<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=419804" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>ASTRÆA REDUX. A Poem, on the Happy Restoration and Return of His Sacred Majesty, Charles the Second</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now with a general peace the world was blest, <br>While ours, a world divided from the rest, <br>A dreadful quiet felt, and worser far <br>Than arms, a sullen interval of war. <br>Thus when black clouds draw down the lab'ring skies, <br>Ere yet abroad the winged thunder flies, <br>An horrid stillness first invades the ear, <br>And in that silence we the tempest fear. <br>The ambitious Swede, like restless billows tost, <br>On this hand gaining what on that he lost, <br>Though in his life he blood and ruin breathed, <br>To his now guideless kingdom peace bequeathed; <br>And heaven that seemed regardless of our fate, <br>For France and Spain did miracles create; <br>Such mortal quarrels to compose in peace, <br>As nature bred, and interest did increase. <br>We sighed to hear the fair Iberian bride <br>Must grow a lily to the lily's side; <br>While our cross stars denied us Charles his bed, <br>Whom our first flames and virgin love did wed. <br>For his long absence church and state did groan; <br>Madness the pulpit, faction seized the throne: <br>Experienced age in deep despair was lost, <br>To see the rebel thrive, the loyal crost: <br>Youth, that with joys had unacquainted been, <br>Envied grey hairs, that once good days had seen: <br>We thought our sires, not with their own content, <br>Had, ere we came to age, our portion spent. <br>Nor could our nobles hope their bold attempt, <br>Who ruined crowns, would coronets exempt: <br>For when, by their designing leaders taught <br>To strike at power, which for themselves they sought, <br>The vulgar, gulled into rebellion, armed, <br>Their blood to action by the prize was warmed. <br>The sacred purple, then, and scarlet gown, <br>Like sanguine dye to elephants, was shewn. <br>Thus, when the bold Typhœus scaled the sky, <br>And forced great Jove from his own heaven to fly, <br>(What king, what crown, from treason's reach is free, <br>If Jove and Heaven can violated be?) <br>The lesser gods, that shared his prosperous state, <br>All suffered in the exiled Thunderer's fate. <br>The rabble now such freedom did enjoy, <br>As winds at sea, that use it to destroy: <br>Blind as the Cyclops, and as wild as he, <br>They owned a lawless savage liberty, <br>Like that our painted ancestors so prized, <br>Ere empire's arts their breast had civilised. <br>How great were then our Charles his woes, who thus <br>Was forced to suffer for himself and us! <br>He, tossed by fate, and hurried up and down, <br>Heir to his father's sorrows, with his crown, <br>Could taste no sweets of youth's desired age, <br>But found his life too true a pilgrimage. <br>Unconquered yet in that forlorn estate, <br>His manly courage overcame his fate: <br>His wounds he took, like Romans, on his breast, <br>Which by his virtue were with laurels drest. <br>As souls reach heaven, while yet in bodies pent, <br>So did he live above his banishment. <br>That sun, which we beheld with cozened eyes <br>Within the water, moved along the skies. <br>How easy 'tis, when destiny proves kind, <br>With full-spread sails to run before the wind! <br>But those, that 'gainst stiff gales laveering go, <br>Must be at once resolved, and skilful too. <br>He would not, like soft Otho, hope prevent, <br>But stayed, and suffered fortune to repent. <br>These virtues Galba in a stranger sought, <br>And Piso to adopted empire brought. <br>How shall I then my doubtful thoughts express, <br>That must his suffering both regret and bless! <br>For, when his early valour heaven had crost, <br>And all at Worc'ster but the honour lost; <br>Forced into exile from his rightful throne, <br>He made all countries where he came his own; <br>And, viewing monarchs' secret arts of sway, <br>A royal factor for their kingdoms lay. <br>Thus, banished David spent abroad his time, <br>When to be God's anointed was his crime; <br>And, when restored, made his proud neighbours rue <br>Those choice remarks he from his travels drew. <br>Nor is he only by afflictions shown <br>To conquer others' realms, but rule his own; <br>Recovering hardly what he lost before, <br>His right endears it much, his purchase more. <br>Inured to suffer ere he came to reign, <br>No rash procedure will his actions stain: <br>To business ripened by digestive thought, <br>His future rule is into method brought; <br>As they who first proportion understand, <br>With easy practice reach a master's hand. <br>Well might the ancient poets then confer <br>On Night the honoured name of Counsellor; <br>Since, struck with rays of prosperous fortune blind, <br>We light alone in dark afflictions find. <br>In such adversities to sceptres trained, <br>The name of Great his famous grandsire gained; <br>Who yet, a king alone in name and right, <br>With hunger, cold, and angry Jove did fight; <br>Shocked by a covenanting League's vast powers, <br>As holy and as catholic as ours: <br>Till Fortune's fruitless spite had made it known, <br>Her blows not shook, but riveted, his throne. <br>Some lazy ages, lost in sleep and ease, <br>No action leave to busy chronicles: <br>Such, whose supine felicity but makes <br>In story chasms, in epoches mistakes; <br>O'er whom Time gently shakes his wings of down, <br>Till with his silent sickle they are mown. <br>Such is not Charles his too too active age, <br>Which, governed by the wild distempered rage <br>Of some black star, infecting all the skies, <br>Made him at his own cost, like Adam, wise. <br>Tremble, ye nations, who, secure before, <br>Laughed at those arms that 'gainst ourselves we bore; <br>Roused by the lash of his own stubborn tail, <br>Our Lion now will foreign foes assail. <br>With alga, who the sacred altar strews? <br>To all the sea-gods Charles an offering owes: <br>A bull to thee, Portunus, shall be slain, <br>A lamb to you, ye tempests of the main: <br>For those loud storms, that did against him roar, <br>Have cast his shipwrecked vessel on the shore. <br>Yet, as wise artists mix their colours so, <br>That by degrees they from each other go; <br>Black steals unheeded from the neighbouring white, <br>Without offending the well-cozened sight: <br>So on us stole our blessed change; while we <br>The effect did feel, but scarce the manner see. <br>Frosts, that constrain the ground, and birth deny <br>To flowers that in its womb expecting lie, <br>Do seldom their usurping power withdraw, <br>But raging floods pursue their hasty thaw; <br>Our thaw was mild, the cold not chased away, <br>But lost in kindly heat of lengthened day. <br>Heaven would no bargain for its blessings drive, <br>But what we could not pay for, freely give. <br>The Prince of Peace would, like himself, confer <br>A gift unhoped, without the price of war: <br>Yet, as he knew his blessing's worth, took care, <br>That we should know it by repeated prayer; <br>Which stormed the skies, and ravished Charles from thence, <br>As heaven itself is took by violence. <br>Booth's forward valour only served to show, <br>He durst that duty pay, we all did owe: <br>The attempt was fair; but heaven's prefixed hour <br>Not come: so, like the watchful travellour, <br>That by the moon's mistaken light did rise, <br>Lay down again, and closed his weary eyes. <br>'Twas Monk, whom Providence designed to loose <br>Those real bonds false freedom did impose. <br>The blessed saints, that watched this turning scene, <br>Did from their stars with joyful wonder lean, <br>To see small clues draw vastest weights along, <br>Not in their bulk, but in their order strong. <br>Thus, pencils can, by one slight touch, restore <br>Smiles to that changed face that wept before. <br>With ease such fond chimeras we pursue, <br>As fancy frames for fancy to subdue: <br>But when ourselves to action we betake, <br>It shuns the mint, like gold that chemists make. <br>How hard was then his task, at once to be <br>What in the body natural we see! <br>Man's architect distinctly did ordain <br>The charge of muscles, nerves, and of the brain, <br>Through viewless conduits spirits to dispense; <br>The springs of motion from the seat of sense. <br>'Twas not the hasty product of a day, <br>But the well-ripened fruit of wise delay. <br>He, like a patient angler, ere he strook, <br>Would let them play a while upon the hook. <br>Our healthful food the stomach labours thus, <br>At first embracing what it straight doth crush. <br>Wise leaches will not vain receipts obtrude, <br>While growing pains pronounce the humours crude: <br>Deaf to complaints, they wait upon the ill, <br>Till some safe crisis authorise their skill. <br>Nor could his acts too close a vizard wear, <br>To 'scape their eyes whom guilt had taught to fear, <br>And guard with caution that polluted nest, <br>Whence Legion twice before was dispossest: <br>Once sacred house, which when they entered in, <br>They thought the place could sanctify a sin; <br>Like those, that vainly hoped kind heaven would wink, <br>While to excess on martyrs' tombs they drink. <br>And, as devouter Turks first warn their souls <br>To part, before they taste forbidden bowls, <br>So these, when their black crimes they went about, <br>First timely charmed their useless conscience out. <br>Religion's name against itself was made; <br>The shadow served the substance to invade: <br>Like zealous missions, they did care pretend <br>Of souls, in show, but made the gold their end. <br>The incensed powers beheld with scorn, from high, <br>An heaven so far distant from the sky, <br>Which durst, with horses' hoofs that beat the ground, <br>And martial brass, bely the thunder's sound. <br>'Twas hence, at length, just vengeance thought it fit <br>To speed their ruin by their impious wit: <br>Thus Sforza, cursed with a too fertile brain, <br>Lost by his wiles the power his wit did gain. <br>Henceforth their fougue must spend at lesser rate, <br>Than in its flames to wrap a nation's fate. <br>Suffered to live, they are like Helots set, <br>A virtuous shame within us to beget; <br>For, by example most we sinned before, <br>And glass-like clearness mixed with frailty bore. <br>But since, reformed by what we did amiss, <br>We by our sufferings learn to prize our bliss: <br>Like early lovers, whose unpractised hearts <br>Were long the may-game of malicious arts, <br>When once they find their jealousies were vain, <br>With double heat renew their fires again. <br>'Twas this produced the joy, that hurried o'er <br>Such swarms of English to the neighbouring shore, <br>To fetch that prize, by which Batavia made <br>So rich amends for our impoverished trade. <br>Oh, had you seen from Scheveline's barren shore, <br>(Crowded with troops, and barren now no more,) <br>Afflicted Holland to his farewell bring <br>True sorrow, Holland to regret a king! <br>While waiting him his royal fleet did ride, <br>And willing winds to their lower'd sails denied. <br>The wavering streamers, flags, and standart out, <br>The merry seamen's rude but cheerful shout; <br>And last the cannon's voice that shook the skies, <br>And, as it fares in sudden ecstasies, <br>At once bereft us both of ears and eyes. <br>The Naseby, now no longer England's shame, <br>But better to be lost in Charles his name, <br>(Like some unequal bride in nobler sheets) <br>Receives her lord; the joyful London meets <br>The princely York, himself alone a freight; <br>The Swiftsure groans beneath great Gloster's weight: <br>Secure as when the halcyon breeds, with these, <br>He, that was born to drown, might cross the seas. <br>Heaven could not own a Providence, and take <br>The wealth three nations ventured at a stake. <br>The same indulgence Charles his voyage blessed, <br>Which in his right had miracles confessed. <br>The winds, that never moderation knew, <br>Afraid to blow too much, too faintly blew; <br>Or, out of breath with joy, could not enlarge <br>Their straightened lungs, or conscious of their charge. <br>The British Amphitrite, smooth and clear, <br>In richer azure never did appear; <br>Proud her returning prince to entertain <br>With the submitted fasces of the main. <br>And welcome now, great monarch, to your own! <br>Behold the approaching cliffs of Albion. <br>It is no longer motion cheats your view; <br>As you meet it, the land approacheth you. <br>The land returns, and, in the white it wears, <br>The marks of penitence and sorrow bears. <br>But you, whose goodness your descent doth show, <br>Your heavenly parentage and earthly too, <br>By that same mildness, which your father's crown <br>Before did ravish, shall secure your own. <br>Not tied to rules of policy, you find <br>Revenge less sweet than a forgiving mind. <br>Thus, when the Almighty would to Moses give <br>A sight of all he could behold and live; <br>A voice before his entry did proclaim, <br>Long-suffering, goodness, mercy, in his name. <br>Your power to justice doth submit your cause, <br>Your goodness only is above the laws; <br>Whose rigid letter, while pronounced by you, <br>Is softer made. So winds, that tempests brew, <br>When through Arabian groves they take their flight, <br>Made wanton with rich odours, lose their spite. <br>And as those lees, that trouble it, refine <br>The agitated soul of generous wine; <br>So tears of joy, for your returning spilt, <br>Work out, and expiate our former guilt. <br>Methinks I see those crowds on Dover's strand, <br>Who, in their haste to welcome you to land, <br>Choked up the beach with their still growing store, <br>And made a wilder torrent on the shore: <br>While, spurred with eager thoughts of past delight, <br>Those, who had seen you, court a second sight; <br>Preventing still your steps, and making haste <br>To meet you often whersoe'er you past. <br>How shall I speak of that triumphant day, <br>When you renewed the expiring pomp of May! <br>A month that owns an interest in your name: <br>You and the flowers are its peculiar claim. <br>That star, that at your birth shone out so bright, <br>It stained the duller sun's meridian light, <br>Did once again its potent fires renew, <br>Guiding our eyes to find and worship you. <br>And now Time's whiter series is begun, <br>Which in soft centuries shall smoothly run: <br>Those clouds, that overcast your morn, shall fly, <br>Dispelled, to farthest corners of the sky. <br>Our nation, with united interest blest, <br>Not now content to poise, shall sway the rest. <br>Abroad your empire shall no limits know, <br>But, like the sea, in boundless circles flow; <br>Your much-loved fleet shall, with a wide command, <br>Besiege the petty monarchs of the land; <br>And, as old Time his offspring swallowed down, <br>Our ocean in its depths all seas shall drown. <br>Their wealthy trade from pirates' rapine free, <br>Our merchants shall no more adventurers be; <br>Nor in the farthest east those dangers fear, <br>Which humble Holland must dissemble here. <br>Spain to your gift alone her Indies owes; <br>For, what the powerful takes not, he bestows: <br>And France, that did an exile's presence fear, <br>May justly apprehend you still too near. <br>At home the hateful names of parties cease, <br>And factious souls are wearied into peace. <br>The discontented now are only they, <br>Whose crimes before did your just cause betray; <br>Of those your edicts some reclaim from sins, <br>But most your life and blest example wins. <br>Oh happy prince, whom heaven hath taught the way <br>By paying vows to have more vows to pay! <br>Oh happy age! Oh times like those alone, <br>By fate reserved for great Augustus' throne! <br>When the joint growth of arms and arts foreshew <br>The world a monarch, and that monarch you.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Dryden">John Dryden</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=419804" data-title="ASTRÆA REDUX. A Poem, on the Happy Restoration and Return of His Sacred Majesty, Charles the Second de John Dryden" data-description="Now with a general peace the world was blest, While ours, a world divided from the rest, A dreadful quiet felt, and worser far Than arms, a sullen interval of war. Thus when black clouds draw down the lab'ring skies, Ere yet abroad the winged..."></div> </div> </div>

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