Poetical Works of Edmund Waller and Sir John Denham - Edmund Waller

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Her bounty and compassion to mankind; 40

       To whom, while she so far extends her grace,

       She makes but good the promise of her face;

       For Mercy has, could Mercy's self be seen,

       No sweeter look than this propitious queen.

       Such guard, and comfort, the distressed find

       From her large power, and from her larger mind,

       That whom ill Fate would ruin, it prefers,

       For all the miserable are made hers.

       So the fair tree whereon the eagle builds,

       Poor sheep from tempests, and their shepherds, shields; 50

       The royal bird possesses all the boughs,

       But shade and shelter to the flock allows.

      Joy of our age, and safety of the next!

       For which so oft thy fertile womb is vex'd;

       Nobly contented, for the public good,

       To waste thy spirits and diffuse thy blood,

       What vast hopes may these islands entertain,

       Where monarchs, thus descended, are to reign?

       Led by commanders of so fair a line,

       Our seas no longer shall our power confine. 60

      A brave romance who would exactly frame,

       First brings his knight from some immortal dame,

       And then a weapon, and a flaming shield,

       Bright as his mother's eyes, he makes him wield.

       None might the mother of Achilles be,

       But the fair pearl and glory of the sea;[1]

       The man to whom great Maro gives such fame,[2]

       From the high bed of heavenly Venus came;

       And our next Charles, whom all the stars design

       Like wonders to accomplish, springs from thine. 70

      [1] 'Sea': Thetis [2] 'Maro': Aeneas

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      My charge it is those breaches to repair

       Which Nature takes from sorrow, toil, and care;

       Rest to the limbs, and quiet I confer

       On troubled minds; but nought can add to her

       Whom Heaven, and her transcendent thoughts have placed

       Above those ills which wretched mortals taste.

      Bright as the deathless gods, and happy, she

       From all that may infringe delight is free;

       Love at her royal feet his quiver lays,

       And not his mother with more haste obeys. 10

       Such real pleasures, such true joys' suspense,

       What dream can I present to recompense?

      Should I with lightning fill her awful hand,

       And make the clouds seem all at her command;

       Or place her in Olympus' top, a guest

       Among the immortals, who with nectar feast;

       That power would seem, that entertainment, short

       Of the true splendour of her present Court,

      Where all the joys, and all the glories, are 19

       Of three great kingdoms, sever'd from the care.

       I, that of fumes and humid vapours made,

       Ascending, do the seat of sense invade,

       No cloud in so serene a mansion find,

       To overcast her ever-shining mind,

      Which holds resemblance with those spotless skies,

       Where flowing Nilus want of rain supplies;

       That crystal heaven, where Phoebus never shrouds

       His golden beams, nor wraps his face in clouds.

       But what so hard which numbers cannot force?

       So stoops the moon, and rivers change their course. 30

      The bold Mæonian[1] made me dare to steep

       Jove's dreadful temples in the dew of sleep;

       And since the Muses do invoke my power,

       I shall no more decline that sacred bower

       Where Gloriana their great mistress lies;

       But, gently taming those victorious eyes,

      Charm all her senses, till the joyful sun

       Without a rival half his course has run;

       Who, while my hand that fairer light confines,

       May boast himself the brightest thing that shines. 40

      [1] 'Mæonian': Homer.

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      1 You gods that have the power

       To trouble and compose

       All that's beneath your bower,

       Calm silence on the seas, on earth impose.

      2 Fair Venus! in thy soft arms

       The God of Rage confine;

       For thy whispers are the charms

       Which only can divert his fierce design.

      3 What though he frown, and to tumult do incline?

       Thou the flame

       Kindled in his breast canst tame,

       With that snow which unmelted lies on thine.

      4 Great goddess! give this thy sacred island rest;

       Make heaven smile,

       That no storm disturb us while

       Thy chief care, our halcyon, builds her nest.

      5 Great Gloriana! fair Gloriana!

       Bright as high heaven is, and fertile as earth,

       Whose beauty relieves us,

       Whose royal bed gives us

       Both glory and peace,

       Our present joy, and all our hopes' increase.

      [1] 'Puerperium ': Fenton conjectures that this poem was written in 1640, when the Queen was delivered of her fourth son, the Duke of Gloucester.

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      Ah, lovely Amoret! the care

       Of all that know what's good or fair!

       Is heaven become our rival too?

       Had the rich gifts conferr'd on you

       So amply thence, the common end

       Of giving lovers—to pretend?

       Hence, to this pining sickness (meant

       To weary thee to a consent

       Of leaving us) no power

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