A PINDARIC POEM, TO HIS GRACE CHRISTOPHER Duke of Albemarle, etc. LATELY ELECTED CHANCELLOR OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE. LONDON, Printed for Randal Taylor, 1682 TO HIS GRACE CHRISTOPHER Duke of Albemarle, etc. A POEM. (I.) YE sacred Powers! that inspire The breasts of happy Bards with vocal fire, Do not ye sacred Powers! disdain The meanest of your Train. Ye who the sweet Dircean Swan did upward bear;— Methinks I see him now,— methinks he there, Sails o'er the bosom of the liquid Air, See with what sweet consent his wings do play, How evenly they cut his noble way, How he the distant Earth surveys on every side; And wonders at himself with decent pride. How swift blessed Swan thy Wings do move; Swifter than Light, than Death, than Love; Nor may thy reason call in vain, How swift blessed Swan thou'rt here again; While we Plebeians of the Air Do wonder from afar, Do wonder thus to see thee soar, Where winds could never fly before; But much more wonder when we hear, In what melodious notes you break the tuneful air: Yet did thy numbers only tell What youth at Nemea, Pisa did excel; Had ALBEMARLE been e'er among The deathless subjects, of thy winged song; Thou'dst held Ismenus stream with far more sweet delay; Nay thou hadst forced thy airy way, Above the happy mansions of Eternal Day. (II.) Beauteous Albion! happy Isle! On whom kind Heavens ever smile, Fairest spot of all below! Of all cold Neptune's arms around do flow, Great Parent of Great Arts, and Men! When did any Hero, when Any so Illustrious shine, Beauteous Albion! of thine; Quickly His active Soul attained its prime, Too swift for the dull measurer Time; None e'er so soon Virtues fair race begun, None ere the prize so early won; Unless the silver-footed Thetis Son; Unless the brave Thessalian Boy, The future fate of perjured Troy: O'er Rocks, which heightened by eternal Snow, Familiar with the Clouds did grow; O'er savage Vales the sporting Youth would go; He toyed with Pain, with Danger played, And Death His recreation made: Should some fierce Beast, who long did reign, The dreaded Monarch of the neighbouring Plain, Should it by chance but strike His eye; Forth the swift-footed Youth did fly, With His young foot his neck He pressed, With His young hands He rend the Beast, In vain he strove, In vain did roar; In vain the senseless Earth he tore; With dreadful pleasure the bold Youth would smile, And to His frighted Guardian panting bear the spoil. (III.) To ALBEMARLE bring back thy wand'ring song, To ALBEMARLE the Great, the Valiant, & the Young: In whom most distant Virtues are, In whom with mingled grace appear, The softness of mild Peace, and fierceness of rough War: Good, Loyal, Bounteous, Hospitable, Brave, Yet not the Courts, nor Fortune's slave; So Good, so easy of access, His height but makes Him seem the less; None e'er so much Himself concealed, From those His conversation held, None e'er so secretly excelled: Whilst with delight insensible they grew▪ And scarce the present blessing knew: So when the Earth swelling with humble pride, It's well dissembled height would hide; To the pleased Traveller no rise appears, When He walks wrapped in Clouds, Companion of the Stars. So Bounteous; His Plenty was not given With greater easiness by willing Heaven, Then the large-hearted Youth bestows, Than it to wanting Virtue flows; So Hospitable; Jove himself ne'er found Plenty, with greater Freedom crowned, When He vouchsafes to be a Guest, At some just, blameless Aethiopians Feast. 'Twas His Great FATHER cleared our Earth, Of every pestilent birth; But 'tis He past Virtues rough straight, And her non ultra fixed unpassable by Fate. (IV.) How did our wretched Island labour! How Sedition did all o'erflow! Like some enraged Torrent whose Impetuous course Disdains the mean restraint of mortal force; In vain the Woods, the Rocks resist in vain, While he o'er all does Victor reign, And meditates destruction to the Plain; Only in dismal noise the rebel Waves agree, And carry war, not tribute to the Sea. 'Twas ALBEMARLE did first oppose its way, 'Twas He did the loud ruin stay; How did it shrink! How did it all! Its scattered waters homeward call, And in the deep, low channel, of Obedience fall. How did the abject Many fear! When ALBEMARLE did first appear, When He lift up His awful head, All storms of Mutiny fled, Religion's airy blasts did cease, And the calm Multitude slid gently into Peace. (V.) As the blessed Sun doth his fair beams display, When with returning light, From the cold Pole he dissipates the winter, and the night. Shedding kind heat, and doubling day; Such did our much-wished CHARLES return, With such mild Influence, such gentle Lustre burn. Like the fair dawn to His bright day, Like the fair Star which did prepare its way, The comly'st of the fires above, The beauteous Favourite of the Queen of Love; Such thy GREAT FATHER shone, Conspicuous even in Charles' noon, Then did each gentle Muse take wing, (For He the Muses too set free, From Ignorances' slavery: More shall they owe to His Posterity.) And of much-suffering Charles, of Charles' triumphant sing. And so they sung, as when above, Their numbers charmed returning Jove, When the bold Sons of Earth, to Hell were driven, By the Great ALBEMARLE of Heaven. (VI) How much do we of Thy Great FATHER see, Godlike ALBEMARLE in Thee; Tho' now ascribed to the blessed Gods above, He drinks Immortal Nectar, with Immortal Jove; Yet could not envious Death prevail, Hereditary Worth should fail; Soon didst Thou fill His place, soon Thou Didst Thy great Lineage show: While He like Virgil's sacred Bough, Tho' plucked by Fate, still His rich line does hold; And still survives in Thy succeeding gold. With Thee our pious PRINCE secure shall go, By Monsters worse than those below, Monsters, which from the lees of Peace, and dregs o'th' Rabble grow. With Thee secure His course shall take, By the reviving Hydra of the Leman lake. Free from Furies though th' agree, From the Briarean Many free, No harm from thence His height invades, With His own light He dissipates those empty shades: Till He (but late, late let it be!) shall come To the blessed Elysium, Till He shall reach the Happy Choir; And there consult our Good, there with His Martyred Sire. (VII.) But who shall now best o'er the Muse's reign, Whose Empire will not they disdain, 'Tis ALBEMARLE, 'tis He alone, Who all His Great Forefathers, Greater has outgon; 'Tis He, the Godlike He, Shall hold the Muse's Monarchy; For who so soon, for who so young, Who shall so much, so late, so long, Give deathless matter to the Muse's Song. How much those Arts to Him shall owe! Which with His Father's Victories did grow, How much the Muses flourish too! Tho' with Ambiguous Ills beset, Sullen Perverseness, intricate Deceit, From Double Rome, from Dull Geneva threat, Their innocent, and humble Seat: This peaceful Calm portends the War, This too still Silence shows it near, As if they only would the signal hear: So when two Clouds their dismal shock prepare, On the vast plains o'th' gloomy Air, A sudden silence damps the World below, Only the frighted Winds through every Grove, In distant hollow murmurs, or dry whistlings move; And Nature's self, some fear does seem to show. Yet shall no Thunder ere the Muse's peace invade, Beneath your Laurels happy shade; While they through You sweet, soft repose enjoy; You shall their choicest Verse employ, Thy Virtues their immortal subject be, While vocal Cam flows all to Thee. (VIII.) Great the alliance is of Wit and Arms, The Muse the Warrior to just Valour warms; Numbers do first the Soul engage, Then temper, and rebate its rage: The Grecian Youth had Ploughed in vain The surges of the untried Main; Had not Sweet Orpheus charmed the Noble Train: 'Twas He their active spirits did raise, (For well tuned Souls a part in consort bear, And strike themselves the Note they hear; Nor wonder is't they so agree For Souls themselves are harmony) And what he best inspired best did praise. She whom in some exalted thought, Jove on his teeming Brain begot; And thence presides o'er Mortal Wit below, O'er gentle Arts, which from soft Peace do flow; Yet She the fatal spear does wield, Yet bears the Petrifying Shield; Nay did so brave, so valiant prove, She even in Heaven did envy move, When She secured the doubtful Throne of Jove. (IX.) Vain were all Worth, all Virtue vain, Should Lives poor circle the short good contain, Should it like us too die, Like us too unregarded, undiscovered lie; Yet would it die, yet would decay, Yet like us too would melt away. Did not the Muse's tuneful breath Raise equal to the Gods immortal Man, Exempt from Chance, secure of Death, Stretch to Eternity his wretched span, And envy him to the shades beneath: Much Virtue was there, many Actions done Actions worthy of renown; ere scorched Xanthus' purple flood, Vainly Great Peleus' greater Son withstood, Yet are not they, nor are their actors known; They and their actors both forgotten flow; Where dull Oblivion drags its lazy stream below: For they no Muse, no living Muse did know. Some happy Favourite of the Nine, Some Spencer, Cowley, Dreyden shall be Thine: (Happy Bards who erst did dream, Near thy own Cam's inspiring stream:) He midst the records of immortal Fame, He midst the Stars shall fix Thy Name, The Muse's safety, and the Muse's Theme. FINIS.