As Cæsar he, ere long, to Gaul, To Italy an Hannibal, And to all states not free Shall climacteric be.
The Pict no shelter now shall find Within his party-coloured mind, But from this valour sad Shrink underneath the plaid;
Happy if in the tufted brake The English hunter him mistake, Nor lay his hounds in near The Caledonian deer.
But thou, the war's and fortune's son, March indefatigably on, And for the last effect, Still keep the sword erect:
Besides the force it has to fright The spirits of the shady night, The same arts that did gain, A power must it maintain.
Marvell.
[XXII]
IN EXILE
Where the remote Bermudas ride In the Ocean's bosom unespied, From a small boat that rowed along The listening winds received this song. ‘What should we do but sing his praise That led us through the watery maze, Where he the huge sea-monsters wracks That lift the deep upon their backs, Unto an isle so long unknown, And yet far kinder than our own? He lands us on a grassy stage, Safe from the storms and prelates' rage: He gave us this eternal spring Which here enamels everything, And sends the fowls to us in care On daily visits through the air. He hangs in shades the orange bright Like golden lamps in a green night, And does in the pomegranates close Jewels more rich than Ormus shows: He makes the figs our mouths to meet, And throws the melons at our feet; But apples plants of such a price, No tree could ever bear them twice. With cedars chosen by his hand From Lebanon he stores the land, And makes the hollow seas that roar Proclaim the ambergrease on shore. He cast (of which we rather boast) The Gospel's pearl upon our coast, And in these rocks for us did frame A temple where to sound his name. O let our voice his praise exalt 'Till it arrive at heaven's vault, Which thence (perhaps) rebounding may Echo beyond the Mexique Bay!’ Thus sang they in the English boat A holy and a cheerful note: And all the way, to guide their chime, With falling oars they kept the time.
Marvell.