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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[Ah, happy Isle, how art thou chang'd and curst] |
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 | The Works of Mr Abraham Cowley |  |
343
[Ah, happy Isle, how art thou chang'd and curst]
1
Ah, happy Isle, how art thou chang'd and curst,Since I was born, and knew thee first!
When Peace, which had forsook the World around,
(Frighted with noise, and the shrill Trumpets sound)
Thee for a private place of rest,
And a secure retirement chose
Wherein to build her Halcyon Nest;
No wind durst stir abroad the Air to discompose.
2
When all the riches of the Globe besideFlow'd in to Thee with every Tide;
When all that Nature did thy Soil deny,
The Growth was of thy fruitfull Industry,
344
And all his Tributary-streams,
A constant Tribute paid to Thee.
When all the liquid World was one extended Thames.
3
When Plenty in each Village did appear,And Bounty was it's Steward there;
When Gold walkt free about in open view,
Ere it one Conquering parties Prisoner grew;
When the Religion of our State
Had Face and Substance with her Voice,
Ere she by 'er foolish Loves of late,
Like Eccho (once a Nymph) turn'd onely into Noise.
4
When Men to Men respect and friendship bore,And God with Reverence did adore;
When upon Earth no Kingdom could have shown
A happier Monarch to us than our own,
And yet his Subjects by him were
(Which is a Truth will hardly be
Receiv'd by any vulgar Ear,
A secret known to few) made happi'r ev'n than He.
5
Thou doest a Chaos, and Confusion now,A Babel, and a Bedlam grow,
And like a Frantick person thou doest tear
The Ornaments and Cloaths which thou shouldst wear,
And cut thy Limbs; and if we see
(Just as thy Barbarous Britons did)
Thy Body with Hypocrisie
Painted all o're, thou think'st, Thy naked shame is hid.
6
The Nations, which envied thee erewhile,Now laugh (too little 'tis to smile)
They laugh, and would have pitty'd thee (alas!)
But that thy Faults all Pity do surpass.
345
And mock the French Inconstancy?
And have we, have we seen of late
Less change of Habits there, than Governments in Thee?
7
Unhappy Isle! No ship of thine at Sea,Was ever tost and torn like thee.
Thy naked Hulk loose on the Waves does beat,
The Rocks and Banks around her ruin threat;
What did thy foolish Pilots ail,
To lay the Compass quite aside?
Without a Law or Rule to sail,
And rather take the winds, then Heavens to be their Guide?
8
Yet, mighty God, yet, yet, we humbly crave,This floating Isle from shipwrack save;
And though to wash that Bloud which does it stain,
It well deserves to sink into the Main;
Yet for the Royal Martyr's prayer
(The Royal Martyr pray's we know)
This guilty, perishing Vessel spare;
Hear but his Soul above, and not his bloud below.
| The Works of Mr Abraham Cowley | |