Poetical Works of Edmund Waller and Sir John Denham Part 9

Though rocks so high about this island rise, That well they may the num'rous Turk despise, Yet is no human fate exempt from fear, Which shakes their hearts, while through the isle they hear A lasting noise, as horrid and as loud As thunder makes before it breaks the cloud.

Three days they dread this murmur, ere they know 80 From what blind cause th'unwonted sound may grow.

At length two monsters of unequal size, Hard by the sh.o.r.e, a fisherman espies; Two mighty whales! which swelling seas had toss'd, And left them pris'ners on the rocky coast.

One as a mountain vast, and with her came A cub, not much inferior to his dam.

Here in a pool, among the rocks engaged, They roar'd like lions caught in toils, and raged.

The man knew what they were, who heretofore 90 Had seen the like lie murder'd on the sh.o.r.e; By the wild fury of some tempest cast, The fate of s.h.i.+ps, and s.h.i.+pwreck'd men, to taste.

As careless dames, whom wine and sleep betray To frantic dreams, their infants overlay: So there, sometimes, the raging ocean fails, And her own brood exposes; when the whales Against sharp rocks, like reeling vessels quash'd, Though huge as mountains, are in pieces dash'd; Along the sh.o.r.e their dreadful limbs lie scatter'd, 100 Like hills with earthquakes shaken, torn, and shatter'd.

Hearts, sure, of bra.s.s they had, who tempted first Rude seas that spare not what themselves have nursed.

The welcome news through all the nation spread, To sudden joy and hope converts their dread; What lately was their public terror, they Behold with glad eyes as a certain prey; Dispose already of th'untaken spoil, And as the purchase of their future toil, These share the bones, and they divide the oil. 110 So was the huntsman by the bear oppress'd, Whose hide he sold--before he caught the beast!

They man their boats, and all their young men arm With whatsoever may the monsters harm; Pikes, halberts, spits, and darts that wound so far, The tools of peace, and instruments of war.

Now was the time for vig'rous lads to show What love, or honour, could incite them to; A goodly theatre! where rocks are round With rev'rend age, and lovely la.s.ses, crown'd. 120 Such was the lake which held this dreadful pair, Within the bounds of n.o.ble Warwick's share:[1]

Warwick's bold Earl! than which no t.i.tle bears A greater sound among our British peers; And worthy he the memory to renew, The fate and honour to that t.i.tle due, Whose brave adventures have transferr'd his name, 127 And through the new world spread his growing fame.--

But how they fought, and what their valour gain'd, Shall in another Canto be contain'd.

[1] 'Warwick's share': Robert Rich, Earl of Warwick, possessed a portion of the Bermudas, which bore his name. He was a jolly sailor in his habits, although a Puritan in his profession.

CANTO III.

The b.l.o.o.d.y fight, successless toil, And how the fishes sack'd the isle.

The boat which, on the first a.s.sault did go, Struck with a harping-iron the younger foe; Who, when he felt his side so rudely gored, Loud as the sea that nourished him he roar'd.

As a broad bream, to please some curious taste, While yet alive, in boiling water cast, Vex'd with unwonted heat he flings about The scorching bra.s.s, and hurls the liquor out; So with the barbed jav'lin stung, he raves, And scourges with his tail the suffering waves. 140 Like Spenser's Talus with his iron flail, He threatens ruin with his pond'rous tail; Dissolving at one stroke the batter'd boat, And down the men fall drenched in the moat; With every fierce encounter they are forced To quit their boats, and fare like men unhorsed.

The bigger whale like some huge carrack lay, Which wanteth sea-room with her foes to play; Slowly she swims; and when, provoked, she would Advance her tail, her head salutes the mud; 150 The shallow water doth her force infringe, And renders vain her tail's impetuous swinge; The s.h.i.+ning steel her tender sides receive, And there, like bees, they all their weapons leave.

This sees the cub, and does himself oppose Betwixt his c.u.mber'd mother and her foes; With desp'rate courage he receives her wounds, And men and boats his active tail confounds.

Their forces join'd, the seas with billows fill, And make a tempest, though the winds be still. 160 Now would the men with half their hoped prey Be well content, and wish this cub away; Their wish they have: he (to direct his dam Unto the gap through which they thither came) Before her swims, and quits the hostile lake, A pris'ner there but for his mother's sake.

She, by the rocks compell'd to stay behind, Is by the vastness of her bulk confined.

They shout for joy! and now on her alone Their fury falls, and all their darts are thrown. 170 Their lances spent, one, bolder than the rest, With his broad sword provoked the sluggish beast; Her oily side devours both blade and haft, And there his steel the bold Bermudan left.

Courage the rest from his example take, And now they change the colour of the lake; Blood flows in rivers from her wounded side, As if they would prevent the tardy tide, And raise the flood to that propitious height, As might convey her from this fatal strait. 180 She swims in blood, and blood does spouting throw To heaven, that heaven men's cruelties might know.

Their fixed jav'lins in her side she wears, And on her back a grove of pikes appears; You would have thought, had you the monster seen Thus dress'd, she had another island been: Roaring she tears the air with such a noise, As well resembled the conspiring voice Of routed armies, when the field is won, 189 To reach the ears of her escaped son.

He, though a league removed from the foe, Hastes to her aid; the pious Trojan[1] so, Neglecting for Creusa's life his own, Repeats the danger of the burning town.

The men, amazed, blush to see the seed Of monsters human piety exceed.

Well proves this kindness, what the Grecian sung, That love's bright mother from the ocean sprung.

Their courage droops, and hopeless now, they wish For composition with th'unconquered fish; 200 So she their weapons would restore again, Through rocks they'd hew her pa.s.sage to the main.

But how instructed in each other's mind?

Or what commerce can men with monsters find?

Not daring to approach their wounded foe, Whom her courageous son protected so, They charge their muskets, and, with hot desire Of fell revenge, renew the fight with fire; Standing aloof, with lead they bruise the scales, And tear the flesh of the incensed whales. 210 But no success their fierce endeavours found, Nor this way could they give one fatal wound.

Now to their fort they are about to send For the loud engines which their isle defend; But what those pieces framed to batter walls, Would have effected on those mighty whales, Great Neptune will not have us know, who sends A tide so high that it relieves his friends.

And thus they parted with exchange of harms; Much blood the monsters lost, and they their arms. 220

[1] 'Trojan': Aeneas.

OF THE QUEEN.

The lark, that shuns on lofty boughs to build Her humble nest, lies silent in the field; But if (the promise of a cloudless day) Aurora smiling bids her rise and play, Then straight she shows 'twas not for want of voice, Or power to climb, she made so low a choice; Singing she mounts; her airy wings are stretch'd T'wards heaven, as if from heaven her note she fetch'd.

So we, retiring from the busy throng, Use to restrain the ambition of our song; 10 But since the light which now informs our age Breaks from the Court, indulgent to her rage, Thither my Muse, like bold Prometheus, flies, To light her torch at Gloriana's eyes; Those sov'reign beams which heal the wounded soul, And all our cares, but once beheld, control!

There the poor lover that has long endured Some proud nymph's scorn, of his fond pa.s.sion cured, Fares like the man who first upon the ground A glow-worm spied, supposing he had found 20 A moving diamond, a breathing stone; For life it had, and like those jewels shone; He held it dear, till by the springing day Inform'd, he threw the worthless worm away.

She saves the lover as we gangrenes stay, By cutting hope, like a lopp'd limb, away; This makes her bleeding patients to accuse High Heaven, and these expostulations use: 'Could Nature then no private woman grace, Whom we might dare to love, with such a face, 30 Such a complexion, and so radiant eyes, Such lovely motion, and such sharp replies?

Beyond our reach, and yet within our sight, What envious power has placed this glorious light?'

Thus, in a starry night, fond children cry For the rich spangles that adorn the sky, Which, though they s.h.i.+ne for ever fixed there, With light and influence relieve us here.

All her affections are to one inclined; Her bounty and compa.s.sion to mankind; 40 To whom, while she so far extends her grace, She makes but good the promise of her face; For Mercy has, could Mercy's self be seen, No sweeter look than this propitious queen.

Such guard, and comfort, the distressed find From her large power, and from her larger mind, That whom ill Fate would ruin, it prefers, For all the miserable are made hers.

So the fair tree whereon the eagle builds, Poor sheep from tempests, and their shepherds, s.h.i.+elds; 50 The royal bird possesses all the boughs, But shade and shelter to the flock allows.

Joy of our age, and safety of the next!

For which so oft thy fertile womb is vex'd; n.o.bly contented, for the public good, To waste thy spirits and diffuse thy blood, What vast hopes may these islands entertain, Where monarchs, thus descended, are to reign?

Led by commanders of so fair a line, Our seas no longer shall our power confine. 60

A brave romance who would exactly frame, First brings his knight from some immortal dame, And then a weapon, and a flaming s.h.i.+eld, Bright as his mother's eyes, he makes him wield.

None might the mother of Achilles be, But the fair pearl and glory of the sea;[1]

The man to whom great Maro gives such fame,[2]

From the high bed of heavenly Venus came; And our next Charles, whom all the stars design Like wonders to accomplish, springs from thine. 70

[1] 'Sea': Thetis [2] 'Maro': Aeneas

THE APOLOGY OF SLEEP, FOR NOT APPROACHING THE LADY WHO CAN DO ANYTHING BUT SLEEP WHEN SHE PLEASES.

My charge it is those breaches to repair Which Nature takes from sorrow, toil, and care; Rest to the limbs, and quiet I confer On troubled minds; but nought can add to her Whom Heaven, and her transcendent thoughts have placed Above those ills which wretched mortals taste.

Bright as the deathless G.o.ds, and happy, she From all that may infringe delight is free; Love at her royal feet his quiver lays, And not his mother with more haste obeys. 10 Such real pleasures, such true joys' suspense, What dream can I present to recompense?

Should I with lightning fill her awful hand, And make the clouds seem all at her command; Or place her in Olympus' top, a guest Among the immortals, who with nectar feast; That power would seem, that entertainment, short Of the true splendour of her present Court,

Where all the joys, and all the glories, are 19 Of three great kingdoms, sever'd from the care.

I, that of fumes and humid vapours made, Ascending, do the seat of sense invade, No cloud in so serene a mansion find, To overcast her ever-s.h.i.+ning mind,

Which holds resemblance with those spotless skies, Where flowing Nilus want of rain supplies; That crystal heaven, where Phoebus never shrouds His golden beams, nor wraps his face in clouds.

But what so hard which numbers cannot force?

So stoops the moon, and rivers change their course. 30

The bold Maeonian[1] made me dare to steep Jove's dreadful temples in the dew of sleep; And since the Muses do invoke my power, I shall no more decline that sacred bower Where Gloriana their great mistress lies; But, gently taming those victorious eyes,