Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ON HIS MAJESTIE'S RETURNE OUT OF SCOTLAND, by ABRAHAM COWLEY


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ON HIS MAJESTIE'S RETURNE OUT OF SCOTLAND, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Great charles: there stop you trumpeters of fame
Last Line: Who is most neere, most like the deitie.
Subject(s): Charles I, King Of England (1600-1649)


GReat Charles: there stop you trumpeters of fame,
(For he who speakes his titles, his great name,
Must have a breathing time,) Our King: stay there,
Tel't by degrees, let the inquisitive eare
Bee held in doubt, and ere you say; Is come;
Let every heart prepare a spacious roome
For ample joyes: then 10 sing as loud
As thunder shot from the divided cloud.
Let Cygnus plucke from the Arabian waves
The ruby of the rocke, the pearle that paves
Great Neptune's Court; let every sparrow beare
From the three sisters' weeping barke a teare;
Let spotted Lynces their sharpe tallons fill
With christall fetch'd from the Promethean hill.
Let Cytherea's birds fresh wreathes compose,
Knitting the pale-fac't lilly with the rose.
Let the selfe-gotten Phoenix rob his nest,
Spoyle his owne funerall pile, and all his best
Of myrrhe, of frankincense, of Cassia bring,
To strew the way for our returned King.
Let every post a Panegyricke weare,
Each wall, each piller gratulations beare:
And yet let no man invocate a Muse;
The very matter will it selfe infuse
A sacred fury. Let the merry Bells
(For unknowne joyes worke unknowne miracles)
Ring without helpe of Sexton, and presage
A new-made holyday for future age.
And if the Ancients us'd to dedicate
A golden Temple to propitious fate,
At the returne of any noble men,
Of Heroes, or of Emperours, wee must then
Raise up a double Trophee; for their fame
Was but the shaddow of our CHARLES his name.
Who is there where all virtues mingled flow?
Where no defects, no imperfections grow?
Whose head is alwayes crown'd with victory,
Snatch'd from Bellona's hand, him luxury
In peace debilitates; whose tongue can win
Tullie's owne garland, to him pride creeps in.
On whom (like Atlas' shoulders) the propt state
(As hee were Primum Mobile of fate)
Solely relies, him blind ambition moves;
His Tyranny the bridled subject proves.
But all those vertues which they all possest
Divided, are collected in thy breast,
Great Charles; let Coesar boast Pharsalia's fight,
Honorius prayse the Parthians' unfeyn'd flight.
Let Alexander call himselfe Iove's peere,
And place his Image next the Thunderer,
Yet whil'st our Charles with equall ballance reignes
'Twixt Mercy and Astrea; and mainteynes
A noble peace, 'tis hee, 'tis onely hee
Who is most neere, most like the Deitie.





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