Poetical Works of Edmund Waller and Sir John Denham Part 25

5 What arms to use, or nets to frame, Wild beasts to combat or to tame; With all the myst'ries of that game.

6 But, worthy friend! the face of war In ancient times doth differ far From what our fiery battles are.

7 Nor is it like, since powder known, That man, so cruel to his own, Should spare the race of beasts alone.

8 No quarter now, but with the gun Men wait in trees from sun to sun, And all is in a moment done.

9 And therefore we expect your next Should be no comment, but a text To tell how modern beasts are vex'd.

10 Thus would I further yet engage Your gentle Muse to court the age With somewhat of your proper rage;

11 Since none does more to Phoebus owe, Or in more languages can show Those arts which you so early know.

[1] 'Mr. Wase': Wase was a fellow of Cambridge, tutor to Lord Herbert, and translator of Grathis on 'Hunting,' a very learned man.

TO A FRIEND, ON THE DIFFERENT SUCCESS OF THEIR LOVES.[1]

Thrice happy pair! of whom we cannot know Which first began to love, or loves most now; Fair course of pa.s.sion! where two lovers start, And run together, heart still yoked with heart; Successful youth! whom love has taught the way To be victorious in the first essay.

Sure love's an art best practised at first, And where th'experienced still prosper worst!

I, with a different fate, pursued in vain The haughty Caelia, till my just disdain 10 Of her neglect, above that pa.s.sion borne, Did pride to pride oppose, and scorn to scorn.

Now she relents; but all too late to move A heart directed to a n.o.bler love.

The scales are turn'd, her kindness weighs no more Now, than my vows and service did before.

So in some well-wrought hangings you may see How Hector leads, and how the Grecians flee; Here, the fierce Mars his courage so inspires, That with bold hands the Argive fleet he fires; 20 But there, from heaven the blue-eyed virgin[2] falls, And frighted Troy retires within her walls; They that are foremost in that b.l.o.o.d.y race, Turn head anon, and give the conqu'rors chase.

So like the chances are of love and war, That they alone in this distinguish'd are, In love the victors from the vanquish'd fly; They fly that wound, and they pursue that die.

[1] 'Their loves': supposed to be Alexander Hampden, involved with Waller in the plot. See 'Life'

[2] 'Blue-eyed virgin': Minerva.

TO ZELINDA.[1]

Fairest piece of well-form'd earth!

Urge not thus your haughty birth; The power which you have o'er us lies Not in your race, but in your eyes.

'None but a prince!'--Alas! that voice Confines you to a narrow choice.

Should you no honey vow to taste, But what the master-bees have placed In compa.s.s of their cells, how small A portion to your share would fall! 10 Nor all appear, among those few, Worthy the stock from whence they grew.

The sap which at the root is bred In trees, through all the boughs is spread; But virtues which in parents s.h.i.+ne, Make not like progress through the line.

'Tis not from whom, but where, we live; The place does oft those graces give.

Great Julius, on the mountains bred, A flock perhaps, or herd, had led. 20 He that the world subdued,[2] had been But the best wrestler on the green.

'Tis art and knowledge which draw forth The hidden seeds of native worth; They blow those sparks, and make them rise Into such flames as touch the skies.

To the old heroes hence was given A pedigree which reached to heaven; Of mortal seed they were not held, 29 Which other mortals so excell'd.

And beauty, too, in such excess As yours, Zelinda! claims no less.

Smile but on me, and you shall scorn, Henceforth, to be of princes born.

I can describe, the shady grove Where your loved mother slept with Jove; And yet excuse the faultless dame, Caught with her spouse's shape and name.

Thy matchless form will credit bring To all the wonders I shall sing. 40

[1] 'Zelinda': referring to a novel where the lady, a princess, refuses a lover, saying, 'I will have none but a prince!'

[2] 'World subdued': Alexander.

TO MY LADY MORTON, ON NEW-YEAR'S DAY,[1]

AT THE LOUVRE IN PARIS.

Madam! new years may well expect to find Welcome from you, to whom they are so kind; Still as they pa.s.s, they court and smile on you, And make your beauty, as themselves, seem new.

To the fair Villiers we Dalkeith prefer, And fairest Morton now as much to her; So like the sun's advance your t.i.tles show, Which as he rises does the warmer grow.

But thus to style you fair, your s.e.x's praise, Gives you but myrtle, who may challenge bays; 10 From armed foes to bring a royal prize, Shows your brave heart victorious as your eyes.

If Judith, marching with the gen'ral's head, Can give us pa.s.sion when her story's read, What may the living do, which brought away, Though a less b.l.o.o.d.y, yet a n.o.bler prey; Who from our flaming Troy, with a bold hand, s.n.a.t.c.h'd her fair charge, the Princess, like a brand?

A brand! preserved to warm some prince's heart, And make whole kingdoms take her brother's part. 20 So Venus, from prevailing Greeks, did shroud The hope of Rome, and saved him in a cloud.

This gallant act may cancel all our rage, Begin a better, and absolve this age.

Dark shades become the portrait of our time; Here weeps Misfortune, and there triumphs Crime!

Let him that draws it hide the rest in night; This portion only may endure the light, Where the kind nymph, changing her faultless shape, Becomes unhandsome, handsomely to 'scape, 30 When through the guards, the river, and the sea, Faith, beauty, wit, and courage, made their way.

As the brave eagle does with sorrow see The forest wasted, and that lofty tree Which holds her nest about to be o'erthrown, Before the feathers of her young are grown, She will not leave them, nor she cannot stay, But bears them boldly on her wings away; So fled the dame, and o'er the ocean bore Her princely burthen to the Gallic sh.o.r.e. 40 Born in the storms of war, this royal fair, Produced like lightning in tempestuous air, Though now she flies her native isle (less kind, Less safe for her than either sea or wind!) Shall, when the blossom of her beauty's blown, See her great brother on the British throne; Where peace shall smile, and no dispute arise, But which rules most, his sceptre, or her eyes.

[1] 'New-year's day': Lady Morton, daughter of Sir Edward Villiers, niece of the Duke of Buckingham, and wife of Lord Douglas, of Dalkeith, one of the most celebrated beauties of her day. She accompanied the Princess Henrietta in disguise to Paris. Waller, then in France, wrote these lines in 1650.

TO A FAIR LADY, PLAYING WITH A SNAKE.

1 Strange! that such horror and such grace Should dwell together in one place; A fury's arm, an angel's face!

2 'Tis innocence, and youth, which makes In Chloris' fancy such mistakes, To start at love, and play with snakes.

3 By this and by her coldness barr'd, Her servants have a task too hard; The tyrant has a double guard!

4 Thrice happy snake! that in her sleeve May boldly creep; we dare not give Our thoughts so unconfined a leave.

5 Contented in that nest of snow He lies, as he his bliss did know, And to the wood no more would go.

6 Take heed, fair Eve! you do not make Another tempter of this snake; A marble one so warm'd would speak.

TO HIS WORTHY FRIEND MASTER EVELYN,[1] UPON HIS TRANSLATION OF 'LUCRETIUS.'