Than which a greater pledge Heaven could not give, That the good boat this tempest should outlive.
But storms increase, and now no hope of grace Among them shines, save in the Prince's face; The rest resign their courage, skill, and sight, To danger, horror, and unwelcome night. The gentle vessel (wont with state and pride On the smooth back of silver Thames to ride) Wanders astonish'd in the angry main, As Titan's car did, while the golden rein Fill'd the young hand of his adventurous son', When the whole world an equal hazard run To this of ours, the light of whose desire Waves threaten now, as that was scared by fire. The' impatient Sea grows impotent and raves, That, Night assisting, his impetuous waves Should find resistance from so light a thing; These surges ruin, those our safety bring. The' oppressed vessel doth the charge abide, Only because assail'd on every side : So men with rage and passion set on fire, Trembling for haste, impeach their mad desire. The pale Iberians had expired with fear, But that their wonder did divert their care, To see the Prince with danger moved no more Than with the pleasures of their court before: Godlike his courage seem'd, whom nor delight Could soften, nor the face of Death affright. Next to the power of making tempests cease, Was in that storm to have so calm a peace. Great Maro could no greater tempest feign, When the loud winds usurping on the main For angry Juno, labour'd to destroy The hated relics of confounded Troy :
His bold Æneas, on like billows toss'd
In a tall ship, and all his country lost,
Dissolves with fear; and both his hands upheld,
Proclaims them happy whom the Greeks had
In honourable fight: our hero, set [quell'd
In a small shallop, Fortune in his debt,
So near a hope of crowns and sceptres, more
Than ever Priam, when he flourish'd, wore ;
His loins yet full of ungot princes, all
His glory in the bud, lets nothing fall
That argues fear: if any thought annoys
The gallant youth, 'tis love's untasted joys,
And dear remembrance of that fatal glance,
For which he lately pawn'd his heart in France;
Where he had seen a brighter nymph than she2
That sprung out of his present foe, the sea.
That noble ardour, more than mortal fire,
The conquer'd ocean could not make expire ;
Nor
angry Thetis raise her waves above
The' heroic Prince's courage or his love:
'Twas indignation, and not fear he felt,
The shrine should perish where that image dwelt.
Ah, Love forbid! the noblest of thy train
Should not survive to let her know his pain;
Who, nor his peril minding nor his flame,
Is entertain'd with some less serious game,
Among the bright nymphs of the Gallic court,
All highly born, obsequious to her sport:
They roses seem, which in their early pride
But half reveal, and half their beauties hide;
She the glad Morning, which her beams does throw
Upon their smiling leaves, and gilds them so;
Like bright Aurora, whose refulgent ray
Foretels the fervour of ensuing day,
And warns the shepherd with his flocks retreat
To leafy shadows from the threaten'd heat.
From Cupid's string of many shafts, that fled Wing'd with those plumes which noble Fame had shed,
As through the wondering world she flew, and told
Of his adventures, haughty, brave, and bold;
Some had already touch'd the royal maid,
But Love's first summons' seldom are obey'd:
Light was the wound, the Prince's care unknown,
She might not, would not, yet reveal her own,
His glorious name had so possess'd her ears,
That with delight those antique tales she hears
Of Jason, Theseus, and such worthies old,
As with his story best resemblance hold.
And now she views, as on the wall it hung,
What old Musæus so divinely sung;
Which art with life and love did so inspire,
That she discerns and favours that desire;
Which there provokes the' adventurous youth to
And in Leander's danger pities him ;
[swim,
Whose not new love alone, but fortune, seeks
To frame his story like that amorous Greek's.
For from the stern of some good ship appears
A friendly light, which moderates their fears:
New courage from reviving hope they take,
And, climbing o'er the waves, that taper make
On which the hope of all their lives depends,
As his on that fair Hero's hand extends.
The ship at anchor, like a fixed rock,
Breaks the proud billows which her large sides
Whose rage restrained, foaming higher swells,
And from her port the weary barge repels,
Threatening to make her, forced out again,
Repeat the dangers of the troubled main.
Twice was the cable hurl'd in vain; the Fates
Would not be moved for our sister states.
For England is the third successful throw,
And then the genius of that land they know,
Whose prince must be (as their own books devise)
Lord of the scene where now his danger lies.
Well sung the Roman bard, ‘All human things
Of dearest value hang on slender strings.'
O see the then sole hope, and, in design
Of Heaven, our joy, supported by a line!
Which for that instant was Heaven's care above,
The chain that's fixed to the throne of Jove,
On which the fabric of our world depends,
One link dissolved, the whole creation ends.
HIS MAJESTY'S RECEIVING THE NEWS
DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM'S DEATH. So earnest with thy God! can no new care, No sense of danger, interrupt thy prayer? The sacred Wrestler, till a blessing given, Quits not his hold, but halting conquers Heaven. Nor was the stream of thy devotion stopp'd, When from the body such a limb was lopp'd, As to thy present state was no less maim, Though thy wise choice has since repair'd the same. Bold Homer durst not so great virtue feign In his best pattern': of Patroclus slain, With such amazement as weak mothers use, And frantic gesture, he receives the news.
Yet fell his darling by the' impartial chance
Of war, imposed by royal Hector's lance;
Thine in full peace, and by a vulgar hand
Torn from thy bosom, left his high command.
The famous painter2 could allow no place
For private sorrow in a prince's face:
Yet, that his piece might not exceed belief,
He cast a veil upon supposed grief.
'Twas want of such a precedent as this
Made the old Heathen frame their gods amiss.
Their Phoebus should not act a fonder part
For the fair boy3, than he did for his hart;
Nor blame for Hyacinthus' fate his own,
That kept from him wish'd death, hadst thou been
known.
[deeds,
He that with thine shall weigh good David's
Shall find his passion nor his love exceeds:
He cursed the mountains where his brave friend
But let false Ziba with his heir divide; [died,
Where thy immortal love to thy bless'd friends,
Like that of Heaven, upon their seed descends.
Such huge extremes inhabit thy great mind,
Godlike, unmoved, and yet, like woman, kind!
Which of the ancient poets had not brought
Our Charles's pedigree from Heaven, and taught
How some bright dame, compress'd by mighty
Jove,
Produced this mix'd Divinity and Love?
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