Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
Andrew Marvell. 16211678355. An Horatian Ode upon Cromwell’s Return from Ireland
THE forward youth that would appear | |
Must now forsake his Muses dear, | |
Nor in the shadows sing | |
His numbers languishing. | |
‘Tis time to leave the books in dust, | 5 |
And oil the unused armour’s rust, | |
Removing from the wall | |
The corslet of the hall. | |
So restless Cromwell could not cease | |
In the inglorious arts of peace, | 10 |
But through adventurous war | |
Urgèd his active star: | |
And like the three-fork’d lightning, first | |
Breaking the clouds where it was nurst, | |
Did thorough his own side | 15 |
His fiery way divide: | |
For ’tis all one to courage high, | |
The emulous, or enemy; | |
And with such, to enclose | |
Is more than to oppose. | 20 |
Then burning through the air he went | |
And palaces and temples rent; | |
And Cæsar’s head at last | |
Did through his laurels blast. | |
‘Tis madness to resist or blame | 25 |
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 reservèd and austere | 30 |
(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 | 35 |
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— | 40 |
Nature, that hateth emptiness, | |
Allows of penetration less, | |
And therefore must make room | |
Where greater spirits come. | |
What field of all the civil war | 45 |
Where his were not the deepest scar? | |
And Hampton shows what part | |
He had of wiser art; | |
Where, twining subtle fears with hope, | |
He wove a net of such a scope | 50 |
That Charles himself might chase | |
To Caresbrooke’s narrow case; | |
That thence the Royal actor borne | |
The tragic scaffold might adorn: | |
While round the armèd bands | 55 |
Did clap their bloody hands. | |
He nothing common did or mean | |
Upon that memorable scene, | |
But with his keener eye | |
The axe’s edge did try; | 60 |
Nor call’d the gods, with vulgar spite, | |
To vindicate his helpless right; | |
But bow’d his comely head | |
Down, as upon a bed. | |
This was that memorable hour | 65 |
Which first assured the forcèd power: | |
So when they did design | |
The Capitol’s first line, | |
A Bleeding Head, where they begun, | |
Did fright the architects to run; | 70 |
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 | 75 |
That does both act and know. | |
They can affirm his praises best, | |
And have, though overcome, confest | |
How good he is, how just | |
And fit for highest trust. | 80 |
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 | 85 |
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. | 90 |
So when the falcon high | |
Falls heavy from the sky, | |
She, having kill’d, no more doth search | |
But on the next green bough to perch; | |
Where, when he first does lure, | 95 |
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? | 100 |
As Cæsar 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 | 105 |
Within his particolour’d mind, | |
But, from this valour, sad | |
Shrink underneath the plaid; | |
Happy, if in the tufted brake | |
The English hunter him mistake, | 110 |
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, | 115 |
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. | 120 |