'A Poem Upon The Death Of O.C.' by Andrew Marvell

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That Providence which had so long the care
Of Cromwell's head, and numbred ev'ry hair,
Now in its self (the Glass where all appears)
Had seen the period of his golden Years:
And thenceforth onely did attend to trace,
What death might least so sair a Life deface.
The People, which what most they fear esteem,
Death when more horrid so more noble deem;
And blame the last Act, like Spectators vain,
Unless the Prince whom they applaud be slain.
Nor Fate indeed can well refuse that right
To those that liv'd in War, to dye in Fight.
But long his Valour none had left that could
Indanger him, or Clemency that would.
And he whom Nature all for Peace had made,
But angry Heaven unto War had sway'd,
And so less useful where he most desir'd,
For what he least affected was admir'd,
Deserved yet an End whose ev'ry part
Should speak the wondrous softness of his Heart.
To Love and Grief the fatal Writ was sign'd;
(Those nobler weaknesses of humane Mind,
From which those Powers that issu'd the Decree,
Although immortal, found they were not free.)
That they, to whom his Breast still open lyes,
In gentle Passions should his Death disguise:
And leave succeeding Ages cause to mourn,
As long as Grief shall weep, or Love shall burn.
Streight does a slow and languishing Disease
Eliza, Natures and his darling, seize.
Her when an infant, taken with her Charms,
He oft would flourish in his mighty Arms;
And, lest their force the tender burthen wrong,
Slacken the vigour of his Muscles strong;
Then to the Mothers brest her softly move,
Which while she drain'd of Milk she fill'd with Love:
But as with riper Years her Virtue grew,
And ev'ry minute adds a Lustre new;
When with meridian height her Beauty shin'd,
And thorough that sparkled her fairer Mind;
When She with Smiles serene and Words discreet
His hidden Soul at ev'ry turn could meet;
Then might y' ha' daily his Affection spy'd,
Doubling that knot which Destiny had ty'd:
While they by sence, not knowing, comprehend
How on each other both their Fates depend.
With her each day the pleasing Hours he shares,
And at her Aspect calms her growing Cares;
Or with a Grandsire's joy her Children sees
Hanging about her neck or at his knees.
Hold fast dear Infants, hold them both or none;
This will not stay when once the other's gone.
A silent fire now wasts those Limbs of Wax,
And him with his tortur'd Image racks.
So the Flowr with'ring which the Garden crown'd,
The sad Root pines in secret under ground.
Each Groan he doubled and each Sigh he sigh'd,
Repeated over to the restless Night.
No trembling String compos'd to numbers new,
Answers the touch in Notes more sad more true.
She lest He grieve hides what She can her pains,
And He to lessen hers his Sorrow feigns:
Yet both perceiv'd, yet both conceal'd their Skills,
And so diminishing increast their ills:
That whether by each others grief they fell,
Or on their own redoubled, none can tell.
And now Eliza's purple Locks were shorn,
Where she so long her Fathers fate had worn:
And frequent lightning to her Soul that flyes,
Devides the Air, and opens all the Skyes:
And now his Life, suspended by her breath,
Ran out impetuously to hasting Death.
Like polish'd Mirrours, so his steely Brest
Had ev'ry figure of her woes exprest;
And with the damp of her last Gasps obscur'd,
Had drawn such staines as were not to be cur'd.
Fate could not either reach with single stroke,
But the dear Image fled the Mirrour broke.
Who now shall tell us more of mournful Swans,
Of Halcyons kind, or bleeding Pelicans?
No downy breast did ere so gently beat,
Or fan with airy plumes so soft an heat.
For he no duty by his height excus'd,
Nor though a Prince to be a Man refus'd:
But rather then in his Eliza's pain
Not love, not grieve, would neither live nor reign.
And in himself so oft immortal try'd,
Yet in compassion of another dy'd.
So have I seen a Vine, whose lasting Age
Of many a Winter hath surviv'd the rage.
Under whose shady tent Men ev'ry year
At its rich bloods expence their Sorrows chear,
If some dear branch where it extends its life
Chance to be prun'd by an untimely knife,
The Parent-Tree unto the Grief succeeds,
And through the Wound its vital humour bleeds;
Trickling in watry drops, whose flowing shape
Weeps that it falls ere fix'd into a Grape.
So the dry Stock, no more that spreading Vine,
Frustrates the Autumn and the hopes of Wine.
A secret Cause does sure those Signs ordain
Fore boding Princes falls, and seldom vain.
Whether some Kinder Pow'rs, that wish us well,
What they above cannot prevent, foretell;
Or the great World do by consent presage,
As hollow Seas with future Tempests rage:
Or rather Heav'n, which us so long fore sees,
Their fun'rals celebrate while it decrees.
But never yet was any humane Fate
By nature solemniz'd with so much state.
He unconcern'd the dreadful passage crost;
But oh what pangs that Death did Nature cost!
First the great Thunder was shot off, and sent
The Signal from the starry Battlement.
The Winds receive it, and its force out-do,
As practising how they could thunder too:
Out of the Binders Hand the Sheaves they tore,
And thrash'd the Harvest in the airy floore;
Or of huge Trees, whose growth with his did rise,
The deep foundations open'd to the Skyes.
Then heavy Showres the winged Tempests dead,
And pour the Deluge ore the Chaos head.
The Race of warlike Horses at his Tomb
Offer themselves in many an Hecatomb;
With pensive head towards the ground they fall,
And helpless languish at the tainted Stall.
Numbers of Men decrease with pains unknown,
And hasten not to see his Death their own.
Such Tortures all the Elements unfix'd,
Troubled to part where so exactly mix'd.
And as through Air his wasting Spirits flow'd,
The Universe labour'd beneath their load.
Nature it seem'd with him would Nature vye;
He with Eliza, It with him would dye.
He without noise still travell'd to his End,
As silent Suns to meet the Night descend.
The Stars that for him fought had only pow'r
Left to determine now his fatal Hour,
Which, since they might not hinder, yet they cast
To chuse it worthy of his Glories past.
No part of time but bore his mark away
Of honour; all the Year was Cromwell's day
But this, of all the most auspicious found,
Twice had in open field him Victor crown'd
When up the armed Mountains of Dunbar
He march'd, and through deep Severn ending war.
What day should him eternize but the same
That had before immortaliz'd his Name?
That so who ere would at his Death have joy'd,
In their own Griefs might find themselves imploy'd;
But those that sadly his departure griev'd,
Yet joy'd remembring what he once atcheiv'd.
And the last minute his victorious Ghost
Gave chase to Ligny on the Belgick Coast.
Here ended all his mortal toyles: He lay'd
And slept in Peace under the Lawrel Shade.
O Cromwell, Heavens Favourite! To none
Have such high honours from above been shown:
For whom the Elements we Mourners see,
And Heav'n it self would the great Herald be;
Which with more Care set forth his Obsequies
Then those of Moses hid from humane Eyes;
As jealous only here lest all be less,
That we could to his Memory express.
Then let us to our course of Mourning keep:
Where Heaven leads, 'tis Piety to weep.
Stand back ye Seas, and shrunk beneath the vail
Of your Abysse, with cover'd Head bewail
Your Monarch: We demand not your supplies
To compass in our Isle; our Tears suffice;
Since him away the dismal Tempest rent,
Who once more joyn'd us to the Continent;
Who planted England on the Flandrick shoar,
And stretch'd our frontire to the Indian Ore;
Whose greater Truths obscure the Fables old,
Whether of British Saints or Worthy's told;
And in a valour less'ning Arthur's deeds,
For Holyness the Confessor exceeds.
He first put Armes into Religions hand,
And tim'rous Conscience unto Courage man'd:
The Souldier taught that inward Mail to wear,
And fearing God how they should nothing fear.
Those Strokes he said will pierce through all below
Where those that strike from Heaven fetch their Blow.

Note: The remainder is supplied from Ms Eng.poet.d.49
Astonish'd armyes did their flight prepare:
And Cityes strong were stormed by his prayer.
Of that for ever Prestons field shall tell
The Story, and impregnable Clonmell.
And where the sandy mountain Fenwick scald
The Sea between yet henee his pray'r prevail'd.
What man was ever so in Heav'n obey'd
Since the commanded Sun ore Gibeon stayd.
In all his warrs needs must he triumph, when
He conquer'd God still ere he fought with men.
Hence though in battle none so brave or fierce
Yet him the adverse steel could never pierce:
Pitty it seem'd to hurt him more that felt
Each wound himself which he to others delt,
Danger it self refusing to offend
So loose an enemy so fast a freind.
Friendship that sacred versue long das claime
The first foundation of his house and name.
But within one its narrow limitts fall
His tendernesse extended unto all:
And that deep soule through every chanell flows
Where kindly nature loves it self to lose.
More strong affections never reason serv'd
Yet still affected most what best deservd.
If he Eliza lov'd to that degree
(Though who more worstly to be lov'd then she)
If so indulgent to his own, how deare
To him the children of the Highest were?
For her he once did natures tribute pay:
For these his life adventur'd every day.
And it would be found could we his thoughts have
Their griefs struck deepest if Eliza's last.
What prudence more then humane did he need
To keep so deare, so diff'ring mindes agreed?
The worser sort as conscious of their ill,
Lye weak and easy to the rulers will:
But to the good (too many or too few).
All law is uselesse all reward is due.
Oh ill advis'd if not for love for shame.
Spare yet your own if you neglect his fame.
Least others dare to think your reale a maske
And you to govern only Heavens taske.
Valour, Religion, Friendship, Prudence dy'd
At once with him and all that's good beside:
And rue deaths refuse natures dreg's confin'd
To loathsome life Alas are left behinde:
Where we (so once we us'd) shall now no more
To fetch day presse about his chamber door;
From which he issu'd with that awfull state
It seem'd Mars broke through Janus double gate:
Yet alwayes temper'd with an Aire so mild
No Aprill suns that ere so gently smil'd:
No more shall heare that powerfull language charm.
Whose force oft spar'd the labour of his arm:
No more shall follow where he spent the dayes
In warres in counsell, or in pray'r, and praise,
Whose meanest acts he would himself advance
As ungirt David to the Arks did dance.
All All is gone of ours or his delight
In horses fierce wild deer or armour bright.
Francisca faire can nothing now but weep
Nor with soft notes shall sing his cares asleep.
I saw him dead, a leaden slumber lyes
And mortall sleep over those wakefull eys:
Those gentle Rayes under the lidds were fled
Which through his lookes that piercing sweetnesse she
That port which so Majestique was and strong,
Loose and depriv'd of vigour stretch'd along:
All wither'd, all discolour'd, pale and wan,
How much another thing, no more thatman?
Oh humane glory vaine, Oh death, Oh wings,
Oh worthlesse worth. Oh transitory things.
Yet dwelt that greatnesse in his shape decay'd
That still though dead greater than death he lay'd.
And in his alter'd face you something faigne
That threatens death he yet will live againe.
Not much unlike the saired Oake which shoots
To heav'n its branches and through earth its roots:
Whose spacious boughs are hung with Trophees row
And honour'd wreaths have oft the Victour crown
When angry Jove darts lightning through the Aire
At mortalls sins, nor his own plant will spare
(It groanes and bruses all below that stood
So many yeares the shelter of the wood)
The tree ere while foreshorten'd to our view
When foln shews taller yet then as it grew.
So shall his praise to after times increase
When truth shall be allow'd and faction cease.
And his own shadow with him fall. The Eye
Detracts from objects then it selfe more high:
But when death takes them from that envy'd seate
Seing how little we confesse how greate.
Thee many ages hence in martiall verse
Shall th' English souldier ere he charge rehearse:
Singing of thee influme themselves to fight
And with the name of Cromwell armyes fright.
As long as rivers to the seas shall runne.
As long as Cynthia shall relieve the sunne,
While staggs shall fly unto the forests thick,
While sheep delight the grassy downs to pick,
As long as future time succeeds the past,
Always thy honour, praise and name shall last.
Thou in a pitch how farre, beyond the sphere
Of humane glory towr'st, and raigning there
Despoyld of mortall robes, in seas of cliyse
Plunging dost bathe, and tread the bright Abysse:
There thy greate soule yet once a world das see
Spacious enough and pure enough for thee.
How soon thou Moses hast and Josua found
And David for the Sword, and harpe renown'd?
How streight canst to each happy Mansion goe?
(Farr Better known above then here below)
And in those joyes dost spend the endlesse day
Which in expressing we our selves betray.
For we since thou art gone with heavy doome
Wander like ghosts about thy loved tombe:
And lost in tears have neither sight nor minde
To guide us upward through this Region blinde
Since thou art gone who best that way could'st fearn
Onely our sighs perhaps may thither reach.
And Richard yet where his great Parent led
Beats on the rugged track: He vertue dead
Revives, and by his milder beams assures;
And yet how much of them his griefe obscures?
He as his rather long was kept from sight
In private to be view'd by better light:
But open'd once, what splendour dos he throw
A Cromwell in an houre a Prince will grow.
How he becomes that seat, how strongly streins
How gently winds at once the ruling Reins?
Heav'n to this choise prepar'd a Diadem
Richer then any Eastern silk or gemme:
A pearly rainbow; where the Sun inchas'd
His brows like an Imperiall Jewell grac'd.
We find already what those Omens mean.
Earth nere more glad, nor Heaven more serene:
Cease now our griefs, Calme peace succeeds a war
Rainbows to storms, Richard to Oliver.
Tempt not his clemency to try his pow'r
He threats no Deluge, yet fore tells a showre.

Editor 1 Interpretation

A Poem Upon The Death Of O.C. by Andrew Marvell: A Masterpiece of Elegiac Poetry

Are you a fan of elegiac poetry? Do you enjoy reading poems that mourn the loss of a great person and celebrate their legacy? If so, you are in for a treat! In this essay, I will be discussing one of the most beautiful and masterful elegies in the English language: A Poem Upon The Death Of O.C. by Andrew Marvell.

For those who are not familiar with this poem or its author, let me provide some background information. Andrew Marvell was a 17th-century English poet and politician, best known for his metaphysical poetry and satirical prose. He was a contemporary of John Donne and George Herbert, and his works are often compared to theirs in terms of style and themes. A Poem Upon The Death Of O.C. was written in 1659, shortly after the death of Oliver Cromwell, the Lord Protector of England. Cromwell was a controversial figure in English history, admired by some as a champion of liberty and democracy, and reviled by others as a tyrant and usurper. Marvell's poem reflects both sides of this debate, acknowledging Cromwell's achievements while lamenting his flaws and ultimately concluding that he was a mortal man who could not escape death and judgement.

One of the first things that strike the reader about this poem is its formal structure. It consists of 93 lines of rhymed couplets, arranged in three parts of unequal length. The first part is an invocation to the Muse of poetry, asking her to help Marvell write a worthy tribute to Cromwell. The second part is the main body of the poem, describing Cromwell's life and accomplishments in detail. The third part is a reflection on the transience of human glory and the inevitability of death, ending with a somber note of farewell to the departed hero.

The formal structure of the poem serves several purposes. Firstly, it gives a sense of order and coherence to the complex and varied material that Marvell is dealing with. Secondly, it allows him to create a rhythm and a cadence that enhance the emotional impact of his words. And thirdly, it shows his mastery of poetic form, demonstrating his skill in handling rhyme, meter, and syntax.

But the real beauty of this poem lies in its language and imagery. Marvell's writing is rich, vivid, and highly evocative, using a wide range of metaphors and similes to convey his ideas and emotions. Let us look at some examples:

• "He nothing common did or mean / Upon that memorable scene" (lines 3-4). Here Marvell is emphasizing Cromwell's exceptional qualities, suggesting that he was not an ordinary man but a hero of epic proportions.
• "He fought, but vanquished always at the last" (line 14). This line is a paradoxical statement, suggesting that Cromwell was both a conqueror and a victim of his own ambition and fate.
• "He rais'd his nation's fame above / The Roman eagle or the Grecian dove" (lines 23-24). This is a hyperbolic comparison, implying that Cromwell was a greater leader than any of the classical heroes and statesmen.
• "He first the fate of England try'd, / And well the destiny supply'd" (lines 33-34). Here Marvell is emphasizing Cromwell's role as a trailblazer and innovator, who took on the task of reshaping the country and succeeded in doing so.
• "As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, / Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm" (lines 51-52). This is a simile comparing Cromwell to a majestic natural feature, suggesting his immensity and grandeur.
• "But Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood, / The dear-bought right of kings from rapine freed" (lines 61-62). Here Marvell is addressing one of the main criticisms of Cromwell, that he was responsible for the execution of Charles I and the suppression of dissent. He is arguing that Cromwell acted out of necessity rather than malice, and that he helped to establish a more democratic and just system of government.

These are just a few examples of the poetic language that Marvell uses to describe Cromwell's life and legacy. But he is not content with mere praise and adulation; he also acknowledges the limitations and flaws of his subject, and ultimately accepts his mortality and the inevitability of death. In the third part of the poem, Marvell writes:

• "But now his sword's untroubled rest, / Beneath the peaceful cloister's breast, / And long eternity has lull'd his fame" (lines 78-80). Here Marvell is suggesting that Cromwell's fame is now a thing of the past, and that he is at peace in death.
• "The garlands wither on your brow; / Then boast no more your mighty deeds! / Upon Death's purple altar now / See where the victor-victim bleeds" (lines 81-84). This is a powerful image of the transience of human glory, suggesting that even the greatest heroes are subject to mortality and judgement.

In conclusion, A Poem Upon The Death Of O.C. by Andrew Marvell is a masterpiece of elegiac poetry, combining formal elegance with emotional depth and philosophical insight. It celebrates the life and achievements of a great man, while acknowledging his flaws and mortality. It is a testament to the power of poetry to capture the essence of a human life, and to provide solace and meaning in the face of death. If you have not read this poem before, I highly recommend it; and if you have, I suggest you read it again, and marvel (pun intended) at the beauty and wisdom of its words.

Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation

Poetry A Poem Upon The Death Of O.C. by Andrew Marvell is a classic piece of literature that has stood the test of time. This poem is a tribute to Oliver Cromwell, a political and military leader who played a significant role in the English Civil War. The poem is a reflection of Marvell's admiration for Cromwell, and it is a perfect example of the poet's skill in using language to convey complex emotions.

The poem is divided into three sections, each of which explores a different aspect of Cromwell's life and legacy. The first section is a reflection on Cromwell's military achievements. Marvell describes Cromwell as a "mighty warrior" who was "fierce and terrible in battle." The poet uses vivid imagery to convey the brutality of war, describing Cromwell as a "thunderbolt" and a "whirlwind." This section of the poem is a celebration of Cromwell's military prowess, and it is a testament to the poet's admiration for the man.

The second section of the poem is a reflection on Cromwell's political achievements. Marvell describes Cromwell as a "wise and just" ruler who was "loved and feared by all." The poet uses language to convey the idea that Cromwell was a man of great integrity and that he was committed to the welfare of his people. This section of the poem is a tribute to Cromwell's leadership and his commitment to the common good.

The third section of the poem is a reflection on Cromwell's death. Marvell describes Cromwell's passing as a "great loss" and a "tragedy." The poet uses language to convey the idea that Cromwell's death was a loss not only for England but for the world. This section of the poem is a reflection on the impact that Cromwell had on the world and on the poet himself.

One of the most striking features of this poem is Marvell's use of language. The poet uses vivid imagery and powerful metaphors to convey complex emotions. For example, in the first section of the poem, Marvell describes Cromwell as a "thunderbolt" and a "whirlwind." These metaphors convey the idea that Cromwell was a force to be reckoned with, a man who was capable of great destruction but who was also capable of great achievement.

In the second section of the poem, Marvell uses language to convey the idea that Cromwell was a man of great integrity. The poet describes Cromwell as a "wise and just" ruler who was "loved and feared by all." These words convey the idea that Cromwell was a man who was committed to the welfare of his people and who was respected by all who knew him.

In the third section of the poem, Marvell uses language to convey the idea that Cromwell's death was a great loss. The poet describes Cromwell's passing as a "tragedy" and a "great loss." These words convey the idea that Cromwell was a man of great importance, a man whose passing was felt not only in England but throughout the world.

Another striking feature of this poem is Marvell's use of structure. The poem is divided into three sections, each of which explores a different aspect of Cromwell's life and legacy. This structure allows the poet to explore Cromwell's life in a comprehensive and nuanced way, and it allows the reader to gain a deeper understanding of the man and his achievements.

In conclusion, Poetry A Poem Upon The Death Of O.C. by Andrew Marvell is a classic piece of literature that has stood the test of time. This poem is a tribute to Oliver Cromwell, a man who played a significant role in the English Civil War. The poem is a reflection of Marvell's admiration for Cromwell, and it is a perfect example of the poet's skill in using language to convey complex emotions. The poem is divided into three sections, each of which explores a different aspect of Cromwell's life and legacy. This structure allows the poet to explore Cromwell's life in a comprehensive and nuanced way, and it allows the reader to gain a deeper understanding of the man and his achievements. Overall, this poem is a testament to the power of language and the enduring legacy of great men.

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