILDINGS AT SOMERSET HOUSE.[1]

Great Queen! that does our island bless With princes and with palaces; Treated so ill, chased from your throne, Returning you adorn the Town; And, with a brave revenge, do show Their glory went and came with you.

While peace from hence and you were gone, Your houses in that storm o'erthrown, Those wounds which civil rage did give, At once you pardon, and relieve. 10

Constant to England in your love, As birds are to their wonted grove, Though by rude hands their nests are spoil'd, There the next spring again they build.

Accusing some malignant star, Not Britain, for that fatal war, Your kindness banishes your fear, Resolved to fix for ever here.[2]

But what new mine this work supplies?

Can such a pile from ruin rise? 20 This, like the first creation, shows As if at your command it rose.

Frugality and bounty too (Those diff'ring virtues), meet in you; From a confined, well-managed store, You both employ and feed the poor.

Let foreign princes vainly boast The rude effects of pride, and cost Of vaster fabrics, to which they Contribute nothing but the pay; 30 This, by the Queen herself design'd, Gives us a pattern of her mind; The state and order does proclaim The genius of that Royal Dame.

Each part with just proportion graced, And all to such advantage placed, That the fair view her window yields, The town, the river, and the fields, Ent'ring, beneath us we descry, And wonder how we came so high. 40