Classic and Contemporary Poetry
TO KING CHARLES. AN IMITATION, by ANDREW MARVELL Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Enough by this of plague and lightning pale Last Line: A second stock may spring. Subject(s): Charles I, King Of England (1600-1649) | ||||||||
Enough by this of plague and lightning pale Our Sire has sent his way, who from his red Right hand our hallow'd turrets did assail, And thrill'd the town with dread: With dread the people thrill'd, lest the dire age Return, which mourn'd unwonted horrid sights, When the dire Plague sent every flock to graze The lofty mountain-heights: When the broad meadows felt the scholars' tread, Where once the simple herd in peace lay down, When, casting off his robes, the doctor fled From the deserted town. We saw the muddi'd Camus vehement, With waves driven backward on Midsummer Plain, Rush, mourning many a plague-built monument And shut-up college fane; While Granta with his much complaining mate Is huddled close, and on the nearer shore, As Jove looks on indifferent to their fate, Glides chafing more and more. The scatter'd youth are told how angry Heaven Whetteth his sword, more meet for heathen Turks; Are told of hapless crowds to slaughter driven By their own fathers' works. What God, I marvel, will the people cite To prop their falling State? How many times Must our thrice-learned crowds the gods invite To listen to their rhymes? To whom will Jupiter assign the task To expiate our blot? Come then, we pray, Hiding thy features in cloudy mask, Be thou our help this day. Or wouldst thou rather, Erycina fair, Round whom young Sport and Cupid gambol free, Help thy neglected race, and watch with care Thy own posterity? Thou only mayst remove this Plague malign, Whom nothing but sad looks and grief delight; Thou only canst repair our failing line, And fairer hopes excite. Whether some little Charles his father's grace With happy imitation wear anew, Or the sweet image of Maria's face Blush with a maiden hue, Late be thy journey to the lucent star, Long mayst thou tarry here in English clime; Nor any wind pernicious waft thee far, Sick of thy people's crime. Here rather triumph largely, and aspire To be thy people's father as their king; That from thy death-invaded race, O Sire, A second stock may spring. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A CHRISTMAS CAROL, SUNG TO THE KING IN THE PRESENCE AT WHITEHALL by ROBERT HERRICK BY THE STATUE OF KING CHARLES AT CHARING CROSS by LIONEL PIGOT JOHNSON ON THE FUNERAL OF CHARLES I; AT NIGHT, IN ST. GEORGE'S CHAPEL, WINDSOR by WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES CROMWELL'S SOLILOQUY OVER THE DEAD BODY OF CHARLES by EDWARD GEORGE EARLE LYTTON BULWER-LYTTON ON A ROYAL VISIT TO THE VAULTS by GEORGE GORDON BYRON WINDSOR POETICS by GEORGE GORDON BYRON TO THE MOST HIGH AND MIGHTY PRINCE CHARLES by THOMAS CAMPION TO THE KING, AT HIS ENTRANCE INTO SAXHAM, BY MASTER JOHN CROFTS by THOMAS CAREW ELEGY UPON KING CHARLES THE FIRST, MURDERED PUBLICLY BY HIS SUBJECTS by JOHN CLEVELAND A DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE SOUL AND BODY by ANDREW MARVELL A DROP OF DEW by ANDREW MARVELL AN HORATIAN ODE UPON CROMWELL'S RETURN FROM IRELAND by ANDREW MARVELL |
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