Gondibert: An Heroick Poem/To Sr Will. D'Avenant, Upon His Two First Books of Gondibert (Cowley)

by Abraham Cowley

For other versions of this work, see To Sir William D'Avenant, Upon His Two First Books of Gondibert, Finish'd before his Voyage to America (Cowley).

 

TO

S^r WIL. D'AVENANT,

Upon his two first Books of

GONDIBERT,

Finish'd before his Voyage to

America.

 

ME thinks Heroick Poesie till now,
Like some fantastick Fairy-land did show;
Gods, Devils, Nymphs, Witches, and Giants race,
And all but Man, in Mans best Work had place.
Thou like some worthy Knight, with sacred Arms
Dost drive the Monsters thence, and end the Charms:
In stead of those, dost Men and Manners plant,
The things which that rich Soyl did chiefly want.
But even thy Mortals do their Gods excell,
Taught by thy Muse to Fight and Love so well.
 By fatal hands whilest present Empires fall,
Thine from the grave past Monarchies recal.
So much more thanks from humane kind does merit
The Poets fury, than the Zelots Spirit.
And from the grave thou mak'st this Empire rise,
Not like some dreadfull Ghost t'affright our Eyes,
But with more beauty and triumphant state,
Than when it crown'd at proud Verona sate.
So will our God re-build Mans perish'd frame,
And raise him up much better, yet the same:
So God-like Poets do past things rehearse,
Not change, but heighten Nature with their Verse.
 With shame me thinks great Italie must see
Her Conqu'rors call'd to life again by thee;
Call'd by such powerfull Arts, that ancient Rome
May blush •o less to see her Wit orecome.
Some men their Fancies like their Faiths derive;
And count all ill but that which Rome does give;
The marks of Old and Catholick would find;
To the same Chair would Truth and Fiction bind.
Thou in these beaten paths disdain'st to tread,
And scorn'st to live by robbing of the Dead.
Since Time does all things change, thou think'st not fit
This latter Age should see all new, but Wit.
Thy Fancie, like a Flame, her way does make,
And leaves bright tracks for following Pens to take.
Sure 'twas this noble boldness of the Muse
Did thy desire, to seek new Worlds, infuse;
And ne'r did Heaven so much a Voyage bless,
If thou canst Plant but there with like success.

 

Ab. Cowley.

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