Lyra Heroica Part 5

And, like the three-forked lightning, first Breaking the clouds where it was nurst, Did thorough his own side His fiery way divide;

For 'tis all one to courage high, The emulous or enemy, And with such to inclose Is more than to oppose;

Then burning through the air he went, And palaces and temples rent; And Caesar's head at last Did through his laurels blast.

'Tis madness to resist or blame The face of angry Heaven's flame; And if we would speak true, Much to the man is due,

Who from his private gardens, where He lived reserved and austere, As if his highest plot To plant the bergamot,

Could by industrious valour climb To ruin the great work of Time, And cast the kingdoms old Into another mould.

Though Justice against Fate complain, And plead the ancient rights in vain (But those do hold or break, As men are strong or weak),

Nature, that hated emptiness, Allows of penetration less, And therefore must make room Where greater spirits come.

What field of all the civil war, Where his were not the deepest scar?

And Hampton shows what part He had of wiser art,

Where, twining subtile fears with hope, He wove a net of such a scope That Charles himself might chase To Carisbrook's narrow case,

That thence the royal actor borne The tragic scaffold might adorn: While round the armed bands, Did clap their b.l.o.o.d.y hands.

He nothing common did or mean Upon that memorable scene, But with his keener eye The axe's edge did try;

Nor called the G.o.ds with vulgar spite To vindicate his helpless right, But bowed his comely head Down, as upon a bed.

This was that memorable hour Which first a.s.sured the forced power: So, when they did design The Capitol's first line,

A bleeding head, where they begun, Did fright the architects to run; And yet in that the State Foresaw its happy fate!

And now the Irish are ashamed To see themselves in one year tamed: So much one man can do That doth both act and know.

They can affirm his praises best, And have, though overcome, confessed How good he is, how just, And fit for highest trust;

Nor yet grown stiffer with command, But still in the Republic's hand (How fit he is to sway, That can so well obey!),

He to the Commons' feet presents A kingdom for his first year's rents, And (what he may) forbears His fame to make it theirs:

And has his sword and spoils ungirt To lay them at the public's skirt.

So when the falcon high Falls heavy from the sky,

She, having killed, no more doth 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 Caesar he, ere long, to Gaul, To Italy an Hannibal, And to all states not free Shall climacteric be.

The Pict no shelter now shall find Within his party-coloured mind, But from this valour sad Shrink underneath the plaid;

Happy if in the tufted brake The English hunter him mistake, Nor lay his hounds in near The Caledonian deer.

But thou, the war's and fortune's son, March indefatigably on, And for the last effect, Still keep the sword erect:

Besides the force it has to fright The spirits of the shady night, The same arts that did gain, A power must it maintain.

_Marvell._

XXII

IN EXILE

Where the remote Bermudas ride In the Ocean's bosom unespied, From a small boat that rowed along The listening winds received this song.

'What should we do but sing his praise That led us through the watery maze, Where he the huge sea-monsters wracks That lift the deep upon their backs, Unto an isle so long unknown, And yet far kinder than our own?

He lands us on a gra.s.sy stage, Safe from the storms and prelates' rage: He gave us this eternal spring Which here enamels everything, And sends the fowls to us in care On daily visits through the air.

He hangs in shades the orange bright Like golden lamps in a green night, And does in the pomegranates close Jewels more rich than Ormus shows: He makes the figs our mouths to meet, And throws the melons at our feet; But apples plants of such a price, No tree could ever bear them twice.

With cedars chosen by his hand From Lebanon he stores the land, And makes the hollow seas that roar Proclaim the ambergrease on sh.o.r.e.

He cast (of which we rather boast) The Gospel's pearl upon our coast, And in these rocks for us did frame A temple where to sound his name.

O let our voice his praise exalt 'Till it arrive at heaven's vault, Which thence (perhaps) rebounding may Echo beyond the Mexique Bay!'

Thus sang they in the English boat A holy and a cheerful note: And all the way, to guide their chime, With falling oars they kept the time.

_Marvell._

XXIII

ALEXANDER'S FEAST

'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won By Philip's warlike son: Aloft in awful state The G.o.dlike hero sate On his imperial throne; His valiant peers were placed around, Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound (So should desert in arms be crowned); The lovely Thais by his side Sate like a blooming Eastern bride In flower of youth and beauty's pride.

Happy, happy, happy pair!

None but the brave, None but the brave, None but the brave deserves the fair!

Timotheus, placed on high Amid the tuneful quire, With flying fingers touched the lyre: The trembling notes ascend the sky And heavenly joys inspire.

The song began from Jove Who left his blissful seats above, Such is the power of mighty love!

A dragon's fiery form belied the G.o.d; Sublime on radiant spires he rode When he to fair Olympia pressed, And while he sought her snowy breast, Then round her slender waist he curled, And stamped an image of himself, a sovereign of the world.

The listening crowd admire the lofty sound; A present deity! they shout around: A present deity! the vaulted roofs rebound: With ravished ears The monarch hears, a.s.sumes the G.o.d; Affects to nod And seems to shake the spheres.

The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung, Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young: The jolly G.o.d in triumph comes; Sound the trumpets, beat the drums!

Flushed with a purple grace He shows his honest face: Now give the hautboys breath; he comes, he comes!

Bacchus, ever fair and young, Drinking joys did first ordain; Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, Drinking is the soldier's pleasure: Rich the treasure, Sweet the pleasure, Sweet is pleasure after pain.

Soothed with the sound the king grew vain; Fought all his battles o'er again, And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain!

The master saw the madness rise, His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes; And while he heaven and earth defied Changed his hand, and checked his pride.