MARVELL

The forward youth that would appear, Must now forsake his Muses dear, Nor in the shadows sing His numbers languishing. ’Tis time to leave the books in dust, And oil the unusèd armour’s rust, Removing from the wall The corselet of the hall. So restless Cromwell could not cease In the inglorious arts of peace, But through adventurous war Urgèd his active star: And, like the three-fork’d lightning, first Breaking the clouds where it was nurst, Did thorough his own side His fiery way divide: For ’tis all one to courage high, The emulous, or enemy; And with such to inclose Is more than to oppose; Then burning through the air he went And palaces and temples rent; And Cæsar’s head at last Did through his laurels blast. ’Tis madness to resist or blame The face of angry Heaven’s flame; And if we would speak true, Much to the man is due Who, from his private gardens, where He lived reservèd and austere (As if his highest plot To plant the bergamot), Could by industrious valour climb To ruin the great work of Time, And cast the kingdoms old Into another mould; Though Justice against Fate complain, And plead the ancient rights in vain— (But those do hold or break As men are strong or weak), Nature, that hateth emptiness, Allows of penetration less, And therefore must make room Where greater spirits come. What field of all the civil war Where his were not the deepest scar? And Hampton shows what part He had of wiser art, Where, twining subtile fears with hope, He wove a net of such a scope That Charles himself might chase To Carisbrook’s narrow case, That thence the royal actor borne The tragic scaffold might adorn: While round the armèd bands Did clap their bloody hands. He nothing common did or mean Upon that memorable scene, But with his keener eye The axe’s edge did try; Nor call’d the gods, with vulgar spite, To vindicate his helpless right; But bow’d his comely head Down, as upon a bed. This was that memorable hour Which first assured the forcèd power: So, when they did design The Capitol’s first line, A bleeding head, where they begun, Did fright the architects to run; And yet in that the State Foresaw its happy fate! And now the Irish are ashamed To see themselves in one year tamed: So much one man can do That doth both act and know. They can affirm his praises best, And have, though overcome, confest How good he is, how just, And fit for highest trust; Nor yet grown stiffer with command, But still in the Republic’s hand (How fit he is to sway, That can so well obey!), He to the Commons’ feet presents A Kingdom for his first year’s rents, And (what he may) forbears His fame, to make it theirs: And has his sword and spoils ungirt To lay them at the Public’s skirt So when the falcon high Falls heavy from the sky, She, having killed, no more doth search But on the next green bough to perch, Where, when he first does lure, The falconer has her sure. What may not then our Isle presume While victory his crest does plume? What may not others fear If thus he crowns each year? As Cæsar he, ere long, to Gaul, To Italy an Hannibal, And to all states not free Shall climacteric be. The Pict no shelter now shall find Within his parti-coloured mind, But from this valour sad Shrink underneath the plaid. Happy, if in the tufted brake The English hunter him mistake, Nor lay his hounds in near The Caledonian deer. But thou, the war’s and fortune’s son, March indefatigably on, And for the last effect Still keep the sword erect: Besides the force it has to fright The spirits of the shady night, The same arts that did gain A power, must it maintain. Andrew Marvell.

Where the remote Bermudas ride In the Ocean’s bosom unespied, From a small boat that rowed along The listening winds received this song. ‘What should we do but sing His praise That led us through the watery maze, Where He the huge sea-monsters wracks That lift the deep upon their backs, Unto an isle so long unknown, And yet far kinder than our own? He lands us on a grassy stage, Safe from the storms and prelates’ rage: He gave us this eternal spring Which here enamels everything, And sends the fowls to us in care On daily visits through the air. He hangs in shades the orange bright Like golden lamps in a green night, And does in the pomegranates close Jewels more rich than Ormus shows: He makes the figs our mouths to meet, And throws the melons at our feet; But apples plants of such a price, No tree could ever bear them twice. With cedars chosen by His hand From Lebanon He stores the land, And makes the hollow seas that roar Proclaim the ambergrease on shore. He cast (of which we rather boast) The Gospel’s pearl upon our coast, And in these rocks for us did frame A temple where to sound His name. O let our voice His praise exalt Till it arrive at Heaven’s vault, Which thence (perhaps) rebounding may Echo beyond the Mexique Bay!’ Thus sang they in the English boat A holy and a cheerful note: And all the way, to guide their chime, With falling oars they kept the time. Andrew Marvell.