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A34826
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A poem on the late civil war by Mr. Abraham Cowley.
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Cowley, Abraham, 1618-1667.
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1679
(1679)
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Wing C6679; ESTC R18756
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9,764
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37
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A POEM ON THE LATE CIVIL WAR By Mr. ABRAHAM COWLEY LONDON Printed 1679. The Publisher TO THE READER MEeting accidentally with this Poem in Manuscript and being informed that it was a Piece of the incomparable Mr. AC's I thought it unjust to hide such a Treasure from the World I remember'd that our Author in his Preface to his Works makes mention of some Poems written by him on the late Civil War of which the following Copy is questionably a part In his most imperfect and unfinish'd Pieces you will discover the Hand of so great a Master And whatever his own Modesty might have advised to the contrary there is not one careless stroke of his but what should be kept sacred to Posterity He could write nothing that was not worth the preserving being habitually a Poet and Always Inspired In this Piece the Iudicious Reader will find the Turn of the Verse to be his the same Copious and Lively Imagery of Fancy the same Warmth of Passion and Delicacy of Wit that sparkles in all his Writings And certainly no Labours of a Genius so Rich in its self and so Cultivated with Learning and Manners can prove an unwelcome Present to the World A POEM On the late CIVIL WAR WHat Rage does England from it self divide More than the Seas from all the World beside From every part the roaring Cannons play From every part Blood roars as loud as they What English Ground but still some Moisture bears Of Young Mens Blood and more of Mothers Tears What Airs unthickened with the Sighs of Wives Tho' more of Maids for their dear Lovers Lives Alas what Triumphs can this Victory shew That dies us Red in Blood and Blushes too How can we wish that Conquest which bestows Cypress not Bays upon the Conquering Brows It was not so when Henry's dreadful Name Not Sword nor Cause whole Nations overcame To farthest West did his swist Conquests run Nor did his Glory set but with the Sun In vain did Roderic to his Hold retreat In vain had wretched Ireland call'd him Great Ireland which now most basely we begin To labour more to lose than he to win It was not so when in the happy East Richard our Mars Venus's Isle possest 'Gainst the proud Moon he the English Cross display'd Ecclips'd one Horn and the other paler made When our dear Lives we ventured bravely there And digg'd our own to gain Christs Sepulchre That sacred Tomb which should we now enjoy We should with as much zeal fight to destroy The precious Signs of our dead Lord we scorn And see his Cross worse than his Body torn We hate it now both for the Greek and Iew To us 't is Folishness and Scandal to To what with Worship the fond Papist falls That the fond Zealot a cursed Idol calls So 'twixt their double Madness here 's the odds One makes false Devils t'other makes false Gods It was not so when Edward proved his Cause By a Sword stronger than the Salique Laws Tho setched from Pharamond when the French did fight With Womens Hearts against the Womens Right The afflicted Ocean his first Conquest bore And drove Red VVaves to the sad Gallique Shore As if he had Angry with that Element been VVhich his wide Soul bound with an Island in Where 's now that spirit with which at Cressey we And Poictiers forced from fate a Victory Two Kings at once we brought sad Captives home A Triumph scarcely known to ancient Rome Two Foreign Kings but now alas we strive Our own our own good Soveraign to Captive It was not so when Agincourt was won Under great Henry served the Rain and Sun A Nobler Fight the Sun himself ne'r knew Not when he stop'd his Course a Fight to view Then Death's old Archer did more skilful grow And learned to shoot more sure from th' English bow Then France was her own story sadly taught And felt how Caesar and how Edward fought It was not so when that vast Fleet of Spain Lay torn and scatter'd on the English Main Through the proud World a Virgin terror strook The Austrian Crowns and Rome's seven hills she shook To her great Neptune Homaged all his Streams And all the wide-stretched Ocean was her Thames Thus our Fore-Fathers Fought Thus bravely bled Thus still they live whil'st we alive are dead Such Acts they did that Rome and Caesar too Might Envy those whom once they did subdue We 're not their off-spring sure our Heralds Lie But Born we know not how as now we Die Their precious Blood we could not venture thus Some Cadmus sure sow'd Serpents teeth for us We could not else by mutual Fury fall Whilst Rhine and Sequan for our Armies call Chuse War or Peace you have a Prince you know As fit for both as both are fit for you Furious as Lightning when Wars Tempest came But Calm in Peace Calm as a Lambent Flame Have you forgot those happy years of late That saw nought ill but us that were Ingrate Such years as if Earths youth Return'd had been And that old Serpent Time had Cast his Skin As Gloriously and Gently did they move As the bright Sun that Measures them above Then onely in Books the Learn'd could misery see And the Unlearned ne're heard of Misery Then happy Iames with as deep Quiet Reigned As in His heavenly Throne by Death he gained And least this blessing with his Life should Cease He left us Charles the Pledge of future Peace Charles under whom with much ado no less Than sixteen years we endur'd our happiness Till in a Moment in the North we find A Tempest Conjured up without a Wind. As soon the North her Kindness did Repent First the Peace-Maker and next War she sent Just Tweed that now had with long Peace forgot On which side dwelt the English which the Scot Saw glittering Arms shine sadly on his face VVhil'st all the affrighted Fish sank down apace No blood did then from this dark Quarrel grow It gave blunt wounds that bled not out till now For Iove who might have us'd his thundring power Chose to fall calmly in a Golden showre A way we found to Conquer which by none Of all our thrifty Ancestors was known So strangly Prodigal of late we are VVe there buy Peace and here at home buy VVar. How could a war so sad and barbarous please But first by slandring those blest days of Peace Through all the Excrements of State they pry Like Emp'ricks to find out a Malady And then with Desperate boldness they endeavor Th' Ague to cure by bringing in a Feavor The way is sure to expel some ill no doubt The Plague we know drives all Diseases out VVhat strange wild fears did every Morning breed Till a strange fancy made us sick indeed And Cowardise did Valours place supply Like those that kill themselves for fear to die VVhat frantick Diligence in these Men appears That fear all Ills and act o'r all their Fears Thus into
VVar we scared our selves and who But Aaron's Sons that the first Trumpet blew Fond Men who knew not that they were to keep For God and not for Sacrifice their Sheep The Churches first this Murderous Doctrine sow And learn to Kill as well as Bury now The Marble Tombs where our Fore-fathers lie Sweated with dread of too much company And all their sleeping Ashes shook for fear Least thousand Ghosts should come and shroud them there Petitions next from every Town they frame To be restored to them from whom they came The same stile all and the same sense does pen Alas they allow set Forms of Prayer to Men. Oh happy we if Men would neither hear Their studied Form nor God their sudden Prayer They will be heard and in unjustest wise The many Headed-Rout for Justice cries They call for Blood which now I fear does call For Blood again much louder than they all In sensless Clamours and confused Noise VVe lost that rare and yet unconquer'd Voice So when the sacred Thracian Lyre was drown'd In the Bistonian VVomens mixed sound The wondring Stones that came before to hear Forgot themselves and turn'd his Murderers there The same loud Storm blew the Grave Mitre down It blew down that and with it shook the Crown Then first a State without a Church begun Comfort thy self dear Church for then 't was done The same great Storm to Sea great Mary drove The Sea could not such dangerous Tempests move The same drove Charles into the North and then Would Readilier far have driven him back agen To fly from noise of Tumults is no shame Ne'r will their Armies force them to the same They all his Castles all his Towns invade He 's a large Prisoner in all England made He must not pass to Irelands weeping Shore The Wounds these Surgeons make must yield them more He must not conquer his lewd Rebels there Least he should learn by that to do it here The Sea they subject next to their command The Sea that Crowns our Kings and all their Land Thus poor they leave him their base Pride and Scorn As poor as these now mighty Men were born When straight whole Armies meet in Charle's Right How no Man knows but here they are and Fight A Man would swear that saw this altered State Kings were called Gods because they could Create Vain Men 't is Heaven this first Assistance brings The same is Lord of Hosts that 's King of Kings Had Men forsook him Angels from above The Assyrian did less their Justice move Would all have mustered in his Righteous Aid And Thunder against your Cannon would have play'd It needs not so for Man desires to right Abused Mankind and wretches you must fight Worster first saw 't and trembled at the view Too well the Ills of Civil War she knew Twice did the Flames of old her Towers invade Twice call'd she in vain for her own Severn's Aid Here first the Rebel Winds began to roar Brake loose from the just Fetters which they bore Here Mutinous Waves above their shore did swell And the first Storm of that Dire Winter fell But when the two great Brethren once appeared And their bright Heads like Leda's off-spring rear'd When those Sea-calming Sons from Iove were spied The Winds all fled the Waves all sunk and died How fought-great Rupert with what Rage and Skill Enough to have Conquered had his Cause been ill Comely Young Man and yet his dreadful sight The Rebels Blood to their saint Hearts does fright In vain alass it seeks so weak defence For his keen Sword brings it again from thence Yet grieves heat the Lawrels thence he bore Alass poor Prince they 'll fight with him no more His Vertue will be eclipsed with too much Fame Henceforth he will not Conquer but his Name Here with tainted Blood the Field did stain By his own Sacriledge and 's Countreys Curses slain The first Commander did Heavens Vengeance shew And led the Rebels Van to shades below On two fair Hills both Armies next are seen The affrighted Valley sighs and sweats between Here Angels did with fair Expectance stay And wish'd good things to a King as mild as they There Fiends with hunger waiting did abide And Cursed both but spurr'd on the guilty side Here stood Religion her looks gently sage Aged but much more comely for her Age There Schism Old Hagg tho' seeming young appears As Snakes by casting skins Renew their years Undecent Rags of several Dies she wore And in her hand torn Liturgies she bore Here Loyalty an humble Cross display'd And still as Charles pass'd by she bow'd and pray'd Sedition there her Crimson Banner spreads Shakes all her Hands and roars with all her Heads Her knotty Hairs were with dire Serpents twist And every Serpent at each other hist. Here stood White Truth and her own Host does bless Clad with those Armes of Proof her Nakedness There Perjuries like Cannons roar aloud And Lies flew thick like Cannons smoaky Cloud Here Learning and th' Arts met as much they fear'd As when the Hunns of old and Goths appear'd What should they do unapt themselves to fight They promised noble Pens the Acts to write There Ignorance advanced and joy'd to spy So many that durst fight they know not why From those who most the slow-soul'd Monks disdain From those she hopes the Monks dull Age again Here Mercy wairs with sad but gentle look Never alass had she her Charles forsook For Mercy on her Friends to Heaven the cries Whilst Iustice pulls down Vengeance from the Skies Oppression there Rapine and Murder stood Ready as was the Field to drink their Blood A thousand wronged Spirits amongst them moan'd And thrice the Ghost of mighty Strafford groan'd Now flew their Cannon thick through wounded Air Sent to defend and kill their Soveraign there More than he them the Bullets feared his Head And at his Feet lay innocently Dead They knew not what those Men that sent them meant And acted their pretence not their intent This was the Day this the first Day that shew'd How much to Charles for our long Peace we ow'd By his Skill here and Spirit we understood From War naught kept him but his Countries good In his great Looks what chearful Anger shone Sad War and joyful Triumphs mixed in one In the same Beams of his Majestick Eye His own Men Life his Foes did Death espy Great Rupert this that Wing great Willmott leads White-seathered Conquest flies o'r both their Heads They charge as if alone they 'd beat the Foe Whether their Troops followed them up or no. They follow close and haste into the fight As swift as strait the Rebels make their flight So swift the Miscreants fly as if each fear And jealousie they framed had met them there They heard Wars Musick and away they flew The Trumpets fright worse than the Organs do Their Souls which still new by-ways do invent Out at their wounded Backs perversly went