Classic Poem

In answer to the seventh Canto of the third book of his Gondibert, directed to my Father

I

O H happy fire! whose heat can thus controul
The rust of age, and thaw the frost of Death,
That renders man immortall, as his soul;
And swells his fame with everlasting breath.

II

Happy's that hand! that unto Honours Clime
Can lift the Subject of his living prays;
That rescues frailtie from the scith of Time,
And equalls glory to the length of days.

III

Such, Sir, is yours, that (uncontrowl'd, as Fate)
In the black bosom of oblivious Night
Can Sons of immortalitie create,
To dazle envie with prevailing Light.

IV

In vayn they strive your glorious lamp to hide
In that dark lanthorn to all noble mindes:
Which through the smallest crannie is descried,
Whose force united no resistance findes.

V

Blest is my Father, that has found his Name
Amongst the Heroes by your pen reviv'd,
By running in Times wheel his thriving fame
Shall still more youthfull grow, and longer liv'd.

VI

Had Alexanders Trophees thus been reard
And in the circle of your storie come:
The spatious Orb full well hee might have spar'd,
And reapt his distant Victories at home.

VII

Let men of greater wealth, than merit, cast
Medalls of gold for their succeeding part:
That paper-Monument shall longer last,
Than all the rubbish of decaying Art.