The Poetical Works of John Dryden Volume I Part 25

I.

Thus long my grief has kept me dumb: Sure there's a lethargy in mighty woe, Tears stand congeal'd, and cannot flow; And the sad soul retires into her inmost room: Tears, for a stroke foreseen, afford relief; But, unprovided for a sudden blow, Like Niobe we marble grow; And petrify with grief.

Our British heaven was all serene, No threatening cloud was nigh, Not the least wrinkle to deform the sky; We lived as unconcern'd and happily As the first age in Nature's golden scene; Supine amidst our flowing store, We slept securely, and we dreamt of more: When suddenly the thunder-clap was heard, It took us unprepared and out of guard, Already lost before we fear'd.

The amazing news of Charles at once were spread, At once the general voice declared, "Our gracious prince was dead."

No sickness known before, no slow disease, To soften grief by just degrees: But like a hurricane on Indian seas, The tempest rose; An unexpected burst of woes; With scarce a breathing s.p.a.ce betwixt-- This now becalm'd, and perishing the next.

As if great Atlas from his height Should sink beneath his heavenly weight, And with a mighty flaw, the flaming wall (At once it shall), Should gape immense, and rushing down, o'erwhelm this nether ball; So swift and so surprising was our fear: Our Atlas fell indeed, but Hercules was near.

II.

His pious brother, sure the best Who ever bore that name!

Was newly risen from his rest, And, with a fervent flame, His usual morning vows had just address'd For his dear sovereign's health; And hoped to have them heard, In long increase of years, In honour, fame, and wealth: Guiltless of greatness thus he always pray'd, Nor knew nor wish'd those vows he made, On his own head should be repaid.

Soon as the ill-omen'd rumour reach'd his ear, (Ill news is wing'd with fate, and flies apace,) Who can describe the amazement of his face!

Horror in all his pomp was there, Mute and magnificent without a tear: And then the hero first was seen to fear.

Half unarray'd he ran to his relief, So hasty and so artless was his grief: Approaching greatness met him with her charms Of power and future state; But look'd so ghastly in a brother's fate, He shook her from his arms.

Arrived within the mournful room, he saw A wild distraction, void of awe, And arbitrary grief unbounded by a law.

G.o.d's image, G.o.d's anointed lay Without motion, pulse, or breath, A senseless lump of sacred clay, An image now of death.

Amidst his sad attendants' groans and cries, The lines of that adored, forgiving face, Distorted from their native grace; An iron slumber sat on his majestic eyes.

The pious duke--Forbear, audacious Muse!

No terms thy feeble art can use Are able to adorn so vast a woe: The grief of all the rest like subject-grief did show, His like a sovereign did transcend; No wife, no brother, such a grief could know, Nor any name but friend.

III.

O wondrous changes of a fatal scene, Still varying to the last!

Heaven, though its hard decree was past, Seem'd pointing to a gracious turn again: And death's uplifted arm arrested in its haste.

Heaven half repented of the doom, And almost grieved it had foreseen, What by foresight it will'd eternally to come.

Mercy above did hourly plead For her resemblance here below; And mild forgiveness intercede To stop the coming blow.

New miracles approach'd the ethereal throne, Such as his wondrous life had oft and lately known, And urged that still they might be shown.

On earth his pious brother pray'd and vow'd, Renouncing greatness at so dear a rate, Himself defending what he could, From all the glories of his future fate.

With him the innumerable crowd Of armed prayers Knock'd at the gates of Heaven, and knock'd aloud; The first well-meaning rude pet.i.tioners, All for his life a.s.sail'd the throne, All would have bribed the skies by offering up their own.

So great a throng not Heaven itself could bar; 'Twas almost borne by force as in the giants' war.

The prayers, at least, for his reprieve were heard; His death, like Hezekiah's, was deferr'd: Against the sun the shadow went; Five days, those five degrees, were lent To form our patience and prepare the event.

The second causes took the swift command, The medicinal head, the ready hand, All eager to perform their part; All but eternal doom was conquer'd by their art: Once more the fleeting soul came back To inspire the mortal frame; And in the body took a doubtful stand, Doubtful and hovering like expiring flame, That mounts and falls by turns, and trembles o'er the brand.

IV.

The joyful short-lived news soon spread around, Took the same train, the same impetuous bound: The drooping town in smiles again was dress'd, Gladness in every face express'd, Their eyes before their tongues confess'd.

Men met each other with erected look, The steps were higher that they took; Friends to congratulate their friends made haste; And long inveterate foes saluted as they pa.s.s'd: Above the rest heroic James appear'd-- Exalted more, because he more had fear'd: His manly heart, whose n.o.ble pride Was still above Dissembled hate or varnish'd love, Its more than common transport could not hide; But like an eagre[90] rode in triumph o'er the tide.

Thus, in alternate course, The tyrant pa.s.sions, hope and fear, Did in extremes appear, And flash'd upon the soul with equal force.

Thus, at half ebb, a rolling sea Returns and wins upon the sh.o.r.e; The watery herd, affrighted at the roar, Rest on their fins awhile, and stay, Then backward take their wondering way: The prophet wonders more than they, At prodigies but rarely seen before, And cries, A king must fall, or kingdoms change their sway.

Such were our counter-tides at land, and so Presaging of the fatal blow, In their prodigious ebb and flow.

The royal soul, that, like the labouring moon, By charms of art was hurried down, Forced with regret to leave her native sphere, Came but awhile on liking here: Soon weary of the painful strife, And made but faint essays of life: An evening light Soon shut in night; A strong distemper, and a weak relief, Short intervals of joy, and long returns of grief.

V.

The sons of art all medicines tried, And every n.o.ble remedy applied; With emulation each essay'd His utmost skill, nay more, they pray'd: Never was losing game with better conduct play'd.

Death never won a stake with greater toil, Nor e'er was fate so near a foil: But like a fortress on a rock, The impregnable disease their vain attempts did mock; They mined it near, they batter'd from afar With, all the cannon of the medicinal war; No gentle means could be essay'd, 'Twas beyond parley when the siege was laid: The extremest ways they first ordain, Prescribing such intolerable pain, As none but Caesar could sustain: Undaunted Csesar underwent The malice of their art, nor bent Beneath whate'er their pious rigour could invent: In five such days he suffer'd more Than any suffer'd in his reign before; More, infinitely more, than he, Against the worst of rebels, could decree, A traitor, or twice pardon'd enemy.

Now art was tried without success, No racks could make the stubborn malady confess.

The vain insurancers of life, And they who most perform'd and promised less, Even Short and Hobbes[91] forsook the unequal strife.

Death and despair were in their looks, No longer they consult their memories or books; Like helpless friends, who view from sh.o.r.e The labouring ship, and hear the tempest roar; So stood they with their arms across; Not to a.s.sist, but to deplore The inevitable loss.

VI.

Death was denounced; that frightful sound Which even the best can hardly bear, He took the summons void of fear; And unconcern'dly cast his eyes around; As if to find and dare the grisly challenger.

What death could do he lately tried, When in four days he more than died.

The same a.s.surance all his words did grace; The same majestic mildness held its place: Nor lost the monarch in his dying face.

Intrepid, pious, merciful, and brave, He look'd as when he conquer'd and forgave.

VII.

As if some angel had been sent To lengthen out his government, And to foretell as many years again, As he had number'd in his happy reign, So cheerfully he took the doom Of his departing breath; Nor shrunk nor stepp'd aside for death; But with unalter'd pace kept on, Providing for events to come, When he resign'd the throne.

Still he maintain'd his kingly state; And grew familiar with his fate.

Kind, good, and gracious to the last, On all he loved before his dying beams he cast: Oh, truly good, and truly great, For glorious as he rose, benignly so he set!

All that on earth he held most dear, He recommended to his care, To whom both Heaven, The right had given And his own love bequeathed supreme command: He took and press'd that ever loyal hand Which could in peace secure his reign, Which could in wars his power maintain, That hand on which no plighted vows were ever vain.

Well for so great a trust he chose A prince who never disobey'd: Not when the most severe commands were laid; Nor want, nor exile with his duty weigh'd: A prince on whom, if Heaven its eyes could close, The welfare of the world it safely might repose.

VIII.

That king[92] who lived to G.o.d's own heart, Yet less serenely died than he: Charles left behind no harsh decree For schoolmen with laborious art To salve from cruelty: Those for whom love could no excuses frame, He graciously forgot to name.

Thus far my Muse, though rudely, has design'd Some faint resemblance of his G.o.dlike mind: But neither pen nor pencil can express The parting brothers' tenderness: Though that's a term too mean and low; The blest above a kinder word may know.

But what they did, and what they said, The monarch who triumphant went, The militant who staid, Like painters, when their heightening arts are spent, I cast into a shade.

That all-forgiving king, The type of Him above, That inexhausted spring Of clemency and love; Himself to his next self accused, And asked that pardon--which he ne'er refused: For faults not his, for guilt and crimes Of G.o.dless men, and of rebellious times: For an hard exile, kindly meant, When his ungrateful country sent Their best Camillus into banishment: And forced their sovereign's act--they could not his consent.

Oh, how much rather had that injured chief Repeated all his sufferings past, Than hear a pardon begg'd at last, Which, given, could give the dying no relief!

He bent, he sunk beneath his grief: His dauntless heart would fain have held From weeping, but his eyes rebell'd.

Perhaps the G.o.dlike hero in his breast Disdain'd, or was ashamed to show, So weak, so womanish a woe, Which yet the brother and the friend so plenteously confess'd.

IX.

Amidst that silent shower, the royal mind An easy pa.s.sage found, And left its sacred earth behind: Nor murmuring groan express'd, nor labouring sound, Nor any least tumultuous breath; Calm was his life, and quiet was his death.

Soft as those gentle whispers were, In which the Almighty did appear; By the still voice the prophet[93] knew him there.

That peace which made thy prosperous reign to shine, That peace thou leavest to thy imperial line, That peace, oh, happy shade, be ever thine!

X.

For all those joys thy restoration brought, For all the miracles it wrought, For all the healing balm thy mercy pour'd Into the nation's bleeding wound, And care that after kept it sound, For numerous blessings yearly shower'd, And property with plenty crown'd; For freedom, still maintain'd alive-- Freedom! which in no other land will thrive-- Freedom! an English subject's sole prerogative, Without whose charms even peace would be But a dull, quiet slavery: For these and more, accept our pious praise; 'Tis all the subsidy The present age can raise, The rest is charged on late posterity: Posterity is charged the more, Because the large abounding store To them and to their heirs, is still entail'd by thee.

Succession of a long descent Which chastely in the channels ran, And from our demi-G.o.ds began, Equal almost to time in its extent, Through hazards numberless and great, Thou hast derived this mighty blessing down, And fix'd the fairest gem that decks the imperial crown Not faction, when it shook thy regal seat, Not senates, insolently loud, Those echoes of a thoughtless crowd, Not foreign or domestic treachery, Gould warp thy soul to their unjust decree.

So much thy foes thy manly mind mistook, Who judged it by the mildness of thy look: Like a well-temper'd sword it bent at will; But kept the native toughness of the steel.

XI.

Be true, O Clio, to thy hero's name!

But draw him strictly so, That all who view the piece may know.

He needs no trappings of fict.i.tious fame: The load's too weighty: thou mayest choose Some parts of praise, and some refuse: Write, that his annals may be thought more lavish than the Muse.

In scanty truth thou hast confined The virtues of a royal mind, Forgiving, bounteous, humble, just, and kind: His conversation, wit, and parts, His knowledge in the n.o.blest useful arts, Were such, dead authors could not give; But habitudes of those who live; Who, lighting him, did greater lights receive: He drain'd from all, and all they knew; His apprehension quick, his judgment true: That the most learn'd, with shame, confess His knowledge more, his reading only less.

XII.

Amidst the peaceful triumphs of his reign, What wonder if the kindly beams he shed Revived the drooping Arts again; If Science raised her head, And soft Humanity, that from rebellion fled!

Our isle, indeed, too fruitful was before; But all uncultivated lay Out of the solar walk and Heaven's highway; With rank Geneva weeds run o'er, And c.o.c.kle, at the best, amidst the corn it bore.