I UNLUCKY fire, which though from Heaven deriv'd, Is brought too late, like cordials to the dead, When all are of their sovereign sense depriv'd, And honour, which my rage should warm, is fled. II Dead to heroic song this Isle appears, The ancient music of victorious verse, They taste no more than he his dirges hears, Whose useless mourners sing about his hearse. III Yet shall this sacred lamp in prison burn, And through the darksome ages hence invade The wondering world, like that in Tully's urn Which, though by Time conceal'd, was not decay'd. IV And @3Cbarles@1, in that more civil century, When this shall wholly fill the voice of Fame, The busy Antiquaries then will try To find amongst their Monarch's coin, thy name. V Much they will bless thy virtue, by whose fire I'll keep my laurel warm, which else would fade, And, thus enclos'd, think me of Nature's choir Which still sings sweetest in the shade. VI To Fame, who rules the world, I lead thee now, Whose solid power the thoughtful understand, Whom, though too late, weak Princes to her bow, The people serve, and poets can command. VII And Fame, the only judge of Empire past, Shall to Verona lead thy fancy's eyes, Where night so black a robe on Nature cast, As Nature seem'd afraid of her disguise. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A FAREWELL TO TOBACCO by CHARLES LAMB THE DESCRIPTION OF COOKHAM by AEMILIA (BASSANO) LANYER THE HOUSE-TOP; A NIGHT PIECE by HERMAN MELVILLE NORTHBOUN' by LUCY ARIEL WILLIAMS TO ATHENA by ALCAEUS OF MYTILENE VERITAS by BERNICE BROWN BETTMAN |