The Poetical Works of John Dryden Volume I Part 38

We need no Edward's fortune to adorn That happy moment when our prince was born: Our prince adorns his day, and ages hence Shall wish his birth-day for some future prince.

Great Michael, prince of all the ethereal hosts, And whate'er inborn saints our Britain boasts; And thou, the adopted patron of our isle,[174]

With cheerful aspects on this infant smile: 150 The pledge of Heaven, which, dropping from above, Secures our bliss, and reconciles his love.

Enough of ills our dire rebellion wrought, When to the dregs we drank the bitter draught; Then airy atoms did in plagues conspire, Nor did the avenging angel yet retire, But purged our still increasing crimes with fire, Then perjured plots, the still impending Test, And worse--but charity conceals the rest: Here stop the current of the sanguine flood; 160 Require not, gracious G.o.d, thy martyrs' blood; But let their dying pangs, their living toil, Spread a rich harvest through their native soil: A harvest ripening for another reign, Of which this royal babe may reap the grain.

Enough of early saints one womb has given; Enough increased the family of Heaven: Let them for his and our atonement go; And, reigning blest above, leave him to rule below.

Enough already has the year foreshow'd 170 His wonted course, the sea has overflow'd, The meads were floated with a weeping spring, And frighten'd birds in woods forgot to sing: The strong-limb'd steed beneath his harness faints, And the same s.h.i.+vering sweat his lord attaints.

When will the minister of wrath give o'er?

Behold him at Araunah's thres.h.i.+ng-floor:[175]

He stops, and seems to sheathe his flaming brand, Pleased with burnt incense from our David's hand.

David has bought the Jebusite's abode, 180 And raised an altar to the living G.o.d.

Heaven, to reward him, makes his joys sincere; No future ills nor accidents appear, To sully and pollute the sacred infant's year.

Five months to discord and debate were given: He sanctifies the yet remaining seven.

Sabbath of months! henceforth in him be blest, And prelude to the realm's perpetual rest!

Let his baptismal drops for us atone; l.u.s.trations for offences not his own. 190 Let Conscience, which is Interest ill disguised, In the same font be cleansed, and all the land baptized.

Unnamed as yet;[176] at least unknown to fame: Is there a strife in Heaven about his name, Where every famous predecessor vies, And makes a faction for it in the skies?

Or must it be reserved to thought alone?

Such was the sacred Tetragrammaton.[177]

Things worthy silence must not be reveal'd; Thus the true name of Rome was kept conceal'd,[178]

To shun the spells and sorceries of those 200 Who durst her infant majesty oppose.

But when his tender strength in time shall rise To dare ill tongues, and fascinating eyes; This isle, which hides the little Thunderer's fame, Shall be too narrow to contain his name: The artillery of heaven shall make him known; Crete[179] could not hold the G.o.d, when Jove was grown.

As Jove's increase, who from his brain was born,[180]

Whom arms and arts did equally adorn, 210 Free of the breast was bred, whose milky taste Minerva's name to Venus had debased; So this imperial babe rejects the food That mixes monarch's with plebeian blood: Food that his inborn courage might control, Extinguish all the father in his soul, And, for his Estian race, and Saxon strain, Might reproduce some second Richard's reign.

Mildness he shares from both his parents' blood: But kings too tame are despicably good: 220 Be this the mixture of this regal child, By nature manly, but by virtue mild.

Thus far the furious transport of the news Had to prophetic madness fired the Muse; Madness ungovernable, uninspired, Swift to foretell whatever she desired.

Was it for me the dark abyss to tread, And read the book which angels cannot read?

How was I punish'd, when the sudden blast,[181]

The face of heaven, and our young sun o'ercast! 230 Fame, the swift ill, increasing as she roll'd, Disease, despair, and death, at three reprises told; At three insulting strides she stalk'd the town, And, like contagion, struck the loyal down.

Down fell the winnow'd wheat; but, mounted high, The whirlwind bore the chaff, and hid the sky.

Here black rebellion shooting from below (As earth's gigantic brood by moments grow[182]) And here the sons of G.o.d are petrified with woe: An apoplex of grief: so low were driven 240 The saints, as hardly to defend their heaven.

As, when pent vapours run their hollow round, Earthquakes, which are convulsions of the ground, Break bellowing forth, and no confinement brook, Till the third settles what the former shook; Such heavings had our souls; till, slow and late, Our life with his return'd, and Faith prevail'd on Fate.

By prayers the mighty blessing was implored, To prayers was granted, and by prayers restored.

So, ere the Shunamite[183] a son conceived, 250 The prophet promised, and the wife believed.

A son was sent, the son so much desired; But soon upon the mother's knees expired.

The troubled seer approach'd the mournful door, Ran, pray'd, and sent his pastoral staff before, Then stretch'd his limbs upon the child, and mourn'd,

Thus Mercy stretches out her hand, and saves Desponding Peter sinking in the waves.

As when a sudden storm of hail and rain 260 Beats to the ground the yet unbearded grain, Think not the hopes of harvest are destroy'd On the flat field, and on the naked void; The light unloaded stem, from tempest freed, Will raise the youthful honours of his head; And soon, restored by native vigour, bear The timely product of the bounteous year.

Nor yet conclude all fiery trials past: For Heaven will exercise us to the last; Sometimes will check us in our full career, 270 With doubtful blessings, and with mingled fear; That, still depending on his daily grace, His every mercy for an alms may pa.s.s, With sparing hands will diet us to good; Preventing surfeits of our pamper'd blood.

So feeds the mother bird her craving young With little morsels, and delays them long.

True, this last blessing was a royal feast; But where's the wedding-garment on the guest?

Our manners, as religion were a dream, 280 Are such as teach the nations to blaspheme.

In l.u.s.ts we wallow, and with pride we swell, And injuries with injuries repel; Prompt to revenge, not daring to forgive, Our lives unteach the doctrine we believe.

Thus Israel sinn'd, impenitently hard, And vainly thought the present ark their guard;[184]

But when the haughty Philistines appear, They fled, abandon'd to their foes and fear; Their G.o.d was absent, though his ark was there. 290 Ah! lest our crimes should s.n.a.t.c.h this pledge away, And make our joys the blessings of a day!

For we have sinn'd him hence, and that he lives, G.o.d to his promise, not our practice gives.

Our crimes would soon weigh down the guilty scale, But James and Mary, and the Church, prevail.

Nor Amalek can rout the chosen bands,[185]

While Hur and Aaron hold up Moses' hands.

By living well, let us secure his days; Moderate in hopes, and humble in our ways, 300 No force the free-born spirit can constrain, But charity and great examples gain.

Forgiveness is our thanks for such a day: 'Tis G.o.d-like G.o.d in his own coin to pay.

But you, propitious queen, translated here, From your mild heaven, to rule our rugged sphere, Beyond the sunny walks, and circling year: You, who your native climate have bereft Of all the virtues, and the vices left; Whom piety and beauty make their boast, 310 Though beautiful is well in pious lost; So lost, as star-light is dissolved away, And melts into the brightness of the day; Or gold about the regal diadem, Lost to improve the l.u.s.tre of the gem.

What can we add to your triumphant day?

Let the great gift the beauteous giver pay.

For should our thanks awake the rising sun, And lengthen, as his latest shadows run, That, though the longest day, would soon, too soon be done. 320 Let angels' voices with their harps conspire, But keep the auspicious infant from the quire; Late let him sing above, and let us know No sweeter music than his cries below.

Nor can I wish to you, great Monarch, more Than such an annual income to your store; The day which gave this Unit, did not s.h.i.+ne For a less omen, than to fill the Trine.

After a prince, an admiral beget; The Royal Sovereign wants an anchor yet. 330 Our isle has younger t.i.tles still in store, And when the exhausted land can yield no more, Your line can force them from a foreign sh.o.r.e.

The name of Great your martial mind will suit; But justice is your darling attribute: Of all the Greeks, 'twas but one hero's[186] due, And, in him, Plutarch prophesied of you.

A prince's favours but on few can fall, But justice is a virtue shared by all.

Some kings the name of conquerors have a.s.sumed, 340 Some to be great, some to be G.o.ds presumed; But boundless power and arbitrary l.u.s.t Made tyrants still abhor the name of just; They shunn'd the praise this G.o.dlike virtue gives, And fear'd a t.i.tle that reproach'd their lives.

The Power, from which all kings derive their state, Whom they pretend, at least, to imitate, Is equal both to punish and reward; For few would love their G.o.d, unless they fear'd.

Resistless force and immortality 350 Make but a lame, imperfect, deity: Tempests have force unbounded to destroy, And deathless being, even the d.a.m.n'd enjoy; And yet Heaven's attributes, both last and first, One without life, and one with life accurst: But justice is Heaven's self, so strictly he, That could it fail, the G.o.dhead could not be.

This virtue is your own; but life and state Are one to Fortune subject, one to Fate: Equal to all, you justly frown or smile; 360 Nor hopes nor fears your steady hand beguile; Yourself our balance hold, the world's our isle.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 161: 'Solemn Sabbath:' Whit-Sunday.]

[Footnote 162: 'Wondrous octave:' Trinity Sunday.]

[Footnote 163: 'The Dragon:' alluding only to the Commonwealth party, here and in other places of the poem.]

[Footnote 164: 'The travail:' see Rev. xii. 4.]

[Footnote 165: 'Alcides:' Hercules.]

[Footnote 166: 'Sign:' the sign of the cross, as denoting the Roman Catholic faith.]