17th Century
Lyric Poetry
John Donne and Ben
Jonson both grew up outside of the court. Donne was doubly separate from it on
account of the Catholic faith of his family, which made him a potential
traitor. Their works and lives show them striving to enter the courtly
tradition of writing, although in different ways. Donne sought to gain a
reputation as a "wit", apparently hoping it might earn him a place at
court. He wrote in the mannered style that was fashionable, and sought to
astonish his readers by the novelty of his "inventions" so that they
would notice and remember him. His attitude is that of an outsider desperately
trying to become an insider. When he turns to God in the Divine Poems, there is
little difference because he views God as another mighty lord whose favour he
tries to win through witty pleading.
Jonson, whose
step-father was a brick-layer, chose another model and tried to become a modern
Horace, providing ornamental poetry for a social milieu far above his own while
at the same time asking to be allowed to criticize it through subtle satire.
Jonson's art was sufficient for the first, but his anger and disgust at what he
heard and saw were often too strong for the second. Of all the poets and
writers seen so far, Jonson is almost the only one who wrote in order to earn a
living. His poems are mostly occasional and his masques are written for a
particular court occasion.
Yet when Jonson had his
"Works" published in 1616 in a carefully prepared folio, it was
intended to promote his image as a writer of classical standing, rather than to
be a commercial success. In contrast Donne's poems were only published after
his death; in his lifetime many were copied into the manuscript anthologies of
poetry kept by the courtiers and noble poetasters that he had intended to
impress.
If the word
"Metaphysical" is rejected, and with it the old, widespread idea that
there was some kind of "Metaphysical School of Poets" inspired by
Donne (there was not), it soon becomes clear how similar Donne and Jonson were.
Indeed, Jonson sometimes writes like Donne, although their characters and goals
were very different. Above
all, born within a year
of one another in 1572/3, both grew up in the reign of Elizabeth when the court
was producing its most vibrant myths and fictions, that of the noble poet
symbolized by Sir Philip Sidney, in particular.
Their styles were deeply
marked by the period's fascination with the mannered epigram typified by
the works of the Roman poet Martial. It is no coincidence that both Donne and
Jonson wrote numerous epigrams and that their poetry is essentially
epigrammatic, in the concern for concise phrasing and strikingly neat
expression as in the sardonic and satiric eye with which they survey the world.
The other great influence on certain 17th century poets such as Crashaw and
Cowley was Italian, the use of exaggerated and discordant images known as conceits,
Petrarchan in origin but developed to new extremes by Giambattista Marino (1569
- 1625) and known as marinismo.
Those who wrote lyrics
in the first half of the 17th century mostly belonged to a younger generation
who grew up under a less romantic but still existent court. Once the court came
under attack, then disappeared completely, the literature written for it took
on a new value as a sign of the royalist cause. The history of the publication
of lyric poetry between 1640 and 1660 is very largely a history of covert
royalist resistance. At the same time, the bases for the modern manner of publishing
and selling poetry as a commercial enterprise were being laid down. The
audience for the lyric was no longer limited to an elegant few.
Religious poets
George Herbert (1593 - 1633)
The life of George
Herbert makes a remarkable contrast with the lives of the other poets of his
age, because almost nothing happened to him. Yet his poems are counted by many
readers as among the most perfect in the English language, and are surely some
of the finest Christian poems ever written. His father died when he was still a
child. His mother, Magdalen Herbert, was only about five years older
than John Donne, whom she first met in 1599. By coincidence, her first
husband's family
name was the same as
that of the Herberts of Wilton (Sir Philip Sidney's sister Mary became Mary
Herbert countess of Pembroke by her marriage). There was no relationship
between the two families. George Herbert's family was of Welsh origin.
Donne was deeply
impressed by Magdalen Herbert's beauty and character, he addressed a number of
poems and letters to her. She was a considerable patron of young writers. From
1607 Donne often visited her home near Charing Cross. In 1609 she married Sir
John Danvers, a man only half her age, and became Lady Danvers. Donne
continued to visit and correspond with her, and spent six months in their house
in Chelsea in 1625; he also preached a memorial sermon when she died in 1627.
Donne was close to her
eldest son, Edward, later Baron Herbert of Cherbury, (1582 - 1648) who
must have been like him in many ways. It is one of the ironies of history that
among twentieth-century scholars of English literature, George Herbert is
ranked so much more highly than his brother. Edward Herbert succeeded
brilliantly in the royal service, lived much of the time in France, and was
ambassador to France 1619 - 1624. From 1629 he was a member of the king's high
councils. In his writing we find a style very similar to Donne's, full of
complicated figures and conceits. His autobiography is a remarkable work.
Edward Herbert was an
influential philosopher; his De Veritate (On Truth, 1624) in which he
presents a form of Deism, a naturally deduced belief in God that does not
require Church or doctrines, made him the "Father of English Deism".
He wrote poems in a style at least as complex as Donne's, either because of
direct influence or because his mind was so similar to Donne's. Donne felt very
close to him and sometimes wrote poems in response to his. Both of them had
characters that combined the solemn and the mocking.
George Herbert was more
than ten years younger than his brother, twenty years younger than Donne, who
only mentions him twice in his surviving poems and letters. They were certainly
not very close friends, although Donne sent him a poem in 1615, together with a
copy of his new seal, to which Herbert replied in verse. It was to Edward that
Donne wrote personal letters.
For a long time George
was at Cambridge university, becoming a fellow of Trinity College in 1616 and
public orator (maker of official
Latin speeches) in 1620.
Like his mother, to whom he was very attached, he was a devout Christian. When
he was growing up, some English theologians began to reject the Calvinist
doctrine of predestination, according to which God has decided who is going to
be saved and nothing we do can make any difference. Instead, in the early years
of the 17th century, "Arminian" theologians encouraged a regular life
of prayer and meditation of the Scriptures, a sacramental Christianity far
closer to the Catholic tradition. This developed into what is known as
"High Church Anglicanism" in the time of Archbishop Laud and
Herbert's poems express similar approaches.
George Herbert was slow
to "take orders" (become an ordained minister). After many years in
Cambridge he seems to have felt the need for a new direction in his life,
either public life in the court or ministry in the Church. By 1625 he had
decided to enter the Church; in that year he was staying with his mother at
Chelsea when Donne was there (Donne mentions his presence in a letter). He had
already been made a Deacon; in the English Church as in the Catholic this is
usually a step to being ordained a priest soon afterwards.
Herbert did not become a
priest until 1630, but from 1626 he was responsible for a parish in
Huntingdonshire. It was not far from Little Gidding, where Nicholas
Ferrar and his brothers with their families had recently established a new
kind of pious community, not unlike a monastery, with regular prayers,
community service, and study. The community enjoyed the support of the king,
who visited it (he was a pious and moral-living man). It was detested by more
extreme Protestants. In 1646, Cromwell's soldiers raided the house and expelled
the people living there.
Herbert visited Little
Gidding and was extremely close to its founder. Just before he died, he sent
the manuscript of his poems to Nicholas Ferrar, asking him to decide whether to
publish them or burn them. Many of the poems seem to have been written while he
was deciding whether to enter the Church. In April 1630, Herbert became rector
(parish priest) of Bemerton, a small rural village near Salisbury. He
was ordained priest in September 1630 and served humbly the simple people of
that remote village until he died of tuberculosis in 1633.
On receiving the
manuscript containing Herbert's poems, Ferrar read them with deep emotion and
immediately had them published.
They
formed a small book entitled
The Temple with a preface by Ferrar briefly suggesting Herbert's
personal devotion in prayer and humility as a priest. Very few people seem to
have read any of the poems during Herbert's lifetime but the book was an
immediate success, reprinted at least nine times in the seventeenth century. It
was read especially by the people in the national church who had begun to
consider themselves "Anglican" as opposed to Calvinist or
Congregationalist, but many leading puritans were also impressed by it. King Charles
read it in prison.
In 1652 a prose text by
Herbert on his ideal of the country priest, A Priest to the Temple, was
published with other writings as Herbert's Remains, with a much more
substantial biographical preface by an Anglican priest, a royalist, Barnabas
Oley. In 1670, Izaak Walton published his famous "hagiography"
The Life of Mr. George Herbert which depended partly on Oley's work
although Walton had known Herbert personally. The work of Oley and Walton
firmly established the image of Herbert as an Anglican saint, pious and humble
in life and death. This was to reduce the appeal of his poems in later times;
the poems were often seen in the eighteenth century as coarse and naive
expressions of a religiosity not in tune with the spirit of the age. Yet some
were turned into hymns that are still sung in the late twentieth century.
Herbert has come back
into critical favour in the 20th century but the fact that his poems are all on
explicitly Christian themes limits what can be said about them in the light of
modern theoretical ap¡©proaches. His poems are admirable in their formal
variety, Herbert writes in many stanzaic forms as well as the sonnet. Apart
from a long opening poem, "The Church-Porch" and an equally long
final poem, "The Church Militant", The Temple has no overall
structure. The remaining 160 or more poems are given the general title
"The Church" and are in no apparent order, although the earlier ones
seem more concerned with themes of repentance and near the end there are a
number of poems about death and life in heaven. A small number are emblematic
"shaped poems" in which the length of lines varies to produce a
pictorial effect, an altar ("The Altar") or angels' wings
("Easter Wings"), for example.
Herbert was deeply
familiar with the Bible and much of his imagery derives from it; he is fond of
allegorical applications, readily seeing parallels between everyday things and
the mysteries of heaven as Jesus does in the Gospel parables. He has read with
some attention the mannered poems
of earlier poets such as
Sir Philip Sidney, both in Astrophel and Stella and in the Arcadia.
Sometimes Herbert uses devices such as echo ("Heaven"), varying
refrains ("Virtue"), dramatic monologue ("The Collar"). A
few poems are miniature narratives, evoking some kind of allegorical dreamlike
experience ("The Pilgrimage"). The great majority are in the form of
meditative prayers in which the individual human soul (not necessarily
Herbert's) struggles with the conflicting aspects of the relationship with God.
Donne's religious poems
close when the speaker's wit has succeeded in finding a way of expressing a
prayer for mercy in such a way that God will be obliged to grant it, or deny
Himself. Herbert's poems go much further than Donne's in enacting saving Grace
itself. In that sense, Herbert can seem less exciting than Donne because of the
way his poems seem invariably to end in harmony. Sometimes, as in Donne, the
harmony is one that God is invited to make: "Oh let thy blessed spirit
bear a part, / And make up our defects with his sweet art."
("Easter") There is a strong awareness of the need for God to do all
the work if the person is to be saved; at the same time, many poems express
thanks and praise, for Herbert shows a calmer assurance in God's love than
Donne.
According to Walton's Life,
when he sent The Temple to Nicholas Ferrar the dying Herbert described
the poems as "a picture of the many spiritual Conflicts that have past
betwixt God and my Soul, before I could subject mine to the will of Jesus my
Master: in whose service I have now found perfect freedom". In writing
them, Herbert had made a clear exclusion of secular themes of poetry, as in
deciding to be ordained he set aside all worldly honour. His poetic choice of
simplicity is parodically represented in the poem "Jordan (1)"
Shepherds are honest
people; let them sing:
Riddle who list, for me,
and pull for prime:
I envy no man's
nightingale or spring;
Nor let them punish me
with loss of rhyme,
Who plainly say, My
God, my King.
In "Jordan (2)"
he echoes the opening poem of Astrophel and Stella for the same purpose:
When first my lines of
heav'nly joys made mention,
Such was their lustre,
they did so excel,
That I sought out quaint words,
and trim inventions;
My thoughts began to
burnish, sprout, and swell,
(...)
But while I bustled, I
might hear a friend
Whisper, How wide is
all this long pretence!
There is in love a
sweetness ready penn'd:
Copy out only that, and
save expense.
While professing in
these poems to reject the complexity and artificiality of courtly verse,
Herbert is as attracted as any other poet of his time by conceit,
multiplication of images, and surprise. This gives us, for example, the only
sonnet in English without a single verb, "Prayer (1)":
Prayer the Church's
banquet, Angels' age,
God's breath in man returning to
his birth,
The soul in paraphrase, heart in
pilgrimage,
The Christian plummet
sounding heav'n and earth;
(...)
Church-bells beyond the stars
heard, the soul's blood,
The land of spices; something
understood.
After so many exalted
metaphors, the simple, unexpected "something understood" disorients;
it is not clear if it too refers to what prayer is, or if it indicates what may
have been happening in the reader in the course of the poem. There seems to be
no tension in such a poem, until the reader realizes that all the epithets
applied to prayer only have meaning to someone who has experienced prayer, and
that the extended list serves mainly to suggest the impossibility of saying
what prayer is, beyond the undefined "something" that is
"understood".
Among the "parable
poems" we find Herbert rewriting Genesis in the light of the myth of
Pandora's Box to make "The Pulley":
When God at first made man,
Having a glass of
blessings standing by,
"Let us," said
he, "pour on him all we can:
Let the world's riches,
which dispersed lie,
Contract into a span."
So strength first made a way;
Then beauty flowed, then
wisdom, honour, pleasure.
When almost all was out,
God made a stay,
Perceiving that, alone of
all his treasure,
Rest in the bottom lay.
"For if I should," said he,
"Bestow this jewel
also on my creature,
He would adore my gifts
instead of me,
And rest in Nature, not
the God of Nature;
So both should losers be.
"Yet let him keep the rest,
But keep them with
repining restlessness:
Let him be rich and
weary, that at least,
If goodness lead him not,
yet weariness
May toss him to my breast."
In this poem, Herbert's
title is evidently designed to stress the message, which again demands
reflexion. The poem seems harmonious, asserting a positive, renaissance view of
human nature richly endued with blessings; yet its theme is an endless sense of
dissatisfaction with anything less than God. Most striking is the image it
offers of a ruefully pragmatic God who is ready to accept that people may well
turn to faith when they are disillusioned with the world, rather than out of
any more immediate sense of love.
The characteristic
feature that appeals most in Herbert is the sheer beauty of the words and
images evoking the experience of Nature in such a poem as "Virtue":
Sweet day, so cool, so
calm, so bright,
The bridal of the earth
and sky:
The dew shall weep thy
fall tonight;
For thou must die.
(...)
Only a sweet and virtuous
soul,
Like seasoned timber,
never gives;
But though the whole
world turn to coal,
Then chiefly lives.
This poem is one of many
in which Herbert asserts the value of the invisible world of God over the
transience and vanity of the visible world. This mystical vision of life helps
to explain why his poems have no apparent social dimension; they take their
place in the Christian tradition that sees this world as a Vale of Tears
through which we must pass and hope to reach heaven unscathed.
There are poems which
briefly evoke the possibility of revolt against God, "The Collar"
being the most dramatic:
I struck the board and cried, "No
more;
I will abroad!
What? shall I ever sigh and pine?
My lines and life are
free, free as the road,
Loose as the wind, as large as store.
Shall I still be in suit?
(...)
Away! take heed;
I will abroad.
Call in thy death's-head
there; tie up thy fears.
He that forbears
To suit and serve his
need,
Deserves his load."
But as I raved and grew
more fierce and wild
At every word,
Methought I heard one calling, Child!
And I replied, My Lord.
The ending suggests that
Herbert had no direct experience of revolt put into action; instead, he was
kept pure and innocent, always intensely aware of God's presence even when life
seemed to be luring him away. He shows none of the radical division of Donne's life
between secular and sacred. Rather, his character must have been touched by
times of inner melancholy, the depressive tendency that Milton evokes in
"Il Penseroso". The experience of emerging from such a dark period
gave birth to one of Herbert's most sensitive lyrics, "The Flower":
How fresh, O Lord, how
sweet and clean
Are thy returns! even as
the flowers in spring;
To which, besides their
own demean,
The late-past frosts
tributes of pleasure bring.
Grief melts away
Like snow in May,
As if there were no such
cold thing.
Who would have thought my
shriveled heart
Could have recovered
greenness? It was gone
Quite underground; as
flowers depart
To see their mother-root,
when they have blown,
Where they together
All the hard weather,
Dead to the world, keep
house unknown.
(...)
And now in age I bud
again,
After so many deaths I
live and write;
I once more smell the dew
and rain,
And relish versing. Oh,
my only light,
It cannot be
That I am he
On whom thy tempests fell
all night.
These are thy wonders,
Lord of love,
To make us see we are but
flowers that glide;
Which when we once can
find and prove,
Thou hast a garden for us
where to bide;
Who would be more,
Swelling through store,
Forfeit their Paradise by
their pride.
The desire for heaven on
which this poem ends cannot be separated from the theme of the desire for
death. The last five poems in "The Church" deal respectively with
Death, Dooms-day, Judgement, and Heaven, while the last of all is entitled
"Love (3)". This final poem, a dialogue, is an evocation of
the heavenly banquet and of the Christian's relationship with God, for Love is
the name here representing God ("God is love" writes St. John):
Love bade me welcome: yet
my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-ey'd Love,
observing me grow slack
From my first entrance
in,
Drew nearer to me,
sweetly questioning,
If I lack'd anything.
A guest, I answer'd,
worthy to be here:
Love said, You shall be
he.
I the unkind, ungrateful?
Ah my dear,
I cannot look on thee.
Love took my hand, and
smiling did reply,
Who made the eyes but I?
Truth Lord, but I have
marr'd them: let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.
And know you not, says
Love, who bore the blame?
My dear, then I will
serve.
You must sit down, says
Love, and taste my meat:
So I did sit and eat.
In theory, the life of
the poet has nothing to do with an evalua¡©tion of the poems, but in reality
this is not true. The awareness that John Donne was a libertine who suddenly
fell passionately in love, ruined his career, and had difficulty reconciling
his youthful folly and immorality with the ideals of serious Christianity, adds
interest to the strains echoed in his poems. Herbert's reputation for deep piety
and unspotted Christian living have had the opposite effect, suggesting that
his poems are devoid of the contradictions that most people find so
fascinating.
Herbert is never intent
on using poetry to define himself, the I who speaks these lyrics is a
generalized persona that any reader may make their own. The values his
poems stress are inevitably conservative values of humility, submission to
God's ways, eagerness to leave this world behind. With their love of perfect
form they are essentially classical poems and the use of concrete images to
represent immaterial realities is hardly enough to set him beside Donne or his
own brother Edward as a "Metaphysical". Herbert is the finest poet of
Christian spirituality that England ever produced, and the religious works of
Donne, Crashaw, or Hopkins cannot compare with his when viewed as a whole.
Richard Crashaw (1612/3 - 1649)
No poet is as little
studied as Crashaw among those admitted as major 17th century poets. He is
largely despised for the imagery of lines found in a poem on Mary Magdalen's
tears:
And now where'er he
strays
Among the Galilean
mountains
Or more unwelcome ways
He's followed by two
faithful fountains;
Two walking baths; two
weeping motions;
Portable and compendious
oceans.
Similar odd conceits are
found in many of his works; in addition he wrote mainly religious verse, became
a Catholic, died abroad. As a result he does not fit into generally accepted
critical frameworks. Early in the 20th century, critics tried to class him as a
"Metaphysical" poet belonging to the "school of Donne" but
the comparison is not convinc¡©ing. Others have called his verse
"Baroque" but since this term is not used of other English writers it
means little. Like each of the other poets in this period, he had his own
reasons for writing and developed his own personal style. His Catholicism has
often been exaggerated, many of his poems were written before his conversion in
France.
Crashaw's father was a
fiercely anti-Catholic puritan. He owned a collection of Catholic books which
he read in order to write against their teaching. His son Richard seems to have
read the same books in order to learn from them. He attended Cambridge
University, where he received his BA in 1634 and became a Fellow of Peterhouse
in 1635. This was a particularly high-church college, with a Master who was
close to Archbishop Laud. He was a friend of Abraham Cowley and often visited
Little Gidding. During the Civil War he left Cambridge and then England, going
to Paris where many royalists lived in exile. By 1646 he had become a Catholic;
he was poor and sick. In 1649 he went to take up a position at the famous shrine
in Loretto (Italy) but he died within the year.
Crashaw was first of all
a writer of epigrams; he published a volume of Latin epigrams on religious
topics in 1634. In 1646, when he was already abroad, a volume of poems in
English was published,
Steps to the Temple, which
contained a separate section of secular poems entitled The Delights of the
Muses. After he died, friends in Paris published a collection of his late
writing, Carmen Deo Nostro (Song to our God). Crashaw translated book
one of The Massacre of the Innocents by the Italian Giambattista Marino
(1569 - 1625) who was famous for his verbal conceits and extravagantly
ornamental imagery.
Despite the echo of
Herbert's The Temple in the 1646 title, Crashaw's art owes little or
nothing to him. Instead we must look to the sacred epigram, with its
condensed expressions of religious thoughts, to traditional hymns, and
the liking for conceit found in both. Cra¡©shaw's poems are marked by a strong
musical sense, such as that in these lines from the long "oratorio"
"In the Holy Nativity of Our Lord God: A Hymn Sung as by the
Shepherds":
Gloomy night embraced the
place
Where the noble infant lay.
The babe looked up and
showed his face:
In spite of darkness, it was day.
It was thy day, Sweet!
and did rise,
Not from the East, but
from thine eyes.
Winter chid aloud, and
sent
The angry North to wage his wars;
The North forgot his
fierce intent,
And left perfumes instead of scars.
By those sweet eyes'
persuasive powers,
Where he meant frost, he
scattered flowers.
Crashaw sought to awaken
in himself and his readers an emotional devotion to Christ; he often used a
traditional method concentrating on the sufferings of Christ on the cross, as
in the poem "On the Wounds of Our Crucified Lord":
O these wakeful wounds of
thine!
Are they mouths? or are they eyes?
Be they mouths, or be
they eyne,
Each bleeding part some one supplies.
Lo! a mouth, whose
full-bloomed lips
At too dear a rate are roses.
Lo! a bloodshot eye! that
weeps
And many a cruel tear discloses.
O thou that on this foot
hast laid
Many a kiss and many a tear,
Now thou shalt have all
repaid,
Whatsoe'er thy charges were.
This foot hath got a
mouth and lips
To pay the sweet sum of thy kisses;
To pay thy tears, an eye
that weeps
Instead of tears such gems as this is.
The difference only this
appears
(Nor can the change offend),
The debt is paid in
ruby-tears
Which thou in pearls didst lend.
Crashaw certainly had a
passionate side lacking in Herbert, and the fact that many of his most intense
poems are either about women or addressed to women has drawn interest. These
lines of carpe diem urgency from a poem addressed to the exiled Countess
of Denbigh, urging her to become a Catholic, take on quite another, erotic,
meaning if read out of context:
To save your life, kill
your delay.
It is love's siege, and
sure to be
Your triumph, though his
victory.
'Tis cowardice that keeps
this field,
And want of courage not
to yield.
Yield, then, O yield,
that love may win
The fort at last, and let
life in.
Yield quickly, lest
perhaps you prove
Death's prey before the
prize of love.
This fort of your fair
self, if't be not won,
He is repulsed indeed;
but you are undone.
Some interest attaches
to the elaborate headings Crashaw devised for his poems, with several lines of
explanation, sometimes an adage (epigram or saying), and a pictorial emblem as
well, like the firmly locked heart that precedes the dedication of this poem:
TO THE
Noblest &
best of Ladyes, the
Countesse of
Denbigh.
Perswading her
to Resolution in Religion,
& to
render her selfe without further
delay into the
Communion of
the Catholick
Church.
Reference to the
emblematic tradition will probably help readers struggling to find an entry to
the complex verbal pictures that Crashaw favours.
Henry Vaughan (1621 - 1695)
The other main religious
poet of the century, Vaughan was deeply influenced by Herbert, yet his poems
belong to another world, in many ways already the modern world. Vaughan was
born in Brecon¡©shire, in Wales; Herbert's family was of Welsh origin too, as
was Donne's. As a young man, Vaughan attended Oxford and the law schools of
London before taking the royalist side in the Civil War. The defeat of the king
prompted his "retreat" back to his home, where he became a doctor.
After publishing two
small volumes of secular poems in 1646 (Poems) and 1651 (Olor Iscanus,
Swan of Usk), he produced the religious poems for which he is mainly admired in
a first edition of Silex Scintillans (The Fiery Flint) in 1651. This was
followed by a second, enlarged edition with the same title in 1655. This was
almost his last publication, except for Thalia Rediviva (1678)
containing poems by him and his twin brother Thomas. Thomas Vaughan was deeply
interested in the "alternative science" of alchemy inspired by the
writings of "Hermes Trismegistus" and the Rosicrucians. Thomas's
interests may have suggested to Henry his way of seeking correspondences
between the visible and the invisible world, although any form of Platonism
would have led in the same direction.
Like Andrew Marvell,
Vaughan wrote his most interesting poems during the Civil War and Interregnum.
We have no exact dates for them, but his retreat to Wales indicates his
reaction to the social events of the time. His poems suggest the search for new
directions in a time of confusion and loss. He had been only briefly in
England, was not part
of a poetic social
milieu, his contacts were with printed books of poetry, rather than with poets.
His time in the royalist milieu can just have been enough to stir his
imagination and indicate what had been lost. Herbert turned his back on the
court and aimed at Heaven; for Vaughan there was no court left but he too
turned to Heaven. He writes in more directly personal terms than Herbert though
in lines very close to his, sometimes directly quoting him. The genesis of his
"mystical" vocation as a poet seems to underlie the poem "Regeneration":
A ward, and still in
bonds, one day
I stole abroad;
It was high spring, and
all the way
Primrosed and hung with shade;
Yet it was frost within,
And surly winds
Blasted my infant buds,
and sin
Like clouds eclipsed my mind.
(...)
The unthrift sun shot
vital gold,
A thousand pieces,
And heaven its azure did
unfold,
Checkered with snowy fleeces;
The air was all in spice,
And every bush
A garland wore; thus fed
my eyes,
But all the ear lay hush.
Only a little fountain
lent
Some use for ears,
And on the dumb shades
language spent,
The music of her tears;
I drew her near, and found
The cistern full
Of divers stones, some
bright and round,
Others ill-shaped and dull.
(...)
...
Here musing long, I heard
A rushing wind
Which still increased,
but whence it stirred
No where I could not find.
I turned me round, and to
each shade
Dispatched an eye
To see if any leaf had
made
Least motion or reply;
But while I listening sought
My mind to ease
By knowing where 'twas,
or where not,
It whispered, "Where I
please."
"Lord," then
said I, "on me one breath,
And let me die before my
death!"
Many critics feel that
in general Vaughan's poems start bravely but fail to maintain the same height
to the end. This may be a failing, it is also inherent in their theme.
Vaughan's poems often celebrate moments of mysterious insight; it is the nature
of such moments not to last, the poet's return to the rather dull,
unsatisfactory life in this world is a necessary part of the experience.
In many of Vaughan's
poems we find him taking delight in nature or else recalling times when he
experienced such delight and contrasting them with a desolate present. The
theme of nature is perhaps connected with the theme of Paradise, glimpsed and
lost. His raptures are not those of Wordsworth yet his readers cannot resist
making the comparison, especially between "The Retreat" and
Wordsworth's "Ode: Intimations of Immortality":
Happy those early days!
when I
Shined in my angel
infancy.
Before I understood this
place
Appointed for my second
race,
Or taught my soul to
fancy aught
But a white celestial
thought;
When yet I had not walked
above
A mile or two from my
first love,
And looking back, at that
short space,
Could see some glimpse of
His bright face;
When on some gilded cloud
or flower
My gazing soul would
dwell an hour,
And in those weaker
glories spy
Some shadows of eternity;
Before I taught my tongue
to wound
My conscience with a
sinful sound,
Or had the black art to
dispense
A several sin to every
sense,
But felt through all this
fleshly dress
Bright shoots of
everlastingness....
This theme of lost
Paradise is also found in the start of "Corrup¡©tion", with
fallen humanity still close to the original experience of Eden:
...
Nor was heaven cold unto
him; for each day
The valley or the mountain
Afforded visits, and
still Paradise lay
In some green shade or fountain....
Only time has passed and
the glory has departed:
Almighty Love! where art
thou now? Mad man
Sits down and freezeth on....
Sin triumphs still, and
man is sunk below
The centre, and his shroud.
All's in deep sleep and
night: thick darkness lies
And hatcheth o'er thy people--
But hark! what trumpet's
that? what angel cries,
"Arise! thrust in thy
sickle"?
The dramatic voice that
echoes suddenly at the end of several of these poems, reversing the direction
of their movement, is taken from Herbert, but serves other purposes for
Vaughan. Here the voice indicates an apocalyptic dimension, a divine
intervention poised imminent over the darkness and absence that the poem has
been describing. Out of this emerges a sense that the poet's voice is a prophetic
voice heralding a new day, God's day bringing judgement and light to the dark,
fallen world. In this, Vaughan looks back to Spenser and anticipates certain
18th century "pre-Romantic" poets' notions of the prophetic poet.
Readers often acclaim
the opening lines of "The World" but then regret the obscurity of the
last lines; that would probably not worry Vaughan, who seems to care little for
his readers. His poems usually address God,
or the dead, or himself;
the reader is simply permitted to overhear the monologue and its final
response, if any comes. "The World" presents quite clearly
Vaughan's attitude of "retreat" from a society and a world whose
follies he deplored. This is the theme of contemptus mundi contempt of
the world that has been popular since Old Testament times, and there is little
in the poem that links it specifically to the particular situation of
Commonwealth England. It is a striking satire in biting tones, at times echoing
passages from St John's Gospel:
I saw eternity the other
night
Like a great ring of pure
and endless light,
All calm as it was
bright;
And round beneath it,
Time, in hours, days, years,
Driven by the spheres,
Like a vast shadow moved,
in which the world
And all her train were
hurled.
The doting lover in his
quaintest strain
Did there complain....
The darksome statesman
hung with weights and woe
Like a thick midnight fog
moved there so slow
He did not stay or go;
Condemning thoughts, like
sad eclipses, scowl
Upon his soul,
And clouds of crying
witnesses without
Pursued him with one
shout.....
The fearful miser on a
heap of rust
Sat pining all his life
there, did scarce trust
His own hands with the
dust;
Yet would not place one
piece above, but lives
In fear of thieves....
Yet some, who all this
while did weep and sing,
And sing and weep, soared
up into the ring;
But most would use no
wing.
"O fools!" said
I, "thus to prefer dark night
Before true light!
To live in grots and
caves, and hate the day
Because it shows the way,
The way which from this
dead and dark abode
Leads up to God,
A way where you might
tread the sun and be
More bright than
he!"
But, as I did their
madness so discuss,
One whispered thus:
"This ring the
bridegroom did for none provide,
But for his bride."
Vaughan's poetry
focusses on a transcendent world beyond the visible universe, often identified
with the world beyond death:
They are all gone into
the world of light!
And I alone sit ling'ring here;
Their very memory is
clear and bright,
And my sad thoughts doth clear.
In this evocation of the
solitary poet pondering in a world from which others have departed, Vaughan is
anticipating the attitude found in many of the Pre-Romantics, although their
main reference was Milton's Il Penseroso.
A poem like "The
Waterfall" passes quickly beyond its starting point in nature to
explore the ways in which life here is full of signs of a more essential
reality beyond it:
With what deep murmurs
through time's silent stealth
Doth thy transparent,
cool, and watery wealth
Here flowing fall,
And chide, and call,
As if his liquid, loose
retinue stayed
Ling'ring, and were of
this steep place afraid,
The common pass
Where, clear as glass,
All must descend,
Not to an end,
But quickened by this
steep and rocky grave,
Rise to a longer course
more bright and brave.
This is characteristic
of much Christian poetry, but it is also a feature that might be read as
characterizing the times in which Vaughan was writing. The Civil War and
Commonwealth were deeply troubled times when the present laid no claim to
permanence and when nothing seemed to suggest that better days were coming.
Where some poets evoked memories
of the courtly past to
inspire hope for the future, Vaughan turned to a more eschatalogical dimension.
Thomas Traherne (1637 - 1674)
There are similarities
between the writings of Vaughan and Traherne, their spiritual characters must
have been rather similar. The main difference lies in the fact that Vaughan
published his poems in his lifetime, and so could become known. Traherne's
writings may have been known to his close family and friends, neither his poems
nor his prose meditations called "Centuries" were published until the
early 20th century. He has therefore had no role in the development of the
poetic tradition. Readers of Traherne are mainly struck by his vibrant way of
evoking childhood experiences of nature, similar to Vaughan and Wordsworth.
This theme is expressed in his prose "Centuries" and in poems of
which these stanzas from "Wonder" are often quoted:
How like an angel came I
down!
How bright are all things
here!
When first among his
works I did appear,
O how their glory did me crown!
The world resembled his
eternity,
In which my soul did walk
And everything that I did see
Did with me talk.
The skies in their magnificence,
The lively, lovely air;
O how divine, how soft,
how sweet, how fair!
The stars did entertain my sense,
And all the works of God
so bright and pure,
So rich and great did
seem,
As if they ever must endure,
In my esteem.
In the Third Century
we find similar ideas expressed in prose:
Certainly
Adam in Paradise had not more sweet and curious
apprehensions of the
world than I when I was a child. (...) The corn was orient and immortal wheat,
which never should be reaped, nor was ever sown. I thought it stood from
everlasting to everlasting. The dust and stones of the street were as precious
as gold. The gates were at first the end of the world, the green trees when I
saw them first through one of the gates transported and ravished me; their
sweet¡©ness and unusual beauty made my heart to leap, and almost mad with
ecstasy, they were such strange and wonderful things. The men! O what venerable
and reverend creatures did the ages seem! Immortal Cherubims! And young men
glittering and sparkling angels and maids strange seraphic pieces of life and
beauty! Boy and girls tumbling in the street and playing were moving jewels. I
knew not that they were born or should die, but all abided eternally as they
were in their proper places. (...)
Like certain lines in
Vaughan, they serve to remind us of the importance of the themes of loss and
nostalgia in English poetry both before and since the Commonwealth. They also
suggest the way in which literature develops out of writers' memories of their
childhood capacity for wonder. Yet implicit in them is a sense of loss that may
be connected with longing for the days of the pre-Civil War era.
Secular Lyrics
The "Sons of
Ben" and the "Cavalier Poets"
The lyric poets writing
in the first sixty years of the 17th century resist modern attempts to group
them into neat groups. In that, they are already modern. The poets writing on
religious themes have been studied at length because the religious lyrics of
Donne, Herbert, Crashaw, and Vaughan have never been equalled. Their use of
complex metaphors in formal rhetorical figures allowed them to write poems that
were at the same time personal and general and that have been read with
particular sympathy in the twentieth century.
The secular lyrics of
the period are less intense and have largely ceased to be read for pleasure.
Histories of literature often refer to "the Sons of Ben" or
"the Tribe of Ben" (in imitation of the Old Testament Israel's
tribal names) because this was a group or coterie that identified itself as
such and included poets who wrote as conscious inheritors of the classical
norms established by Jonson.
As Jonson grew older,
the fact that he had no sons to call him "father" must have become
hard for him, and he formed an association of bright young men to keep merry
company with him. They used to meet to drink and talk in the Apollo Room (from
a bust of Apollo), an upstairs room of some size in the Devil Tavern. Among
those welcomed there, a small group of especially close friends came to call
themselves Jonson's "sons". These included the poets Richard Lovelace
and Robert Herrick. Other poets who were not part of the group considered
Jonson to have been the finest English poet and consciously followed him.
A name often given to
these same writers is "Cavalier poets". The name 'cavalier' was
used for the gentlemen and nobles fighting for the king. The Puritans hated
them, Milton referred to "the ragged infantry of stews and brothels, the
spawn and shipwreck of taverns and dicing houses". For the royalists, the
cavalier was the inheritor of the old courtly traditions of courtesy and
chivalry: brave, loyal, and handsome.
The poets usually
grouped as Cavalier Poets are Thomas Carew (1595 - 1640), Sir John Suckling
(1609 - 1642), and Richard Lovelace (1618 - 1657). Robert Herrick is often
included in the group because of his association with Lovelace as a Son of Ben,
but he was a priest in the Church of England, never a soldier. What unites
these poets is the classical elegance of style they learned to value from
Jonson and a certain lightness of touch. They do not form a "school"
and were not personally very close to one another.
The works of Carew and
Suckling were published in printed form after their deaths: Carew's in 1640,
Suckling's in 1646 and 1659. Carew was mostly writing in the 1620s and early
1630s, Suckling in the 1630s. Their poems were written before the final
destruction of the court in the Civil War; they were published as a gesture of
royalist resistance. Lovelace published much of his work in 1648, followed in
1649 by Herrick, in the same spirit.
The publication
of such poems during the Civil War and Commonwealth gave them a political
significance they did not originally have. The posthumous publication of the
works of Donne and Herbert in 1633 served as a model, looking back to Jonson's
"Works" of 1616. The publisher Humphrey Moseley deserves
special recognition, for he published between 1642 and 1651 volumes of works by
Quarles, Milton, Waller, Crashaw, Shirley, Suckling, Cowley, Carew, Cartwright,
Stanley, and Vaughan. He established a market for volumes of poetry by
individual poets, living as well as dead. Other publishers continued to produce
posthumous volumes, that of Marvell's works produced in 1681, three years after
his death, being perhaps among the most celebrated.
Robert Herrick (1591 - 1674)
Herrick's father was a
goldsmith, like other members of the family. His father fell from a window and
died soon after Robert was born; when he was sixteen he became an apprentice
under his wealthy uncle, also a goldsmith. In 1613, when he was already over
twenty, he entered St John's College, Cambridge. In 1623 he was ordained as a
priest in the Church of England. He seems to have written occasional poems from
an early age; back in London from Cambridge, he became part of the circle of
Jonson and in 1625 he was ranked equal with Jonson and Drayton by Richard James
in his Muses' Dirge. In 1627 he joined a military expedition to France
organized by the Duke of Buckingham to help the Protestants. It was a disaster
but as a reward for his services as chaplain he was given charge of the parish
of Dean Prior, a small village in Devon, very far from London.
It may be supposed that
most of his lyric poetry was written during his years in Devon. A number of
poems refer to the traditional rural festivals and games that the Puritans
considered "pagan" and tried to abolish. He must have been very bored
there, and surely longed to be back in London. In fact he seems once to have tried
to return, leaving the village for a while and going to live with a woman
nearly thirty years younger than himself. He never married, his poems suggest a
man inclined to enjoy looking at women rather than respond romantically to
them.
In 1647 the Church of
England was reformed by Parliament, the old system of priests and bishops was
abolished, and Herrick lost his position. He returned to London, perhaps hoping
to find again the
charmed literary circle
of his early years, and in 1648 arranged for his poems to be published as Hesperides,
together with a section of religious poems under the title His Noble Numbers.
He must surely have been disappointed. He stayed in London, helped by friends
and family, during the Interregnum. In 1660 the old system of Church government
was restored and Herrick returned to Dean Prior for the rest of his life. There
is no sign that he continued to write poetry.
Herrick's art is that of
a craftsman, it might be compared to the goldsmith's craft in its care for the
smallest details of word order and rhythm. Swinburne called him "the
greatest song-writer ever born of English race". The huge collection of
poems in Hesperides seems to have no thematic unity or overall
structure. The poems are mostly epigrammatic exercises in wit. The most
striking thing about Herrick's single volume is the sheer size of it. The Hesperides
comprise 1,130 poems, and the Noble Numbers offer an additional 272
religious poems.
Certainly, Herrick
published his work in a spirit of resistance; the poems addressed to or
celebrating members of the royal family have titles printed in large block
capitals. The poems on topics he mentions in the opening "Argument of His
Book", 'Maypoles, Hock carts, wassails, wakes' are in opposition to the
Puritan campaigns designed to abolish all the traditional rural festivities
considered to be 'pagan'.
There is an immense
charm in poems like "Corinna's Going A-Maying" with its urgent tone:
Each flower has wept and
bowed toward the east
Above an hour since, yet
you not dressed;
Nay, not so much as out
of bed?
When all the birds have
matins said,
And sung their thankful
hymns, 'tis sin
Nay, profanation to keep
in...
If Corinna is still in
bed, it may be because she does not wish to go out with the poem's speaker. The
early morning of May 1 was notorious for kissing and the rather loose morality
observed by the young men and girls out in the fields but this poem's last
stanza excuses all that as "harmless folly" and develops instead a
rather old-fashioned "carpe diem" theme:
Our life is short, and
our days run
As fast away as does the
sun;
And, as a vapor or a drop of rain
Once lost, can ne'er be found again,
So when or you or I are
made
A fable, song, or
fleeting shade,
All love, all liking, all
delight
Lies drowned with us in
endless night.
Then while time serves, and we are but
decaying,
Come, my Corinna, come, let's go
a-Maying.
Herrick's liking for the
theme of time, which looks back to the Elizabethan lyricists' concern with
transience and mutability, is best seen in one of his most perfect lyrics,
"To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time":
Gather ye rosebuds while
ye may,
Old time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that
smiles today,
Tomorrow will be dying.
The following two
stanzas develop the theme in images of the sun running toward its setting and
of age being a process of decline, ending:
Then be not coy, but use
your time,
And while ye may, go marry;
For having lost but once
your prime,
You may for ever tarry.
The message "go
marry" is unconventional, that of a wise pastor rather than a libertine
rake. The insistence on marriage suggests that Herrick enjoyed playing jokes in
his verse.
Many modern critics,
followers of New Criticism's concern with perfect form and thematic unity, have
admired some of the poems evoking the visual effects of women's clothes in a
rather fetishistic manner. Yet some of these poems are little more than jokes,
amusing by unexpected turns of phrase or combinations of words, as in
"Delight in Disorder":
A sweet disorder in the
dress
Kindles in clothes a
wantonness.
A lawn about the
shoulders thrown
Into a fine distraction;
An erring lace, which here
and there
Enthralls the crimson
stomacher...
There are poems that
suggest romantic involvement but they too seem like games and the last poem of
the Hesperides, an epigram, sums up his own image of himself: "Jocund his
muse was, but his life was chaste". The vast number and varied themes of
the collection make any overview impossible. Herrick's work reflects his need
to fill the empty hours and although he can be greatly admired, he had little
or no influence on other writers. His Noble Numbers include poems that
are prayers supposedly spoken by children. Perhaps he wrote them for the
children of his parish. They are interesting as some of the earliest examples
of the "literature for children" that developed in the later 17th and
18th century, and that Blake took as his model in the "Songs of
Innocence".
Thomas Carew (1595 - 1640)
It is not strictly
correct to call Carew (pronounced Carey) a "cavalier poet"
because that name only starts to have real meaning around 1640, when he was
already dead. He was a poet who lived and wrote at court in the 1620s and 30s.
He was a courtier at a time when, under Charles I, the court was almost
completely isolated from the mainstream of English life. He seems to have
cultivated a style as an idle libertine that was to become popular at the
Restoration court of Charles II but as a poet he shows a sharp mind and a good
sense of what now is called "literary criticism". He also wrote poems
that indirectly support Charles's policy of remaining aloof from the Thirty
Years' War that was ravaging Germany.
Among the poems most
often quoted, his "A Rapture" seems to owe a lot to the Ovidian
tradition of erotic fantasies represented by Donne's "Elegy 19: Going to
Bed". It is addressed to a lady named Celia and may contain an echo of the
erotic fantasies expressed by Volpone in Jonson's play when he is trying to
seduce Corvino's virtuous wife, Celia. There are also echoes of Marlowe's
shepherd. The entire poem uses complex imagery of various kinds to represent
fantasized erotic sexual
activity:
Now in more subtle
wreaths I will entwine
My sinewy thighs, my legs
and arms with thine;
Thou like a sea of milk
shalt lie displayed,
Whilst I the smooth, calm
Ocean invade
With such a tempest as when
Jove of old
Fell down on Danae in a
storm of gold... (lines 79 - 84)
The court of Charles I
was rather strict, and this poem is a kind of game, confirming the rules by
seeming to break them. The sexual union once complete, the man explains that
this is happening in a fictional literary space utterly without reference to
any system of values or morality. He then proceeds to invert the most famous
stories of sexual chastity in an exercise of Wit obviously inspired by Marlowe's
"Hero and Leander": Lucrece "hurls her limbs into a thousand
winding curls"; Penelope prefers "th'amorous sport of gamesome
nights... Before dull dreams of the lost traveler"; Daphne and Laura
likewise, and "ten thousand beauties more... Pay into love's exchequer
double rent".
Yet the last section
re-establishes virtue by a new strategy, pointing out that courtiers are
expected to fight deadly duels for the Honour of themselves and their ladies:
And yet Religion bids
from bloodshed fly,
And damns me for that
act. Then tell me why
This goblin Honour which
the world adores
Should make men atheists
and not women whores?
Employing the kind of
casuistry Donne employed sometimes, Carew recalls the demands of Religion and
Virtue at the end of a poem seeming to deny them.
Following Jonson as
master of classical harmony, Carew could also write elegant lyrics to be set to
music, like his most famous "Song" with its carpe diem theme:
If the quick spirits in
your eye
Now languish, and anon
must die;
If every sweet and every
grace
Must fly from that
forsaken face,
Then, Celia, let us reap our joys
E'er Time such goodly fruit destroys.
Or if that golden fleece
must grow
For ever, free from aged
snow,
If those bright suns must
know no shade,
Nor your fresh beauties
ever fade,
Then fear not, Celia, to
bestow
What still being
gathered, still must grow.
Thus either Time his sickle brings
In vain, or else in vain
his wings.
Given the commonly made
distinction between "classical" and "metaphysical", it is
important to note that Carew, with his classical polish, wrote one of the most
important contemporary appreciations of Donne's poetry in his "Elegy upon
the Death of the Dean of Paul's, Dr. John Donne" that was included in the
first (1633) edition of Donne's poems.
Carew's main tribute is
to Donne's "fresh invention" or original¡©ity, which he sees as
something remarkable in a time when poetry is expected to be the imitation of
Greek and Roman models. Instead, Donne has "opened us a mine / Of rich and
pregnant fancy, drawn a line / Of masculine expression". Donne's
achievement is the greater because he was using English and not the Latin or
Greek of the ancients:
Since to the awe of thy
imperious wit
Our stubborn language
bends, made only fit
With her tough
thick-ribbed hoops to gird about
Thy giant fancy...
It is perhaps
significant that he does not seem to expect that any poets similar to Donne
will follow him, although the way in which he says it seems to be an echo of
some of Donne's patterns:
O pardon me, that break
with untuned verse
The reverend silence that
attends thy hearse,
Whose awful solemn
murmurs were to thee,
More than these faint
lines, a loud elegy,
That did proclaim in a
dumb eloquence
The death of all the
arts, whose influence,
Grown feeble, in these
panting numbers lies
Gasping short-winded
accents, and so dies...
Sir John Suckling (1609 - 1642)
Nearly fifteen years
younger than Carew, Suckling was a very different kind of personality, the
product of a new age perhaps. Both were gentlemen of the royal privy chamber,
both were mobilized in the wars against Scotland in the late 1630s, both wrote
poetry. That is not to say that Suckling and Carew were "friends" as
has often been claimed. Suckling several times mentions Carew in his poems,
usually in a mocking or even hostile way, and his poetry looks rather like a
radical denial of the values of virtue and harmony that Carew promoted. Their
attitudes to women and love are notably different; in "The Wits"
Suckling claims to prize "black eyes, or a lucky hit / At bowls, above all
the Trophies of wit" and the poem "Loving and Beloved" begins
with "There never yet was honest man / That ever drove the trade of
love". He is not opposed to women but will not look for any deep
relationship and not expect much from them. His voice is sometimes close to
that of the cynical libertine.
The style he favours is
informal and colloquial:
Out upon it! I have loved
Three whole days together;
And am like to love three
more,
If it prove fair weather.
Time shall molt away his
wings,
Ere he shall discover
In the whole wide world
again
Such a constant lover.
But the spite on't is, no
praise
Is due at all to me:
Love with me had made no
stays
Had it any been but she.
Had it any been but she,
And that very face,
There had been at least
ere this
A dozen dozen in her place.
At the start of the
Civil War, Suckling was the leader of the royalists, with a personality
well-suited to the archetypal cavalier. He anticipated Charles's attempt to
break the power of Parliament with a plot of his own. When it failed, he went
into exile in France and is said to have committed suicide there. His works
were published by the bookseller Moseley in 1646 and were seen as a vibrant
celebration of a courtly culture that had now been destroyed. Suckling was the
most popular of the cavalier poets throughout the 17th century but modern
readers find little of interest in him.
Richard Lovelace (1618 - 1657)
Lovelace was younger
again. Very wealthy, as Suckling was, he first impressed the king by his charm
and good looks while still a student at Oxford in 1636. He joined the military
expeditions against Scotland before 1640 but during the Civil War he was either
in prison--having challenged the authority of Parliament in 1642--or serving as
a soldier of fortune abroad. He was again imprisoned by the Commons in 1648, at
a time when they wanted to control the loyal royalists. In prison he prepared
his poems for publication, they appeared in 1649 as Lucasta. For the
rest of his life he seems to have been terribly poor. Soon after he died his
brother published his remaining works as Lucasta: Posthume Poems but he
was soon completely forgotten.
Lovelace never knew the
court before the outbreak of fighting, his poetry has the mark of the
warrior-poet and his most famed poem skillfully re-situates the theme of love: To
Lucasta, Going to the Wars
Tell me not, sweet, I am
unkind
That from the nunnery
Of thy chaste breast and
quiet mind,
To war and arms I fly.
True, a new mistress now
I chase,
The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith
embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.
Yet this inconstancy is
such
As you too shall adore;
I could not love thee,
dear, so much,
Loved I not Honour more.
The poem's last two
lines have been frequently quoted, often with some amusement by critics who
fail to see the level of total devotion that must have been required from the
cavaliers in their defeat. Devotion to the king's cause was as emotional an
affair as devotion to any mistress, and in the loyalist's eyes it took
precedence. At the same time, the images of warfare--swords and shields--are
romantic and archaic; the Civil War was won with guns and pikes.
Lovelace's
uncompromising refusal to submit to the new situation is stated in "To
Althea, from Prison" where he plays with the paradox of freedom in captivity;
even in prison he can celebrate the king he serves:
When I shall voice aloud
how good
He is, how great should be,
Enlarged winds, that curl
the flood,
Know no such liberty.
Stone walls do not a
prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet
take
That for an hermitage.
If I have freedom in my
love,
And in my soul am free,
Angels alone, that soar
above,
Enjoy such liberty.
Very many people know
the phrase "Stone walls do not a prison make" who have never heard of
Lovelace. He had a talent for writing clear, memorable phrases.
In a number of his
poems, Lovelace goes back to an earlier emblematic tradition and writes about
insects; one of his most often read poems is "The Grasshopper: To My Noble
Friend, Mr. Charles Cotton" where the first five stanzas celebrate the
grasshopper of Aesop's fable that spends the summer singing and finds himself
empty-handed when winter comes. The second five stanzas use tones borrowed from
Jonson to celebrate his friendship with Cotton, winter now becoming an image
of the state of England
without the king and court:
Thou best of men and
friends! we will create
A genuine summer in each other's
breast;
And spite of this cold
time and frozen fate
Thaw us a warm seat to our rest.
In later poems,
published posthumously, we find Lovelace evoking other animals in less happy
tones, such as a fly being slowly sucked dry in a spider's web. The
Commonwealth offered little hope to the faithful royalist.
Love in the earlier
collection is sometimes a libertine activity, with little sense of reality or
of mutual relationship. In the posthumous collection we find far more cynical
poems, such as "Love made in the First Age. To Chloris" where
solitary sexual fantasies offer more satisfaction than actual female company.
It develops a picture of a kind of golden age where male sexual activity was
absolutely free and ungoverned; unlike Carew's "Rapture" there is no
qualifying ironic return to morality. It ends:
Now, Chloris, miserably
crave
The offered bliss you
would not have,
Which evermore I must deny,
Whilst ravished with
these noble dreams
And crowned with mine own
soft beams,
Enjoying of myself I lie.
It is true that the
Adultery Act of 1650 made adultery punishable by death and rewarded simple
fornication with several months in prison. This poem's open advocacy of
solitary masturbation as an alternative to the torments of unrequited love
prepares the way for the cynicism about sexual pleasures found in Restoration
poets such as Rochester.
Poets of the Mid-century
Edmund Waller (1606 - 1687)
Waller is today largely
ignored. Yet he was an immensely popular
poet in the 17th
century. His was a rich family but instead of joining the court he became a
member of Parliament and for a time was part of the opposition to the king.
When the open revolt of the Long Parliament came, though, he joined the
royalist camp. In 1643 he was the leader of a plot to capture London for the
king. It was discovered, he was fined, imprisoned, then banished. Moseley
published his Poems in 1645. He remained abroad until 1651, when he made
his peace with Cromwell. At the Restoration he was recognized as having been a
loyal royalist and continued as a senior member of Parliament into his old age.
In 1685 he published a volume of Divine Poems.
Waller began to write
poetry in his youth. He obviously admired the classical style of Jonson
although it is equally clear that he lacked Jonson's strong sense of moral
outrage; Waller was never a satirist and many of his poems are simple
panegyrics of people in power, including a long poem celebrating Oliver
Cromwell. The smoothness of his style and his public voice leave little room
for the complexities that provoke critical interest today. He is mainly noticed
because Dryden was convinced that Waller, together with Denham, had played a
special role in the development of the Augustan Age's classical style, calling
him "the father of our English numbers" and insisting that "he
first made writing easily an art".
Certainly the poem
"Of the Danger of His Majesty (Being Prince) Escaped on the Road at
Santander" is of historical interest, and quite remarkable if really it
was written as early as 1625. Here for almost the first time we find the
regular flow of heroic couplets that was the be the main characteristic
of so much Augustan poetry. The starting point for this style would seem to
have been Jonson's "To Penshurst" but Waller's tone is more heroic as
he relates how the barge carrying prince Charles back to his ship was caught in
a sudden squall:
The impatient sea grows
impotent and raves
That (night assisting)
his impetuous waves
Should find resistance
from so light a thing:
These surges ruin, those
our safety bring.
Th'oppressed vessel doth
the charge abide
Only because assailed on
every side.
So men with rage and
passion set on fire
Trembling for haste
impeach their own desires.
The pale Iberians had expired with
fear,
But that their wonder did
divert their care,
To see the prince with
danger moved no more
Than with the pleasures
of their court before.
Godlike his courage
seemed, whom nor delight
Could soften, nor the
face of death affright.
(lines
69 - 82)
One poem by Waller,
"Song", has been particularly admired and quoted. It is a series of
perfectly conventional images of transience expressed by roses, but done with
great metrical skill:
Go, lovely rose!
Tell her that wastes her
time and me
That now she knows
When I resemble her to
thee,
How sweet and fair she
seems to be.
Tell her that's young,
And shuns to have her
graces spied,
That hadst thou sprung
In deserts where no men
abide,
Thou must have
uncommended died.
Small is the worth
Of beauty from the light
retired;
Bid her come forth,
Suffer herself to be
desired,
And not blush so to be
admired.
Then die! that she
The common fate of all
things rare
May read in thee;
How small a part of time
they share
That are so wondrous
sweet and fair!
The poem comes to the
brink of the carpe diem theme but never expresses it. Instead it stands
as a moral poem invoking the memento mori theme. The second stanza must
have suggested Pope's lines in "The Rape of the Lock" where Belinda
wishes she had stayed in some isolated spot:
There kept my charms
concealed from mortal eye,
Like roses that in
deserts bloom and die.
(iv.
158)
Both poems were sources
for Gray's famous lines in the "Elegy Written in a Country
Church-yard" that draw on similar images in poems by several poets:
Full many a flower is
born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness
on the desert air.
(lines
55-6)
In Waller's poem we see
a beginning of the Augustan interest in finding moral significance in the
processes of nature and a turning away from the love lyric as such. Yet Waller
also wrote a quantity of direct love lyrics in an older style, many addressed
to "Sacharissa" who is assumed to be a lady he wooed in vain to be
his second wife during the 1640s in France. His first wife died after only
three years of marriage.
He had a certain sense
of the rapid change that was happening in English poetry; in the poem "Of
English Verse" he mocks the Elizabethan poets' idea of immortality in
verse:
But who can hope his
lines should long
Last in a daily changing
tongue?
(...)
Poets that lasting marble
seek
Must carve in Latin or in
Greek;
We write in sand, our
language grows,
And like the tide our
work o'erflows.
Chaucer his sense can
only boast,
The glory of his numbers
lost!
Years have defaced his
matchless strain;
And yet he did not sing
in vain.
The rest of the poem
takes the reader in an unexpected direction, for the speaker suggests that all
poetry is written to please women and need only remain effective for as long as
those women are still beautiful.
As a political poem, the
"Panegyric to My Lord Protector" is of interest in view of its
parallel in Marvell's "Horatian Ode" and because of what we know of
Waller's sympathies. He has sometimes been criticized as a sycophant but that
is too harsh. At the time nobody could know that the Restoration would come so
quickly. He praises Cromwell (reported to be his cousin) for the naval
victories against foreign forces and his "successful" victories over
Ireland and Scotland. Yet there is a sting in Waller's praise of Cromwell as
military leader when he compares his rise to that of Augustus after the
assassination of Julius Caesar:
As the vexed world, to
find repose, at last
Itself into Augustus'
arms did cast,
So England now does, with
like toil oppressed,
Her weary head upon your
bosom rest.
Augustus was the
archetypical military dictator and Waller nowhere suggests that Cromwell has
any right to be celebrated as more than a successful general.
After the Restoration,
we find Waller praising the naval authorities for a 1665 victory over the Dutch
in his "Instructions to a Painter". This poem is of no interest in
itself, only Andrew Marvell (equally a member of Parliament) produced a satiric
answer in his "The Second Advice to a Painter" in which he shows how
corrupt the naval leaders were and how unreal the victory was. He followed that
by an even wittier "The Third Advice to a Painter". Comparison with
these works shows how far Waller was from being capable of producing the fierce
exercises of wit that public poetry in the Restoration demanded. Marvell's
poems were necessarily published anonymously.
Waller is famed for one
other poem, "Of the Last Verses in the Book", the last in the volume
of religious poems published just before his death, with its affirmation of the
value of old age and its calm acceptance of approaching death:
The seas are quiet when the winds give
o'er:
So, calm are we when
passions are no more,
For then we know how vain
it was to boast
Of fleeting things, so certain
to be lost.
Clouds of affection from
our younger eyes
Conceal that emptiness
that age descries.
The soul's dark cottage, battered and
decayed,
Lets in new light through
chinks that time has made:
Stronger by weakness
wiser men become
As they draw near to
their eternal home.
Leaving the old, both
worlds at once they view
That stand upon the
threshold of the new. (lines
7 - 18)
Sir John Denham (1615 - 1669)
The generally peaceful
mood of Denham's "Cooper's Hill" (first published 1642) does not
resemble the poet's life story. He was a compulsive gambler and notorious rake
in his youth. He supported the royalist cause but was obliged to surrender the
castle he commanded in 1642. In 1648 he left England and returned at the
Restoration. He was sometimes insane in his last years. His poems include
satires and classical imitations. He also wrote a tragedy "The Sophy"
that was performed in 1641.
He is remembered because
Dryden quoted some lines from "Cooper's Hill", addressed to the River
Thames, as a model of writing. Many minor Augustan poets tried to imitate them:
Oh could I flow like
thee, and make thy stream
My great example, as it
is my theme!
Though deep, yet clear,
though gentle, yet not dull,
Strong without rage,
without o'erflowing full.
(lines
189 - 192)
This topographical poem
of 358 lines derives from various earlier models that are mostly georgic in
nature, for example the landscape poetry of Drayton's Poly-Olbion. It
surveys the landscape visible from a hill near Denham's family estate, a view
that includes the city of London, the royal castle at Windsor, the ruins of
Chertsey Abbey, the Thames, and the water meadows along its banks.
Denham combines
descriptive evocations of the view with various kinds of reflection inspired by
what he sees. Many of Denham's meditations are political or historical in
nature. He is particularly violent in his criticism of Henry VIII whose
destruction of the monasteries he considers an act of pure greed. Beyond that,
he fears a reformatory zeal that destroys instead of renewing. The sight of the
meadows and woods along the Thames makes him recall royal hunts there and from
line 247 the poem becomes the description of the king hunting a stag. The stag
tries to hide among the herd of deer but they scatter from him: "Like a
declining statesman, left forlorn / To his friends' pity and pursuers'
scorn". The stag is given feelings of courage and fear, hesitates whether
to stand or flee. Finding itself surrounded by the hounds, the stag welcomes an
arrow shot by the king as a noble death.
Suddenly Denham turns
the hunt into a memory of the struggle for liberty leading to Magna Carta
(1215) that King John sealed in these very meadows, the guarantee that the king
would not rule in an arbitrary way as tyrant or treat his subjects like slaves.
He returns to the theme of greed. Kings' unjust demands force their subjects to
take up arms and resist, demanding even more in their turn. The message is ambiguous
and the last lines of the poem have provoked much debate about what political
message Denham means to give:
When a calm river raised
with sudden rains,
Or snows dissolved,
o'erflows the adjoining plains,
The husbandmen with
high-raised banks secure
Their greedy hopes and
this he can endure:
But if with bays and dams
they strive to force
His channel to a new or
narrow course,
No longer then within his
banks he dwells,
First to a torrent, then
a deluge swells:
Stronger and fiercer by
restraint he roars,
And knows no bound but
makes his power his shores.
(lines
349 - end)
The poem seems to have
spent quite a lot of time warning the king against greed and abuses of power.
It is hard to be sure as to what level of allegory is present in these last
lines, and a lot also depends on the moment they are thought of as being
spoken. Since Denham revised the poem and re-published it several times, the
last in 1668, he clearly did not limit its meaning to the Civil War period in
which it was first composed.
Abraham Cowley (1618 - 1667)
Old Mother Wit and Nature
gave
Shakespeare and Fletcher
all they have;
In Spenser and in Jonson
Art
Of slower Nature got the
start:
But both in him so equal
are
None knows which bears
the happiest share.
To him no author was
unknown
Yet what he wrote was all
his own.
(lines
23 - 30)
These lines from
Denham's poem written at the death of Cowley show the standard critical
terminology of the time. His reputation did not much outlast him and he is one
of the least read poets. His name is remembered because he translated Pindar
from the Greek and composed Pindaric Odes of his own. Cowley's career
follows a line similar to that of many other poets except that he was of humble
social origins, his father was a stationer who died before his son's birth.
Thanks to scholarships he could study at Westminster School, then at Trinity
College, Cambridge. He joined the court at Oxford at the start of the Civil War
and followed the queen to Paris in 1644. He came back in 1654, perhaps as a
spy, but seems to have compromised with the Commonwealth authorities. He got no
great gains at the Restoration and died before he was fifty.
He was a precocious
child, composing a verse romance "Pyramus and Thisbe" when he was ten
and his first volume of poems was published when he was only fifteen. The need
to make his way in life by writing may explain his work. His love poems,
"The Mistress", were first published by Moseley in 1647. He wrote a political
epic "The Civil War" but it was not published in his lifetime. He
clearly had high literary ambitions and also wrote a biblical epic on the life
of David, the "Davideis" that was published in Poems,
published by Moseley in 1656. There we also find the first of his Pindaric
Odes. Cowley's collected poems were published in 1668, just after his death,
and again in the early 18th century.
Cowley's name is now
mainly remembered by students because Samuel Johnson, in his Lives of the
Poets, devoted a large part of his Life of Cowley to an analysis of
"Metaphysical Wit" which he found best exemplified in Cowley's
"The Mistress". The word "metaphysics"
was first used by Dryden
to criticize Donne: "he affects the metaphys¡©ics... and perplexes the
minds of the fair sex with nice speculations of philosophy, when he should
engage their hearts, and entertain them with the softnesses of love" (Discourse
Concerning the Original and Progress of Satire, 1693). Alexander Pope is
reported to have said that Cowley borrowed his "metaphysical" style
from Donne.
Dr. Johnson's main
criticism is that such writers as Donne and Cowley have little poetry and too
much wit. This provokes him to try to define their wit and the result is
famous:
a kind of discordia
concors; a combination of dissimilar images, or discovery of occult
resemblances in things apparently unlike. Of wit, thus defined, they have more
than enough. The most heterogeneous ideas are yoked by violence together;
nature and art are ransacked for illustra¡©tions, comparisons, and allusions;
their learning instructs, and their subtlety surprises; but the reader commonly
thinks his improvement dearly bought, and, though he sometimes admires, is
seldom pleased.
Interestingly, Cowley
wrote an ode on the same topic, "To Wit", where he spends much time
stating what wit is not before arriving at his main idea:
In a true piece of Wit
all things must be,
Yet all things there agree,
As in the ark, joined
without force or strife,
All creatures dwelt: all
creatures that had life;
Or as the primitive forms of all
(If we compare great things with small)
Which without discord or
confusion lie
In that strange mirror of
the Deity.
The poem ends with a
conceit a little similar to that used later by Pope at the end of his Epistle
to a Lady, when Cowley addresses the implied addressee (none is named, it
may be the reader):
And if any ask me then
What thing right Wit and
height of genius is,
I'll only show your
lines, and say, 'Tis this.
Cowley will probably
never return to favour; his poems are at the same time impersonal and too
individual. His love lyrics, however, deserve more attention than they have
received, if only for the way in which they exist almost completely detached
from the poetic tradition out of which they grew. The love that they celebrate
seems not to exist in any kind of reality; as a result, the conceits take on a
literal sense they did not have in earlier court poetry, which knew better what
game it was playing.
The resulting
strangeness is disturbing and many readers reacted against it, already in the
17th century. The religious imagery provoked particular indignation:
Compared with her all
things so worthless prove
That naught on earth can towards her
move
Till't be exalted by her
love.
Equal to her, alas, there's
none:
She like a deity is grown,
That must create or else
must be alone.
("The
Discovery" 3rd stanza)
There was a long
tradition of using words like "grace" and "mercy" in love
poetry but in the Puritan age it is particularly perverse to use such terms.
The reader is unable to see at what level the poems should be read. There have
also been many complaints about the difficulty of the Pindaric Odes and it may
be that the poet's friendship with the philosopher Thomas Hobbes during their
shared exile in Paris is the key to his struggles to express in revolutionary
ways thoughts about such themes as Truth and Fate.
One stanza from "My
Diet" has clear links with Marvell's "To His Coy Mistress" which
is odd in a rather similar way. It is very hard to believe any man would ever
want to address these words to a real woman, and we are left wondering what
Cowley and Marvell intended to do:
On a sigh of Pity I a
year can live:
One Tear will keep me twenty at least,
Fifty a gentle Look will give,
A hundred years on one
kind word I'll feast;
A thousand more will added be
If you an Inclination
have for me--
And all beyond is vast
Eternity.
("My
Diet" last stanza)
Andrew Marvell (1621 - 1678)
Marvell's life fails to
follow any of the patterns so far seen. His father was a Yorkshire clergyman
and Marvell grew up in Hull. He took no part in the Civil War, spending four
years from 1643 until 1647 travelling in Europe. Returning to London, he seems
to have frequented Royalist literary circles; he composed a poem in praise of
Lovelace included in the first edition of Lucasta in 1649. Marvell was
not an unconditional royalist or republican and his "Horatian Ode upon
Cromwell's Return from Ireland" is a delicately nuanced text of great
power. From 1650 - 1652 he was tutor to Mary Fairfax, the young daughter of the
Parliamentarian General Fairfax who had withdrawn to his estate at Nun Appleton
in Yorkshire. While there, he seems to have written many of his lyrics. In
1653, he moved to Eton, on the Thames opposite Windsor Castle, as tutor to
William Dutton who was Crom¡©well's ward and wrote a number of poems celebrating
Cromwell.
In 1657 he became Latin
Secretary to the Council of State, the post John Milton occupied until
he became blind; Milton seems to have become his friend although their
characters and opinions were very different. In the elections of 1659 Marvell
became Member of Parlia¡©ment for Hull, a position he continued to hold until
his death.
At the Restoration
Marvell spoke out in favour of Milton and obtained his release from prison. He
was involved in embassies and wrote satires in prose and verse, some published
anonymously, that enjoyed a high reputation. He may have been part of some kind
of secret intelligence network. He never married and died of the medical
treatment he was receiving for a fever.
His housekeeper Mary
Palmer claimed to have been his wife, hoping to inherit his money. In order to
support her claim, she arranged to have the various poems she found in his
rooms published as a folio volume in 1681, a few years after his death.
Marvell's Miscellaneous Poems contain the lyrics that are now famous but
which Marvell seems
almost never to have
shown to anyone. They made little impression at the time of publication; only a
few people read and appreciated them. A nephew of Marvell, William Popple, who
had been close to him, prepared a corrected version of the folio by writing
into his copy the poems that were missing, including those in praise of
Cromwell and the satires. An edition based on this volume, but also including
many other poems not by Marvell, was published in 1776. In the 19th century his
lyric poems were better known in North America than in England. In the 1920s,
T.S. Eliot's interest in him as one of the Metaphysicals brought him to public
attention. Eliot later lost his initial sympathy for Marvell but his lyrics
have continued to fascinate many readers.
A large degree of
Marvell's appeal is the elusive quality of his best poems. Like Cowley, he uses
conventions in a way and at a time when the reference of their "codes"
is no longer apparent. There must surely be a private "subtext" to
many of the poems, that we cannot now reconstruct with certainty. The poems
often seem to suggest a degree of self-mockery and they challenge by their
riddles.
Marvell's best-known poem
today is the strange carpe-diem poem "To His Coy Mistress"
which seems to have been suggested by Cowley's "My Diet". The image
that states the theme of the middle section identifies Time with Death:
"But at my back I always hear / Time's winged chariot hurrying near"
(lines 21-2) and these lines underlie lines in the third section of T.S.
Eliot's The Waste Land (1922): "But at my back in a cold blast I hear /
The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear" (lines 186-7)
as well as "But at my back from time to time I hear / The sound of horns
and motors..." (lines 196-7).
The syllogistic
structure of the poem begins by evoking lengthy aspirations to love in a world
without decay and death. The second section introduces in increasingly powerful
images the reality of mortality, culminating in an epigram: "The grave's a
fine and private place, / But none, I think, do there embrace." (lines
31-2). The conclu¡©sion, in response to this, is centred in the word
"now" repeated three times and intensifies the emotional power of the
carpe diem argument by using images highly unsuited to romantic
courtship:
Let us roll all our
strength and all
Our sweetness up into one
ball,
And tear our pleasures
with rough strife
Thorough the iron grates
of life.
There has been much
discussion of the level at which this ought to be read. Some critics refer back
to Donne's use of unlikely images in intense love poems but others feel that
the comparison of the couple to "amorous birds of prey" (line 38)
takes the poem outside the limits of all decorum. It may be that the poet was
expressing his longing for an active life; it is equally possible that Marvell
was following Cowley in playing with codes that had lost all their conventional
references.
One of the most striking
poetic moments in the poem comes in the lines "Thy beauty shall no more be
found, / Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound / My echoing song" (lines
25 - 7) which is remarkable for evoking the unimaginable sound of the poem in
which these lines occur not echoing in a vault where, in addition, there
will be no living ears to hear.
Marvell cultivated the
terse, pointed style, he favoured tetrame¡©ter (four-foot) rather than
pentameter. Although certain lines suggest a link with Cowley, there is no real
similarity between them, as the response of readers shows. There is no great
difficulty in Marvell's images, his poems paint charming pictures, only the
reader is left perplexed as to what can possibly have prompted such poems.
"The Nymph Complaining for The Death of Her Fawn" has a female
speaker lamenting the death of a tame deer shot by "wanton troopers riding
by". The deer was the gift of a "Silvio" who later proved false
to her. The tone is pastoral but oddly intense in the ending, when the speaker
plans to follow the fawn into death after placing her statue over its grave.
She tells the sculptor not to bother to carve tears:
For I so truly thee
bemoan
That I shall weep, though
I be stone:
Until my tears, still
dropping, wear
My breast, themselves
engraving there.
(Lines
115-8)
It is this kind of
fanciful moment that gives the greatest pleasure to Marvell's modern readers;
the conceit of a statue weeping tears that will carve the image of themselves
in the stone is neat yet perplexing.
A number of Marvell's
poems deal with the conflict between Art and Nature, at times embodied in the
difference between the sophistica¡©tion found in gardens and the simple flowers
of the natural countryside, as in "The Mower Against Gardens".
Some poems embody the preference for simple nature in the pastoral figure of
Damon the Mower; in the poem that bears his name he is heard singing a love
complaint; near the end his scythe slices into his ankle and he falls, "By
his own scythe the mower mown" (line 80). Sidney's Arcadia remained
popular into the Restoration, but it is hard to see why Marvell felt called to
write such a poem in the pastoral mode.
The theme of Nature
culminates in the complexities of "The Garden" where the speaking
persona praises otium in terms and tones that challenge too easy
an interpretation. The speaker is apparently madly in love with nature, and
rejects all human society: "Society is all but rude, / To this delicious
solitude" (lines 15-6). Hyperbole increases as the speaker claims to
prefer trees to girls, playing with the conven¡©tional theme of cutting the
loved one's name in the bark of a tree: "Fair trees, where¡©soe'er your
barks I wound, / No name shall but your own be found" (lines 23-4).
Following Marlowe and other wits, Marvell amusingly reverses traditional myths:
"Apollo hunted Daphne so, / Only that she might laurel grow" (lines
28-9).
The garden's plants
begin to take on a life of their own in a series of disquietingly sensual
images:
The luscious clusters of
the vine
Upon my mouth do crush
their wine;
The nectarine and curious
peach
Into my hands themselves
do reach;
(lines
35-8)
There seems to be a
sexual dimension to this stanza, culminating in its last line: "insnared
with flowers, I fall on grass." The complexity continues as the fifth
stanza moves from body to mind:
Meanwhile the mind, from
pleasure less,
Withdraws into its
happiness;
The mind, that ocean
where each kind
Does straight its own
resemblance find;
Yet it creates, transcending
these,
Far other worlds and
other seas,
Annihilating all that's
made
To a green thought in a
green shade.
This poem is marked by a
series of withdrawals, from society to solitude, from body to mind, and from
the perception of external reality to the creative imagination. This process
continues in a final Platonic if not mystical step:
Casting the body's vest
aside,
My soul into the boughs
does glide:
There like a bird it sits
and sings,
Then whets and combs its
silver wings,
And, till prepared for
longer flight,
Waves in its plumes the
various light.
(lines
51-6)
The speaker evokes
Adam's Paradise before the Fall, but in a novel and ironic way, for this is
Paradise not only before the Fall but before the creation of Eve, with an
implied criticism of God's second thoughts:
But 'twas beyond a
mortal's share
To wander solitary there:
Two paradises 'twere in
one
To live in paradise
alone.
The final stanza returns
to a more general admiration of the garden but with a further trace of irony in
the pun of "time" with "thyme":
And as it works,
th'industrious bee
Computes its time as well
as we!
How could such sweet and
wholesome hours
Be reckoned but with
herbs and flowers?
There is a nostalgia for
a lost paradise in such a poem, mingled with an awareness of the impossibility
of its own dreams. An exquisite echo of this is found in the poem "On a
Drop of Dew" that seems to have been inspired by a reading of Herbert
or Vaughan. Here too there is an image of intense longing to be away from the
temporal, material
world:
See how the Orient Dew,
Shed from the Bosom of the Morn
Into the blooming Roses,
Yet careless of its
Mansion new
For the clear Region
where 'twas born,
Round in its self incloses:
And in its little Globe's Extent
Frames as it can its
native Element.
How it the purple flow'r does slight,
Scarce touching where it
lies,
But gazing back upon the Skies,
Shines with a mournful
Light;
Like its own
Tear,
Because so long divided
from the Sphere.
The rest of the poem
explains this as an image of the soul's longing to be away from this world,
then introduces the Old Testament Manna that evaporated "Into the Glories
of th'Almighty Sun."
Marvell's most complex
poem is his lengthy "Upon Appleton House" dedicated "to
my Lord Fairfax". In its 97 stanzas almost all the themes of Marvell's
other lyrics are evoked and transcended. It may be that after writing this
work, Marvell felt no need to continue with this kind of poetry. In his lyrics
there is always lurking a search for the meaning of life in a world where
public life must necessarily involve pain, together with a feeling that
withdrawal into the beauties of nature must be a preparation either for death
or a return to activity. The evocation of the history of the Fairfax family and
of the landscape around Appleton House leads to the appearance of Fairfax's
daughter Mary.
The poem is supposedly
for General Fairfax, who had with¡©drawn from Cromwell's service in 1650, just
after the return from Ireland, refusing to take part in an invasion of
Scotland. Yet Fairfax himself is rarely mentioned, much more time is devoted to
evocations of the countryside surrounding the house as it appears in the
different seasons. The river in particular interests Marvell for the conceits
it offers in flood or calm: "The River in itself is drown'd / And isles
th'astonished cattle round" (lines 471-2).
The river is equally
present at the end of the poem, as night
falls and the fishermen
walk home carrying their little canoes on their backs in a final conceit:
How Tortoise like, but
not so slow,
These rational Amphibii
go?
Let's in; for the dark
Hemisphere
Does now like one of them
appear.
The poem is a poem of
praise, yet like all of Marvell's lyrics it refuses to fit neatly into any
category or interpretation.
The same is true of
Marvell's most famous political poem, "An Horatian Ode upon Cromwell's
Return from Ireland" which must have been written in 1650 but was not
published then and only survived in two copies of the 1681 folio. The praise of
Cromwell is qualified and made more complex by the way Marvell introduces an
evocation of the execution of King Charles, written in a way that perhaps
explains why the poem was not published. Charles is presented as an actor on a
"tragic scaffold" or stage:
He nothing common did or
mean
Upon that memorable
scene,
But with his keener eye
The ax's edge did try;
Nor called the gods with
vulgar spite
To vindicate his helpless
right;
But bowed his comely head
Down, as upon a bed.
(lines
57-64)
Marvell is one of the
most intriguing poets that England ever produced, but one reason for his
strangeness may well be the fact that he wrote almost uniquely for himself; the
poems are self-reflexive in a very special way. Poetry with him has reached the
point where private and public verse no longer coincide at all. His public
verse, the satires and political poems not described here for want of space,
serve a quite different function in quite different language; the lyrics had to
wait for a long time before they found an audience and we shall never know just
what Marvell himself thought he was doing when he composed them.
The poet and society in
his work stand in a new tension, perhaps not so unlike that suggested by Milton
in his pre-Civil War poems, but with a very different resonance in modern
sensibilities.
Further Reading
The Cambridge Companion
to English Poetry: Donne to Marvell, edited by Thomas N. Corns.
Cambridge University Press. 1993.