Poetical Works of Edmund Waller and Sir John Denham Part 18

Fierce, goodly, young! Mars he resembles, when 209 Jove sends him down to scourge perfidious men; Such as with foul ingrat.i.tude have paid Both those that led, and those that gave them aid.

Where he gives on, disposing of their fates, Terror and death on his loud cannon waits, With which he pleads his brother's cause so well, He shakes the throne to which he does appeal.

The sea with spoils his angry bullets strow, Widows and orphans making as they go; Before his ship fragments of vessels torn, Flags, arms, and Belgian carca.s.ses are borne; 220 And his despairing foes, to flight inclined, Spread all their canvas to invite the wind.

So the rude Boreas, where he lists to blow, Makes clouds above, and billows fly below, Beating the sh.o.r.e; and, with a boist'rous rage, Does heaven at once, and earth, and sea engage.

The Dutch, elsewhere, did through the wat'ry field Perform enough to have made others yield; But English courage, growing as they fight, In danger, noise, and slaughter, takes delight; 230 Their b.l.o.o.d.y task, unwearied still, they ply, Only restrain'd by death, or victory.

Iron and lead, from earth's dark entrails torn, Like showers of hail from either side are borne; So high the rage of wretched mortals goes, Hurling their mother's bowels at their foes!

Ingenious to their ruin, every age Improves the arts and instruments of rage.

Death-hast'ning ills Nature enough has sent, And yet men still a thousand more invent! 240

But Bacchus now, which led the Belgians on, So fierce at first, to favour us begun; Brandy and wine (their wonted friends) at length Render them useless, and betray their strength.

So corn in fields, and in the garden flowers, Revive and raise themselves with mod'rate showers; But overcharged with never-ceasing rain, Become too moist, and bend their heads again.

Their reeling ships on one another fall, Without a foe, enough to ruin all. 250 Of this disorder, and the favouring wind, The watchful English such advantage find, Ships fraught with fire among the heap they throw, And up the so-entangled Belgians blow.

The flame invades the powder-rooms, and then, Their guns shoot bullets, and their vessels men.

The scorch'd Batavians on the billows float, Sent from their own, to pa.s.s in Charon's boat.

And now, our royal Admiral success (With all the marks of victory) does bless; 260 The burning ships, the taken, and the slain, Proclaim his triumph o'er the conquer'd main.

Nearer to Holland, as their hasty flight Carries the noise and tumult of the fight, His cannons' roar, forerunner of his fame, Makes their Hague tremble, and their Amsterdam; The British thunder does their houses rock, And the Duke seems at every door to knock.

His dreadful streamer (like a comet's hair, Threatening destruction) hastens their despair; 270 Makes them deplore their scatter'd fleet as lost, And fear our present landing on their coast.

The trembling Dutch th'approaching Prince behold, As sheep a lion leaping tow'rds their fold; Those piles, which serve them to repel the main, They think too weak his fury to restrain.

'What wonders may not English valour work, 277 Led by th'example of victorious York?

Or what defence against him can they make, Who, at such distance, does their country shake?

His fatal hand their bulwarks will o'erthrow, And let in both the ocean, and the foe;'

Thus cry the people;--and, their land to keep, Allow our t.i.tle to command the deep; Blaming their States' ill conduct, to provoke Those arms, which freed them from the Spanish yoke.

Painter! excuse me, if I have a while Forgot thy art, and used another style; For, though you draw arm'd heroes as they sit, The task in battle does the Muses fit; 290 They, in the dark confusion of a fight, Discover all, instruct us how to write; And light and honour to brave actions yield, Hid in the smoke and tumult of the field, Ages to come shall know that leader's toil, And his great name, on whom the Muses smile; Their dictates here let thy famed pencil trace, And this relation with thy colours grace.

Then draw the Parliament, the n.o.bles met, And our great Monarch high above them set; 300 Like young Augustus let his image be, Triumphing for that victory at sea, Where Egypt's Queen,[3] and Eastern kings o'erthrown, Made the possession of the world his own.

Last draw the Commons at his royal feet, Pouring out treasure to supply his fleet; They vow with lives and fortunes to maintain Their King's eternal t.i.tle to the main; And with a present to the Duke, approve 309 His valour, conduct, and his country's love.

[1] See History of England.

[2] 'Young prince': Prince of Orange.

[3] 'Egypt's Queen': Cleopatra.

OF ENGLISH VERSE.

1 Poets may boast, as safely vain, Their works shall with the world remain: Both, bound together, live or die, The verses and the prophecy.

2 But who can hope his line should long Last in a daily changing tongue?

While they are new, envy prevails; And as that dies, our language fails.

3 When architects have done their part, The matter may betray their art; Time, if we use ill-chosen stone, Soon brings a well-built palace down.

4 Poets that lasting marble seek, Must carve in Latin, or in Greek; We write in sand, our language grows, And like the tide, our work o'erflows.

5 Chaucer his sense can only boast; The glory of his numbers lost!

Years have defaced his matchless strain; And yet he did not sing in vain.

6 The beauties which adorn'd that age, The shining subjects of his rage, Hoping they should immortal prove, Rewarded with success his love.

7 This was the gen'rous poet's scope; And all an English pen can hope, To make the fair approve his flame, That can so far extend their fame.

8 Verse, thus design'd, has no ill fate, If it arrive but at the date Of fading beauty; if it prove But as long-lived as present love.

THESE VERSES WERE WRIT IN THE Ta.s.sO OF HER ROYAL HIGHNESS.

Ta.s.so knew how the fairer s.e.x to grace, But in no one durst all perfection place.

In her alone that owns this book is seen Clorinda's spirit, and her lofty mien, Sophronia's piety, Erminia's truth, Armida's charms, her beauty, and her youth.

Our Princess here, as in a gla.s.s, does dress Her well-taught mind, and every grace express.

More to our wonder than Rinaldo fought, The hero's race excels the poet's thought.

THE TRIPLE COMBAT.[1]

When through the world fair Mazarin had run, Bright as her fellow-traveller, the sun, Hither at length the Roman eagle flies, As the last triumph of her conqu'ring eyes.

As heir to Julius, she may pretend A second time to make this island bend; But Portsmouth, springing from the ancient race Of Britons, which the Saxon here did chase, As they great Caesar did oppose, makes head, And does against this new invader lead. 10 That goodly nymph, the taller of the two, Careless and fearless to the field does go.

Becoming blushes on the other wait, And her young look excuses want of height.

Beauty gives courage; for she knows the day Must not be won the Amazonian way.

Legions of Cupids to the battle come, For Little Britain these, and those for Rome.

Dress'd to advantage, this ill.u.s.trious pair Arrived, for combat in the list appear. 20 What may the Fates design! for never yet From distant regions two such beauties met.

Venus had been an equal friend to both, And vict'ry to declare herself seems loth; Over the camp, with doubtful wings, she flies, Till Chloris shining in the fields she spies.

The lovely Chloris well-attended came, A thousand Graces waited on the dame; Her matchless form made all the English glad, 29 And foreign beauties less a.s.surance had; Yet, like the Three on Ida's top, they all Pretend alike, contesting for the ball; Which to determine, Love himself declined, Lest the neglected should become less kind.

Such killing looks! so thick the arrows fly!

That 'tis unsafe to be a stander-by.

Poets, approaching to describe the fight, Are by their wounds instructed how to write.

They with less hazard might look on, and draw The ruder combats in Alsatia; 40 And, with that foil of violence and rage, Set off the splendour of our golden age; Where Love gives law, Beauty the sceptre sways, And, uncompell'd, the happy world obeys.

[1] 'Triple combat': the d.u.c.h.ess of Mazarin was a divorced demirep, who came to England with some designs on Charles II., in which she was counteracted by the d.u.c.h.ess of Portsmouth.

UPON OUR LATE LOSS OF THE DUKE OF CAMBRIDGE.[1]

The failing blossoms which a young plant bears, Engage our hope for the succeeding years; And hope is all which art or nature brings, At the first trial, to accomplish things.