And since love ne'er will from me flee, And good as guardian angels are, O fountains! when in you shall I O fields! O woods! when, when shall I be made Here's the spring-head of Pleasure's flood: Here's wealthy Nature's treasury, Where all the riches lie that she Has coin'd and stamp'd for good. Pride and ambition here Only in far-fetch'd metaphors appear; Here nought but winds can hurtful murmurs scatter, And nought but Echo flatter. The gods, when they descended, hither From heaven did always choose their way: That 'tis the way too thither. How happy here should I And one dear She live, and embracing die! I should have then this only fear : And so make a city here. ALEXANDER BROME 354. TELL The Resolve ELL me not of a face that's fair, Nor curls in order laid, The only argument can move The glories of your ladies be Each common object brings. Let it be one that's kind : 1620-1666 1621-1678 355. ANDREW MARVELL An Horatian Ode upon Cromwell's Return from Ireland THE HE forward youth that would appear His numbers languishing. 'Tis time to leave the books in dust, The corslet of the hall. So restless Cromwell could not cease And like the three-fork'd lightning, first For 'tis all one to courage high, The emulous, or enemy; And with such, to enclose Is more than to oppose. Then burning through the air he went And Cæsar's head at last Did through his laurels blast. 'Tis madness to resist or blame Who, from his private gardens, where He lived reservèd and austere (As if his highest plot To plant the bergamot), Could by industrious valour climb Though Justice against Fate complain, And plead the ancient rights in vain— But those do hold or break As men are strong or weak Nature, that hateth emptiness, And therefore must make room What field of all the civil war Where, twining subtle fears with hope, That Charles himself might chase That thence the Royal actor borne While round the armed bands Did clap their bloody hands. He nothing common did or mean The axe's edge did try; Nor call'd the gods, with vulgar spite, This was that memorable hour So when they did design The Capitol's first line, A Bleeding Head, where they begun, And now the Irish are ashamed 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. |