Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, TO MY DEAR FRIEND MR. ELDRED REVETT ON HIS POEMS MORAL AND DIVINE, by RICHARD LOVELACE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

TO MY DEAR FRIEND MR. ELDRED REVETT ON HIS POEMS MORAL AND DIVINE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Cleft, as the top of the inspired hill
Last Line: Sick, echo o'er thy halleluiahs.
Subject(s): Poetry & Poets


CLEFT, as the top of the inspired Hill,
Struggles the soul of my divided quill,
Whilst this foot doth the wat'ry mount aspire,
That Sinai's living and enlivening fire.
Behold my pow'rs storm'd by a twisted light
O' th' sun and his first kindled his sight,
And my left thoughts invoke the Prince of Day,
My right to th' spring of it and him do pray.
Say, happy youth, crown'd with a heav'nly ray
Of the first flame, and interwreathed bay,
Inform my soul in labour to begin
Ios or anthems, pæans or a hymn.
Shall I a hecatomb on thy tripod slay,
Or my devotions at thy altar pay?
While which t' adore th' amaz'd world cannot tell,
The sublime Urim or deep oracle.
Hark how the moving chords temper our brain,
As, when Apollo serenades the main,
Old Ocean smoothes his sullen furrow'd front,
And nereids do glide soft measures on 't;
Whilst th' air puts on its sleekest, smoothest face,
And each doth turn the other's looking-glass:
So by the sinewy lyre now strook we see
Into soft calms all storms of poesy,
And former thundering and lightning lines,
And verse now in its native lustre shines.
How wert thou hid within thyself! how shut!
Thy precious Iliads lock'd up in a nut!
Not hearing of thee thou dost break out strong,
Invading forty thousand men in song;
And we, secure in our thin empty heat,
Now find ourselves at once surpris'd and beat;
Whilst the most valiant of our wits now sue,
Fling down their arms, ask quarter too of you.
So cabin'd up in its disguis'd coarse rust,
And scurf'd all o'er with its unseemly crust,
The diamond, from midst the humbler stones
Sparkling, shoots forth the price of nations.
Ye sage unriddlers of the stars, pray tell,
By what name shall I stamp my miracle?
Thou strange inverted Æson, that leap'st o'er
From thy first infancy into fourscore,
That to thine own self hast the midwife play'd,
And from thy brain spring'st forth the heav'nly maid!
Thou staff of him bore him, that bore our sins,
Which, but set down, to bloom and bear begins!
Thou rod of Aaron, with one motion hurl'd,
Budd'st a perfume of flowers through the world!
Thou strange calcined seeds within a glass,
Each species' idea spring'st as 'twas;
Bright vestal flame, that, kindled but ev'n now,
For ever dost thy sacred fires throw!
Thus the repeated acts of Nestor's age,
That now had three times o'er outliv'd the stage,
And all those beams contracted into one,
Alcides in his cradle hath outdone.
But all these flour'shing hues, with which I dye
Thy virgin paper, now are vain as I;
For 'bove the poet's heav'n th' art taught to shine,
And move, as in thy proper crystalline;
Whence that molehill, Parnassus, thou dost view,
And us small ants there dabbling in its dew;
Whence thy seraphic soul such hymns doth play,
As those to which first danced the first day;
Where, with a thorn from the world-ransoming wreath,
Thou, stung, dost antiphons and anthems breathe;
Where, with an angel's quill dipp'd i' th' Lamb's blood,
Thou sing'st our pelican's all-saving flood,
And bath'st thy thoughts in everliving streams
Rench'd from earth's tainted, fat, and heavy steams.
There move, translated youth! enroll'd i' th' choir
That only doth with holy lays inspire;
To whom his burning coach Eliah sent,
And th' royal prophet-priest his harp hath lent,
Which thou dost tune in consort unto those
Clap wings for ever at each hallow'd close;
Whilst we, now weak and fainting in our praise,
Sick, echo o'er thy Halleluiahs.





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