it is perhaps because he deals, almost exclusively, with public affairs. Even religion is treated, throughout his argumentative poems, in one aspect only, as a public interest. Were it not for one or two allusions to his advancing years, his works would give you no clue to his private life and retired meditations. If war, politics, and argument were banished from the face of the earth, nothing would be left for him to say, or at any rate he would say nothing. Congreve remarked that Dryden Io was the most modest man he ever knew; and certainly he is one of the most reserved of poets. He does not take his readers into his confidence; he has no endearing indiscretions. He is content to meet them in an open place, where there is business enough to bespeak their attention. A professional man of letters, especially if he is much at war with unscrupulous enemies, is naturally jealous of his privacy; he will be silent on his more personal interests, or, if he must speak, will veil them under conventional forms. So it was, I think, with Dryden; he is no bosom 20 friend, to be the companion of those who keep the world and its noises at a distance. Those who do not care for Dryden may well care for poetry; it is difficult to believe that they can care for politics, war, or argument.

Selections from

DRYDEN'S ·

POETRY and PROSE

HEROIC STANZAS,

Consecrated to the Memory of His Highness

OLIVER,

Late Lord Protector of this Commonwealth, &c.

WRITTEN AFTER THE CELEBRATING OF HIS FUNERAL

1659

(Stanzas 6, 7, 8, 10, 13, 18, 37)

His grandeur he derived from Heaven alone,
For he was great, ere Fortune made him so;
And wars, like mists that rise against the sun,
Made him but greater seem, not greater grow.

No borrowed bays his temples did adorn,

But to our crown he did fresh jewels bring; Nor was his virtue poisoned, soon as born, With the too early thoughts of being king.

Fortune, that easy mistress of the young,

But to her ancient servants coy and hard, Him at that age her favourites ranked among When she her best-loved Pompey did discard.

And yet dominion was not his design;

We owe that blessing not to him, but Heaven, Which to fair acts unsought rewards did join,

Rewards that less to him than us were given.

Swift and resistless through the land he passed,
Like that bold Greek who did the East subdue,
And made to battles such heroic haste

As if on wings of victory he flew.

5

ΙΟ

15

20

Nor was he like those stars which only shine
When to pale mariners they storms portend;
He had his calmer influence, and his mien

Did love and majesty together blend.

His ashes in a peaceful urn shall rest;

His name a great example stands to show How strangely high endeavours may be blessed Where piety and valour jointly go.

25

ASTRE A REDUX

A Poem on the happy

Restoration and Return

of His Sacred Majesty

Charles the Second

Published June 1660

(Lines 21-8, 276-91, 312-23)

FOR his long absence Church and State did groan ;
Madness the pulpit, faction seized the throne:
Experienced age in deep despair was lost
To see the rebel thrive, the loyal crost:
Youth that with joys had unacquainted been
Envied gray hairs that once good days had seen :
We thought our sires, not with their own content,
Had, ere we came to age, our portion spent. . . .

...

Methinks I see those crowds on Dover's strand, Who in their haste to welcome you to land Choked up the beach with their still growing store, And made a wilder torrent on the shore :

5

ΙΟ

While, spurred with eager thoughts of past delight,
Those who had seen you court a second sight,
Preventing still your steps and making haste
To meet you often wheresoe'er you past.
How shall I speak of that triumphant day
When you renewed the expiring pomp of May!
(A month that owns an interest in your name:
You and the flowers are its peculiar claim.)
That star, that at your birth shone out so bright
It stained the duller sun's meridian light,
Did once again its potent fires renew,

Guiding our eyes to find and worship you. ...

At home the hateful names of parties cease,
And factious souls are wearied into peace.
The discontented now are only they

Whose crimes before did your just cause betray:
Of those your edicts some reclaim from sins,
But most your life and blest example wins.
Oh happy Prince, whom Heaven hath taught the way
By paying vows to have more vows to pay!
Oh happy age! Oh times like those alone
By Fate reserved for great Augustus' throne,
When the joint growth of arms and arts foreshow
The world a Monarch, and that Monarch You.

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