In a
Csesarian
section.
Marvell - Poems
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust :
The grave's a fine and private place.
But none, I think, do there embrace.
Now therefore, while the youtliful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew.
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may.
And now, like amorous birds of prey
Rather at once our time devour.
Than languish in his slow-chaped power.
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball.
And tear our pleasures with rough strife.
Thorough the iron gates of life ;
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
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OF MARYZLL. 55
THE UNFORTUNATE LOVER.
Alas ! how pleasant are their days,
With whom the infant love yet plays 1
Sorted by pairs, they still are seen
By fountains cool and shadows green ;
But soon these flames do lose their light,
Like meteors of a summer's night ;
Nor can they to that region climb,
To make impression upon time.
'Twas in a shipwreck, when the seas
Ruled, and the winds did what they please,
That my poor lover floating lay.
And, ere brought forth, was cast away ;
Till at the last the master wave
Upon the rock his mother drave,
And there she split against the stone.
In a Csesarian section.
The sea him lent these bitter tears,
Which at his eyes he always beai*s,
And from the winds the sighs he bore.
Which through his surging breast do roar ;
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56 THE POEMS
No day he saw but that which breaks
Through frighted clouds in forked streaks,
While round the rattling thunder hurled,
As at the funeral of the world.
While nature to his birth presents
This masque of quarrelling elements,
A numerous fleet of cormorants black,
That sailed insulting o'er the wrack,
Received into their cruel care.
The unfortunate and abject heir ;
Guardians most fit to entertain
The orphan of the hurricane.
They fed him up with hopes and air,
Which soon digested to despair,
And as one cormorant fed him, still
Another on his heart did bill ;
Thus, while they famish him, and feast,
He both consumed, and increased.
And languished with doubtful breath,
The amphibium of life and death.
. And now, when angry heaven would
Behold a spectacle of blood.
Fortune and he are called to play
At sharp before it all the day.
And tyrant Love his breast does ply
With all his winged artillery.
Whilst he, betwixt the fiames and waves.
Like Ajax, the mad tempest braves.
See how he naked and fierce does stand,
Cuffing the thunder with one hand,
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OP MARVELL. 57
While with the other he does lock,
And grapple, with the stubborn rock,
From which he with each wave rebounds,
Tom into ilames, and ragged with wounds,
And all he sajs, a lover drest
In his own blood does relish best.
This is the only banneret,
That ever love created yet ;
Who, though by the malignant stars.
