Poem by Alexander Brome

An Ode

  Written in 1643.

WHat's this that shrouds,
WIn these Opacous clouds,
The glorious face of heav'n, and dims our light?
What must we ever lye
Mantled in dark stupidity?
Still groveling in a daily night?
And shall we have no more the sun allow'd?
Why, does the Sun grow dim? or do the stars grow proud?

2.

Why should false zeal
Thus scorch our common-weal,
And make us slight bright Phaebus purer fires?
Why do these plannets run?
They would, but cannot be the Sun:
Yet every saucy flame aspires.
Though they've no reason to affect the same,
Since they have nought of fire, but the meer rage and name▪

3.

Now since our Sun
Has left this Horizon;
Can all the stars though by united pow'r,
Undark the night,
Or equal him in light?
And yet they blaze to make him lowre.
That star that looks more red than others are,
Is a prodigious Comet, and a blazing-star.

4.

The World's undone,
When stars oppose the Sun,
And make him change his constant course to rest;
His foaming Steeds,
Flying those daring deeds,
Ith' stables of the North or West,
Whence we may fear he'l never more return,
To light & warm us, with his rayes, but all to burn,

5.

Heav'n made them all,
Yet not Anarchical;
But in degrees and orders they are set;
Should they all be
In a grand Committe,
In heavens painted chamber; yet
Sol would out shine them: guide me Phaebus ray,
And let those Lanthorns keep their borrowed light away.

6.

Let's not admire
This new phantastick fire,
That our vain eyes deceives and us misleads:
Those Bears we see
That would our Lyons be,
Want tails, and will want heads.
The world will soon into destruction run,
When bold blind Phaetons guide the chariot of the sun▪

1. To his Mistress (LAdy you'l wonder when you see)
2. The Damosel
3. On the Queens Arrival
4. On the Kings Return
5. The Satyr of Money

Matthew Prior An Ode ("The merchant, to secure his treasure")

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