Besides the force it has to fright
The spirits of the shady night,

The same arts that did gain
A power, must it maintain.

ON THE VICTORY OBTAINED BY BLAKE OVER THE SPANIARDS IN THE BAY OF SANTA CRUZ (1657)

(Abridged)

BY ANDREW MARVELL

Now does Spain's fleet her spacious wings unfold,
Leaves the new world, and hastens for the old.
For Santa Cruz the glad fleet takes her way;
And safely there casts anchor in the bay.
Never so many, with one joyful cry,
That place saluted, where they all must die.
Deluded men! Fate with you did but sport,
You 'scaped the sea, to perish in your port.

'Twas more for England's fame you should die there,
Where you had most of strength and least of fear,
The Peak's proud height the Spaniards all admire,
Yet in their breasts carry a pride much higher.
Only to this vast hill a power is given,

At once both to inhabit earth and heaven.
But this stupendous prospect did not near
Make them admire, so much as they did fear.

For here they met with news, which did produce
A grief, above the cure of grape's best juice.
They learned with terror, that nor summer's heat,
Nor winter's storms, had made your fleet retreat.
To fight against such foes was vain, they knew,
Which did the rage of elements subdue,

Who on the ocean, that does horror give

To all beside, triumphantly do live.

With haste they therefore all their galleons moor, And flank with cannon from the neighbouring shore;

ON BLAKE'S VICTORY OVER SPANIARDS 295

Forts, lines, and sconces, all the bay along,

They build, and act all that can make them strong. Fond men! who know not whilst such works they raise,

They only labour to exalt your praise.

Yet they by restless toil became at length
So proud and confident of their made strength,
That they with joy their boasting general heard
Wish then for that assault he lately feared.
His wish he has, for now undaunted Blake,
With winged speed, for Santa Cruz does make.
For your renown, the conquering fleet does ride
O'er seas as vast as is the Spaniard's pride.
Whose fleet and trenches viewed, he soon did say,
We to their strength are more obliged than they;
Were't not for that, they from their fate would run,
And a third world seek out, our arms to shun.
Those forts, which there so high and strong appear,
Do not so much suppress, as show their fear.
Of speedy victory let no man doubt,

Our worst work's past, now we have found them out.
Behold their navy does at anchor lie,

And they are ours, for now they cannot fly.

This said, the whole fleet gave it their applause, And all assumes your courage, in your cause. That bay they enter, which unto them owes The noblest wreaths that victory bestows: Bold Stayner leads; this fleet's designed by fate To give him laurel, as the last did plate.

The thundering cannon now begins the fight, And, though it be at noon, creates a night ; The air was soon, after the fight begun, Far more enflamed by it than by the sun. Never so burning was that climate known; War turned the temperature to the torrid zone. Fate these two fleets, between both worlds, had brought,

Who fight as if for both those worlds they fought.

Thousands of ways, thousands of men there die,
Some ships are sunk, some blown up in the sky.
Nature ne'er made cedars so high aspire

As oaks did then, urged by the active fire
Which, by quick powder's force, so high was sent
That it returned to its own element.

Torn limbs some leagues into the island fly,
Whilst others lower, in the sea, do lie;

Scarce souls from bodies severed are so far
By death, as bodies there were by the war.
The all-seeing sun ne'er gazed on such a sight;
Two dreadful navies there at anchor fight,
And neither have or power, or will, to fly;
There one must conquer, or there both must die.
Far different motives yet engaged them thus,
Necessity did them, but choice did us,

A choice which did the highest worth express,
And was attended by as high success;
For your resistless genius there did reign,
By which we laurels reaped e'en on the main.
So prosperous stars, though absent to the sense,
Bless those they shine for by their influence.

Our cannon now tears every ship and sconce,
And o'er two elements triumphs at once.
Their galleons sunk, their wealth the sea does fill,
The only place where it can cause no ill.

All the foe's ships destroyed by sea or fire, Victorious Blake does from the bay retire. His siege of Spain he then again pursues, And there first brings of his success the news: The saddest news that e'er to Spain was brought, Their rich fleet sunk, and ours with laurel fraught; Whilst Fame in every place her trumpet blows, And tells the world how much to you it owes.

STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF OLIVER CROMWELL (1658)

(Abridged)

BY JOHN DRYDEN

AND now 'tis time; for their officious haste,
Who would before have borne him to the sky,
Like eager Romans, ere all rites were past,
Did let too soon the sacred eagle fly.

His grandeur he derived from Heaven alone;
For he was great, ere fortune made him so;
And wars, like mists that rise against the sun,
Made him but greater seem, not greater grow.

He, private, marked the fault of others' sway, And set as sea-marks for himself to shun: Not like rash monarchs who their youth betray By acts their age too late would wish undone.

And yet dominion was not his design;

We owe that blessing, not to him, but Heaven, Which to fair acts unsought rewards did join ; Rewards, that less to him than us were given.

Nor was he like those stars which only shine, When to pale mariners they storms portend: He had his calmer influence and his mien

Did love and majesty together blend.

To suppliant Holland he vouchsafed a peace,
Our once bold rival of the British main,
Now tamely glad her unjust claim to cease,

And buy our friendship with her idol, gain.

Fame of the asserted sea through Europe blown, Made France and Spain ambitious of his love; Each knew that side must conquer he would own; And for him fiercely, as for empire, strove.

He made us freemen of the continent,

Whom Nature did like captives treat before; To nobler preys the English lion sent,

And taught him first in Belgian walks to roar.

His ashes in a peaceful urn shall rest,

His name a great example stands, to show How strangely high endeavours may be blest, Where piety and valour jointly go.

KING CHARLES II (1660-1685)

CHARLES THE SECOND

BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

WHO Comes with rapture greeted, and caressed
With frantic love-his kingdom to regain?
Him virtue's nurse, adversity, in vain
Received, and fostered in her iron breast:
For all she taught of hardiest and of best,
Or would have taught, by discipline of pain
And long privation, now dissolves amain,
Or is remembered only to give zest
To wantonness.-Away, Circean revels!
Already stands our country on the brink
Of bigot rage, that all distinction levels

Of truth and falsehood, swallowing the good name, And, with that draught, the life-blood: misery, shame,

By poets loathed; from which historians shrink!