by John Dryden
Nor can we this weak Shower a Tempest call,
But Drops of Heat that in the Sunshine fall.
You have already wearied Fortune so,
She cannot farther be your Friend or Foe; 130
But sits all breathless, and admires to feel
A Fate so weighty that it stops her Wheel.
In all things else above our humble Fate,
Your equal Mind yet swells not into State,
But like some Mountain in those happy Isles, 135
Where in perpetual Spring young Nature smiles,
Your Greatness shows; no horror to affright,
But Trees for Shade and Flowers to court the Sight;
Sometimes the Hill submits itself a while
In small Descents, which do its Height beguile; 140
And sometimes mounts, but so as Billows play,
Whose rise not hinders but makes short our way.
Your Brow, which does no fear of Thunder know,
Sees rolling Tempests vainly beat below;
And, like Olympus’ Top, the Impression wears 145
Of Love and Friendship writ in former Years.
Yet, unimpair’d with Labours or with Time.
Your Age but seems to a new Youth to climb,
(Thus heavenly Bodies do our Time beget
And measure Change, but share no part of it.) 150
And still it shall without a Weight increase,
Like this New-year, whose Motions never cease;
For since the glorious Course you have begun
Is led by Charles, as that is by the Sun,
It must both weightless and immortal prove, 155
Because the Centre of it is above.
Threnodia Augustalis
A Funeral-Pindarique Poem Sacred to the Happy Memory of King Charles II
I
THUS long my Grief has kept me dumb:
Sure there’s a Lethargy in mighty Woe,
Tears stand congeal’d, and cannot flow;
And the sad Soul retires into her inmost Room:
Tears, for a Stroke foreseen, afford Relief; 5
But, unprovided for a sudden Blow,
Like Niobe we Marble grow;
And Petrifie with Grief.
Our British Heav’n was all Serene,
No threatning Cloud was nigh, 10
Not the least wrinkle to deform the Sky;
We liv’d as unconcern’d and happily
As the first Age in Natures golden Scene;
Supine amidst our flowing Store,
We slept securely, and we dreamt of more: 15
When suddenly the Thunder-clap was heard,
It took us unprepar’d and out of guard,
Already lost before we fear’d.
Th’ amazing News of Charles at once were spread,
At once the general Voice declar’d, 20
Our Gracious Prince was dead.
No Sickness known before, no slow Disease,
To soften Grief by Just Degrees;
But, like an Hurricane on Indian seas,
The Tempest rose; 25
An unexpected Burst of Woes:
With scarce a breathing space betwixt,
This Now becalm’d, and perishing the next.
As if great Atlas from his Height
Shou’d sink beneath his heavenly Weight, 30
And, with a mighty Flaw, the flaming Wall
(As once it shall)
Shou’d gape immense, and rushing down, o’erwhelm this neather Ball;
So swift and so surprizing was our fear;
Our Atlas fell indeed; But Hercules was near. 35
II
His Pious Brother, sure the best
Who ever bore that Name,
Was newly risen from his Rest,
And, with a fervent Flame,
His usual morning Vows had just addrest 40
For his dear Sovereign’s Health;
And hop’d to have ‘em heard,
In long increase of years,
In Honour, Fame, and Wealth:
Guiltless of Greatness, thus he always pray’d, 45
Nor knew nor wisht those Vows he made
On his own head shou’d be repay’d.
Soon as th’ ill-omen’d Rumour reacht his Ear,
(Ill news is wing’d with Fate and flies apace)
Who can describe th’ Amazement in his Face! 50
Horrour in all his Pomp was there,
Mute and magnificent, without a Tear:
And then the Hero first was seen to fear.
Half unarray’d he ran to his Relief,
So hasty and so artless was his Grief: 55
Approaching Greatness met him with her Charms
Of Power and future State;
But looked so ghastly in a Brother’s Fate,
He shook her from his Armes.
Arriv’d within the mournfull Room, he saw 60
A wild Distraction, void of Awe,
And arbitrary Grief unbounded by a Law.
God’s Image, God’s Anointed, lay
Without Motion, Pulse or Breath,
A senseless Lump of sacred Clay, 65
An Image, now, of Death.
Amidst his sad Attendants’ Grones and Cryes,
The Lines of that ador’d, forgiving Face,
Distorted from their native grace;
An Iron Slumber sat on his Majestick Eyes. 70
The Pious Duke —— forbear, audacious Muse,
No Terms thy feeble Art can use
Are able to adorn so vast a Woe:
The grief of all the rest like subject-grief did show,
His like a sovereign did transcend; 75
No Wife, no Brother such a Grief cou’d know,
Nor any name, but Friend.
III
O wondrous Changes of a fatal Scene,
Still varying to the last!
Heav’n, though its hard Decree was past, 80
Seem’d pointing to a gracious Turn agen:
And Death’s up-lifted Arme arrested in its hast.
Heav’n half repented of the doom,
And almost griev’d it had foreseen,
What by Foresight it will’d eternally to come. 85
Mercy above did hourly plead
For her Resemblance here below;
And mild Forgiveness intercede
To stop the coming Blow.
New Miracles approach’d th’ Etherial Throne, 90
Such as his wondrous Life had oft and lately known,
And urg’d that still they might be shown.
On Earth his Pious Brother pray’d and vow’d.
Renouncing Greatness at so dear a rate,
Himself defending what he cou’d 95
From all the Glories of his future Fate.
With him th’ innumerable Croud
Of armed Prayers
Knock’d at the Gates of Heav’n, and knock’d aloud;
The first well-meaning rude Petitioners. 100
All for his Life assayl’d the Throne,
All wou’d have brib’d the Skyes by offring up their own.
So great a Throng not Heav’n it self cou’d bar;
’Twas almost born by force, as in the Giants War.
The Pray’rs, at least, for his Reprieve were heard; 105
His Death, like Hezekiah’s, was deferr’d:
Against the Sun the Shadow went;
Five days, those five Degrees, were lent,
To form our Patience and prepare th’ Event.
The second Causes took the swift Command, 110
The med’cinal Head, the ready Hand,
All eager to perform their Part,
All but Eternal Doom was conquer’d by their Art:
Once more the fleeting Soul came back
T’ inspire the mortal Frame, 115
And in the Body took a doubtfull Stand,
Doubtfull and hov’ring, like expiring Flame,
; That mounts and falls by turns, and trembles o’er the Brand.
IV
The joyful short-liv’d news soon spread around,
Took the same Train, the same impetuous bound: 120
The drooping Town in smiles again was drest,
Gladness in every Face exprest,
Their eyes before their Tongues confest.
Men met each other with erected look,
The steps were higher that they took; 125
Friends to congratulate their friends made haste;
And long inveterate Foes saluted as they past:
Above the rest Heroick James appear’d
Exalted more, because he more had fear’d:
His manly heart, whose Noble pride 130
Was still above
Dissembled hate or varnisht love,
Its more than common transport cou’d not hide;
But like an Eagre rode in triumph o’re the tide.
Thus, in alternate Course 135
The Tyrant passions, hope and fear,
Did in extreams appear,
And flasht upon the Soul with equal force.
Thus, at half Ebb, a rowling Sea
Returns, and wins upon the shoar; 140
The wat’ry Herd, affrighted at the roar,
Rest on their Fins a while, and stay,
Then backward take their wondring way;
The Prophet wonders more than they,
At Prodigies but rarely seen before, 145
And cries a King must fall, or Kingdoms change their sway.
Such were our counter-tydes at land, and so
Presaging of the fatal blow,
In their prodigious Ebb and flow.
The Royal Soul, that, like the labouring Moon, 150
By Charms of Art was hurried down,
Forc’d with regret to leave her Native Sphear,
Came but a while on liking here:
Soon weary of the painful strife,
And made but faint Essays of Life: 155
An Evening light
Soon shut in Night;
A strong distemper, and a weak relief,
Short intervals of joy, and long returns of grief.
V
The Sons of Art all Med’cines try’d, 160
And every Noble remedy applied,
With emulation each essay’d
His utmost skill, nay more they pray’d:
Never was losing game with better conduct plaid.
Death never won a stake with greater toyl, 165
Nor e’re was Fate so near a foil:
But, like a fortress on a Rock,
Th’ impregnable Disease their vain attempts did mock;
They min’d it near, they batter’d from a far
With all the Cannon of the Med’cinal War; 170
No gentle means could be essay’d,
’Twas beyond parly when the siege was laid:
The extreamest ways they first ordain,
Prescribing such intolerable pain
As none but Cæsar could sustain; 175
Undaunted Cæsar underwent
The malice of their Art, nor bent
Beneath what e’re their pious rigour cou’d invent.
In five such days he suffer’d more
Than any suffer’d in his reign before; 180
More, infinitely more than he
Against the worst of Rebels cou’d decree,
A Traytor, or twice pardon’d Enemy.
Now Art was tir’d without success,
No Racks could make the stubborn malady confess. 185
The vain Insurancers of life,
And He who most perform’d and promis’d less,
Even Short himself forsook the unequal strife.
Death and despair was in their looks,
No longer they consult their memories or books; 190
Like helpless friends, who view from shoar
The labouring Ship and hear the tempest roar,
So stood they with their arms across;
Not to assist; but to deplore
Th’ inevitable loss. 195
VI
Death was denounc’d; that frightful sound
Which even the best can hardly bear;
He took the Summons void of fear;
And, unconcern’dly, cast his eyes around;
As if to find and dare the griesly Challenger. 200
What death cou’d do he lately try’d,
When in four days he more then dy’d.
The same assurance all his words did grace;
The same Majestick mildness held its place,
Nor lost the Monarch in his dying face. 205
Intrepid, pious, merciful, and brave,
He lookt as when he conquer’d and forgave.
VII
As if some Angel had been sent
To lengthen out his Government,
And to foretel as many years again, 210
As he had number’d in his happy reign,
So chearfully he took the doom
Of his departing breath;
Nor shrunk, nor stept aside for death
But, with unalter’d pace, kept on; 215
Providing for events to come,
When he resigned the Throne.
Still he maintained his Kingly State;
And grew familiar with his fate.
Kind, good and gracious to the last, 220
On all he lov’d before his dying beams he cast
Oh truly good and truly great,
For glorious as he rose benignly so he set!
All that on earth he held most dear
He recommended to his Care, 225
To whom both heav’n
The right had giv’n,
And his own Love bequeath’d supream command:
He took and prest that ever loyal hand,
Which cou’d in Peace secure his Reign, 230
Which cou’d in wars his Pow’r maintain,
That hand on which no plighted vows were ever vain.
Well for so great a trust, he chose
A Prince who never disobey’d:
Not when the most severe commands were laid; 235
Nor want, nor Exile with his duty weigh’d:
A Prince on whom (if Heav’n its Eyes cou’d close)
The Welfare of the World it safely might repose.
VIII
That King who liv’d to Gods own heart,
Yet less serenely died than he; 240
Charles left behind no harsh decree
For Schoolmen with laborious art
To salve from cruelty:
Those, for whom love cou’d no excuses frame,
He graciously forgot to name. 245
Thus far my Muse, though rudely, has design’d
Some faint resemblance of his Godlike mind:
But neither Pen nor Pencil can express
The parting Brothers tenderness:
Though thats a term too mean and low; 250
(The blest above a kinder word may know:)
But what they did, and what they said,
The Monarch who triumphant went,
The Militant who staid,
Like Painters, when their heigthning arts are spent, 255
I cast into a shade.
That all-forgiving King,
The type of him above,
That inexhausted spring
Of clemency and Love; 260
Himself to his next self accus’d,
And ask’d that Pardon which he ne’re refus’d:
For faults not his, for guilt and Crimes
Of Godless men, and of Rebellious times:
For an hard Exile, kindly meant, 265
When his ungrateful Country sent
Their best Camillus into banishment:
And forc’d their Sov’raign’s Act, they could not his consent.
Oh how much rather had that injur’d Chief
Repeated all his sufferings
past, 270
Then hear a pardon beg’d at last,
Which given cou’d give the dying no relief:
He bent, he sunk beneath his grief:
His dauntless heart wou’d fain have held
From weeping, but his eyes rebell’d. 275
Perhaps the Godlike Heroe in his breast
Disdain’d, or was asham’d to show
So weak, so womanish a woe,
Which yet the Brother and the Friend so plenteously confest.
IX
Amidst that silent show’r, the Royal mind 280
An Easy passage found,
And left its sacred earth behind:
Nor murm’ring groan exprest, nor labouring sound,
Nor any least tumultuous breath;
Calm was his life, and quiet was his death. 285
Soft as those gentle whispers were,
In which th’ Almighty did appear;
By the still Voice, the Prophet knew him there.
That Peace which made thy Prosperous Reign to shine,
That Peace thou leav’st to thy Imperial Line, 290
That Peace, oh happy Shade, be ever thine!
X
For all those Joys thy Restauration brought,
For all the Miracles it wrought,
For all the healing Balm thy Mercy pour’d
Into the Nations bleeding Wound, 295
And Care that after kept it sound,
For numerous Blessings yearly shouer’d,
And Property with Plenty crown’d;
For Freedom, still maintain’d alive,
Freedom which in no other Land will thrive, 300
Freedom an English Subject’s sole Prerogative,
Without whose Charms ev’n Peace would be
But a dull, quiet Slavery:
For these and more, accept our Pious Praise;
’Tis all the Subsidy 305
The present Age can raise,
The rest is charg’d on late Posterity.
Posterity is charg’d the more,
Because the large abounding store
To them and to their Heirs, is still entail’d by thee. 310
Succession of a long descent,
Which Chast’ly in the Chanells ran,
And from our Demi-gods began,
Equal almost to Time in its extent,
Through Hazzards numberless and great, 315
Thou hast deriv’d this mighty Blessing down,
And fixt the fairest Gemm that decks th’ Imperial Crown:
Not Faction, when it shook thy Regal Seat,
Not senates, insolently loud,
(Those Ecchoes of a thoughtless Croud,) 320
Not Foreign or Domestick Treachery,
Could Warp thy Soul to their Unjust Decree.
So much thy Foes thy manly Mind mistook,
Who judg’d it by the Mildness of thy look:
Like a well-temper’d Sword, it bent at will; 325
But kept the Native toughness of the Steel.