 | Poems by Hartley Coleridge |  |
323
DRYDEN.
Then Dryden came, a mind of giant mould,
Like the north wind, impetuous, keen, and cold;
Born to effect what Waller but essay'd,
In rank and file his numbers he array'd,
Compact as troops exact in battle's trade.
Firm by constraint, and regularly strong,
His vigorous lines resistless march along,
By martial music order'd and inspired,
Like glowing wheels by their own motion fired.
So as a nation long inured to arms,
And stirring strains, fierce pleasures, brisk alarms,
Disdains a calm, and can no longer bear
A soft, a pensive, or a solemn air;
Thus Dryden taught the English to despise
The simply sweet, long-lingering melodies
That lovely Spenser and his thoughtful peers
Had warbled erst to rapt attentive ears.
E'en Milton's billowy ocean of high sound,
Delighted little, though it might astound;
The restless crowd impatient turn'd away,
And sought a shorter, shriller, lighter lay.
Like the north wind, impetuous, keen, and cold;
Born to effect what Waller but essay'd,
In rank and file his numbers he array'd,
Compact as troops exact in battle's trade.
Firm by constraint, and regularly strong,
His vigorous lines resistless march along,
By martial music order'd and inspired,
Like glowing wheels by their own motion fired.
So as a nation long inured to arms,
And stirring strains, fierce pleasures, brisk alarms,
Disdains a calm, and can no longer bear
A soft, a pensive, or a solemn air;
Thus Dryden taught the English to despise
The simply sweet, long-lingering melodies
That lovely Spenser and his thoughtful peers
Had warbled erst to rapt attentive ears.
E'en Milton's billowy ocean of high sound,
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The restless crowd impatient turn'd away,
And sought a shorter, shriller, lighter lay.
Yet Dryden nobly earn'd the poet's name,
And won new honours from the gift of fame.
His life was long, and when his head was grey,
His fortune broken, and usurp'd his bay,
His dauntless genius own'd no cold dismay;
Nor in repining notes of vain regret
He made his crack'd pipe pitifully fret.
But when cashier'd and laid upon the shelf,
To shame the court excell'd his former self,
Who meant to clip, but imp'd his moulted wings,
And cured him of his ancient itch of praising kings.
He sat gigantic on the shore of time,
And watch'd the ingress of encroaching slime,
Nor dream'd how much of evil or of good
Might work amid the far unfathom'd flood.
And won new honours from the gift of fame.
His life was long, and when his head was grey,
His fortune broken, and usurp'd his bay,
His dauntless genius own'd no cold dismay;
Nor in repining notes of vain regret
He made his crack'd pipe pitifully fret.
But when cashier'd and laid upon the shelf,
To shame the court excell'd his former self,
Who meant to clip, but imp'd his moulted wings,
And cured him of his ancient itch of praising kings.
He sat gigantic on the shore of time,
And watch'd the ingress of encroaching slime,
Nor dream'd how much of evil or of good
Might work amid the far unfathom'd flood.
| Poems by Hartley Coleridge | |