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ON MY FRIEND, MR. ALEXANDER BROME, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: When a republic loses in the field
Last Line: They're little griefs that speak, deep sorrow's dumb.
Subject(s): Brome, Alexander (1620-1666)


WHEN a Republic loses in the field
A Captain, who, whilst living was their shield;
Or when, cut off by age, within their walls
Some prudent Senator, some good patriot falls;
The widow'd State her mourning then puts on,
As all her counsels, and defence were gone,
And weeps and mourns, as she foresaw she must
Be subject to the first invader's lust,
Despising all her offspring that remain,
That citizen dead and that old soldier slain.
But to advance their names, no cost is spar'd,
Medals are cast and obelisques are rear'd,
The Marble quarry is torn up, the mine
Is search'd, and robb'd to make their triumphs shine.
But the neglected Poet when he dies,
Or with obscure, or with no obsequies
Is lay'd aside; and though by living verse,
Strew'd on this Hero's and that Statesman's hearse
His pen graves characters by which they live
A longer life, than brass or marble give;
Yet has this generous Poet no return,
None to weep o'er his urn, nay scarce an urn.
O undiscerning World! the soldier's brave
Either for what he wants, or thirsts to have,
His breast opposing against fire, and flame
Either for riches, or a glorious name.
Reward and honour make the soldier's trade,
And if he win, the man's well paid.
The Statesman, on the other side, takes pains,
To smooth the War to Peace, and works his brains
Or to appease an enemy, or make
Such friends, as may at need make good the stake,
Nor is his reverend care, when all is done,
More for his country's safety, than his own,
And that which makes his city's freedom dear
Is that himself, and his inhabit there.
Whereas the Poet by more generous ways,
Distributes boughs of oak, and shoots of bays,
According to due merit, nor does take
Thought of reward, but all for virtue's sake.
It were in vain to write on other score,
The Poet knows his lot is to be poor:
For whatsoe'er's well done, well writ, well said,
The bard is ever the last man that's paid;
The wary world has wisely taken time,
Till the Greek Kalends to account for rhyme.
Nor do I here intend the gold that's hurl'd
Like flaming brands thorough the peaceful world,
To make whole Kingdoms into faction split,
Should be suppos'd the recompense of wit:
The Poet scorns that sordid seed of earth,
The world's alluring, but unhappy birth.
All he desires, all that he would demand,
Is only that some amicable hand,
Would but irriguate his fading bays
With due, and only with deserved praise.
Yet even this so modest a request
The age denies. Alas! what interest,
Has virtue upon earth, when Brome could be,
And be lamented with no elegy?
No friendly hand t' inform the passenger
That gentle Brome, the Muses' joy, lies here.
More had not needed to have been expressed,
Himself had made provision for the rest.
Whilst Pindar's bays grow green amongst the dead,
Whilst Horace or Anacreon are read,
My Brome shall live, and travellers that come
From distant shores, transport his verses home,
Nor needs he other, than his own great name,
To recommend him to immortal fame;
His merit's lustre of itself will do 't,
Shine to the pole's, and put those sparklets out.
And yet we had our gratitude express'd,
T' have given our testimonies, at the least,
Of his great worth, and publish'd our esteem
That we all lov'd, and all lamented him:
But men were struck at his untimely Fate,
Which makes us pay our fun'ral tears thus late.
And as a tender Mother when she hears,
Her only child is lost, lets fall no tears,
But at the horror of the first sad sound,
Falls, as if struck with thunder in a swound,
Till by the help of unkind remedies,
To ease her soul, she opes her weeping eyes:
So wit o'ercome, and cast into a trance,
At this so unexpected a mischance,
Must through that night of grief and horror break,
Before it could get article to speak;
And this deferr'd these honours to his tomb,
They're little griefs that speak, deep sorrow's dumb.





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