The
falconer
has her sure.
Marvell - Poems
And Hampton shows what part
He had of wiser art ;
Where, twining subtile feai*s with hope,
He wove a net of such a scope
13. 5
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13G THK POKMS
That Charles himself might chase
To Carisbrook s narrow cjisc,
That thence the royal actor borne,
The tragic scaffold might adorn,
While round the armed bands.
Did clap their bloody hands :
He nothing common did, or mean,
Upon that memorable scene.
But with his keener eye
The axe's edge did try ;
Nor called the gods with vulgar spite
To vindicate his helpless right,
But bowed his comely head
Down, as upon a bed.
This was that memorable hour.
Which first assured the forced power ;
So, when they did design
The . Capitol's first line,
A bleeding bead, where they begun,
Did fright the architects to run ;
And yet in that the state
Foresaw its happy fate.
And now the Irish are ashamed
To see themselves in one year tamed ;
So much one man can do,
That does both act and know.
They can aflirm his praises best.
And have, though overcome, confessed
How good he is, how just,
And fit for highest trust.
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OF MARVELL. 137
Nor yet grown stiffer with command.
But still in the republic's hand,
(How fit he is to sway,
That can so well obey ! )
He to the Commons* feet presents
A kingdom for his first year's rents ;
And, what he may, forbears
His fame, to make it theirs ;
And has his sword and spoils ungirt,
To lay them at the public's skirt :
So when the falcon high
Falls heavy from the sky,
She, having killed, no more doth search.
But on the next green bough to perch ;
Where, when he first does lure.
The falconer has her sure.
What may not then our isle presume.
While victory his crest does plume?
What may not others fear,
If thus he crowns each year ?
As Cffisar, he, ere long, to Gaul,
To Italy a Hannibal,
And to all states not free,
Shall climacteric be.
The Pict no shelter now shall find
Within his party-coloured mind.
But, from this valour sad,
Shrink underneath the plaid ;
Happy, if in the tuAed brake,
The English hunter him mistake.
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138 THE POEMS
Nor lay his hounds in near
The Caledonian deer.
But thou, the war's and fortune's son,
March indefatigably on,
And for the last effect.
Still keep the sword erect ;
Beside the force it has to fright
The spirits of the shady night.
The same arts that did gain
A power, must it maintain.
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OP MARVELL. 139
THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY
OF
THB GOVSRNBCKNT UNDRR HIS HIGHKESS
THE LORD PROTECTOR.
Like the vain curlings of the watery maze,
Which in smooth streams a sinking weight doth
raise,
So man, declining, always disappears
In the weak circles of increasing years ;
And his short tumults of themselves compose.
While flowing time above his head doth close.
Cromwell alone, with greater vigour runs
(Sun-like) the stages of succeeding suns,
And still the day which he doth next restore.
