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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=419881" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Threnodia Augustalis: A Funeral Pindaric Poem, Sacred To The Happy Memory Of King Charles II.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I.<br>Thus long my grief has kept me dumb: <br>Sure there's a lethargy in mighty woe, <br>Tears stand congealed, and cannot flow; <br>And the sad soul retires into her inmost room: <br>Tears, for a stroke foreseen, afford relief; <br>But, unprovided for a sudden blow, <br>Like Niobe, we marble grow, <br>And petrify with grief. <br>Our British heaven was all serene, <br>No threatening cloud was nigh, <br>Not the least wrinkle to deform the sky; <br>We lived as unconcerned and happily <br>As the first age in nature's golden scene; <br>Supine amidst our flowing store, <br>We slept securely, and we dreamt of more; <br>When suddenly the thunder-clap was heard, <br>It took us, unprepared, and out of guard, <br>Already lost before we feared. <br>The amazing news of Charles at once were spread, <br>At once the general voice declared, <br>“Our gracious prince was dead.” <br>No sickness known before, no slow disease, <br>To soften grief by just degrees; <br>But, like a hurricane on Indian seas,<br>The tempest rose; <br>An unexpected burst of woes. <br>With scarce a breathing space betwixt, <br>This now becalmed, and perishing the next. <br>As if great Atlas from his height <br>Should sink beneath his heavenly weight, <br>And, with a mighty flaw, the flaming wall, <br>As once it shall, <br>Should gape immense, and, rushing down, o'erwhelm this nether ball; <br>So swift and so surprising was our fear: <br>Our Atlas fell indeed; but Hercules was near. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">II.<br>His pious brother, sure the best <br>Who ever bore that name, <br>Was newly risen from his rest, <br>And, with a fervent flame, <br>His usual morning vows had just addressed, <br>For his dear sovereign's health; <br>And hoped to have them heard, <br>In long increase of years, <br>In honour, fame, and wealth: <br>Guiltless of greatness, thus he always prayed, <br>Nor knew nor wished those vows he made, <br>On his own head should be repaid. <br>Soon as the ill-omen'd rumour reached his ear, <br>(Ill news is winged with fate, and flies apace), <br>Who can describe the amazement in his face! <br>Horror in all his pomp was there, <br>Mute and magnificent, without a tear; <br>And then the hero first was seen to fear. <br>Half unarrayed he ran to his relief, <br>So hasty and so artless was his grief: <br>Approaching greatness met him with her charms <br>Of power and future state; <br>But looked so ghastly in a brother's fate, <br>He shook her from his arms. <br>Arrived within the mournful room, he saw <br>A wild distraction, void of awe, <br>And arbitrary grief unbounded by a law. <br>God's image, God's anointed, lay <br>Without motion, pulse, or breath, <br>A senseless lump of sacred clay, <br>An image now of death, <br>Amidst his sad attendants' groans and cries, <br>The lines of that adored forgiving face, <br>Distorted from their native grace; <br>An iron slumber sat on his majestic eyes. <br>The pious duke—Forbear, audacious muse! <br>No terms thy feeble art can use <br>Are able to adorn so vast a woe: <br>The grief of all the rest like subject-grief did show <br>His, like a sovereign's, did transcend; <br>No wife, no brother, such a grief could know, <br>Nor any name but friend. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">III.<br>O wondrous changes of a fatal scene, <br>Still varying to the last! <br>Heaven, though its hard decree was past, <br>Seemed pointing to a gracious turn again: <br>And death's uplifted arm arrested in its haste. <br>Heaven half repented of the doom, <br>And almost grieved it had foreseen, <br>What by foresight it willed eternally to come. <br>Mercy above did hourly plead <br>For her resemblance here below; <br>And mild forgiveness intercede <br>To stop the coming blow. <br>New miracles approached the ethereal throne, <br>Such as his wondrous life had oft and lately known, <br>And urged that still they might be shown. <br>On earth his pious brother prayed and vowed, <br>Renouncing greatness at so dear a rate, <br>Himself defending what he could, <br>From all the glories of his future fate. <br>With him the innumerable crowd <br>Of armed prayers <br>Knocked at the gates of heaven, and knocked aloud; <br>The first well-meaning rude petitioners. <br>All for his life assailed the throne, <br>All would have bribed the skies by offering up their own. <br>So great a throng, not heaven itself could bar; <br>'Twas almost borne by force, as in the giants' war. <br>The prayers, at least, for his reprieve were heard; <br>His death, like Hezekiah's, was deferred: <br>Against the sun the shadow went; <br>Five days, those five degrees, were lent, <br>To form our patience, and prepare the event. <br>The second causes took the swift command, <br>The medicinal head, the ready hand, <br>All eager to perform their part; <br>All but eternal doom was conquered by their art: <br>Once more the fleeting soul came back <br>To inspire the mortal frame; <br>And in the body took a doubtful stand, <br>Doubtful and hovering, like expiring flame, <br>That mounts and falls by turns, and trembles o'er the brand. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">IV.<br>The joyful short-lived news soon spread around, <br>Took the same train, the same impetuous bound: <br>The drooping town in smiles again was drest, <br>Gladness in every face exprest, <br>Their eyes before their tongues confest. <br>Men met each other with erected look, <br>The steps were higher that they took; <br>Friends to congratulate their friends made haste, <br>And long inveterate foes saluted as they passed. <br>Above the rest heroic James appeared, <br>Exalted more, because he more had feared. <br>His manly heart, whose noble pride <br>Was still above <br>Dissembled hate, or varnished love, <br>Its more than common transport could not hide; <br>But like an eagre rode in triumph o'er the tide. <br>Thus, in alternate course, <br>The tyrant passions, hope and fear, <br>Did in extremes appear, <br>And flashed upon the soul with equal force. <br>Thus, at half ebb, a rolling sea <br>Returns, and wins upon the shore; <br>The watery herd, affrighted at the roar, <br>Rest on their fins awhile, and stay, <br>Then backward take their wondering way: <br>The prophet wonders more than they, <br>At prodigies but rarely seen before, <br>And cries,—“A king must fall, or kingdoms change their sway.” <br>Such were our counter-tides at land, and so <br>Presaging of the fatal blow, <br>In their prodigious ebb and flow. <br>The royal soul, that, like the labouring moon, <br>By charms of art was hurried down, <br>Forced with regret to leave her native sphere, <br>Came but a while on liking here, <br>Soon weary of the painful strife, <br>And made but faint essays of life: <br>An evening light <br>Soon shut in night; <br>A strong distemper, and a weak relief, <br>Short intervals of joy, and long returns of grief. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">V.<br>The sons of art all med'cines tried, <br>And every noble remedy applied; <br>With emulation each essayed <br>His utmost skill; nay, more, they prayed: <br>Never was losing game with better conduct played. <br>Death never won a stake with greater toil, <br>Nor e'er was fate so near a foil: <br>But, like a fortress on a rock, <br>The impregnable disease their vain attempts did mock; <br>They mined it near, they battered from afar <br>With all the cannon of the medicinal war; <br>No gentle means could be essayed, <br>'Twas beyond parley when the siege was laid. <br>The extremest ways they first ordain, <br>Prescribing such intolerable pain, <br>As none but Cæsar could sustain: <br>Undaunted Cæsar underwent <br>The malice of their art, nor bent <br>Beneath whate'er their pious rigour could invent. <br>In five such days he suffered more <br>Than any suffered in his reign before; <br>More, infinitely more, than he <br>Against the worst of rebels could decree, <br>A traitor, or twice pardoned enemy. <br>Now art was tired without success, <br>No racks could make the stubborn malady confess. <br>The vain insurancers of life, <br>And he who most performed, and promised less, <br>Even Short himself, forsook the unequal strife. <br>Death and despair was in their looks, <br>No longer they consult their memories or books; <br>Like helpless friends, who view from shore <br>The labouring ship, and hear the tempest roar; <br>So stood they with their arms across, <br>Not to assist, but to deplore <br>The inevitable loss. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">VI.<br>Death was denounced; that frightful sound <br>Which even the best can hardly bear; <br>He took the summons void of fear, <br>And unconcernedly cast his eyes around, <br>As if to find and dare the grisly challenger. <br>What death could do he lately tried, <br>When in four days he more than died. <br>The same assurance all his words did grace; <br>The same majestic mildness held its place; <br>Nor lost the monarch in his dying face. <br>Intrepid, pious, merciful, and brave, <br>He looked as when he conquered and forgave. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">VII.<br>As if some angel had been sent <br>To lengthen out his government, <br>And to foretell as many years again, <br>As he had numbered in his happy reign; <br>So cheerfully he took the doom <br>Of his departing breath, <br>Nor shrunk nor stept aside for death; <br>But, with unaltered pace, kept on, <br>Providing for events to come, <br>When he resigned the throne. <br>Still he maintained his kingly state, <br>And grew familiar with his fate. <br>Kind, good, and gracious, to the last, <br>On all he loved before his dying beams he cast: <br>Oh truly good, and truly great, <br>For glorious as he rose, benignly so he set! <br>All that on earth he held most dear, <br>He recommended to his care, <br>To whom both heaven <br>The right had given, <br>And his own love bequeathed supreme command: <br>He took and prest that ever-loyal hand, <br>Which could, in peace, secure his reign; <br>Which could, in wars, his power maintain; <br>That hand on which no plighted vows were ever vain. <br>Well, for so great a trust, he chose <br>A prince, who never disobeyed; <br>Not when the most severe commands were laid; <br>Nor want, nor exile, with his duty weighed: <br>A prince on whom, if heaven its eyes could close, <br>The welfare of the world it safely might repose.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VIII.<br>That king, who lived to God's own heart, <br>Yet less serenely died than he; <br>Charles left behind no harsh decree, <br>For schoolmen with laborious art, <br>To salve from cruelty: <br>Those, for whom love could no excuses frame, <br>He graciously forgot to name. <br>Thus far my muse, though rudely, has designed <br>Some faint resemblance of his godlike mind; <br>But neither pen nor pencil can express <br>The parting brothers' tenderness; <br>Though that's a term too mean and low; <br>The blest above a kinder word may know: <br>But what they did, and what they said, <br>The monarch who triumphant went, <br>The militant who staid, <br>Like painters, when their heightening arts are spent, <br>I cast into a shade. <br>That all-forgiving king, <br>The type of him above, <br>That inexhausted spring <br>Of clemency and love, <br>Himself to his next self accused, <br>And asked that pardon which he ne'er refused; <br>For faults not his, for guilt and crimes <br>Of godless men, and of rebellious times; <br>For an hard exile, kindly meant, <br>When his ungrateful country sent <br>Their best Camillus into banishment, <br>And forced their sovereign's act, they could not his consent. <br>Oh how much rather had that injured chief <br>Repeated all his sufferings past, <br>Than hear a pardon begged at last, <br>Which, given, could give the dying no relief! <br>He bent, he sunk beneath his grief; <br>His dauntless heart would fain have held <br>From weeping, but his eyes rebelled. <br>Perhaps the godlike hero, in his breast, <br>Disdained, or was ashamed to show, <br>So weak, so womanish a woe, <br>Which yet the brother and the friend so plenteously confest. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">IX.<br>Amidst that silent shower, the royal mind <br>An easy passage found, <br>And left its sacred earth behind; <br>Nor murmuring groan expressed, nor labouring sound, <br>Nor any least tumultuous breath; <br>Calm was his life, and quiet was his death. <br>Soft as those gentle whispers were, <br>In which the Almighty did appear; <br>By the still voice the prophet knew him there. <br>That peace which made thy prosperous reign to shine, <br>That peace thou leav'st to thy imperial line, <br>That peace, Oh happy shade, be ever thine! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">X.<br>For all those joys thy restoration brought, <br>For all the miracles it wrought, <br>For all the healing balm thy mercy poured <br>Into the nation's bleeding wound, <br>And care, that after kept it sound, <br>For numerous blessings yearly showered, <br>And property with plenty crowned; <br>For freedom, still maintained alive, <br>Freedom, which in no other land will thrive, <br>Freedom, an English subject's sole prerogative, <br>Without whose charms, even peace would be <br>But a dull quiet slavery;— <br>For these, and more, accept our pious praise; <br>'Tis all the subsidy <br>The present age can raise, <br>The rest is charged on late posterity. <br>Posterity is charged the more, <br>Because the large abounding store <br>To them, and to their heirs, is still entailed by thee. <br>Succession of a long descent, <br>Which chastely in the channels ran, <br>And from our demi-gods began, <br>Equal almost to time in its extent, <br>Through hazards numberless and great, <br>Thou hast derived this mighty blessing down, <br>And fixed the fairest gem that decks the imperial crown: <br>Not faction, when it shook thy regal seat, <br>Not senates, insolently loud, <br>Those echoes of a thoughtless crowd, <br>Not foreign or domestic treachery, <br>Could warp thy soul to their unjust decree. <br>So much thy foes thy manly mind mistook, <br>Who judged it by the mildness of thy look; <br>Like a well-tempered sword, it bent at will, <br>But kept the native toughness of the steel. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XI.<br>Be true, O Clio, to thy hero's name; <br>But draw him strictly so, <br>That all who view the piece may know, <br>He needs no trappings of fictitious fame. <br>The load's too weighty; thou may'st choose <br>Some parts of praise, and some refuse; <br>Write, that his annals may be thought more lavish than the muse. <br>In scanty truth thou hast confined <br>The virtues of a royal mind, <br>Forgiving, bounteous, humble, just, and kind: <br>His conversation, wit, and parts, <br>His knowledge in the noblest useful arts, <br>Were such, dead authors could not give; <br>But habitudes of those who live, <br>Who, lighting him, did greater lights receive: <br>He drained from all, and all they knew; <br>His apprehension quick, his judgment true, <br>That the most learned, with shame, confess <br>His knowledge more, his reading only less. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XII.<br>Amidst the peaceful triumphs of his reign, <br>What wonder, if the kingly beams he shed <br>Revived the drooping arts again, <br>If science raised her head, <br>And soft humanity, that from rebellion fled. <br>Our isle, indeed, too fruitful was before; <br>But all uncultivated lay <br>Out of the solar walk, and heaven's high way; <br>With rank Geneva weeds run o'er, <br>And cockle, at the best, amidst the corn it bore: <br>The royal husbandman appeared, <br>And ploughed, and sowed, and tilled; <br>The thorns he rooted out, the rubbish cleared, <br>And blest the obedient field. <br>When straight a double harvest rose, <br>Such as the swarthy Indian mows, <br>Or happier climates near the Line, <br>Or paradise manured, and drest by hands divine. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XIII.<br>As when the new-born phœnix takes his way, <br>His rich paternal regions to survey, <br>Of airy choristers a numerous train <br>Attend his wondrous progress o'er the plain; <br>So, rising from his father's urn, <br>So glorious did our Charles return; <br>The officious muses came along, <br>A gay harmonious quire, like angels ever young; <br>The muse, that mourns him now, his happy triumph sung. <br>Even they could thrive in his auspicious reign; <br>And such a plenteous crop they bore <br>Of purest and well-winnowed grain, <br>As Britain never knew before. <br>Though little was their hire, and light their gain, <br>Yet somewhat to their share he threw; <br>Fed from his hand, they sung and flew, <br>Like birds of paradise, that lived on morning dew. <br>Oh never let their lays his name forget! <br>The pension of a prince's praise is great. <br>Live then, thou great encourager of arts, <br>Live ever in our thankful hearts; <br>Live blest above, almost invoked below; <br>Live and receive this pious vow, <br>Our patron once, our guardian angel now! <br>Thou Fabius of a sinking state, <br>Who didst by wise delays divert our fate, <br>When faction like a tempest rose, <br>In death's most hideous form, <br>Then art to rage thou didst oppose, <br>To weather out the storm; <br>Not quitting thy supreme command, <br>Thou heldst the rudder with a steady hand, <br>Till safely on the shore the bark did land; <br>The bark, that all our blessings brought, <br>Charged with thyself and James, a doubly-royal fraught. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XIV.<br>Oh frail estate of human things, <br>And slippery hopes below! <br>Now to our cost your emptiness we know; <br>For 'tis a lesson dearly bought, <br>Assurance here is never to be sought. <br>The best, and best beloved of kings, <br>And best deserving to be so, <br>When scarce he had escaped the fatal blow <br>Of faction and conspiracy, <br>Death did his promised hopes destroy; <br>He toiled, he gained, but lived not to enjoy. <br>What mists of Providence are these <br>Through which we cannot see! <br>So saints, by supernatural power set free, <br>Are left at last in martyrdom to die; <br>Such is the end of oft-repeated miracles.— <br>Forgive me, heaven, that impious thought, <br>'Twas grief for Charles, to madness wrought, <br>That questioned thy supreme decree! <br>Thou didst his gracious reign prolong, <br>Even in thy saints' and angels' wrong, <br>His fellow-citizens of immortality: <br>For twelve long years of exile borne, <br>Twice twelve we numbered since his blest return: <br>So strictly wert thou just to pay, <br>Even to the driblet of a day. <br>Yet still we murmur, and complain <br>The quails and manna should no longer rain: <br>Those miracles 'twas needless to renew; <br>The chosen flock has now the promised land in view.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XV.<br>A warlike prince ascends the regal state, <br>A prince long exercised by fate: <br>Long may he keep, though he obtains it late! <br>Heroes in heaven's peculiar mould are cast; <br>They, and their poets, are not formed in haste; <br>Man was the first in God's design, and man was made the last. <br>False heroes, made by flattery so, <br>Heaven can strike out, like sparkles, at a blow; <br>But ere a prince is to perfection brought, <br>He costs Omnipotence a second thought. <br>With toil and sweat, <br>With hardening cold, and forming heat, <br>The Cyclops did their strokes repeat, <br>Before the impenetrable shield was wrought. <br>It looks as if the Maker would not own <br>The noble work for his, <br>Before 'twas tried and found a master-piece.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XVI.<br>View then a monarch ripened for a throne. <br>Alcides thus his race began, <br>O'er infancy he swiftly ran; <br>The future god at first was more than man: <br>Dangers and toils, and Juno's hate, <br>Even o'er his cradle lay in wait, <br>And there he grappled first with fate; <br>In his young hands the hissing snakes he prest, <br>So early was the Deity confest; <br>Thus, by degrees, he rose to Jove's imperial seat; <br>Thus difficulties prove a soul legitimately great. <br>Like his, our hero's infancy was tried; <br>Betimes the furies did their snakes provide, <br>And to his infant arms oppose <br>His father's rebels, and his brother's foes; <br>The more opprest, the higher still he rose. <br>Those were the preludes of his fate, <br>That formed his manhood, to subdue <br>The hydra of the many-headed hissing crew. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XVII.<br>As after Numa's peaceful reign, <br>The martial Ancus did the sceptre wield, <br>Furbished the rusty sword again, <br>Resumed the long-forgotten shield, <br>And led the Latins to the dusty field; <br>So James the drowsy genius wakes <br>Of Britain long entranced in charms, <br>Restiff and slumbering on its arms; <br>'Tis roused, and, with a new-strung nerve, the spear already shakes. <br>No neighing of the warrior steeds, <br>No drum, or louder trumpet, needs <br>To inspire the coward, warm the cold; <br>His voice, his sole appearance, makes them bold. <br>Gaul and Batavia dread the impending blow; <br>Too well the vigour of that arm they know; <br>They lick the dust, and crouch beneath their fatal foe. <br>Long may they fear this awful prince, <br>And not provoke his lingering sword; <br>Peace is their only sure defence, <br>Their best security his word. <br>In all the changes of his doubtful state, <br>His truth, like heaven's, was kept inviolate; <br>For him to promise is to make it fate. <br>His valour can triumph o'er land and main; <br>With broken oaths his fame he will not stain; <br>With conquest basely bought, and with inglorious gain. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XVIII.<br>For once, O heaven, unfold thy adamantine book; <br>And let his wondering senate see, <br>If not thy firm immutable decree, <br>At least the second page of strong contingency, <br>Such as consists with wills, originally free. <br>Let them with glad amazement look <br>On what their happiness may be; <br>Let them not still be obstinately blind, <br>Still to divert the good thou hast designed, <br>Or, with malignant penury, <br>To starve the royal virtues of his mind. <br>Faith is a Christian's and a subject's test; <br>Oh give them to believe, and they are surely blest. <br>They do; and with a distant view I see <br>The amended vows of English loyalty; <br>And all beyond that object, there appears <br>The long retinue of a prosperous reign, <br>A series of successful years, <br>In orderly array, a martial, manly train. <br>Behold e'en the remoter shores, <br>A conquering navy proudly spread; <br>The British cannon formidably roars, <br>While, starting from his oozy bed, <br>The asserted Ocean rears his reverend head, <br>To view and recognise his ancient lord again; <br>And with a willing hand, restores <br>The fasces of the main.</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>
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Thus long my grief has kept me dumb: 
Sure there's a lethargy in mighty woe, 
Tears stand congealed, and cannot flow; 
And the sad soul retires into her inmost room: 
Tears, for a stroke foreseen, afford relief; 
But, unprovided for a sudden bl..."></div>
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