Songs In The "Indian Emperor."

I.

    Ah, fading joy! how quickly art thou past!
        Yet we thy ruin haste.
    As if the cares of human life were few,
        We seek out new:
    And follow Fate, which would too fast pursue.
    See how on every bough the birds express,
    In their sweet notes, their happiness.
    They all enjoy, and nothing spare;
    But on their mother Nature lay their care:
    Why then should man, the lord of all below,
        Such troubles choose to know,
    As none of all his subjects undergo?
    Hark, hark, the waters fall, fall, fall,
    And with a murmuring sound
    Dash, dash upon the ground,
        To gentle slumbers call.

II.

    I look'd, and saw within the book of fate,
        When many days did lour,
        When lo! one happy hour
    Leap'd up, and smiled to save the sinking state;
    A day shall come when in thy power
        Thy cruel foes shall be;
        Then shall thy land be free:
        And then in peace shall reign;
    But take, O take that opportunity,
    Which, once refused, will never come again.

John Dryden

John Dryden was an influential English poet, literary critic, translator, and playwright who was made England’s first Poet Laureate in 1668. His work dominated the literary life of Restoration England and he is seen as a major figure in the literary history of the period. Dryden's notable works include the satirical poem 'Absalom and Achitophel' and the mock-heroic 'Mac Flecknoe.'

John Dryden

On The Monument Of A Fair Maiden Lady[1], Who Died At Bath, And Is There Interred.

John Dryden, Simple Poetry

Prologue. Spoken At The Opening Of The New House, March 26, 1674.

John Dryden, Simple Poetry

Prologue To The University Of Oxford, 1674.

John Dryden, Simple Poetry

Prologue To "Albumazar."[1]

John Dryden, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Prologue To The Indian Queen.

As the music plays a soft air, the curtain rises slowly and discovers an Indian boy and girl sleeping under two plantain-trees; and, when the curtain is almost up, the music turns into a tune expressing an alarm, at which the boy awakes, and speaks:


    BOY. Wake, wake, Quevira! our soft rest must cease,
    And fly together with our country's peace!
    No more must we sleep under plantain shade,
    Which neither heat could pierce, nor cold invade;
    Where bounteous nature never feels decay,
    And opening buds drive falling fruits away.

    QUE. Why should men quarrel here, where all possess
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    None can have most, where nature is so kind,
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    BOY. By ancient p...

John Dryden

Epilogue To The Indian Queen.

    SPOKEN BY MONTEZUMA.

    You see what shifts we are enforced to try,
    To help out wit with some variety;
    Shows may be found that never yet were seen,
    'Tis hard to find such wit as ne'er has been:
    You have seen all that this old world can do,
    We therefore try the fortune of the new,
    And hope it is below your aim to hit
    At untaught nature with your practised wit:
    Our naked Indians, then, when wits appear,
    Would as soon choose to have the Spaniards here.
    'Tis true, you have marks enough, the plot, the show,
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    'Tis a true voyage to the Indies lost:
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John Dryden

Monody, Written At Matlock.

Matlock! amid thy hoary-hanging views,
Thy glens that smile sequestered, and thy nooks
Which yon forsaken crag all dark o'erlooks;
Once more I court the long neglected Muse,
As erst when by the mossy brink and falls
Of solitary Wainsbeck, or the side
Of Clysdale's cliffs, where first her voice she tried,
I strayed a pensive boy. Since then, the thralls
That wait life's upland road have chilled her breast,
And much, as much they might, her wing depressed.
Wan Indolence, resigned, her deadening hand
Laid on her heart, and Fancy her cold wand
Dropped at the frown of fortune; yet once more
I call her, and once more her converse sweet,
'Mid the still limits of this wild retreat,
I woo; if yet delightful as of yore
My heart she may revisit, nor deny
The soothin...

William Lisle Bowles

To A Child

Dear child! how radiant on thy mother's knee,
With merry-making eyes and jocund smiles,
Thou gazest at the painted tiles,
Whose figures grace,
With many a grotesque form and face.
The ancient chimney of thy nursery!
The lady with the gay macaw,
The dancing girl, the grave bashaw
With bearded lip and chin;
And, leaning idly o'er his gate,
Beneath the imperial fan of state,
The Chinese mandarin.

With what a look of proud command
Thou shakest in thy little hand
The coral rattle with its silver bells,
Making a merry tune!
Thousands of years in Indian seas
That coral grew, by slow degrees,
Until some deadly and wild monsoon
Dashed it on Coromandel's sand!
Those silver bells
Reposed of yore,
As shapeless ore,
Far down in the ...

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Songs In Albion And Albanius.

I.

    Cease, Augusta! cease thy mourning,
        Happy days appear,
    Godlike Albion is returning,
        Loyal hearts to cheer!
    Every grace his youth adorning,
    Glorious as the star of morning,
        Or the planet of the year.

II.

    Albion, by the nymph attended,
    Was to Neptune recommended,
        Peace and plenty spread the sails:
    Venus, in her shell before him,
    From the sands in safety bore him,
        And supplied Etesian gales.
    Archon on the shore commanding,
    Lowly met him at his landing,
        Crowds of people swarm'd around;
    Welcome, rang like peals of thunder,
    Welcome, rent the skies asunder,
        Welcome, heaven and earth resound.

III.

    In...

John Dryden

Song. Farewell, Fair Armida.

    Farewell, fair Armida, my joy and my grief,
    In vain I have loved you, and hope no relief;
    Undone by your virtue, too strict and severe,
    Your eyes gave me love, and you gave me despair;
    Now call'd by my honour, I seek with content
    The fate which in pity you would not prevent:
    To languish in love, were to find by delay
    A death that's more welcome the speediest way.
    On seas and in battles, in bullets and fire,
    The danger is less than in hopeless desire;
    My death's-wound you give, though far off I bear
    My fall from your sight--not to cost you a tear:
    But if the kind flood on a wave should convey,
    And under your window my body should lay,
    The wound on my breast when you happen to see,
    You'll say with a sigh...

John Dryden