Farewell, too
little and too lately known, |
Whom I began to
think and call my own; |
For sure our souls
were near allied; and thine |
Cast in the same
poetic mould with mine. |
One common note on
either lyre did strike, |
And knaves and
fools we both abhorred alike: |
To the same goal
did both our studies drive, |
The last set out
the soonest did arrive. |
Thus Nisus fell
upon the slippery place, |
While his young
friend performed and won the race. |
O early ripe—to
thy abundant store |
What could
advancing age have added more? |
It might (what
nature never gives the young) |
Have taught the
numbers of thy native tongue. |
But satire needs
not those, and wit will shine |
Through the harsh
cadence of a rugged line: |
A noble error, and
but seldom made, |
When poets are by
too much force betrayed. |
Thy generous
fruits, though gathered ere their prime |
Still showed a
quickness; and maturing time |
But mellows what
we write to the dull sweets of rhyme. |
Once more, hail
and farewell; farewell thou young |
But ah too short,
Marcellus of our tongue; |
Thy brows with
ivy, and with laurels bound; |
But fate and
gloomy night encompass thee around.
|
John Dryden
| Classic Poems |
|
[ A Song for St. Cecilia's Day, 1687 ] [ from Absalom and Achitophel ] [ London After the Great Fire, 1666 ] [ To the Memory of Mr Oldham ] [ Macflecknoe ] |