part of his life, is eminent both for the delicate bloom of the senti ment and for grace of form. His Song of the Exiles, beginning "Where the remote Bermudas ride," is a gem of melody, picturesqueness, and sentiment, nearly without a flaw, and is familiar to every lover of poetry. Not of such purity of execution throughout are the lines entitled To his Coy Mistress; but still there are few short poems in the language so remarkable for the union of grace and force, and the easy and flowing transition from a light and playful tone to solemnity, passion, and grandeur. How elegant, and even deferential, is the gay extravagance of the com mencement: Had we but world enough and time, This coyness, lady, were no crime. We would sit down, and think which way Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze; Two hundred to adore each breast; But thirty thousand to the rest: An age at least to every part; And the last age should show your heart. Nor would I love at lower rate. And then how skilfully managed is the rise from this badinage of courtesy and compliment to the strain almost of the ode or the hymn! and how harmonious, notwithstanding its suddenness, is the contrast between the sparkling levity of the prelude and the solemn pathos that follows!. But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near; And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity. Thy beauty shall no more be found; Nor in thy marble vault shall sound Till, at the end, the pent-up accumulation of passion bursts its floodgates in the noble lines: 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. The following verses, which are less known, are exquisitely elegant and tuneful. They are entitled The Picture of T. C. in a Prospect of Flowers: See with what simplicity This nymph begins her golden days! In the green grass she loves to lie, And there with her fair aspect tames The wilder flowers, and gives them names; But only with the roses plays, And them does tell What colour best becomes them, and what smell. Who can foretell for what high cause Appease this virtuous enemy of man! O then let me in time compound, Where I may see the glory from some shade. Meantime, whilst every verdant thing 1 Charm itself, that is, delight itself. Certainly neither Carew, nor Waller, nor any other court poet of that day, has produced anything in the same style finer than these lines. But Marvel's more elaborate poetry is not confined to love-songs and other such light exercises of an ingenious and elegant fancy. Witness his verses on Milton's Paradise Lost, "When I beheld the poet blind, yet bold," - which have throughout almost the dignity, and in parts more than the strength, of Waller. But, instead of transcribing these, which are printed in most editions of Milton, we will give as a specimen of his more serious vein a portion of his longer poem on the Death of the Lord Protector: That Providence, which had so long the care To love and grief the fatal writ was signed 1 This may remind the reader of Wordsworth of that poet's Although immortal, found they were not free); Straight does a slow and languishing disease Like polished mirrors, so his steely breast He without noise still travelled to his end, He marched, and through deep Severn, ending war. That had before immortalized his name? That so, whoe'er would at his death have joyed In their own griefs might find themselves employed. But those that sadly his departure grieved Yet joyed, remembering what he once achieved; Gave chase to Ligny on the Belgic coast. And slept in peace under the laurel shade. 1 Misprinted "or love shall mourn." 2 That is, Cromwell's second and favorite daughter, Elizabeth, the wife of John Claypole, Esq., who died about a month before her father. 3 This form was not the vulgarism in the seventeenth century that it is now. It is frequent in Marvel and several of his contemporaries. O Cromwell! heaven's favourite, to none And heaven itself would the great herald be; Since him away the dismal tempest rent, He first put arms into religion's hand, And cities strong were stormed by his prayer: The story, and impregnable Clonmell. Valour, religion, friendship, prudence, died 1 Is this, then, the true origin of Cowper's verse, "Who fears his God, and knows no other fear"? Racine's Athalie, in which occurs the famous line, "Je crains Dieu, cher Abner, et n'ai point d'autre crainte," was not written till many years after Marvel's poem. |