Poetical Works of Edmund Waller and Sir John Denham Part 12

If aught by him amiss were done, 'Twas that he let you rise so soon.

OF SYLVIA.

1 Our sighs are heard; just Heaven declares The sense it has of lovers' cares; She that so far the rest outs.h.i.+ned, Sylvia the fair, while she was kind, As if her frowns impair'd her brow, Seems only not unhandsome now.

So, when the sky makes us endure A storm, itself becomes obscure.

2 Hence 'tis that I conceal my flame, Hiding from Flavia's self her name, Lest she, provoking Heaven, should prove How it rewards neglected love.

Better a thousand such as I, Their grief untold, should pine and die; Than her bright morning, overcast With sullen clouds, should be defaced.

THE BUD.

1 Lately on yonder swelling bush, Big with many a coming rose, This early bud began to blush, And did but half itself disclose; I pluck'd it, though no better grown, And now you see how full 'tis blown.

2 Still as I did the leaves inspire, With such a purple light they shone, As if they had been made of fire, And spreading so, would flame anon.

All that was meant by air or sun, To the young flower, my breath has done.

3 If our loose breath so much can do, What may the same in forms of love, Of purest love, and music too, When Flavia it aspires to move?

When that, which lifeless buds persuades To wax more soft, her youth invades?

ON THE DISCOVERY OF A LADY'S PAINTING.

1 Pygmalion's fate reversed is mine;[1]

His marble love took flesh and blood; All that I wors.h.i.+pp'd as divine, That beauty! now 'tis understood, Appears to have no more of life Than that whereof he framed his wife.

2 As women yet, who apprehend Some sudden cause of causeless fear, Although that seeming cause take end, And they behold no danger near, A shaking through their limbs they find, Like leaves saluted by the wind:

3 So though the beauty do appear No beauty, which amazed me so; Yet from my breast I cannot tear The pa.s.sion which from thence did grow; Nor yet out of my fancy raze The print of that supposed face.

4 A real beauty, though too near, The fond Narcissus did admire: I dote on that which is nowhere; The sign of beauty feeds my fire.

No mortal flame was e'er so cruel As this, which thus survives the fuel!

[1] 'Mine': Ovid, _Met_. x.

OF LOVING AT FIRST SIGHT.

1 Not caring to observe the wind, Or the new sea explore, s.n.a.t.c.h'd from myself, how far behind Already I behold the sh.o.r.e!

2 May not a thousand dangers sleep In the smooth bosom of this deep?

No; 'tis so reckless and so clear, That the rich bottom does appear Paved all with precious things; not torn From s.h.i.+pwreck'd vessels, but there born.

3 Sweetness, truth, and every grace Which time and use are wont to teach, The eye may in a moment reach, And read distinctly in her face.

4 Some other nymphs, with colours faint, And pencil slow, may Cupid paint, And a weak heart in time destroy; She has a stamp, and prints the boy: Can, with a single look, inflame The coldest breast, the rudest tame.

THE SELF-BANISHED.

1 It is not that I love you less, Than when before your feet I lay; But to prevent the sad increase Of hopeless love, I keep away.

2 In vain, alas! for everything Which I have known belong to you, Your form does to my fancy bring, And makes my old wounds bleed anew.

3 Who in the spring, from the new sun, Already has a fever got, Too late begins those shafts to shun, Which Phoebus through his veins has shot;

4 Too late he would the pain a.s.suage, And to thick shadows does retire; About with him he bears the rage, And in his tainted blood the fire.

5 But vow'd I have, and never must Your banish'd servant trouble you; For if I break, you may mistrust The vow I made--to love you too.

A PANEGYRIC TO MY LORD PROTECTOR, OF THE PRESENT GREATNESS, AND JOINT INTEREST, OF HIS HIGHNESS, AND THIS NATION.[1]

1 While with a strong and yet a gentle hand, You bridle faction, and our hearts command, Protect us from ourselves, and from the foe, Make us unite, and make us conquer too;

2 Let partial spirits still aloud complain, Think themselves injured that they cannot reign, And own no liberty but where they may Without control upon their fellows prey.

3 Above the waves as Neptune show'd his face, To chide the winds, and save the Trojan race, So has your Highness, raised above the rest, Storms of ambition, tossing us, repress'd.

4 Your drooping country, torn with civil hate, Restored by you, is made a glorious state; The seat of empire, where the Irish come, And the unwilling Scots, to fetch their doom.

5 The sea's our own; and now all nations greet, With bending sails, each vessel of our fleet; Your power extends as far as winds can blow, Or swelling sails upon the globe may go.

6 Heaven (that hath placed this island to give law, To balance Europe, and her states to awe), In this conjunction doth on Britain smile; The greatest leader, and the greatest isle!

7 Whether this portion of the world were rent, By the rude ocean, from the continent, Or thus created, it was sure design'd To be the sacred refuge of mankind.

8 Hither th'oppressed shall henceforth resort, Justice to crave, and succour, at your court; And then your Highness, not for ours alone, But for the world's Protector shall be known.

9 Fame, swifter than your winged navy, flies Through every land that near the ocean lies, Sounding your name, and telling dreadful news To all that piracy and rapine use.