An Horation Ode Upon Cromwell's Return From Ireland
The
forward
Youth
that
would
appear
Must
now
forsake
his
Muses
dear,
Nor
in
the
Shadows
sing
His
Numbers
languishing.
'Tis
time
to
leave
the
Books
in
dust,
And
oyl
th'unused
Armours
rust:
Removing
from
the
Wall
The
Corslet
of
the
Hall.
So
restless
Cromwell
could
not
cease
In
the
inglorious
Arts
of
Peace,
But
through
adventrous
War
Urged
his
active
Star.
And,
like
the
three-fork'd
Lightning,
first
Breaking
the
Clouds
where
it
was
nurst,
Did
through
his
own
Side
His
fiery
way
divide.
For
'tis
all
one
to
Courage
high
The
Emulous
or
Enemy;
And
with
such
to
inclose
Is
more
then
to
oppose.
Then
burning
through
the
Air
he
went,
And
Pallaces
and
Temples
rent:
And
Caesars
head
at
last
Did
through
his
Laurels
blast.
'Tis
Madness
to
resist
or
blame
The
force
of
angry
Heavens
flame:
And,
if
we
would
speak
true,
Much
to
the
Man
is
due.
Who,
from
his
private
Gardens,
where
He
liv'd
reserved
and
austere,
As
if
his
hightest
plot
To
plant
the
Bergamot,
Could
by
industrious
Valour
climbe
To
ruine
the
great
Work
of
Time,
And
cast
the
Kingdome
old
Into
another
Mold.
Though
Justice
against
Fate
complain,
And
plead
the
antient
Rights
in
vain:
But
those
do
hold
or
break
As
Men
are
strong
or
weak.
Nature
that
hateth
emptiness,
Allows
of
penetration
less:
And
therefore
must
make
room.
Where
greater
Spirits
come.
What
Field
of
all
the
Civil
Wars,
Where
his
were
not
the
deepest
Scars?
And
Hampton
shows
what
part
He
had
of
wiser
Art.
Where,
twining
subtile
fears
with
hope,
He
wove
a
Net
of
such
a
scope,
That
Charles
himself
might
chase
To
Caresbrooks
narrow
case.
That
thence
the
Royal
Actor
born
The
Tragick
Scaffold
might
adorn
While
round
the
armed
Bands
Did
clap
their
bloody
hands.
He
nothing
common
did
or
mean
Upon
that
memorable
Scene:
But
with
his
keener
Eye
The
Axes
edge
did
try:
Nor
call'd
the
Gods
with
vulgar
spight
To
vindicate
his
helpless
Right,
But
bow'd
his
comely
Head,
Down
as
upon
a
Bed.
This
was
that
memorable
Hour
Which
first
assur'd
the
forced
Pow'r.
So
when
they
did
design
The
Capitols
first
Line,
A
bleeding
Head
where
they
begun,
Did
fright
the
Architects
to
run;
And
yet
in
that
the
State
Foresaw
it's
happy
Fate.
And
now
the
Irish
are
asham'd
To
see
themselves
in
one
Year
tam'd:
So
much
one
Man
can
do,
That
does
both
act
and
know.
They
can
affirm
his
Praises
best,
And
Have,
though
overcome,
confest
How
good
he
is,
how
just,
And
fit
for
highest
Trust:
Nor
yet
grown
stiffer
with
Command,
But
still
in
the
Republick's
hand:
How
fit
he
is
to
sway
That
can
so
well
obey.
He
to
the
Common
Feet
presents
A
Kingdome,
for
his
first
years
rents:
And,
what
he
may,
forbears
His
Fame
to
make
it
theirs:
And
has
his
Sword
and
Spoyls
ungirt,
To
lay
them
at
the
Publick's
skirt.
So
when
the
Falcon
high
Falls
heavy
from
the
Sky,
She,
having
kill'd
no
more
does
search,
But
on
the
next
green
Bow
to
pearch;
Where,
when
he
first
does
lure,
The
Falckner
has
her
sure.
What
may
not
then
our
Isle
presume
While
Victory
his
Crest
does
plume!
What
may
not
others
fear
If
thus
he
crown
each
Year!
A
Caesar
he
ere
long
to
Gaul,
To
Italy
an
Hannibal,
And
to
all
States
not
free
Shall
Clymacterick
be.
The
Pict
no
shelter
now
shall
find
Within
his
party-colour'd
Mind;
But
from
this
Valour
sad
Shrink
underneath
the
Plad:
Happy
if
in
the
tufted
brake
The
English
Hunter
him
mistake;
Nor
lay
his
Hounds
in
near
The
Caledonian
Deer.
But
thou
the
Wars
and
Fortunes
Son
March
indefatigably
on;
And
for
the
last
effect
Still
keep
thy
Sword
erect:
Besides
the
Force
it
has
to
fright
The
Spirits
of
the
shady
Night,
The
same
Arts
that
did
gain
A
Pow'r
must
it
maintain.
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell, (born March 31, 1621, Winestead, Yorkshire, England—died August 18, 1678, London), English poet whose political reputation overshadowed that of his poetry until the 20th century. He is now considered to be one of the best Metaphysical poets. Marvell spent most of the 1650s working as a tutor, first for Mary Fairfax, daughter of a retired Cromwellian general, then for one of Oliver Cromwell’s wards. Scholars believe that Marvell’s greatest lyrics were written during this time. In 1657, due to John Milton’s efforts on his behalf, Marvell was appointed Milton’s Latin secretary, a post Marvell held until his election to Parliament in 1660.