They can affirm his praises best, And fit for highest trust; Nor yet grown stiffer with command, That can so well obey ! He to the Commons' feet presents His fame, to make it theirs : And has his sword and spoils ungirt Falls heavy from the sky, She, having kill'd, no more does 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, And to all states not free Shall climacteric be. The Pict no shelter now shall find Shrink underneath the plaid Happy, if in the tufted brake The Caledonian deer. But Thou, the War's and Fortune's son, And for the last effect Still keep the sword erect: Besides the force it has to fright A. MARVELL. 66. LYCIDAS. Elegy on a Friend drowned in the Irish Channel. Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year Begin then, Sisters of the sacred well Hence with denial vain and coy excuse: With lucky words favour my destined urn; And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud. For we were nursed upon the self-same hill, Toward heaven's descent had sloped his westering wheel. Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute, Rough Satyrs danced, and Fauns with cloven heel But, O the heavy change, now thou art gone, The willows and the hazel copses green Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays : As killing as the canker to the rose, Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze, Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherds' ear. Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep Closed o'er the head of your loved Lycidas? For neither were ye playing on the steep Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream: Had ye been there-for what could that have done? When by the rout that made the hideous roar Alas! what boots it with incessant care Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise To scorn delights, and live laborious days; Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies: Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed." O fountain Arethuse, and thou honour'd flood Smooth-sliding Mincius, crown'd with vocal reeds! That strain I heard was of a higher mood: But now my oat proceeds, And listens to the herald of the sea That came in Neptune's plea ; He ask'd the waves, and ask'd the felon winds, What hard mishap hath doom'd this gentle swain? And question'd every gust of rugged wings They knew not of his story; And sage Hippotadés their answer brings, That not a blast was from his dungeon stray'd; Built in the eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark, Next Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with woe: "Ah! who hath reft," quoth he, "my dearest pledge!" Last came, and last did go The pilot of the Galilean lake; Two massy keys he bore of metals twain (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain); He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake : "How well could I have spared for thee, young swain, Enow of such, as for their bellies' sake Creep and intrude and climb into the fold! |