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Best Famous Lucan Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Lucan poems. This is a select list of the best famous Lucan poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Lucan poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of lucan poems.

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Written by Andrew Marvell | Create an image from this poem

Tom Mays Death

 As one put drunk into the Packet-boat,
Tom May was hurry'd hence and did not know't.
But was amaz'd on the Elysian side, And with an Eye uncertain, gazing wide, Could not determine in what place he was, For whence in Stevens ally Trees or Grass.
Nor where the Popes head, nor the Mitre lay, Signs by which still he found and lost his way.
At last while doubtfully he all compares, He saw near hand, as he imagin'd Ares.
Such did he seem for corpulence and port, But 'twas a man much of another sort; 'Twas Ben that in the dusky Laurel shade Amongst the Chorus of old Poets laid, Sounding of ancient Heroes, such as were The Subjects Safety, and the Rebel's Fear.
But how a double headed Vulture Eats, Brutus and Cassius the Peoples cheats.
But seeing May he varied streight his song, Gently to signifie that he was wrong.
Cups more then civil of Emilthian wine, I sing (said he) and the Pharsalian Sign, Where the Historian of the Common-wealth In his own Bowels sheath'd the conquering health.
By this May to himself and them was come, He found he was tranflated, and by whom.
Yet then with foot as stumbling as his tongue Prest for his place among the Learned throng.
But Ben, who knew not neither foe nor friend, Sworn Enemy to all that do pretend, Rose more then ever he was seen severe, Shook his gray locks, and his own Bayes did tear At this intrusion.
Then with Laurel wand, The awful Sign of his supream command.
At whose dread Whisk Virgil himself does quake, And Horace patiently its stroke does take, As he crowds in he whipt him ore the pate Like Pembroke at the Masque, and then did rate.
Far from these blessed shades tread back agen Most servil' wit, and Mercenary Pen.
Polydore, Lucan, Allan, Vandale, Goth, Malignant Poet and Historian both.
Go seek the novice Statesmen, and obtrude On them some Romane cast similitude, Tell them of Liberty, the Stories fine, Until you all grow Consuls in your wine.
Or thou Dictator of the glass bestow On him the Cato, this the Cicero.
Transferring old Rome hither in your talk, As Bethlem's House did to Loretto walk.
Foul Architect that hadst not Eye to see How ill the measures of these States agree.
And who by Romes example England lay, Those but to Lucan do continue May.
But the nor Ignorance nor seeming good Misled, but malice fixt and understood.
Because some one than thee more worthy weares The sacred Laurel, hence are all these teares? Must therefore all the World be set on flame, Because a Gazet writer mist his aim? And for a Tankard-bearing Muse must we As for the Basket Guelphs and Gibellines be? When the Sword glitters ore the Judges head, And fear has Coward Churchmen silenced, Then is the Poets time, 'tis then he drawes, And single fights forsaken Vertues cause.
He, when the wheel of Empire, whirleth back, And though the World disjointed Axel crack, Sings still of ancient Rights and better Times, Seeks wretched good, arraigns successful Crimes.
But thou base man first prostituted hast Our spotless knowledge and the studies chast.
Apostatizing from our Arts and us, To turn the Chronicler to Spartacus.
Yet wast thou taken hence with equal fate, Before thou couldst great Charles his death relate.
But what will deeper wound thy little mind, Hast left surviving Davenant still behind Who laughs to see in this thy death renew'd, Right Romane poverty and gratitude.
Poor Poet thou, and grateful Senate they, Who thy last Reckoning did so largely pay.
And with the publick gravity would come, When thou hadst drunk thy last to lead thee home.
If that can be thy home where Spencer lyes And reverend Chaucer, but their dust does rise Against thee, and expels thee from their side, As th' Eagles Plumes from other birds divide.
Nor here thy shade must dwell, Return, Return, Where Sulphrey Phlegeton does ever burn.
The Cerberus with all his Jawes shall gnash, Megera thee with all her Serpents lash.
Thou rivited unto Ixion's wheel Shalt break, and the perpetual Vulture feel.
'Tis just what Torments Poets ere did feign, Thou first Historically shouldst sustain.
Thus by irrevocable Sentence cast, May only Master of these Revels past.
And streight he vanisht in a Cloud of Pitch, Such as unto the Sabboth bears the Witch.

Written by Robert Herrick | Create an image from this poem




Come then, and like two doves with silvery wings,
Let our souls fly to th' shades, wherever springs
Sit smiling in the meads; where balm and oil,
Roses and cassia, crown the untill'd soil;
Where no disease reigns, or infection comes
To blast the air, but amber-gris and gums.
This, that, and ev'ry thicket doth transpire More sweet than storax from the hallow'd fire; Where ev'ry tree a wealthy issue bears Of fragrant apples, blushing plums, or pears; And all the shrubs, with sparkling spangles, shew Like morning sun-shine, tinselling the dew.
Here in green meadows sits eternal May, Purfling the margents, while perpetual day So double-gilds the air, as that no night Can ever rust th' enamel of the light: Here naked younglings, handsome striplings, run Their goals for virgins' kisses; which when done, Then unto dancing forth the learned round Commix'd they meet, with endless roses crown'd.
And here we'll sit on primrose-banks, and see Love's chorus led by Cupid; and we'll he Two loving followers too unto the grove, Where poets sing the stories of our love.
There thou shalt hear divine Musaeus sing Of Hero and Leander; then I'll bring Thee to the stand, where honour'd Homer reads His Odyssees and his high Iliads; About whose throne the crowd of poets throng To hear the incantation of his tongue: To Linus, then to Pindar; and that done, I'll bring thee, Herrick, to Anacreon, Quaffing his full-crown'd bowls of burning wine, And in his raptures speaking lines of thine, Like to his subject; and as his frantic Looks shew him truly Bacchanalian like, Besmear'd with grapes,--welcome he shall thee thither, Where both may rage, both drink and dance together.
Then stately Virgil, witty Ovid, by Whom fair Corinna sits, and doth comply With ivory wrists his laureat head, and steeps His eye in dew of kisses while he sleeps.
Then soft Catullus, sharp-fang'd Martial, And towering Lucan, Horace, Juvenal, And snaky Persius; these, and those whom rage, Dropt for the jars of heaven, fill'd, t' engage All times unto their frenzies; thou shalt there Behold them in a spacious theatre: Among which glories, crown'd with sacred bays And flatt'ring ivy, two recite their plays, Beaumont and Fletcher, swans, to whom all ears Listen, while they, like sirens in their spheres, Sing their Evadne; and still more for thee There yet remains to know than thou canst see By glimm'ring of a fancy; Do but come, And there I'll shew thee that capacious room In which thy father, Jonson, now is placed As in a globe of radiant fire, and graced To be in that orb crown'd, that doth include Those prophets of the former magnitude, And he one chief.
But hark! I hear the cock, The bell-man of the night, proclaim the clock Of late struck One; and now I see the prime Of day break from the pregnant east:--'tis time I vanish:--more I had to say, But night determines here;(Away!