Upon his Two Firft Books of GONDIBERT, finished before his Voyage to America.
METHINKS, heroic poefy, till now,
Like fome fantastic fairy-land, did show;
Gods, devils, nymphs, witches, and gyants race,
And all, but man, in man's chief work had place.
Thou, like fome worthy knight, with facred arms
Doft drive the monfters thence, and end the charms;
Instead of these, doft men and manners plant,
The things, which that rich foil did chiefly want.
Yet even thy mortals do their gods excell,
Taught by thy Muse to fight and love fo well.
By fatal hands whilft prefent empires fall,
Thine from the grave past monarchies recall.
So much more thanks from human kind does merit
The poet's fury, than the zealot's spirit.
And from the grave thou mak'ft this empire rife,
Not, like fome dreadful ghost, t'affright our eyes,
But with more luftre and triumphant state,
Than when it crown'd at proud Verona fate.
VOL. I.
So will our God rebuild man's perifh'd frame,
And raife him up much better, yet the fame [c]:
So god-like poets do past things rehearse;
Not change, but heighten, nature by their verfe
With fhame, methinks, great Italy must fee
Her conquerors rais'd to life again by thee.
Rais'd by fuch powerful verse, that ancient Rome
May blush no less to see her wit o'ercome.
Some men their fancies, like their faith, derive [d];
And think all ill but that, which Rome does give.
The marks of old and catholic would find,
To the fame chair would truth and fiction bind.
Thou in those beaten paths difdain'st to tread,
And scorn'ft to live by robbing of the dead.
[c] So will-yet the fame.] It is pleasant to fee how the wits catch their ideas from each other. Mr. Pope, in a letter of compliment to a friend, who had done much honour to his Efay on Man, expreffes himself in thefe words" It is indeed the fame fyftem as mine, "but illuftrated with a ray of your own; as they Say
our natural body is the fame ftill, when it is glorified." Works, vol. ix. Letter xcvii.
[d] Some men their fancies, like their faith, derive,], "Thus wit, like faith, by each man is apply'd "To one small fect; and all are damn'd befide." Effay on Crit. ver. 396.
Since time does all things change, thou think'ftnot fit
This latter age should fee all new, but wit.
Thy fancy, like a flame, its way does make,
And leave bright tracks for following pens to take.
Sure 'twas this noble boldness of the Muse
Did thy defire to feek new worlds [e] infufe ;
And ne'er did heav'n fo much a voyage blefs,
If thou canft plant but there, with like fuccefs.
On the Death of Mr. CRASHAW.
POET and Saint! to thee alone are given
The two moft facred names of earth and heaven;
'The hard and rareft union, which can be,
Next that of Godhead with humanity.
Long did the Mufes banish'd flaves abide,
And built vain pyramids to mortal pride;
[e] -new worlds] This alludes to Sir William's project of a settlement at Virginia; which, however, had no better success than the poetical project, which his friend here celebrates.
Like Mofes thou (though fpells and charms withftand)
Haft brought them nobly home back to their Holy Land.
Ah wretched we, poets of earth! but thou Wert, living, the fame poet, which thou'rt now. Whilft angels fing to thee their airs divine,
And joy in an applaufe fo great as thine;
Equal fociety with them to hold,
Thou need'ft not make new fongs, but fay the old.
And they (kind fpirits!) fhall all rejoice to see
How little less than they, exalted man may be.
Still the old heathen gods in numbers dwell,
The heavenlieft thing on earth ftill keeps up hell.
Nor have we yet quite purg'd the Chriftian land.
Still idols here, like calves at Bethel, ftand.
And though Pan's death [f] long fince all oracles
broke,
Yet ftill in rhyme the fiend Apollo spoke :
[f]-Pan's death] Alluding to the famous story in Plutarch's Dialogue concerning the filence of the pagan oracles, and the ufe made of that ftory by Eufebius and others; whence it became the general opinion of the learned, in our author's days, that, by the death of the GREAT PAN, was meant the crucifixion of our Saviour.
Nay with the worst of heathen dotage we (Vain men !) the monster woman deify;
Find ftars, and tie our fates there, in a face,
And Paradife in them, by whom we lost it, place.
What different faults corrupt our Muses thus!
Wanton as girls; as old wives, fabulous!
Thy spotless Mufe, like Mary, did contain
The boundlefs Godhead; fhe did well difdain
That her eternal verse employ'd fhould be
On a lefs fubject than eternity;
And for a facred miftrefs fcorn'd to take,
But her, whom God himself scorn'd not his spouse
It (in a kind) her miracle did do;
A fruitful mother was, and virgin too.
How well (bleft swan) did fate contrive thy death [g];
And made thee render up thy tuneful breath
In thy great miftrefs' arms! thou moft divine
And richest offering of Loretto's fhrine!
Where, like fome holy facrifice, t'expire,
A fever burns thee, and love lights the fire.
Angels (they fay) brought the fam'd chapel there,
And bore the facred load in triumph through the
[g] Mr. Crafhaw died of a fever at Loretto, being newly chosen canon of that church. COWLEY.
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