Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A DREAME OF ELYSIUM, by ABRAHAM COWLEY


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A DREAME OF ELYSIUM, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Phoebus expuls'd by the approaching night
Last Line: And all our greatest pleasure's but a dreame.


PHOEBUS expuls'd by the approaching Night
Blush'd, and for shame clos'd in his bashfull light,
While I with leaden MORPHEUS overcome,
The Muse, whom I adore, enter'd the roome.
Her hayre with looser curiositie,
Did on her comely back dishevel'd lye.
Her eyes with such attractive beauty shone,
As might have wak'd sleeping ENDYMION.
Shee bid me rise, and promis'd I should see
Those Fields, those mansions of Felicitie,
We mortals so admire at: Speaking thus,
She lifts me vp vpon wing'd Pegasus,
On whom I rid; Knowing where ever she
Did goe, that place must needs a Temple bee.
No sooner was my flying Courser come
To the blest dwellings of Elysium:
When straight a thousand vnknowne joyes resort,
And hemm'd me round: Chast love's innocuous sport.
A thousand sweets, bought with no following Gall,
Ioyes, not like ours, short, but perpetuall.
How many objects charme my wand'ring eye,
And bid my soule gaze there eternally?
Heere in full streames, BACCHVS thy liquor flowes,
Nor knowes to ebbe: heere IOVE'S broad Tree bestowes
Distilling Hony, heere doth Nectzr passe
With copious current through the vardant grasse.
Here HYACINTH his fate writ in his lookes,
And thou NARCISSVS louing still the brookes,
Once louely boyes; and Acis now a Flower,
Are nourish'd, with that rarer herbe, whose power
Created the war's potent God; heere grows
The spotlesse Lilly, and the Blushing Rose,
And all those diuers ornaments abound,
That variously may paint the gawdy ground.
No Willow, sorrowe's garland, there hath roome,
Nor Cypresse, sad attendant of a Tombe.
None but APPOLLO'S tree, and th' Ivie twine
Imbracing the stout Oake, the fruitfull Vine,
And trees with golden Apples loaded downe,
On whose faire toppes sweet PHILOMEL alone,
Vnmindful of her former misery,
Tunes with her voice a rauishing Harmony.
Whilst all the murmuring brookes that glide along
Make vp a burthen to her pleasing song.
No Scritch-owle, sad companion of the night,
Or hideous Rauen with prodigeous flight
Presaging future ill. Nor Progne, thee
Yet spotted with young Itis tragedy,
Those Sacred bowers receiue. There's nothing there,
That is not pure, immaculate, and rare.
Turning my greedy sight another way,
Vnder a row of storme-contemning Bay,
I saw the Thracian singer with his lyre
Teach the deafe stones to heare him, and admire.
Him the whole Poets Chorus compas'd round,
All whom the Oake, all whom the Lawrell crown'd;
There banish'd OVID had a lasting home,
Better then thou couldst giue ingratefull Rome;
And LVCAN (spight of Nero) in each vaine
Had euery drop of his spilt bloud againe:
HOMER, Sol's first borne, was not poore or blinde,
But saw as well in body as in minde.
TULLIE, graue Cato, SOLON, and the rest
Of Greece's admir'd Wisemen, here possest
A large reward for their past deeds, and gaine
A life, as euerlasting as theyr Fame.
By these, the valiant Heroes take their place,
All who sterne Death and perils did imbrace
For Vertue's cause. Great ALEXANDER there
Laughs at the Earth's small Empier, did weare
A nobler Crowne, then the whole world could give.
There did HORATIVS, COCLES, SCAEVA live,
And valiant DECIVS, who now freely cease
From warre, and purchase an Eternal peace.
Next them, beneath a Myrtle bowre, where Doves,
And gall-lesse Pidgeons built theyr nests, all Loves
Faithfull perseverers with amorous kisses,
And soft imbraces, taste their greediest wishes.
LEANDER with his beautious Hero playes,
Nor are they parted with dividing Seas.
PORCIA injoyes her BRUTVS, Death no more
Can now divorce theyr wedding, as before.
THISBE her PIRAMVS kiss'd, his THISBE hee
Embrac'd, each blest with t' other's companie.
And every couple alwayes dancing, sing
Eternall ditties to Elysium's King.
But see how soone these pleasures fade away,
How neere to Evening is delight's short Day?
For th' watchfull Bird, true Nuncius of the Light,
Straight crow'd: and all these vanish'd from my sight,
My very Muse her selfe forsooke me too,
My griefe and wonder wak'd: What should I doe?
Oh! let me follow thee (sayd I) and goe
From life, that I may Dreame for ever so.
With that my flying Muse I thought to claspe
Within my armes, but did a Shadow graspe.
Thus chiefest Joyes, glide with the swiftest streame,
And all our greatest Pleasure's but a Dreame.





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