Select Works of the British Poets

"Thou who hast taught me to forgive the ill, And recompense as friends the good misled; If mercy be a precept of thy will,

Return that mercy on thy servant's head.

"Or if my heedless youth has stepp'd astray, Too soon forgetful of thy gracious hand; On me alone thy just displeasure lay,

But take thy judgments from this mourning land.

"We all have sinn'd, and thou hast laid us low,

As humble earth from whence at first we came : Like flying shades before the clouds we show,

And shrink like parchment in consuming flame.

"O let it be enough what thou hast done; [street,
When spotted Deaths ran arm'd through every
With poison'd darts which not the good could shun,
The speedy could outfly, or valiant meet.

"The living few, and frequent funerals then,

Proclaim'd thy wrath on this forsaken place;
And now those few who are return'd again,
Thy searching judgments to their dwellings trace.

O pass not, Lord, an absolute decree, Or bind thy sentence unconditional : But in thy sentence our remorse foresee,

And in that foresight this thy doom recall.

But if immutable and fix'd they stand, Continue still thyself to give the stroke,

And let not foreign foes oppress thy land."

Th' Eternal heard, and from the heavenly quire

Chose out the cherub with the flaming sword; And bade him swiftly drive th' approaching Fire From where our naval magazines were stor'd.

The blessed minister his wings display'd,

And like a shooting star he cleft the night: He charg'd the flames, and those that disobey'd He lash'd to duty with his sword of light.

The fugitive Flames, chastis'd, went forth to prey
On pious structures, by our fathers rear'd;
By which to Heaven they did affect the way,

Ere faith in churchmen without works was heard.

The wanting orphans saw, with watery eyes,
Their founders' charity in dust laid low;
And sent to God their ever-answer'd cries,

For he protects the poor, who made them so.

"Thy threatenings, Lord, as thine thou may'st re- As when sharp frosts had long constrain'd the earth,

voke:

A kindly thaw unlocks it with cold rain;
And first the tender blade peeps up to birth, [grain:
And straight the green fields laugh with promis'd

Nor could thy fabric, Paul's, defend thee long,

Though thou wert sacred to thy Maker's praise: Though made immortal by a poet's song;

And poets' songs the Theban walls could raise.

The daring flames peep'd in, and saw from far
The awful beauties of the sacred quire:
But, since it was profan'd by civil war,

Heav'n thought it fit to have it purg'd by fire.

And now four days the Sun had seen our woes :
Four nights the Moon beheld th' incessant fire:
It seem'd as if the stars more sickly rose,

And further from the feverish North retire.

Now down the narrow streets it swiftly came,
And widely opening did on both sides prey:
This benefit we sadly owe the flame,

If only ruin must enlarge our way.

In th' empyrean Heaven, the bless'd abode,
The thrones and the dominions prostrate lie,
Not daring to behold their angry God;

And an hush'd silence damps the tuneful sky.

At length th' Almighty cast a pitying eye,

And mercy softly touch'd his melting breast:
He saw the town's one-half in rubbish lie,
And eager flames drive on to storm the rest.

An hollow crystal pyramid he takes,
In firmamental waters dipt above:
broad extinguisher he makes,

Of it

And hoods the flames that to their quarry drove.

The vanquish'd Fires withdraw from every place,
Or full with feeding sink into a sleep:
Each household genius shows again his face,

And from the hearths the little Lares creep.

Our king this more than natural change beholds;
With sober joy his heart and eyes abound:
To the All-good his lifted hands he folds,
And thanks him low on his redeemed ground.

By such degrees the spreading gladness grew

In every heart which fear had froze before: The standing streets with so much joy they view, That with less grief the perish'd they deplore.

The father of the people open'd wide

His stores, and all the poor with plenty fed: Thus God's anointed God's own place supplied, And fill'd the empty with his daily bread.

This royal bounty brought its own reward,

And in their minds so deep did print the sense, That if their ruins sadly they regard,

"Tis but with fear the sight might drive him thence.

But so may he live long, that town to sway,
Which by his auspice they will nobler make,
As he will hatch their ashes by his stay,

And not their humble ruins now forsake.

They have not lost their loyalty by fire;

That from his wars they poorly would retire,
Nor is their courage or their wealth so low,

Or beg the pity of a vanquish'd foe.

Not with more constancy the Jews, of old
By Cyrus from rewarded exile sent,
Their royal city did in dust behold,

Or with more vigor to rebuild it went.

The utmost malice of the stars is past,

[town,

And two dire comets, which have scourg'd the In their own plague and fire have breath'd the last, Or dimly in their sinking sockets frown.

Now frequent trines the happier lights among,
And high-raised Jove from his dark prison freed,
Those weights took off that on his planet hung,
Will gloriously the new-laid work succeed.

Methinks already from this chymic flame,
I see a city of more precious mould:
Rich as the town which gives the Indies name,
With silver pav'd, and all divine with gold.

Already laboring with a mighty fate,

She shakes the rubbish from her mounting brow, And seems to have renew'd her charter's date, Which Heaven will to the death of Time allow.

More great than human now, and more august, Now deified she from her fires does rise: Her widening streets on new foundations trust, And opening into larger parts she flies.

Before she like some shepherdess did show,
Who sat to bathe her by a river's side;
Not answering to her fame, but rude and low,
Nor taught the beauteous arts of modern pride.

Now like a maiden queen she will behold,

From her high turrets, hourly suitors come; The East with incense, and the West with gold, Will stand like suppliants to receive her doom.

The silver Thames, her own domestic flood,

Shall bear her vessels like a sweeping train; And often wind, as of his mistress proud,

With longing eyes to meet her face again.

The wealthy Tagus, and the wealthier Rhine,

The glory of their towns no more shall boast, And Seyne, that would with Belgian rivers join, Shall find her lustre stain'd, and traffic lost.

The venturous merchant, who design'd more far,
And touches on our hospitable shore,
Charm'd with the splendor of this northern star,
Shall here unlade him, and depart no more.

Our powerful navy shall no longer meet,

The wealth of France or Holland to invade; The beauty of this town without a fleet,

From all the world shall vindicate her trade.

And while this fam'd emporium we prepare,

The British ocean shall such triumphs boast, That those, who now disdain our trade to share, Shall rob like pirates on our wealthy coast.

Already we have conquer'd half the war,

And the less dangerous part is left behind : Our trouble now is but to make them dare,

And not so great to vanquish as to find.

Thus to the eastern wealth through storms we go, But now, the Cape once doubled, fear no more; A constant trade-wind will securely blow,

And gently lay us on the spicy shore.

ALEXANDER'S FEAST:

OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC.
AN ODE IN HONOR OF ST. CECILIA'S DAY
"Twas at the royal feast for Persia won
By Philip's warlike son:
Aloft in awful state

The godlike hero sate

On his imperial throne:

His valiant peers were plac'd around; Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound: (So should desert in arms be crown'd) Sate, like a blooming eastern bride, The lovely Thais, by his side, In flower of youth and beauty's pride. Happy, happy, happy pair! None but the brave,

None but the brave,

None but the brave deserves the fair.

CHORUS.

Happy, happy, happy pair! None but the brave,

None but the brave,

None but the brave deserves the fair.

Timotheus, plac'd on high

Amid the tuneful quire,

With flying fingers touch'd the lyre:
The trembling notes ascend the sky,
And heavenly joys inspire.
The song began from Jove,
Who left his blissful seats above,
(Such is the power of mighty love.)
A dragon's fiery form belied the god,
Sublime on radiant spires he rode,

When he to fair Olympia press'd,

And while he sought her snowy breast: Then, round her slender waist he curl'd, [world And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign of the The listening crowd admire the lofty sound, A present deity, they shout around:

A present deity, the vaulted roofs rebound:

With ravish'd ears
The monarch hears,
Assumes the god,
Affects to nod,

And seems to shake the spheres.

CHORUS.

Bacchus' blessings are a treasure,
Drinking is the soldier's pleasure;
Rich the treasure,
Sweet the pleasure;
Sweet is pleasure after pain.

Sooth'd with the sound, the king grew vain; Fought all his battles o'er again; [the slain. And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew

The master saw the madness rise;

His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes;
And, while he Heaven and Earth defied,
Chang'd his hand, and check'd his pride.
He chose a mournful Muse,
Soft pity to infuse:

He sung Darius great and good,
By too severe a fate,
Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen,
Fallen from his high estate,

And weltering in his blood;
Deserted, at his utmost need,
By those his former bounty fed:
On the bare earth expos'd he lies,
With not a friend to close his eyes.
With downcast looks the joyless victor sate,
Revolving in his alter'd soul

The various turns of Chance below; And, now and then, a sigh he stole; And tears began to flow.

CHORUS.

Revolving in his alter'd soul

The various turns of Chance below; And, now and then, a sigh he stole; And tears began to flow.

The mighty master smil'd, to see That love was in the next degree: "Twas but a kindred sound to move, For pity melts the mind to love.

Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, Soon he sooth'd his soul to pleasuresWar, he sung, is toil and trouble; Honor but an empty bubble;

Never ending, still beginning, Fighting still, and still destroying;

If the world be worth thy winning, Think, O think, it worth enjoying: Lovely Thais sits beside thee,

Take the good the gods provide thee. The many rend the skies with loud applause; So Love was crown'd, but Music won the cause. The prince, unable to conceal his pain,

Gaz'd on the fair

Who caus'd his care,

And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd, Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again: At length, with love and wine at once oppress'd, The vanquish'd victor sunk upon her breast.

CHORUS.

The prince, unable to conceal his pain, Gaz'd on the fair

Who caus'd his care,

And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd, Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again:

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Select Works of the British Poets: In a Chronological Series from Ben Jonson ...