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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 | The Works of Mr Abraham Cowley |  |
40
An Elegie on the Death of the Right Honourable, Dudley Lord Carleton, Viscount Dorchester, late Principall Secretary of State.
The infernall Sisters, did a Counsell callOf all the fiends, to the black Stygian Hall;
The dire Tartarean Monsters, hating light,
Begot by dismall Erebus, and Night.
Wheresoe're dispers'd abroad, hearing the Fame
Of their accursed meeting, thither came
Revenge, whose greedy mind no Blood can fill,
And Envie, never satisfied with ill.
Thither blind Boldnesse, and impatient Rage,
Resorted, with Death's neighbour envious Age,
And Messengers diseases, wheresoe're
Then wandring, at the Senate present were:
Whom to oppresse the Earth, the Furies sent
To spare the Guilty, vex the innocent.
The Councell thus dissolv'd, an angry fever,
Whose quenchlesse thirst, by blood was sated never:
Envying the Riches, Honour, Greatnesse, Love,
And Vertue (Loadstone, which all these did move)
Of Noble Carleton, him she tooke away,
And like a greedy Vulture seis'd her prey:
Weep with me each who either reades or heares,
And know his losse, deserves his Countries teares:
The Muses lost a Patron by his Fate,
Vertue a Husband, and a Prop the State,
Sol's Chorus weepes, and to adorne his Herse
Calliope would sing a Tragicke Verse.
And had there been before no Spring of theirs,
They would have made a Helicon with teares.
Abra. Cowley.
41
An Elegie on the death of my loving Friend and Cousen, Master Richard Clerke, late of Lincolns Inne, Gent.
It was decreed by stedfast Destinie,(The world from Chaos turn'd) that all should die.
Hee who durst fearelesse passe blacke Acheron
And dangers of the infernall Region,
Leading Hells triple Porter captivate,
Was overcome himselfe, by conquering Fate.
The Roman Tullie's pleasing Eloquence,
Which in the Eares did locke up every Sence
Of the rapt hearer, his mellifluous breath
Could not at all charme unremorselesse Death,
Nor Solon so by Greece admir'd, could save
Himselfe with all his Wisdome, from the Grave.
Sterne Fate brought Maro to his Funerall flame,
And would have ended in that fire his Fame;
Burning those lofty Lines, which now shall be
Times conquerers, and out-last Eternity.
Even so lov'd Clerk from death no scape could find,
Though arm'd with great Alcides valiant mind.
He was adorn'd in yeeres though farre more young,
With learned Cicero's, or a sweeter Tongue.
And could dead Virgil heare his lofty straine,
He would condemne his owne to fire againe.
His youth a Solons wisdome did presage,
Had envious Time but given him Solons age.
Who would not therefore now, if Learnings friend,
Bewaile his fatall and untimely end:
Who hath such hard, such unrelenting Eyes,
As would not weep when so much Vertue dyes?
The God of Poets doth in darknesse shrowd
His glorious face, and weepes behind a Cloud.
The dolefull Muses thinking now to write
Sad Elegies, their teares confound their sight:
But him to Elysiums lasting Joyes they bring,
Where winged Angels his sad Requiems sing.
A. C.
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.
FINIS.
| The Works of Mr Abraham Cowley | |