No More Learning

Up from the other world his flame doth dart.
And princes, shining through their windows, start ;
Who their suspected counsellors refuse.
And credulous ambassadors accuse:
" Is this," saith one, " the nation that we read,
" Spent with both wars, under a captain dead !
" Yet rig a navy, while we dress us late,
" And ere we dine, rase and rebuild a state ?
" What oaken forests, and what golden mines !
" What mints of men, what union of designs !
" Unless their ships do as their fowl proceed
"Of shedding leaves, that with their ocean

breed.
"Theirs are not ships, but rather arks of war,
" And beaked pruinontories sailed from far ;



Digitized by VjOOQIC



OF MARVKLL. 153

** Of floating islands a new hatched nest,

" A fleet of worlds of other worlds in quest ;

" An hideous shoal of wood Leviathans,

** Armed with three tire of brazen hurricanes,

"That through the centre shoot their thundering

side,
" And sink the earth, that does at anchor ride.
" What refuge to escape them can be found,
" Whose watery leaguers all the world surround ?
"Needs must we all their tributaries be,
" Whose navies hold the sluices of the sea 1
" The ocean is the fountain of command,
" But that once took, we civptives are on land ;
" And those that have the waters for their share,
" Can quickly leave us neither earth nor air ;
" Yet if through these our fears could find a pass
"Through double oak, and lined with treble

brass;
" That one man still, although but named, alarms
" More than all men, all navies, and all arms ;
" Him all the day, him in late nights I dread,
" And still his sword seems hanging o'er my head.
" The nation had been oun^, but his one soul
" Moves the great bulk, and animates the whole,
" He secrecy with number hath inchased,
*' Courage with age, maturity with haste ;
L"The valiant*s terror, riddle of the wise, J
"And still his falchion all our knots unties.
" Where did he learn those arts that cost us dear ?
" Where below earth, or where above the sphere ?



Digitized by VjOOQIC



154 THE POEMS

" He seems a king by long succession born,
" And yet tbe same to be a king doth scorn.
^ Abroad a king he seems, and sometlking more,
" At home a subject on the equal floor ;
" Or could I once him with our title see,
" So should I hope yet he might die as we.
" But let them write his praise that love him best,
" It grieves me sore to have thus much confest. "

Pardon, great Prince, if thus their fear or spite,
More than our love and duty do thee right ;
I yield, nor further will the prize contend,
So that we both alike may miss our end ;
While thou thy venerable head dost raise
As far above their malice as my praise ;
And, as the angel of our common weal»
Troubling the waters, yearly mak'st them heal.



Digitized by V3-OOQ IC



OF MARYELL. 155



A POEM

UPON THB DEATH OF HIS LATE HIGHNESS THE
LORD PROTKCTOU.

That Providence which had so long the care
Of Cromwell's head, and numbered every hair,
Now in itself (the glass where all appears)
Had seen the period of his golden years.
And thenceforth only did attend to trace
What death might least so fair a life deface.

The people, which, what most they fear,
esteem,
Death when more horrid, so more noble deem.
And blame the last act, like ^spectators vain,
Unless the Prince whom they applaud, be slain ;
Nor fate indeed can well refuse the right
To those that lived in war, to die in fight.

But long his valour none had left that could
Endanger him, or clemency that would ;
And he (whom nature all tor peace had made,
But angry heaven unto war liad swayed.



Digitized by VjOOQIC



15G THE POEMS

And so lees useful where he most desired,
For what he least affected, was admired ;)
Deserved yet an end whose every part
Should speak the wondrous softness of his heart.
To Love and Gnef the fatal writ was signed,
(Those nobler weaknesses of human kind,
From which those Powers that issued the decree,
Although immortal, found they were not free)
That they to whom his breast still open lies
In gentle passions, should his death disguise,
And leave succeeding ages cause to mourn,
As long as grief shall weep, or love shall burn.

Straight does a slow and languishing disesise,
Eliza,* Nature's, and his darling, seize ;
Her, when an infant, taken with her charms,
He oft would flourish in his mighty arms.
And lest their force the tender burthen wrong,
Slacken the vigour of his muscles strong,
Then to the mother's breast her softly move.
Which, while she drained of milk, she filled with

love.
But as with riper years her virtue grew,
And every minute adds a lustre new ;



* Elizabeth, Lady Claypole, the Protector's favorite daugh-
ter, died on Friday, 6th August, 1658.