The Poetical Works of John Dryden Volume Ii Part 15

SONGS IN THE "INDIAN EMPEROR."

I.

Ah, fading joy! how quickly art thou past!

Yet we thy ruin haste.

As if the cares of human life were few, We seek out new: And follow Fate, which would too fast pursue.

See how on every bough the birds express, In their sweet notes, their happiness.

They all enjoy, and nothing spare; But on their mother Nature lay their care: Why then should man, the lord of all below, Such troubles choose to know, As none of all his subjects undergo?

Hark, hark, the waters fall, fall, fall, And with a murmuring sound Dash, dash upon the ground, To gentle slumbers call.

II.

I look'd, and saw within the book of fate, When many days did lour, When lo! one happy hour Leap'd up, and smiled to save the sinking state; A day shall come when in thy power Thy cruel foes shall be; Then shall thy land be free: And then in peace shall reign; But take, O take that opportunity, Which, once refused, will never come again.

XII.

SONG IN THE "MAIDEN QUEEN."

I feed a flame within, which so torments me, That it both pains my heart, and yet contents me: 'Tis such a pleasing smart, and I so love it, That I had rather die than once remove it.

Yet he for whom I grieve shall never know it: My tongue does not betray, nor my eyes show it.

Not a sigh, not a tear, my pain discloses, But they fall silently, like dew on roses.

Thus, to prevent my love from being cruel, My heart's the sacrifice, as 'tis the fuel: And while I suffer this to give him quiet, My faith rewards my love, though he deny it.

On his eyes will I gaze, and there delight me; Where I conceal my love no frown can fright me: To be more happy, I dare not aspire; Nor can I fall more low, mounting no higher.

XIII.

SONGS IN "THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA."

I.

Wherever I am, and whatever I do, My Phyllis is still in my mind; When angry, I mean not to Phyllis to go, My feet, of themselves, the way find: Unknown to myself I am just at her door, And when I would rail, I can bring out no more, Than, Phyllis too fair and unkind!

When Phyllis I see, my heart bounds in my breast, And the love I would stifle is shown; But asleep or awake I am never at rest, When from my eyes Phyllis is gone.

Sometimes a sad dream does delude my sad mind; But, alas! when I wake, and no Phyllis I find, How I sigh to myself all alone!

Should a king be my rival in her I adore, He should offer his treasure in vain: Oh, let me alone to be happy and poor, And give me my Phyllis again!

Let Phyllis be mine, and but ever be kind, I could to a desert with her be confined, And envy no monarch his reign.

Alas! I discover too much of my love, And she too well knows her own power!

She makes me each day a new martyrdom prove, And makes me grow jealous each hour: But let her each minute torment my poor mind, I had rather love Phyllis, both false and unkind, Than ever be freed from her power.

II.

HE. How unhappy a lover am I, While I sigh for my Phyllis in vain: All my hopes of delight Are another man's right, Who is happy, while I am in pain!

SHE. Since her honour allows no relief, But to pity the pains which you bear, 'Tis the best of your fate, In a hopeless estate, To give o'er, and betimes to despair.

HE. I have tried the false medicine in vain; For I wish what I hope not to win: From without, my desire Has no food to its fire; But it burns and consumes me within.

SHE. Yet, at least, 'tis a pleasure to know That you are not unhappy alone: For the nymph you adore Is as wretched, and more; And counts all your sufferings her own.

HE. O ye G.o.ds, let me suffer for both; At the feet of my Phyllis I'll lie: I'll resign up my breath, And take pleasure in death, To be pitied by her when I die.

SHE. What her honour denied you in life, In her death she will give to your love.

Such a flame as is true After fate will renew, For the souls to meet closer above.

XIV.

SONG OF THE SEA-FIGHT, IN AMBOYNA.

Who ever saw a n.o.ble sight, That never view'd a brave sea-fight!

Hang up your b.l.o.o.d.y colours in the air, Up with your fights, and your nettings prepare; Your merry mates cheer, with a l.u.s.ty bold spright.

Now each man his brindace, and then to the fight.

St George, St George, we cry, The shouting Turks reply.

Oh, now it begins, and the gun-room grows hot, Ply it with culverin and with small shot;

Hark, does it not thunder? no, 'tis the guns' roar, The neighbouring billows are turn'd into gore; Now each man must resolve to die, For here the coward cannot fly.

Drums and trumpets toll the knell, And culverins the pa.s.sing bell.

Now, now they grapple, and now board amain; Blow up the hatches, they're off all again: Give them a broadside, the dice run at all, Down comes the mast and yard, and tacklings fall; She grows giddy now, like blind Fortune's wheel, She sinks there, she sinks, she turns up her keel.

Who ever beheld so n.o.ble a sight, As this so brave, so b.l.o.o.d.y sea-fight!

XV.

INCANTATION IN OEDIPUS.