The Works of Mr Abraham Cowley Consisting of Those which were formerly Printed: And Those which he Design'd for the Press, Now Published out of the Authors Original Copies ... The Text Edited by A. R. Waller |
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A DREAME
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 | The Works of Mr Abraham Cowley |  |
42
A DREAME OF ELYSIUM.
Phœbus
expuls'd by the a[pp]roaching Night
Blush'd, and for shame clos'd in his bashfull light;
Whilst I with leaden Morpheus overcome,
The Muse, whom I adore, enterd the roome.
Her hayre with looser curiositie,
Did on her comely backe dishevel'd lye.
Her Eyes with such attractive beauty shone,
As might have wak'd sleeping Endymion.
She bid me rise, and promis'd I should see
Those Fields, those Mansions of Felicity,
Wee mortalls so admire at: Speaking thus,
She lifts me up upon wing'd Pegasus.
On whom I rid: knowing where ever she
Did goe, that place must needs a Tempe be.
Blush'd, and for shame clos'd in his bashfull light;
Whilst I with leaden Morpheus overcome,
The Muse, whom I adore, enterd the roome.
Her hayre with looser curiositie,
Did on her comely backe dishevel'd lye.
Her Eyes with such attractive beauty shone,
As might have wak'd sleeping Endymion.
She bid me rise, and promis'd I should see
Those Fields, those Mansions of Felicity,
Wee mortalls so admire at: Speaking thus,
She lifts me up upon wing'd Pegasus.
On whom I rid: knowing where ever she
Did goe, that place must needs a Tempe be.
No sooner was my flying Courser come
To the blest dwellings of Elysium:
When straight a thousand unknowne joyes resort,
And hemm'd me round: Chast loves innocuous sport.
A thousand sweets, bought with no following Gall,
Joyes, not like ours, short, but perpetuall.
How many objects charme my wandring eye,
And bid my soule gaze there eternally?
Here in full streames, Bacchus thy liquor flowes,
Nor knowes to ebbe: here Joves broad Tree bestowes
Distilling hony, heere doth Nectar passe
With copious current through the verdant Grasse.
Here Hyacinth, his fate writ in his lookes,
And thou Narcissus loving still the Brookes,
Once lovely boyes; and Acis now a Flower,
Are nourisht, with that rarer herbe, whose power
Created thee, Warres potent God, here growes
The spotlesse Lillie, and the blushing Rose.
And all those divers ornaments abound,
That variously may paint the gawdy ground.
No Willow, sorrowes Garland, there hath roome,
Nor Cypresse, sad attendant of a Tombe.
None but Apollo's Tree, and th'Ivie Twine
Imbracing the stout Oake, the fruitfull Vine,
And Trees with golden Apples loaded downe,
On whose faire toppes sweet Philomel alone,
Unmindfull of her former miserie,
Tunes with her voyce a ravishing Harmonie.
Whilst all the murmuring Brookes that glide along,
Make up a burthen to her pleasing Song.
No Scritchowle, sad companion of the Night,
Or hideous Raven with prodigious flight
Presaging future ill. Nor, Progne, thee
Yet spotted with young Itis Tragedie,
Those Sacred Bowers receive. There's nothing there,
That is not pure, immaculate, and rare.
Turning my greedy sight another way,
Under a row of storme-contemning Bay,
I saw the Thracian Singer with his lyre
Teach the deafe stones to heare him, and admire.
Him the whole Poets Chorus compass'd round,
All whom the Oake, all whom the Lawrell crown'd.
There banish'd Ovid had a lasting home,
Better than thou couldst give ingratefull Rome;
And Lucan (spight of Nero) in each veine
Had every drop of his spilt bloud againe:
Homer, Sol's first borne, was not poore or blinde,
But saw as well in body as in minde.
Tullie, grave Cato, Solon, and the rest
Of Greece's admir'd Wisemen, here possest
A large reward for their past deeds, and gaine
A life, as everlasting as their Fame.
To the blest dwellings of Elysium:
When straight a thousand unknowne joyes resort,
And hemm'd me round: Chast loves innocuous sport.
A thousand sweets, bought with no following Gall,
Joyes, not like ours, short, but perpetuall.
How many objects charme my wandring eye,
And bid my soule gaze there eternally?
Here in full streames, Bacchus thy liquor flowes,
Nor knowes to ebbe: here Joves broad Tree bestowes
Distilling hony, heere doth Nectar passe
With copious current through the verdant Grasse.
Here Hyacinth, his fate writ in his lookes,
And thou Narcissus loving still the Brookes,
43
Are nourisht, with that rarer herbe, whose power
Created thee, Warres potent God, here growes
The spotlesse Lillie, and the blushing Rose.
And all those divers ornaments abound,
That variously may paint the gawdy ground.
No Willow, sorrowes Garland, there hath roome,
Nor Cypresse, sad attendant of a Tombe.
None but Apollo's Tree, and th'Ivie Twine
Imbracing the stout Oake, the fruitfull Vine,
And Trees with golden Apples loaded downe,
On whose faire toppes sweet Philomel alone,
Unmindfull of her former miserie,
Tunes with her voyce a ravishing Harmonie.
Whilst all the murmuring Brookes that glide along,
Make up a burthen to her pleasing Song.
No Scritchowle, sad companion of the Night,
Or hideous Raven with prodigious flight
Presaging future ill. Nor, Progne, thee
Yet spotted with young Itis Tragedie,
Those Sacred Bowers receive. There's nothing there,
That is not pure, immaculate, and rare.
Turning my greedy sight another way,
Under a row of storme-contemning Bay,
I saw the Thracian Singer with his lyre
Teach the deafe stones to heare him, and admire.
Him the whole Poets Chorus compass'd round,
All whom the Oake, all whom the Lawrell crown'd.
There banish'd Ovid had a lasting home,
Better than thou couldst give ingratefull Rome;
And Lucan (spight of Nero) in each veine
Had every drop of his spilt bloud againe:
Homer, Sol's first borne, was not poore or blinde,
But saw as well in body as in minde.
Tullie, grave Cato, Solon, and the rest
Of Greece's admir'd Wisemen, here possest
A large reward for their past deeds, and gaine
A life, as everlasting as their Fame.
By these, the valiant Heroes take their place,
All who sterne Death and perils did imbrace
For Vertues cause. Great Alexander there
Laughing at the Earth's small Empire, did weare
A Nobler Crowne, than the whole world could give.
There did Horatius Cocles, Sceva, live,
And valiant Decius, who now freely cease
From Warre, and purchase an eternall peace.
All who sterne Death and perils did imbrace
44
Laughing at the Earth's small Empire, did weare
A Nobler Crowne, than the whole world could give.
There did Horatius Cocles, Sceva, live,
And valiant Decius, who now freely cease
From Warre, and purchase an eternall peace.
Next them, beneath a Mirtle Bowre, where Doves,
And gall-lesse Pidgeons build their nests, all Loves
Faithfull perseverers, with amorous kisses,
And soft imbraces, taste their greediest wishes.
Leander with his beauteous Hero playes,
Nor are they parted with dividing Seas.
Porcia injoyes her Brutus, Death no more
Can now divorce their Wedding, as before.
Thisbe her Pyramus kiss'd, his Thisbe hee
Embrac'd, each blest with th'others company.
And every couple alwayes dancing, sing
Eternall Ditties to Elysiums King.
But see how soone these pleasures fade away,
How neere to Evening is delights short Day?
For th'watching Bird, true Nuncius of the Light
Straight crowd: and all these vanisht from my sight.
My very Muse her selfe forsooke mee too.
Me griefe and wonder wak'd: What should I doe?
Oh! let me follow thee (said I) and goe
From life, that I may Dreame for ever so.
With that my flying Muse I thought to claspe
Within my armes, but did a shadow graspe.
And gall-lesse Pidgeons build their nests, all Loves
Faithfull perseverers, with amorous kisses,
And soft imbraces, taste their greediest wishes.
Leander with his beauteous Hero playes,
Nor are they parted with dividing Seas.
Porcia injoyes her Brutus, Death no more
Can now divorce their Wedding, as before.
Thisbe her Pyramus kiss'd, his Thisbe hee
Embrac'd, each blest with th'others company.
And every couple alwayes dancing, sing
Eternall Ditties to Elysiums King.
But see how soone these pleasures fade away,
How neere to Evening is delights short Day?
For th'watching Bird, true Nuncius of the Light
Straight crowd: and all these vanisht from my sight.
My very Muse her selfe forsooke mee too.
Me griefe and wonder wak'd: What should I doe?
Oh! let me follow thee (said I) and goe
From life, that I may Dreame for ever so.
With that my flying Muse I thought to claspe
Within my armes, but did a shadow graspe.
Thus chiefest Joyes glide with the swiftest streame,
And all our greatest pleasure's but a Dreame.
A. C.
| The Works of Mr Abraham Cowley | |