Complete Works of Matthew Prior

by Matthew Prior

  She soothes, but never can enthral my mind:

  Why may not peace and love for once be join’d?

  Great Heaven! how frail thy creature man is made!

  How by himself insensibly betray’d!

  In our own strength unhappily secure,

  Too little cautious of the adverse power,

  And by the blast of self-opinion moved,

  We wish to charm, and seek to be beloved.

  On pleasure’s flowing brink we idly stray,

  Masters as yet of our returning way;

  Seeing no danger we disarm our mind,

  And give our conduct to the waves and wind;

  Then in the flowery mead or verdant shade

  To wanton dalliance negligently laid,

  We weave the chaplet and we crown the bowl,

  And smiling see the nearer waters roll,

  Till the strong gusts of raging passion rise,

  Till the dire tempest mingles earth and skies,

  And swift into the boundless ocean borne,

  Our foolish confidence too late we mourn;

  Round our devoted heads the billows beat,

  And from our troubled view the lessen’d lands retreat.

  O mighty Love! from thy unbounded power

  How shall the human bosom rest secure?

  How shall our thought avoid the various snare,

  Or wisdom to our caution’d soul declare

  The different shapes thou pleasest to employ

  When bent to hurt, and certain to destroy;

  The haughty nymph, in open beauty drest,

  To-day encounters our unguarded breast;

  She looks with majesty, and moves with state:

  Unbent her soul, and in misfortune great,

  She scorns the world, and dares the rage of Fate.

  Here whilst we take stern manhood for our guide,

  And guard our conduct with becoming pride,

  Charm’d with the courage in her action shown,

  We praise her mind, the image of our own,

  She that can please is certain to persuade;

  To-day beloved, to-morrow is obey’d.

  We think we see through Reason’s optics right,

  Nor find how Beauty’s rays elude our sight:

  Struck with her eye whilst we applaud her mind,

  And when we speak her great we wish her kind.

  To-morrow, cruel Power! thou arm’st the fair

  With flowing sorrow and dishevell’d hair.

  Sad her complaint, and humble is her tale,

  Her sighs explaining where her accents fail;

  Here generous softness warms the honest breast;

  We raise the sad, and succour the distrest,

  And whilst our wish prepares the kind relief,

  Whilst pity mitigates her rising grief,

  We sicken soon from her contagious care,

  Grieve for her sorrows, groan for her despair,

  And against love, too late, those bosoms arm,

  Which tears can soften, and which sighs can warm.

  Against this nearest, cruelest of foes,

  What shall wit meditate, or force oppose?

  Whence, feeble Nature, shall we summon aid,

  If by our pity and our pride betray’d?

  External remedy shall we hope to find,

  When the close fiend has gain’d our treacherous mind,

  Insulting there does Reason’s power deride,

  And, blind himself, conducts the dazzled guide?

  My conqueror now, my lovely Abra, held

  My freedom in her chains; my heart was fill’d

  With her, with her alone, in her alone

  It sought its peace and joy: while she was gone

  It sigh’d, and grieved, impatient of her stay:

  Return’d she chased those sighs, that grief, away;

  Her absence made the night, her presence brought the day.

  The ball, the play, the mask, by turns succeed:

  For her I make the song; the dance with her I lead:

  I court her, various, in each shape and dress

  That luxury may form or thought express.

  To-day beneath the palm-tree, on the plains,

  In Deborah’s arms and habit Abra reigns:

  The wreath, denoting conquest, guides her brow,

  And low, like Barak, at her feet I bow.

  The mimic Chorus sings her prosperous hand,

  As she had slain the foe and saved the land.

  To-morrow she approves a softer air,

  Forsakes the pomp and pageantry of war,

  The form peaceful Abigail assumes,

  And from the village with the present comes:

  The youthful band depose their glittering arms,

  Receive her bounties and recite her charms,

  Whilst I assume my father’s step and mien,

  To meet with due regard my future queen.

  If hap’ly Abra’s will be now inclined

  To range the woods or chase the flying hind,

  Soon as the sun awakes, the sprightly court

  Leave their repose, and hasten to the sport.

  In lessen’d royalty, and humble state,

  Thy king, Jerusalem! descends to wait

  Till Abra comes. She comes; a milk-white steed

  Mixture of Persia’s and Arabia’s breed,

  Sustains the nymph: her garments flying loose,

  (As the Sidonian maids or Thracian use)

  And half her knee and half her breast appear

  By art, like negligence disclosed and nare.

  Her left hand guides the hunting courser’s flight,

  A silver bow she carries in her right,

  And from the golden quiver at her side

  Rustles the ebon arrow’s feather’d pride;

  Sapphires and diamonds on her front display

  An artificial moon’s increasing ray.

  Diana, huntress, mistress of the groves,

  The favourite Abra speaks, and looks, and moves.

  Her as the present goddess, I obey,

  Beneath her feet the captive game I lay;

  The mingled Chorus sing Diana’s fame,

  Clarions and horns in louder peals proclaim

  Her mystic praise, the vocal triumphs bound

  Against the hills; the hills reflect the sound.

  If tired this evening with the hunted woods,

  To the large fish-pools or the glassy floods

  Her mind to-morrow points a thousand hands

  To-night employ’d obey the king’s commands;

  Upon the wat’ry beach an artful pile

  Of planks is join’d, and forms a moving isle;

  A golden chariot in the midst is set,

  And silver cygnets seem to feel its weight.

  Abra, bright queen, ascends her gaudy throne,

  In semblance of the Grecian Venus knows;

  Tritons and sea-green naiads round her move,

  And sing in moving strains the force of love;

  Whilst, as th’ approaching pageant does appear,

  And echoing crowds speak mighty Venus near,

  I, her adorer, too devoutly stand

  Fast on the utmost margin of the land,

  With arms and hopes extended, to receive

  The fancied goddess rising from the wave.

  O subject Reason! O imperious Love!

  Whither yet further would my folly rove?

  Is it enough that Abra should be great

  In the wall’d palace or the rural seat;

  That masking habits and a borrow’d name

  Contrive to hide my plenitude of shame?

  No, no: Jerusalem combined must see

  My open fault and regal infamy.

  Solemn a month is destined for the feast;

  Abra invites; the nation is the guest.

  To have the honour of each day sustain’d

  The woods are travers’d, and the
lakes are drain’d:

  Arabia’s wilds and Egypt’s are explored;

  The edible creation decks the board:

  Hardly the phenix ‘scapes —— ——

  The men their lyres, the maids their voices raise,

  To sing my happiness and Abra’s praise,

  And slavish bards our mutual loves rehearse

  In lying strains and ignominious verse;

  While from the banquet leading forth the bride,

  Whom prudent love from public eyes should hide,

  I show her to the world, confess’d and known

  Queen of my heart, and partner of my throne.

  And now her friends and flatterers fill the court;

  From Dan and from Beersheba they resort;

  They barter places and dispose of grants,

  Whole provinces unequal to their wants;

  They teach her to recede or to debate;

  With toys of love to mix affairs of state;

  By practised rules her empire to secure,

  And in my pleasure make my ruin sure.

  They gave and she transferr’d the cursed advice,

  That monarchs should their inward soul disguise,

  Dissemble and command, be false and wise;

  By ignominious arts, for servile ends,

  Should compliment their foes and shun their friends.

  And now I leave the true and just supports

  Of legal princes and of honest courts,

  Barzillai’s and the fierce Benaiah’s heirs,

  Whose sires, great partners in my father’s cares,

  Saluted their young king, at Hebron crown’d,

  Great by their toil, and glorious by their wound:

  And now unhappy counsel, I prefer

  Those whom my follies only made me fear,

  Old Corah’s brood and taunting Shimei’s race,

  Miscreants who owed their lives to David’s grace,

  Though they had spurn’d his rule and cursed him to his face.

  Still Abra’s power, my scandal, still increased;

  Justice submitted to what Abra pleased:

  Her will alone could settle or revoke,

  And law was fixt by what she latest spoke.

  Israel neglected, Abra was my care;

  I only acted, thought, and lived for her,

  I durst not reason with my wounded heart;

  Abra possess’d; she was its better part.

  O! had I now review’d the famous cause

  Which gave my righteous youth so just applause,

  In vain on the dissembled mother’s tongue

  Had cunning art and sly persuasion hung,

  And real care in vain, and native love,

  And real care in vain, and native love,

  In the true parent’s panting breast had strove,

  While both deceived had seen the destined child

  Or slain, or saved, as Abra frown’d or smiled.

  Uknowing to command, proud to obey,

  A lifeless king, a royal shade I lay.

  Unheard the injured orphans now complain;

  The widow’s cries address the throne in vain.

  Causes unjudged disgrace the loaded file,

  And sleeping laws the king’s neglect revile.

  No more the Elders throng’d around my throne

  To hear my maxims, and reform their own;

  No more the young nobility were taught

  How Moses govern’d and how David fought.

  Loose and undisciplined the soldier lay,

  Or lost in drink and game the solid day;

  Porches and schools, design’d for public good,

  Uncover’d, and with scaffolds cumber’d stood,

  Or nodded, threatening ruin —

  Half pillars wanted their expected height,

  And roofs imperfect prejudiced the sight.

  The artists grieve; the labouring people droop;

  My father’s legacy, my country’s hope,

  God’s temples, lie unfinish’d -

  The wise and grave deplored their monarch’s fate,

  And future mischiefs of a sinking state.

  In this the serious said, is this the man,

  Whose active soul through every science ran?

  Who by just rule and elevated skill

  Prescribed the dubious bounds of good and ill?

  Whose golden sayings and immortal wit

  On large phylacteries expressive writ,

  Were to the forehead of the Rabbins tied,

  Our youth’s instruction and our age’s pride?

  Could not the wise his wild desires restrain?

  Then was our hearing and his preaching vain!

  What from his life and letters were we taught

  But that his knowledge aggravates his fault?

  In lighter mood, the humorous and the gay

  (As crown’d with roses at their feasts they lay)

  Sent the full goblet charged with Abra’s name,

  And charms superior to the master’s fame.

  Laughing, some praise the king, who let them see

  How aptly luxe and empire might agree:

  Some gloss’d how love and wisdom were at strife,

  And brought my proverbs to confront my life.

  However, friend, here’s to the king, one cries

  To him who was the king, the friend replies.

  The king, for Judah’s and for wisdom’s curse

  To Abra yields; could I or thou do worse?

  Our looser lives let Chance or Folly steer,

  If thus the prudent and determined err.

  Let Dinah bind with flowers her flowing hair,

  And touch the lute and sound the wanton air,

  Let us the bliss without the sting receive,

  Free as we will or to enjoy or leave.

  Pleasures on levity’s smooth surface flow;

  Thought brings the weight that sinks the soul to wo.

  Now be this maxim to the king convey’d,

  And added to the thousand he has made.

  Sadly, O Reason, is thy power express’d,

  Thou gloomy tyrant of the frighted beast!

  And harsh the rules which we fom thee receive,

  If for our wisdom we our pleasure give,

  And more to think be only more to grieve:

  If Judah’s king, at thy tribunal tried,

  Forsakes his joy to vindicate his pride,

  And, changing sorrows, I am only found

  Loosed from the chains of love, in thine more strictly bound.

  But do I call thee tyrant, or complain

  How hard thy laws, how absolute thy reign?

  While thou, alas! art but an empty name,

  To no two men who e’er discoursed the same;

  The idle product of a troubled thought,

  In borrow’d shapes and airy colours wrought,

  A fancied line, and a reflected shade;

  A chain which man to fetter man has made,

  By artifice imposed, by fear obey’d.

  Yet, wretched name, or arbitrary thing,

  Whence-ever I thy cruel essence bring,

  I own thy influence, for I feel thy sting.

  Reluctant I perceive thee in my soul,

  Form’d to command, and destind to control,

  Yes, thy insulting dictates shall be heard;

  Virtue for once shall be her own reward:

  Yes, rebel Israel, this unhappy maid

  Shall be dismiss’d; the crowd shall be obey’d:

  The king his passion and his rule shall leave,

  No longer Abra’s but the people’s slave:

  My coward soul shall bear its wayward fate;

  I will, alas! be wretched to be great,

  And sigh in royalty, and grieve in state.

  I said, resolved to plunge into my grief

  At once, so far as to expect relief

  From my despair alone —

  To h
er I loved, toher I must forsake.

  How inconsistent majesty and love.

  I always should, it said, esteem her well,

  But never see her more: it bid her feel

  No future pain for me; but instant wed

  A lover more proportion’d to her bed,

  And quiet dedicate her remnant life

  To the just duties of an humble wife.

  She read, and forth to me she wildly ran,

  To me, the ease of all her former pain.

  She kneel’d, entreated, struggled, threaten’d, cried,

  And with alternate passion lived and died;

  Till now denied the liberty to mourn,

  And by rude fury from my presence torn,

  This only object of my real care

  Cut off from hope, abandon’d to despair,

  In some few posting fatal hours is hurl’d

  From wealth, from power, from love, and from the world.

  Here tell me, if thou darest, my conscious soul,

  What different sorrows did within thee roll?

  What pangs, what fires, what racks, did thou sustain?

  What sad vicissitudes of smarting pain?

  How oft from pomp and state did I remove,

  To feed despair, and cherish hopeless love?

  How oft all day recall’d I Abra’s charms,

  Her beauties press’d, and panting in my arms?

  How oft with sighs view’d every female face

  Where mimic Fancy might her likeness trace?

  How oft desired to fly from Isreal’s throne,

  And live in shades with her and love alone?

  How oft all night pursued her in my dreams,

  O’er flowery valleys and through crystal streams,

  And waking, view’d with grief the rising sun,

  And fondly mourn’d the dear delusion gone?

  When thus the gather’d storms of wretched love

  In my swollen bosom with long war had strove,

  At length they broke their bounds; at length their force

  Bore down whatever met its stronger course;

  Laid all the civil bonds of manhood waste,

  And scatter’d ruin as the torrent pass’d.

  So from the hills, whose hollow caves contain

  The congregated snow and swelling rain,

  Till the full stores their ancient bounds disdain,

  Precipitate the furious torrent flows:

  In vain would speed avoid or strength oppose:

  Towns, forests, herds, and men, promiscuous drown’d,