The Woes Of Helpless Lovers

      It seems that RK's young charges are preparing to take the dive into the works of John Dryden, one of this blog's more admired poets-- and, sadly, one of those poets generally taught much in universities anymore (at least not in North America). I don't particularly have anything new or significant to say about Dryden-- at least not at the moment-- but that thing called timing posting something. One of the assumptions about Dryden is that he's "all technique," elaborately skillful but emotionally empty, largely because of the dryness of his wit and his gift for satire (Absalom and Achitophel and Mac Flecknoe now being his most commemorated pieces). With that assumption in mind, it's something of a refreshment looking back on some of JD's "love" lyrics, pieces that tend never to reach the light of day. Admittedly, these are not JD's best poems ("A Song For St. Cecilia's Day" remains a personal favourite), but there's a kind of "sensible sentimentality" to them; they're never quite as saccharine as they could so easily be, and there's a toughness, to say nothing of clarity, of mind that suggests something roughly akin to a wistful discipline. Any of you interested can check out some of previous remarks on Dryden by clicking here (scroll down). I still think I was right with my note that Dryden "represented passions... as well as anyone could in the days of Nahum Tate." I also still hold that I may indeed be entirely off my rocker. Anyway, give these poems a read.

ONE HAPPY MOMENT

No, no, poor suff'ring Heart, no Change endeavour,
Choose to sustain the smart, rather than leave her;
My ravish'd eyes behold such charms about her,
I can die with her, but not live without her:
One tender Sigh of hers to see me languish,
Will more than pay the price of my past anguish:
Beware, O cruel Fair, how you smile on me,
'Twas a kind look of yours that has undone me.

Love has in store for me one happy minute,
And She will end my pain who did begin it;
Then no day void of bliss, or pleasure leaving,
Ages shall slide away without perceiving:
Cupid shall guard the door the more to please us,
And keep out Time and Death, when they would seize us:
Time and Death shall depart, and say in flying,
Love has found out a way to live, by dying.


SONG TO A FAIR YOUNG LADY, GOING OUT OF THE TOWN IN THE SPRING

Ask not the cause why sullen Spring
So long delays her flowers to bear;
Why warbling birds forget to sing,
And winter storms invert the year:
Chloris is gone; and fate provides
To make it Spring where she resides.

Chloris is gone, the cruel fair;
She cast not back a pitying eye:
But left her lover in despair
To sigh, to languish, and to die:
Ah! how can those fair eyes endure
To give the wounds they will not cure!

Great God of Love, why hast thou made
A face that can all hearts command,
That all religions can invade,
And change the laws of every land?
Where thou hadst plac'd such power before,
Thou shouldst have made her mercy more.

When Chloris to the temple comes,
Adoring crowds before her fall;
She can restore the dead from tombs
And every life but mine recall.
I only am by Love design'd
To be the victim for mankind.

[Song from Troilus and Cressida]

Can life be a blessing,
Or worth the possessing,
Can life be a blessing if love were away?
Ah no! though our love all night keep us waking,
And though he torment us with cares all the day,
Yet he sweetens, he sweetens our pains in the taking,
There's an hour at the last, there's an hour to repay.

In ev'ry possessing,
The ravishing blessing,
In ev'ry possessing the fruit of our pain,
Poor lovers forget long ages of anguish,
Whate'er they have suffer'd and done to obtain;
'Tis a pleasure, a pleasure to sigh and to languish,
When we hope, when we hope to be happy again.

Nobody gets away with repetitions like Dryden does. "The ravishing blessing" is a wonderful line.