Andrew Marvell(1621–1678)
An Horatian Ode
Upon Cromwell's Return fromIreland6
The forward 0 youth that would appeareager, ambitious
Must now forsake his Muses 7 dear,
N o r in the s h a d o w s sing
H i s n u m b e r s 0 languishing:poems
'Tis t i m e to leave the b o o k s in dust,
A n d oil the u n u s e d armor's rust,
R e m o v i n g f r o m t h e wall
T h e corslet of t h e hall.8
So restless C r o m w e l l c o u l d not c e a s e 0rest
In the inglorious arts of peace,
But t h r o u g h a d v e n t u r o u s war
U r g e d his active star;
A n d like t h e three-forked lightning, first
Breaking the c l o u d s w h e r e it w a s nursed,
D i d t h o r o u g h 0 his o w n sidethrough
H i s fiery w a y divide.9
For 'tis all o n e to c o u r a g e high,
T h e e m u l o u s 1 o r e n e m y ;
A n d w i t h s u c h t o i n c l o s e
Is m o r e t h a n to o p p o s e . 2
Then burning through the air he went,
And palaces and temples rent;tore
And Caesar's head at last
Did through his laurels blast.3
Tis madness to resist or blame
The force of angry heaven's flame;4
And if we would speak true,
Much to the man is due,
Who, from his private gardens, where
He lived reserved and austere
(As if his highest plot
To plant the bergamot),5
Could by industrious valor climb
To ruin the great work of time,
And cast the kingdom old
Into another mold;6
Though Justice against Fate complain,
And plead the ancient rights in vain;
But those do hold or break,
As men are strong or weak.
Nature, that hateth emptiness,
Allows of penetration less,7
And therefore must make room
Where greater spirits come.
What field of all the civil wars,
Where his were not the deepest scars
And Hampton shows what part
He had of wiser art;8
Where, twining subtle fears with hope,
He wove a net of such a scope
That Charles himself might chase
To Carisbrooke's narrow case,9
mentary Party is more of an accomplishment thanearly days of private life.
That t h e n c e the royal actor borne
The tragic scaffold might adorn;
W h i l e round the armed bands
Did clap their bloody hands.
He1 nothing c o m m o n did or m e a n
U p o n that memorable scene,
But with his keener eye
T h e axe's edge did try;test
Nor called the gods with vulgar spite
To vindicate his helpless right;
But bowed his comely head
D o w n , as upon a bed.
This was that memorable hour
W h i c h first assured the forced power:
So, w h e n they did design
The Capitol's first line,
A bleeding head, where they begun,
Did fright the architects to run;
And yet in that the state
Foresaw its happy fate.2
And n o w the Irish are ashamed
To s e e themselves in o n e year tamed;
So such one man can do
That does both act and know.
They can affirm his praises best,
And have, though overcome, c o n f e s s e d
H o w good he is, h o w just,
And fit for highest trust.
Nor yet grown stiffer with c o m m a n d ,
But still in the republic's hand—-
H o w fit he is to sway
That can so well obey!
He to the C o m m o n s ' 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:3
So when the falcon high
Falls heavy from the sky,
She, having killed, no more does search
But on the next green bough to perch;
Where, when he first does lure,
The falconer4 has her sure.
What may not, then, our isle presume,
While victory his crest 5 does plume
What may not others fear,
If thus he crown each year
A Caesar he, ere long, to Gaul
To Italy an Hannibal,6
And to all states not free
Shall climacteric7 be.
The Pict no shelter now shall find
Within his parti-colored mind,8
But from this valor sadsteadfast
Shrink underneath the plaid;tartan kilts
Happy if in the tufted brake 0bushes
The English hunter him mistake,
Nor lay his hounds in near
The Caledonian 0 deer. 9Scottish
But thou, the war's and fortune's son,
March indefatigably on!
And for the last effect,
Still keep thy sword erect;
Besides the force it has to fright
The spirits of the shady night,1
The same arts that did gain
A power must it maintain.