So when the last and dreadful hour 64 J. DRYDEN. 60 ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT Avenge, O Lord! Thy slaughter'd Saints, whose bones Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold; Even them who kept Thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshipt stocks and stones, Forget not in Thy book record their groans 5 Who were Thy sheep, and in their ancient fold Slain by the bloody Piemontese, that roll'd Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans The vales redoubled to the hills, and they 9 To Heaven. Their martyr'd blood and ashes sow O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway The triple tyrant: that from these may grow A hundred-fold, who, having learnt Thy way, Early may fly the Babylonian woe. J. MILTON. 65 HORATIAN ODE UPON CROMWELL'S The forward youth that would appear, His numbers languishing. "Tis time to leave the books in dust, 5 So restless Cromwell could not cease And like the three-fork'd lightning, first His fiery way divide : (For 'tis all one to courage high And with such, to enclose Then burning through the air he went Did through his laurels blast. "Tis madness to resist or blame Who, from his private gardens, where He lived reservéd and austere (As if his highest plot To plant the bergamot), Could by industrious valour climb To ruin the great work of Time, Though Justice against Fate complain, 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 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 What field of all the Civil War Where, twining subtle fears with hope, That Charles himself might chase While round the arméd bands He nothing common did or mean But with his keener eye The axe's edge did try; Nor call'd the Gods, with vulgar spite, To vindicate his helpless right; -This was that memorable hour The Capitol's first line, A Bleeding Head, where they begun, And yet in that the State And now the Irish are ashamed To see themselves in one year tamed: That does both act and know. They can affirm his praises best, And have, though overcome, confest Nor yet grown stiffer with command, That can so well obey !— He to the Commons' feet presents And has his sword and spoils ungirt She, having kill'd, no more does search -What may not then our Isle presume If thus he crowns each year As Caesar he, ere long, to Gaul, And to all states not free Shall climacteric be. ? The Pict no shelter now shall find But from this valour sad, Happy, if in the tufted brake But thou, the War's and Fortune's son, March indefatigably on; And for the last effect Still keep the sword erect : 100 105 110 115 Besides the force it has to fright 66 LYCIDAS A. MARVELL. Elegy on a Friend drowned in the Irish Channel I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. Begin then, Sisters of the sacred well That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring, With lucky words favour my destined urn; And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud. 20 For we were nursed upon the self-same hill, Fed the same flock by fountain, shade, and rill. Together both, ere the high lawns appear'd Under the opening eye-lids of the morn, We drove a-field, and both together heard What time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn, Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of night, Oft till the star, that rose at evening bright, 5 10 15 20 25 30 |