John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series Read online

XI

  Be true, O Clio, to thy Hero’s name!

  But draw him strictly so

  That all who view, the Piece may know,

  He needs no Trappings of fictitious Fame: 330

  The Load’s too weighty; Thou may’st chuse

  Some Parts of Praise, and some refuse;

  Write, that his Annals may be thought more lavish than the Muse.

  In scanty Truth thou hast confin’d

  The Vertues of a Royal Mind, 335

  Forgiving, bounteous, humble, just and kind:

  His Conversation, Wit, and Parts,

  His Knowledge in the Noblest, useful Arts,

  Were such Dead Authors could not give;

  But habitudes of those who live; 340

  Who, lighting him, did greater lights receive:

  He drain’d from all, and all they knew;

  His Apprehension quick, his Judgment true:

  That the most Learn’d, with shame, confess

  His Knowledge more, his Reading only less. 345

  XII

  Amidst the peaceful Triumphs of his Reign,

  What wonder if the kindly beams he shed

  Reviv’d the drooping Arts again,

  If Science rais’d her Head,

  And soft Humanity that from Rebellion fled; 350

  Our Isle, indeed, too fruitful was before;

  But all uncultivated lay

  Out of the Solar walk and Heavens high way;

  With rank Geneva Weeds run o’re,

  And Cockle, at the best, amidst the Corn it bore: 355

  The Royal Husbandman appear’d,

  And Plough’d and Sow’d and Till’d,

  The Thorns he rooted out, the Rubbish clear’d,

  And blest th’ obedient Field.

  When, straight, a double Harvest rose, 360

  Such as the swarthy Indian mowes;

  Or happier Climates near the Line,

  Or Paradise manur’d, and drest by hands Divine.

  XIII

  As when the New-born Phœnix takes his way,

  His rich Paternal Regions to Survey, 365

  Of airy Choristers a numerous Train

  Attends his wondrous Progress o’re the Plain;

  So, rising from his Fathers Urn,

  So Glorious did our Charles return;

  Th’ officious Muses came along, 370

  A gay Harmonious Quire, like Angels ever Young;

  (The Muse that mourns him now his happy Triumph sung.)

  Even they cou’d thrive in his Auspicious reign;

  And such a plenteous Crop they bore,

  Of purest and well winow’d Grain 375

  As Britain never knew before.

  Tho little was their Hire, and light their Gain,

  Yet somewhat to their share he threw;

  Fed from his hand, they sung and flew,

  Like Birds of Paradise that liv’d on morning dew. 380

  Oh never let their Lays his Name forget!

  The Pension of a Prince’s Praise is great.

  Live then, thou great Encourager of Arts,

  Live ever in our Thankful Hearts;

  Live blest Above, almost invok’d Below; 385

  Live and receive this Pious Vow,

  Our Patron once, our Guardian Angel now.

  Thou Fabius of a sinking State,

  Who didst by wise delays, divert our Fate,

  When Faction like a Tempest rose 390

  In Death’s most hideous form,

  Then, Art to Rage thou didst oppose,

  To weather out the Storm:

  Not quitting thy Supream command,

  Thou heldst the Rudder with a steady hand, 395

  Till safely on the Shore the Bark did land:

  The Bark that all our Blessings brought,

  Charg’d with thy Self and James, a doubly Royal fraught.

  XIV

  Oh frail Estate of Humane things,

  And slippery hopes below! 400

  Now to our Cost your Emptiness we know,

  (For ’tis a Lesson dearly bought)

  Assurance here is never to be sought.

  The Best, and best belov’d of kings,

  And best deserving to be so, 405

  When scarce he had escap’d the fatal blow

  Of Faction and Conspiracy,

  Death did his promis’d hopes destroy:

  He toyl’d, He gain’d, but liv’d not to enjoy.

  What mists of Providence are these 410

  Through which we cannot see!

  So Saints, by supernatural Pow’r set free,

  Are left at last in Martyrdom to dye;

  Such is the end of oft repeated Miracles.

  Forgive me, Heav’n, that Impious thought, 415

  ’Twas Grief for Charles to Madness wrought,

  That Questioned thy Supream Decree!

  Thou didst his gracious Reign Prolong,

  Even in thy Saints and Angels wrong,

  His Fellow Citizens of Immortality: 420

  For Twelve long years of Exile, born,

  Twice Twelve we number’d since his blest Return:

  So strictly wer’t thou Just to pay,

  Even to the driblet of a day.

  Yet still we murmur, and Complain 425

  The Quails and Manna shou’d no longer rain:

  Those Miracles ’twas needless to renew;

  The Chosen Flock has now the Promis’d Land in view.

  XV

  A Warlike Prince ascends the Regal State,

  A Prince, long exercis’d by Fate: 430

  Long may he keep, tho he obtains it late.

  Heroes, in Heaven’s peculiar Mold are cast,

  They and their Poets are not formed in hast;

  Man was the first in God’s design, and Man was made the last.

  False Heroes made by Flattery so, 435

  Heav’n can strike out, like Sparkles, at a blow;

  But e’re a Prince is to Perfection brought,

  He costs Omnipotence a second thought.

  With Toyl and Sweat,

  With hardning Cold, and forming Heat, 440

  The Cyclops did their strokes repeat,

  Before th’ impenetrable Shield was wrought.

  It looks as if the Maker wou’d not own

  The Noble work for his,

  Before ’twas try’d and found a Masterpiece. 445

  XVI

  View then a Monarch ripen’d for a Throne

  Alcides thus his race began,

  O’re Infancy he swiftly ran;

  The future God, at first was more than Man:

  Dangers and Toils, and Juno’s Hate, 450

  Even o’re his Cradle lay in wait;

  And there he grappled first with Fate:

  In his young Hands the hissing Snakes he prest,

  So early was the Deity confest;

  Thus, by degrees, he rose to Jove’s Imperial Seat; 455

  Thus difficulties prove a Soul legitimately great.

  Like his, our Hero’s Infancy was try’d;

  Betimes the Furies did their Snakes provide;

  And, to his Infant Arms oppose

  His Father’s Rebels, and his Brother’s Foes; 460

  The more opprest the higher still he rose.

  Those were the Preludes of his Fate,

  That form’d his Manhood, to subdue

  The Hydra of the many-headed, hissing Crew.

  XVII

  As after Numa’s peaceful Reign 465

  The Martial Ancus did the Scepter wield,

  Furbish’d the rusty Sword again,

  Resum’d the long forgotten Shield,

  And led the Latins to the dusty Field;

  So James the drowsy Genius wakes 470

  Of Britain long entranc’d in Charms,

  Restiff and slumbring on its Arms:

  ’Tis rows’d, & with a new strung Nerve the Spear already shakes.

  No neighing of the Warriour Steeds,

&
nbsp; No Drum, or louder Trumpet, needs 475

  T’ inspire the Coward, warm the Cold,

  His Voice, his sole Appearance makes ‘em bold.

  Gaul and Batavia dread th’ impending blow;

  Too well the Vigour of that Arm they know;

  They lick the dust, and Crouch beneath their fatal Foe. 480

  Long may they fear this awful Prince,

  And not Provoke his lingring Sword;

  Peace is their only sure Defence,

  Their best Security his Word:

  In all the Changes of his doubtful State, 485

  His Truth, like Heav’ns, was kept inviolate,

  For him to Promise is to make it Fate.

  His Valour can Triumph o’re Land and Main;

  With broken Oaths his Fame he will not stain;

  With Conquest basely bought, and with Inglorious gain. 490

  XVIII

  For once, O Heav’n, unfold thy Adamantine Book;

  And let his wondring Senate see,

  If not thy firm Immutable Decree,

  At least the second Page of strong contingency;

  Such as consists with wills, Originally free: 495

  Let them, with glad amazement, look

  On what their happiness may be:

  Let them not still be obstinately blind,

  Still to divert the Good thou hast design’d,

  Or with Malignant penury, 500

  To sterve the Royal Vertues of his Mind.

  Faith is a Christian’s and a Subject’s Test,

  Oh give them to believe, and they are surely blest!

  They do; and, with a distant view, I see

  Th’ amended Vows of English Loyalty; 505

  And all beyond that Object, there appears

  The long Retinue of a Prosperous Reign,

  A Series of Successful years,

  In orderly Array, a Martial, manly Train.

  Behold ev’n to remoter Shores, 510

  A Conquering Navy proudly spread;

  The British Cannon formidably roars,

  While starting from his Oozy Bed,

  Th’ asserted Ocean rears his reverend Head;

  To View and Recognize his ancient Lord again: 515

  And, with a willing hand, restores

  The Fasces of the main.

  FINIS.

  ANNUS MIRABILIS

  THE YEAR OF WONDERS, 1666

  An Historical Poem

  Between 1660 to 1670 theatrical writing was Dryden’s main source of income and he led the way in Restoration comedy, his best known work being Marriage à la Mode (1672), as well as various heroic tragedies, in which his greatest success was All for Love (1678). Dryden was never satisfied with his theatrical writings and frequently suggested that his talents were wasted on unworthy audiences. He therefore persevered in his attempts as a poet in achieving poetic fame. In 1667, around the same time his dramatic career began, he published Annus Mirabilis, a lengthy historical poem which described the events of 1666, the year of the English defeat of the Dutch naval fleet and the Great Fire of London.

  The title of the poem derives its meaning from Latin and describes a year of particularly notable events. The first event of the ‘miraculous’ year was the Battle of Lowestoft fought by English and Dutch ships in 1665. The second was the Four Days Battle of June 1666, and finally the victory of the St. James's Day Battle a month later. The second part of the poem deals with the Great Fire of London that ran from September 2 to September 7, 1666. The ‘miracle’ of the Fire, as portrayed by the poet, was that London was saved, that the fire was stopped and that Charles II would rebuild, having already announced his plans to improve the streets of London and begin great projects. Throughout the poem Dryden promotes the view that these disasters were all averted and that God had saved England from destruction and that God had performed miracles for England. The poem is a modern epic in pentameter quatrains that helped establish Dryden as the preeminent poet of his generation, forming a crucial part in his attaining the posts of Poet Laureate in 1668 and historiographer royal in 1670.

  The Great Fire of London, which took place on September 2, 1666, is one of the major events detailed in this poem.

  ANNUS MIRABILIS

  TO THE

  METROPOLIS

  OF

  GREAT BRITAIN

  The most renowned and late flourishing

  City of London,

  in its

  REPRESENTATIVES

  The LORD MAYOR and Court of ALDERMEN,

  the SHERIFFS and COMMON COUNCIL of it.

  AS perhaps I am the first who ever presented a work of this nature to the Metropolis of any Nation, so is it likewise consonant to Justice, that he who was to give the first Example of such a Dedication should begin it with that City, which has set a pattern to all others of true Loyalty, invincible Courage, and unshaken Constancy. Other Cities have been prais’d for the same Virtues, but I am much deceiv’d if any have so dearly purchas’d their Reputation; their Fame has been won them by cheaper trials than an expensive, though necessary, War, a consuming Pestilence, and a more consuming Fire. To submit yourselves with that humility to the Judgments of Heaven, and at the same time to raise yourselves with that vigour above all human Enemies; to be combated at once from above and from below, to be struck down and to triumph; I know not whether such Trials have been ever parallel’d in any Nation, the resolution and successes of them never can be. Never had Prince or People more mutual reason to love each other, if suffering for each other can indear affection. You have come together a pair of matchless Lovers, through many difficulties; He, through a long Exile, various traverses of Fortune, and the interposition of many Rivals, who violently ravish’d and withheld You from Him: and certainly you have had your share in sufferings. But Providence has cast upon you want of Trade, that you might appear bountiful to your Country’s necessities; and the rest of your afflictions are not more the effects of God’s Displeasure (frequent examples of them having been in the Reign of the most excellent Princes) than occasions for the manifesting of your Christian and Civil virtues. To you, therefore, this Year of Wonders is justly dedicated, because you have made it so. You, who are to stand a wonder to all Years and Ages, and who have built yourselves an Immortal Monument on your own Ruins. You are now a Phœnix in her ashes, and, as far as Humanity can approach, a great Emblem of the suffering Deity. But Heaven never made so much Piety and Virtue, to leave it miserable. I have heard indeed of some virtuous Persons who have ended unfortunately, but never of any virtuous Nation: Providence is engaged too deeply, when the Cause becomes so general. And I cannot imagine it has resolved the ruin of that People at home, which it has blessed abroad with such Successes. I am, therefore, to conclude that your Sufferings are at an end, and that one part of my Poem has not been more an History of your destruction, than the other a Prophecy of your restoration. The accomplishment of which happiness, as it is the wish of all true Englishmen, so is by none more passionately desired than by

  The greatest of Your Admirers,

  and most humble of your Servants,

  JOHN DRYDEN.

  AN

  ACCOUNT

  OF THE

  ENSUING POEM,

  IN

  A LETTER

  TO THE HONOURABLE

  Sr. ROBERT HOWARD.

  SIR,

  I am so many ways obliged to you and so little able to return your Favours that, like those who owe too much, I can only live by getting farther into your debt. You have not only been careful of my Fortune, which was the effect of your Nobleness, but you have been solicitous of my Reputation, which is that of your Kindness. It is not long since I gave you the trouble of perusing a Play for me, and now, instead of an Acknowledgment, I have given you a greater in the Correction of a Poem. But since you are to bear this Persecution, I will at least give you the encouragement of a Martyr, you could never suffer in a nobler cause. For I have chosen the most heroick Subject which any Poet could desi
re: I have taken upon me to describe the motives, the beginning, progress, and successes of a most just and necessary War; in it the care, management, and prudence of our King; the conduct and valour of a Royal Admiral and of two incomparable Generals; the invincible courage of our Captains and Seamen, and three glorious Victories, the result of all. After this, I have in the Fire the most deplorable, but withal the greatest Argument that can be imagined; the destruction being so swift, so sudden, so vast and miserable, as nothing can parallel in Story. The former part of this Poem, relating to the War, is but a due expiation for my not serving my King and Country in it. All Gentlemen are almost obligea to it: and I know no reason we should give that advantage to the Commonalty of England, to be foremost in brave actions, which the noblesse of France would never suffer in their Peasants. I should not have written this but to a Person who has been ever forward to appear in all Employments, whither his Honour and Generosity have called him. The latter part of my Poem, which describes the Fire, I owe, first, to the Piety and Fatherly Affection of our Monarch to his suffering Subjects; and, in the second place, to the Courage, Loyalty, and Magnanimity of the City; both which were so conspicuous that I have wanted words to celebrate them as they deserve. I have called my Poem Historical, not Epick, though both the Actions and Actors are as much Heroick as any Poem can contain. But since the Action is not properly one, nor that accomplish’d in the last successes, I have judg’d it too bold a title for a few Stanza’s, which are little more in number than a single Iliad or the longest of the Æneids. For this reason (I mean not of length, but broken action, li’d too severely to the laws of History) I am apt to agree with those who rank Lucan rather among Historians in Verse than Epique poets; in whose room, if I am not deceived, Silius Italicus, though a worse Writer, may more justly be admitted. I have chosen to write my poem in quatrains or stanza’s of four in alternate rhyme, because I have ever judg’d them more noble and of greater dignity both for the Sound and Number than any other Verse in use amongst us; in which I am sure I have your approbation. The learned Languages have certainly a great advantage of us in not being tied to the slavery of any Rhyme, and were less constrained in the quantity of every syllable, which they might vary with Spondæes or Dactiles, besides so many other helps of Grammatical Figures for the lengthening or abbreviation of them, than the Modern are in the close of that one Syllable, which often confines, and more often corrupts, the sense of all the rest. But in this necessity of our Rhymes, I have always found the couplet verse most easy (though not so proper for this occasion), for there the work is sooner at an end, every two lines concluding the labour of the Poet: but in Quatrains he is to carry it farther on; and not only so, but to bear along in his head the troublesome sense of four lines together. For those who write correctly in this kind must needs acknowledge that the last line of the Stanza is to be considered in the composition of the first. Neither can we give ourselves the liberty of making any part of a Verse for the sake of Rhyme, or concluding with a word which is not currant English, or using the variety of Female Rhymes; all which our Fathers practised. And for the Female Rhymes, they are still in use amongst other Nations: with the Italian in every line, with the Spaniard promiscuously, with the French alternately, as those who have read the Alarique, the Pucelle, or any of their latter Poems, will agree with me. And besides this, they write in Alexandrins or Verses of six feet, such as, amongst us, is the old Translation of Homer by Chapman; All which by lengthening of their Chain makes the sphere of their activity the larger. I have dwelt too long upon the choice of my Stanza, which you may remember is much better defended in the Preface to Gondibert; and therefore I will hasten to acquaint you with my endeavours in the writing. In general I will only say I have never yet seen the description of any Naval Fight in the proper terms which are used at Sea; and if there be any such in another Language, as that of Lucan in the third of his Pharsalia, yet I could not prevail myself of it in the English; the terms of Art in every Tongue bearing more of the Idiom of it than any other words. We hear, indeed, among our Poets, of the Thundring of Guns, the Smoke, the Disorder and the Slaughter; but all these are common notions. And certainly as those who, in a Logical dispute, keep in general terms, would hide a fallacy, so those who do it in any Poetical description would veil their Ignorance.