Poetical Works of Edmund Waller and Sir John Denham Part 32

WRITTEN ON A CARD THAT HER MAJESTY TORE AT OMBRE.

The cards you tear in value rise; So do the wounded by your eyes.

Who to celestial things aspire, Are by that pa.s.sion raised the higher.

TO MR GRANVILLE (NOW LORD LANSDOWNE), ON HIS VERSES TO KING JAMES II.

An early plant! which such a blossom bears, And shows a genius so beyond his years; A judgment! that could make so fair a choice; So high a subject to employ his voice; Still as it grows, how sweetly will he sing The growing greatness of our matchless king!

LONG AND SHORT LIFE.

Circles are praised, not that abound In largeness, but th'exactly round: So life we praise that does excel Not in much time, but acting well.

TRANSLATED OUT OF SPANISH.

Though we may seem importunate, While your compa.s.sion we implore; They whom you make too fortunate, May with presumption vex you more.

TRANSLATED OUT OF FRENCH.

Fade, flowers! fade, Nature will have it so; 'Tis but what we must in our autumn do!

And as your leaves lie quiet on the ground, The loss alone by those that loved them found; So in the grave shall we as quiet lie, Miss'd by some few that loved our company; But some so like to thorns and nettles live, That none for them can, when they perish, grieve.

SOME VERSES OF AN IMPERFECT COPY, DESIGNED FOR A FRIEND, ON HIS TRANSLATION OF OVID'S 'FASTI.'

Rome's holy-days you tell, as if a guest With the old Romans you were wont to feast.

Numa's religion, by themselves believed, Excels the true, only in show received.

They made the nations round about them bow, With their dictators taken from the plough; Such power has justice, faith, and honesty!

The world was conquer'd by morality.

Seeming devotion does but gild a knave, That's neither faithful, honest, just, nor brave; But where religion does with virtue join, It makes a hero like an angel s.h.i.+ne.

ON THE STATUE OF KING CHARLES I., AT CHARING CROSS, IN THE YEAR 1674.

That the First Charles does here in triumph ride, See his son reign where he a martyr died, And people pay that rev'rence as they pa.s.s, (Which then he wanted!) to the sacred bra.s.s, Is not the effect of grat.i.tude alone, To which we owe the statue and the stone; But Heaven this lasting monument has wrought, That mortals may eternally be taught Rebellion, though successful, is but vain, And kings so kill'd rise conquerors again.

This truth the royal image does proclaim, Loud as the trumpet of surviving Fame.

PRIDE.

Not the brave Macedonian youth[1] alone, But base Caligula, when on the throne, Boundless in power, would make himself a G.o.d, As if the world depended on his nod.

The Syrian king[2] to beasts was headlong thrown, Ere to himself he could be mortal known.

The meanest wretch, if Heaven should give him line, Would never stop till he were thought divine.

All might within discern the serpent's pride, If from ourselves nothing ourselves did hide.

Let the proud peac.o.c.k his gay feathers spread, And woo the female to his painted bed; Let winds and seas together rage and swell-- This Nature teaches, and becomes them well.

'Pride was not made for men;'[3] a conscious sense Of guilt, and folly, and their consequence, Destroys the claim, and to beholders tells, Here nothing but the shape of manhood dwells.

[1] 'Macedonian youth': Alexander.

[2] 'Syrian king': Nebuchadnezzar.

[3] 'For men': Ecclus. x. 18.

EPITAPH ON SIR GEORGE SPEKE.

Under this stone lies virtue, youth, Unblemish'd probity, and truth, Just unto all relations known, A worthy patriot, pious son; Whom neighb'ring towns so often sent To give their sense in Parliament; With lives and fortunes trusting one Who so discreetly used his own.

Sober he was, wise, temperate, 9 Contented with an old estate, Which no foul avarice did increase, Nor wanton luxury make less.

While yet but young his father died, And left him to a happy guide; Not Lemuel's mother with more care Did counsel or instruct her heir, Or teach with more success her son The vices of the time to shun.

An heiress she; while yet alive, All that was hers to him did give; 20 And he just grat.i.tude did show To one that had obliged him so; Nothing too much for her he thought, By whom he was so bred and taught.

So (early made that path to tread, Which did his youth to honour lead) His short life did a pattern give How neighbours, husbands, friends, should live.

The virtues of a private life Exceed the glorious noise and strife 30 Of battles won; in those we find The solid int'rest of mankind.

Approved by all, and loved so well, Though young, like fruit that's ripe, he fell.

EPITAPH ON COLONEL CHARLES CAVENDISH.[1]