No More Learning

Of the old heroes when the warlike shades
Saw Douglas marching on the Elysian glades,
They all, consulting, gathered in a ring,
Which of the poets should his welcome sing ;
And, as a favourable penance, chose
Cleveland, on whom they would that task impose.
He understood, but willingly addressed
His ready muse, to court that noble guest.
Much had he cured the tumour of his vein.
He judged more clearly now and saw more

plain ;
For those soft airs had tempered every thought.
Since of wise Lethe he had drunk a draught.



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128 THE POEMS

Abruptly he begun, disguising art,
As of his satire this had been a part*

Not so, brave Douglas, on whose lovely chin
Tlie early down but newly did begin.
And modest beauty yet his sex did veil
While envious virgins hope he is a male.
His yellow locks curl back themselves to seek.
Nor other courtship knew but to his cheek.
Oft as he in chill Esk or Tyne, by night,
Hardened and cooled his limbs, so soft, so white,
Among the reeds, to be espied by him.
The nymphs would rustle, he would forward

swim.
They sighed, and said, fond boy, why so untame,
To fly love's fires, reserved for other fiame ?

First on his ship he faced that horrid day,
And wondered much at those who ran away.
No other fear himself could comprehend.
Than lest heaven fall ere thither he ascend :
But entertains the while his time, too short,
With birding at the Dutch, as if in sport ;
Or waves his sword, and, could he them conjure
Within his circle, knows himself secure.
• Cleveland wrote a poem, in Latin and English, which ho
called, JiebeUis ScotuSy The Rebel Soot: A sntirc on the
oatioa in general. He ends thus,

"A Scot, when from the gallows-tree got loose,
*^ Drops into Styx, and turns a Solund goose. **



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OF MARVELL. 129

The fatal bark him boards with grappling fire,
And safely through its port the Dutch retire.
That precious life he yet disdains to save,
Or with known art to try the gentle wave.
Much him the honour of his ancient race
Inspired, nor would he his own deeds deface ;
And secret joy in his calm soul does rise,
That Monk looks on to see liow Douglas dies.
Like a glad lover the fierce fiames lie meets.
And tries his first embraces in their sheets ;
His shape exact, which the bright fiames

enfolds
Like the sun's statue stands of burnished gold ;
Round the transparent fire about him glows,
As the clear amber on the bees does close.
And, as on angels' heads their glories shine,
His burning locks adorn his face divine.
But when in his immortal mind he felt
His altering form and soldered limbs to melt,
Down on the deck he laid himself, and died,
With his dear sword reposing by his side.
And on the fiaming plank so rests his head.
As one that warmed himself, and went to bed.
His ship bums down, and with his relics sinks,
And the sad stream beneath his ashes drinks.
Fortunate boy ! if either pencil's fame,
Or if my verse can propagate thy name.
When CEta and Alcides are forgot,
Our English youth shall sing the valiant Scot.