Part 3 (1/2)

It was not till 1681--three years after Marvell's death--that the small folio appeared with a fine portrait, still dear to the collector, which contains for the first tiether with some specimens of his political and satirical versification

Marvell's most famous poem--_The Ode upon Cromwell's Return from Ireland_--is not included in the 1681 volume, and remained in manuscript until 1776, as also did the poem upon Cromwell's death

The remainder of the political poems, which had made their first appearance as broadsheets, were reprinted after the Revolution in the well-known _Collection of Poems on Affairs of State_[35:1] These verses were never owned by Marvell, and it is probable that soh attributed to hio by In the case of political satires, squibs, epigra off both in haste and heat to be sold with old ballads in the market-place, we need not seek for better evidence than tradition, which indeed is often the only external evidence we have for the authorshi+p of s

Now to return to the Nunappleton poetry

In a poem of 776 lines Marvell tells the story and describes the char the war, and to which, as just narrated, he retired in the su writ large over many a fine property

Appleton House was Church loot In the time of Henry, ”the majestic lord that burst the bonds of Rome,” the old house at Nunappleton was a Cistercian nunnery, a religious house In 1542 the coreat-grandfather of the Lord-General--one Sir Thos were pulled down and a new secular house rose in their place In these bare and sordid facts there is not much room for poetry, but there is a story thrown in Shortly before 1518 a Yorkshi+re heiress, bearing the unro in the Cistercian abbey, under the guardianshi+p of the abbess, the Lady Anna Langton

Property under the care of the Church is always supposed to be in danger, and the Lady Anna was freely credited with the desire to make a nun of her ward, and so keep her broad acres in Wharfedale and her es in York for the use of Mother Church None the less, the young lady was allowed to go about and visit her neighbours, and whilst so doing she fell in love with Sir William Fairfax, or he fell in love with her or with her estates Thereupon, so the story proceeds, the abbess kept her ward a close prisoner within the nunnery walls Legal proceedings were taken, but in the end the privacy of the nunnery was invaded, and Miss Thwaites was abducted and married to Sir William Fairfax at the church of Bolton Percy The lady abbess had to submit to _vis major_, but worse days were in front of her, for she lived on to see the nunnery itself despoiled, and the fair do life preserved and ious uses handed over to the son of her forins by referring to the modest dimensions of the house, and the natural chars:--

”The house was built upon the place, Only as for a race, And for an inn to entertain Its Lord awhile, but not remain

Him Bishop's-hill or Denton may, Or Billborow, better hold than they: But Nature here hath been so free, As if she said, 'Leave this to me'

Art would more neatly have defac'd What she had laid so sweetly waste In fragrant gardens, shady woods, Deep meadows, and transparent floods”

And then starts the story:--

”While, with slow eyes, we these survey, And on each pleasant footstep stay, We opportunely ress of this house's fate

A nunnery first gave it birth, (For virgin buildings oft brought forth) And all that neighbour-ruin shows The quarries whence this dwelling rose

Near to this glooin Thwaites, Fair beyond ht deformitywith the subtle Nuns, Whence, in these words, one to her weav'd, As 'twere by chance, thoughts long conceiv'd: 'Within this holy leisure, we Live innocently, as you see

These walls restrain the world without, But hedge our liberty about; These bars inclose that wilder den Of those wild creatures, called ates, And, fro arht, And our chaste laroom find them dim

Our orient breaths perfumed are With incense of incessant prayer; And holy-water of our tears Most strangely our corief, but such as those With which calm pleasure overflows; Or pity, e look on you That live without this happy vow

How should we grieve that must be seen Each one a spouse, and each a queen, And can in heaven hence behold Our brighter robes and crowns of gold!

When we have prayed all our beads, Soend reads, While all the rest with needles paint The face and graces of the Saint; Soh every shrine should be bestowed, And in one beauty ould take Enough a thousand Saints to make

And (for I dare not quench the fire That e a s for heaven fit

I see the angels in a crown On you the lilies showering down; And round about you glory breaks, That so ht, Is so already consecrate

Fairfax I know, and long ere this Have marked the youth, and what he is; But can he such a rival seem, For whom you heaven should disesteem?

Ah, no! and 'twould more honour prove He your devoto were than Love

Here live beloved and obeyed, Each one your sister, each your maid, And, if our rule seem strictly penned, The rule itself to you shall bend

Our Abbess, too, now far in age, Doth your succession near presage

How soft the yoke on us would lie, Might such fair hands as yours it tie!

Your voice, the sweetest of the choir, Shall draw heaven nearer, raise us higher, And your example, if our head, Will soon us to perfection lead

Those virtues to us all so dear, Will straight grow sanctity when here; And that, once sprung, increase so fast, Till iven by the heiress to these arguments, and others of a still more seductive hue, the poet does not tell, but turns to the eager lover who asks, What should he do? He hints that a nunnery is no place for a virtuous maid, and that the nuns (unlike hi of her property He coh the Court has authorised him to use either peace or force, the nuns still stand upon their guard

”Ill-counselled wo a most remarkable poetic licence, the poet refers to the fact that this barred-out lover is to be the progenitor of the great Lord Fairfax

”Is not this he, whose offspring fierce Shall fight through all the universe; And with successive valour try France, Poland, either Gerh conquered Britain ride?”

The lover determines to take the place by assault It was not a very heroic enterprise, as Marvell describes it

”Soainst their foes, Their wooden Saints in vain oppose; Another bolder, stands at push, With their old holy-water brush, While the disjointed Abbess threads The jingling chain-shot of her beads; But their loud'st cannon were their lungs, And sharpest weapons were their tongues

But waving these aside like flies, Young Fairfax through the wall does rise

Then the unfrequented vault appeared, And superstition, vainly feared; The relicks false were set to view; Only the jewels there were true, And truly bright and holy Thwaites, That weeping at the altar waits

But the glad youth away her bears, And to the Nuns bequeathes her tears, Who guiltily their prize beypsies who a child have stol'n”