| 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 ] |
