Poetical Works of Edmund Waller and Sir John Denham Part 7

As lately I on silver Thames did ride, Sad Galatea on the bank I spied; Such was her look as sorrow taught to s.h.i.+ne, And thus she graced me with a voice divine.

GALATEA.

You that can tune your sounding strings so well, Of ladies' beauties, and of love to tell, Once change your note, and let your lute report The justest grief that ever touch'd the Court.

THYRSIS.

Fair nymph! I have in your delights no share, 9 Nor ought to be concerned in your care; Yet would I sing if I your sorrows knew, And to my aid invoke no Muse but you.

GALATEA.

Hear then, and let your song augment our grief, Which is so great as not to wish relief.

She that had all which Nature gives, or Chance, Whom Fortune join'd with Virtue to advance To all the joys this island could afford, The greatest mistress, and the kindest lord; Who with the royal mix'd her n.o.ble blood, And in high grace with Gloriana[2] stood; 20 Her bounty, sweetness, beauty, goodness, such, That none e'er thought her happiness too much; So well-inclined her favours to confer, And kind to all, as Heaven had been to her!

The virgin's part, the mother, and the wife, So well she acted in this span of life, That though few years (too flew, alas!) she told, She seem'd in all things, but in beauty, old.

As unripe fruit, whose verdant stalks do cleave Close to the tree, which grieves no less to leave 30 The smiling pendant which adorns her so, And until autumn on the bough should grow; So seem'd her youthful soul not eas'ly forced, Or from so fair, so sweet a seat divorced.

Her fate at once did hasty seem and slow; At once too cruel, and unwilling too.

THYRSIS.

Under how hard a law are mortals born! 37 Whom now we envy, we anon must mourn; What Heaven sets highest, and seems most to prize, Is soon removed from our wond'ring eyes!

But since the Sisters[3] did so soon untwine So fair a thread, I'll strive to piece the line.

Vouchsafe, sad nymph! to let me know the dame, And to the Muses I'll commend her name; Make the wide country echo to your moan, The list'ning trees and savage mountains groan.

What rock's not moved when the death is sung Of one so good, so lovely, and so young?

GALATEA.

'Twas Hamilton!--whom I had named before, But naming her, grief lets me say no more. 50

[1] 'Galatea': the lady here mourned was the d.u.c.h.ess of Hamilton, a niece of Buckingham; she died in 1638.

[2] 'Gloriana': Queen Henrietta.

[3] 'Sisters': Parcae--

ON MY LADY DOROTHY SIDNEY'S PICTURE.[1]

Such was Philoclea, and such Dorus' flame!

The matchless Sidney, that immortal frame Of perfect beauty on two pillars placed, Not his high fancy could one pattern, graced With such extremes of excellence, compose; Wonders so distant in one face disclose!

Such cheerful modesty, such humble state, Moves certain love, but with as doubtful fate As when, beyond our greedy reach, we see 9 Inviting fruit on too sublime a tree.

All the rich flowers through his Arcadia found, Amazed we see in this one garland bound.

Had but this copy (which the artist took From the fair picture of that n.o.ble book) Stood at Kalander's, the brave friends had jarr'd, And, rivals made, th'ensuing story marr'd.

Just nature, first instructed by his thought, In his own house thus practised what he taught; This glorious piece transcends what he could think, So much his blood is n.o.bler than his ink![2] 20

[1] 'Dorothy Sidney': see Life for an account of 'Saccharissa.'

[2] 'Philoclea and Dorus': the reader may turn for these names and their histories, to the glorious, flowery wilderness of the 'Arcadia.'

Sidney was granduncle to Dorothy.

AT PENSHURST.

Had Dorothea lived when mortals made Choice of their deities, this sacred shade Had held an altar to her power, that gave The peace and glory which these alleys have; Embroider'd so with flowers where she stood, That it became a garden of a wood.

Her presence has such more than human grace, That it can civilise the rudest place; And beauty too, and order, can impart, Where nature ne'er intended it, nor art. 10 The plants acknowledge this, and her admire, No less than those of old did Orpheus' lyre; If she sit down, with tops all tow'rds her bow'd, They round about her into arbours crowd; Or if she walk, in even ranks they stand, Like some well-marshall'd and obsequious band.

Amphion so made stones and timber leap Into fair figures from a confused heap; And in the symmetry of her parts is found A power like that of harmony in sound. 20 Ye lofty beeches, tell this matchless dame, That if together ye fed all one flame, It could not equalise the hundredth part Of what her eyes have kindled in my heart!

Go, boy, and carve this pa.s.sion on the bark Of yonder tree, which stands the sacred mark Of n.o.ble Sidney's birth; when such benign, Such more than mortal-making stars did s.h.i.+ne, That there they cannot but for ever prove The monument and pledge of humble love; 30 His humble love whose hope shall ne'er rise higher, Than for a pardon that he dares admire.

OF THE LADY WHO CAN SLEEP WHEN SHE PLEASES.[1]

No wonder sleep from careful lovers flies, To bathe himself in Saccharissa's eyes.

As fair Astraae once from earth to heaven, By strife and loud impiety was driven; So with our plaints offended, and our tears, Wise Somnus to that paradise repairs; Waits on her will, and wretches does forsake, To court the nymph for whom those wretches wake.

More proud than Phoebus of his throne of gold 9 Is the soft G.o.d those softer limbs to hold; Nor would exchange with Jove, to hide the skies In dark'ning clouds, the power to close her eyes; Eyes which so far all other lights control, They warm our mortal parts, but these our soul!

Let her free spirit, whose unconquer'd breast Holds such deep quiet and untroubled rest, Know that though Venus and her son should spare Her rebel heart, and never teach her care, Yet Hymen may in force his vigils keep, And for another's joy suspend her sleep. 20

[1] She is said to have been like Dudu--

'Large, and languis.h.i.+ng, and lazy, Yet of a beauty that might drive you crazy.'

OF THE MISREPORT OF HER BEING PAINTED.

As when a sort of wolves infest the night With their wild howlings at fair Cynthia's light, The noise may chase sweet slumber from our eyes, But never reach the mistress of the skies; So with the news of Saccharissa's wrongs, Her vexed servants blame those envious tongues; Call Love to witness that no painted fire Can scorch men so, or kindle such desire; While, unconcern'd, she seems moved no more With this new malice than our loves before; 10 But from the height of her great mind looks down On both our pa.s.sions without smile or frown.

So little care of what is done below Hath the bright dame whom Heaven affecteth so!

Paints her, 'tis true, with the same hand which spreads Like glorious colours through the flow'ry meads, When lavish Nature, with her best attire, 17 Clothes the gay spring, the season of desire; Paints her, 'tis true, and does her cheek adorn With the same art wherewith she paints the morn; With the same art wherewith she gildeth so Those painted clouds which form Thaumantias' bow.

OF HER Pa.s.sING THROUGH A CROWD OF PEOPLE.

As in old chaos (heaven with earth confused, And stars with rocks together crush'd and bruised) The sun his light no further could extend Than the next hill, which on his shoulders lean'd; So in this throng bright Saccharissa fared, Oppress'd by those who strove to be her guard; As s.h.i.+ps, though never so obsequious, fall Foul in a tempest on their admiral.

A greater favour this disorder brought Unto her servants than their awful thought 10 Durst entertain, when thus compell'd they press'd The yielding marble of her snowy breast.

While love insults,[1] disguised in the cloud, And welcome force, of that unruly crowd.

So th'am'rous tree, while yet the air is calm, Just distance keeps from his desired palm;[2]

But when the wind her ravish'd branches throws Into his arms, and mingles all their boughs, Though loth he seems her tender leaves to press, 19 More loth he is that friendly storm should cease, From whose rude bounty he the double use At once receives, of pleasure and excuse.

[1] 'Insults': exults.

[2] 'Palm': Ovalle informs us that the palm-trees in Chili have this wonderful property, that they never will bear any fruit but when they are planted near each other; and when they find one standing barren by itself, if they plant another, be it never so small (which they call the female), it will become prolific.--FENTON.