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A SEVENTEENTH
CENTURY
ANTHOLOGY
WITH AN INTRODUCTION
BY
ALICE MEYNELL
H. M. CALDWELL COMPANY
BOSTON NEW YORK
Introduction
A habit has prevailed among the less
studious readers^ of connecting the poets of
the later seventeenth century luith those of
the early eighteenth. There is a common
impression that the ' ' Restoration " had al-
ready put on the perruque, raised the heel^
and practised the strut. But it was not so.
The long locks were arranged by a French
coiffeur, but they grew where they were
curled. Not to carry the slight parable too
far, there was abimdant nature in the poetry
of that splendid time, nature even over-
abundant, and amid the ''"conceits'" which
the playful and impassioned poets practised
with all ingenuity and artifice, there lived
a wild sweetness ofnatm"^ —something wilder
and more natural, more rapturous and unre-
strained, than the spirit of the simpler Eliza-
bethans.
The truth is that no two ages of English
poetry are so unlike, so completely divided,
so suddenly severed, as the seventeenth cen-
tury and the eighteenth. The difference and
2047309
the suddenness are the strangest of all facts
in the history of our great literature. It
was a change that took place precisely at the
turn of the century. If we older readers had
kept the childish habit of making a visual
image — a kind of figure in the mind's eye —
we should see the end of the seventeenth cen-
tury draw in as the closing of a shutter and a
sudden exclusion of the sky. The seventee^ith
century had rapture, nature, spirituality,
and light; the eighteenth had the lack of
those high characters and signs of poetry.
The poets who came nearest to the closing
of the shutter are those on whom the
light of poetry is most radiant and most
7varm — the mystics Vaughan and Traherne
wrote on the verge of the dull and artificial
night within the house of literature; they
died in the light of genius. But it is not
these mystics only who so shine. Lovelace
the cavalier, Cowley the wit, Marvell the
Puritan sang and shone; I think there is not
one of their age — their great three-quarters
of a century — who had not this heavenly
quality of spirit and light. Of all the great
company Dry den had the least share; he
was most like to the poets of the age then to
come, hut in him too the old and fresh inspira-
tion lives — lives even thougJi dying; in him
it is not dead. A nd if a foreshadowing of
the eighteenth century appears, as an omen,
here and there in the blank verse of Miltofi,
yet the Milton of the lyrics, the Milton of
*' Lycidas''\ is himself the majestic spirit of
the seventeenth century, its very monarch,
dominant poet, and representative.
How the eighteenth century usually mis-
interpreted and occasionally 7nishandled the
seventeenth, may he seen in one interesting
example. Here is Pope^s borrowing of this
couplet of Ben Jonson's: —
" What beckoning ghost, besprent with April dew.
Hails me so solemnly to yonder yew ?"
Pope opens his 07ily tender and impassioned
poem with this : —
" What beckoning ghost along the moonlight shade
Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade ?"
This couplet, the beginning of the ''Elegy
on an Unfortunate Lady ", has a false ele-
gance, a trivial polish, but the solemnity and
freshness of the older poet is as it were put
to death.
Thus far I have considered the seventeenth-
century poetry at its sudden close. Its open-
inff was gradual. There was abruptness
at the end, but there was development at the
beginning. The Elisabethan genius changed
slowly and did not die. The change is so
s/ow and so beautiful that I have included
in this collection a certain munher of poets
ivhose breasts S7velled with the two ages, the
two voices of our poetry. In regard to date
I must take some latitude; for though the
earlier poets of this book lived longer in the
seventee?ith century than in the sixteenth^
they are in part virtually Elizabethan ^ but
ripe Elizabethans. Ben Jonson is one of
these, so is Donne. If zve take Cowley,
Crashaw, Vaughan, Lovelace, and the Mil-
ton of '^ Lycidas^'' as purely and eiitirely
seventeenth-century poets, we find the differ-
ence betwee?i them and Donne, between them
and Ben Jonson. Herrick has the Eliza-
be than freshness in his " Corinna^s Going a-
Maying^\ but in the sudden lovely phrase,
''Rise and put on your foliage 1^'' he is seven-
teenth century. That phrase is something
richer. It is the rich quality that is so dis-
tinctive of this later age. Rich grew over-
sweet and over-mellow 7iow and then, in
Crashaw^s exqttisite verse ; the beauty grew
to a too-conscious glory. '' Fair and flagrant
things " — Crashaw^s own brilliant phrase
describes the bright excess of this wonderful
poetry. But readers have been too much
afraid of the ' ' conceits " of that age, and
critics have been too much shocked. The
conceits are almost ail perfectly poetical,
rapturous in spite of artifice. At the end
oj accounts, the sei^enteenth-ce^itury conceit
is a far saner thing than the eighteenth-
century '^ rage''— the ^* noble rage'' into
zvhich the eighteenth century poet strove to
lash himself, in vain. He it 7i'as, and he
only, who put the stran's volnntarily into his
hail' —cry his pardon! — into his periii'ig.
The Elizabethan poetry is the apple-
blossom, fine and fragrant, the seventeenth
century the apple, fragrant and rich. The
change from the sixteenth century to the
seventeenth is a process, ivhile that from
the seventeenth to the eighteenth is a catas-
trophe.
ALICE ME Y NELL.
Contents
Page
John Donne (1573-1631)
This Happy Dream - _ - - i
Death ------- 3
Hymn to God the Father - - - 5
The Funeral - - _ _ - ■j
Daybreak - 9
Richard Barnefield (1574-1627)—
The Nightingale - - - - 11
Ben Jonson (i573?-i637)—
Charis' Triumph 13
Jealousy ------ 15
Epitaph on Elizabeth L. H. - - 16
H^'mn to Diana - - - - - 17
On my First Daughter - - - 18
Echo's Lament for Narcissus - - 19
An Epitaph on Salathiel Pavy, a Child
of Queen Elizabeth's Chapel - - 20
The Noble Balm 22
Thomas Dekker (i57o?-i64i ?) —
Lullaby 25
Sweet Content - - - - - 26
CONTENTS
Page
Thomas Heywood (d. 1650?) —
Good-morrow - - - - - 29
John Fletcher (1579-1625)—
Invocation to Sleep - - - - 31
Beaumont and Fletcher—
"I Died True" ----- 33
Francis Beaumont (i 584-1616) —
On the Tombs in Westminster Abbey 35
William DruxMmond of Hawthornden
( 1 585- 1649)—
Song- — " Phoebus, Arise !" - - - 37
Sleep, Silence" Child - - - - 40
To the Nig-htingale - - - - 41
Madrigal I - - - - - - 43
Madrigal II 44
Sir Francis Kynaston ( 1587- 1642)—
To Cynthia, on Concealment of her
Beauty 45
Nathaniel Field (1587-1633)—
Matin Song- 47
George Wither (1588- 1667) —
Sleep, Baby, Sleep! - - - - 49
Thomas Carew ( 1598?- 1639?)—
Song — Ask Me no more where Jove
bestows 53
To My Inconstant Mistress - - 54
CONTENTS
Page
An Hymeneal Dialogfue . . - 55
Ingrateful Beaut}- Threatened - - 57
Robert Herrick ( 159 i- 1674)—
To Dianeme - - - - - 59
To Meadows - - - - - 60
To Blossoms - - - - - 61
To Daffodils . . _ . . 62
To Daisies, Not to Shut so Soon - 63
To Violets 64
To the Virgins, To Make Much of
Time -..-_- 65
Dress -------66
In Silks - ^7
Corinna's Going a-Maying - - 68
Grace for a Child - - - - 72
Ben Jonson ------ 73
Cock-Crow ------ 74
A Thanksgiving- to God, for His
House ------ 75
To Death ------ 78
The New-Year's Gift - - - - 79
Eternity So
To his Saviour, a Child; a Present,
by a Child ----- 81
To his Conscience - - - - 82
His Dream - 83
An Ode, or Psalm, to God - - - 84
Evil ------- 85
To his dear God - - - - - 86
To Heaven 8,
His Meditation upon Death - - 88
CONTENTS
Page
Henry King, Bishop of Chichester
( 1 592- 1669)--
A Renunciation - - - - - 91
Exequy on his Wife - - - - 93
George Herbert ( 1593- '633)—
Holy Baptism ----- 97
Virtue - - 98
Unkindness ------ 99
Love loi
The Pulley ------ 102
The Collar 103
Life f05
Misery - - - - - - 106
Easter- - - - - - - no
Discipline - - - - - - m
A Dialog-ue- - - - - - "3
James vShirley (1596-1666) —
Equality 115
Anonymous —
Lullaby ------ 17
Sir William Davenant { 1606- 1668)—
Morning - - - - - - 119
Edmund Waller ( 1606- 1687)—
The Rose - - - - - - 121
To Vandike 123
On the Friendship betwixt two Ladies 125
Of Loving at First Sight - - - 127
xii
CONTENTS
Pase
Thomas Randolph (1605- 1635)—
His Mistress 129
Charles Best (fl. 1602) —
A Sonnet of the Moon - - - 131
John Milton (1608-1674) —
Hymn on Christ's Nativity - - 133
L'AlIeg-ro ------ 144
II Penseroso 150
Lycidas - - - - - - 157
On his Blindness - - - _ 168
On his Deceased Wife - - - 169
On Shakespeare - - - - - 170
Song- on May Morning- - - - 171
Invocation to Sabrina - - - 172
Invocation to Echo - - - - 174
The Revel - - - - - - i75
The Attendant Spirit - - - - 177
From Arcades - - - - - 179
To Mr. Lawrence - - - - r8o
Sir John Suckling (1609-1642) —
The Shades 181
Richard Crashaw (161 3?- 1649) —
On a Prayer-Book sent to Mrs. M. R. 183
To the Morning- 189
Love's Horoscope _ _ . _ 192
On Mr. G. Herbert's Book - - 195
Wishes to his vSupposed Mistress - 196
Quern Vidistis Fastores, &c. - - 202
xiii
CONTENTS
Page
Music's Duel _ _ - . . jo8
The Flamingo Heart - - - - 217
Abraham Cowley (1618-1667)—
On the Death of Mr. Crashavv - - 22:1^
Hymn to the Light - . - . 227
On the Death of Sir Anthony X'andike,
the Famous Painter- . . . 234
On the Death of Mr. William Hervey 237
For Hope ------ 245
On Orinda's Poems - - - - 248
Richard Lovelace (1618-1658)—
To Lucasta on going to the Wars - 251
To Amarantha 252
Lucasta --_.-. 253
To Althea, from Prison - . - 255
A guiltless Lady imprisoned: after
Penanced 257
The Rose ------ 259
The Grasshopper _ . _ - 261
Andrew Marvell ( 162 i- 1678)—
A Horatian Ode upon Cromwell's
Return from Ireland - - - 263
The Picture of little T. C. in a Pros-
pect of Flowers - - _ - 268
The Nymph Complaining of the Death
of her Fawn ----- 270
Hopeless Love 275
The Garden ----- 277
The Fair Singer 280
xiv
CONTENTS
Page
The Mower against Gardens - - 281
An Epitaph 283
The Coronet 284
Henry Vaughan (162 2- 1695) —
The Dawning" ----- 287
Childhood 289
Corruption 291
The Night 293
The Eclipse 296
The Retreat 297
The World of Light - . - - 299
Sweet Peace 302
The Timber ----- 303
John Dryden (1631-1700)-—
Ode to Mrs. Anne Killigrew - - 305
Sir George Etherege (i635?~i69i)—
Song - 311
Thomas Traherne (i636?-i674)—
The Salutation - - - - - 313
Wonder .-..-- 316
News 319
Sir Charles Sedley (1639?- 1701)—
To Chloris ------ 323
To Celia 325
Aphera Behn (1640- 1689)—
Song, from Abdclaza.r - . - 327
XV
CONTENTS
Page
The Earl of Rochester (1647-1680)—
An Apolog-y . - - . _ 329
The Duke of Buckingham (1628-1687)—
On One who died, Discovering' her
Kindness - 331
( B 126
John Donne
This Happy
Dream ^ ^
Dear love, for nothing less than thee
Would I have broke this happy dream ;
It was a theme
For reason, much too strong for fantasy.
Therefore thou wak'dst me wisely; yet
My dream thou brok'st not but con- \
tinu'dst it. I
Thou art so true, that thoughts of thee \
suffice I
To make dreams truth, and fables his- *
tories;
Enter these arms, for since thou thought'st
it best
Not to dream all my dream, let's act the
rest.
(B126) I B
THIS HAPPY DREAM
As lightning or a taper's light,
Thine eyes, and not thy noise, waked me.
Yet I thought thee
(For thou lov'st truth) an angel at first
sight;
But when I saw thou saw'st my heart,
And knew'st my thoughts beyond an
angel's art.
When thou knew'st what I dreamt, then
thou knew'st when
Excess of joy would wake me, and cam'st
then;
I must confess, it could not choose but be
Profane to think thee anything but thee.
Coming and staying showed thee thee,
But rising makes me doubt, that now
Thou art not thou.
That love is weak, where fear's as strong
as he;
'Tis not all spirit, pure and brave,
If mixture it of fear, shame, honour, have.
Perchance of torches, which must ready be,
Men light and put out, so thou deal'st with
me;
Thou cam'st to kindle, goest to come :
then I
Will dream that hope again, but else would
die.
Death
Death, be not proud, though some have
called thee
iMighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost
overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou
kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy picture
be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more
must flow;
And soonest our best men with thee do
SO,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou 'rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and
desperate men.
And dost with poison, war, and sickness
dwell,
3
DEATH
And poppy or charms can make us sleep
as well,
And better than thy stroke. Why swell'st
thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more; Death, thou
shalt die.
Hymn to
God the j^ j^
Father
Wilt Thou forgive that sin where I begun,
Which was my sin, though it were done
before ?
Wilt Thou forgive that sin through which
I run,
And do run still, though still I do de-
plore?
When Thou hast done. Thou hast not
done;
For I have more.
Wilt Thou forgive that sin, which I have
won
Others to sin, and made my sins their
door?
Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I did
shun
A year or two and wallowed in a score?
When Thou hast done, Thou hast not
done;
For 1 have more.
HYMN TO GOD THE FATHER
I have a sin of fear, that when I 've spun
My last thread, I shall perish on the
shore;
But swear by Thyself that at my death
Thy Son
Shall shine, as He shines now and here-
tofore.
And having done that, Thou hast done;
I fear no more.
The
Funeral
Whoever comes to shroud me, do not harm
Nor question much
That subtle wreath of hair about mine
arm;
The mystery, the sign, you must not
touch,
For 't is my outward soul,
Viceroy to that which, unto heaven being
gone,
Will leave this to control
And keep these limbs, her provinces, from
dissolution.
But if the sinewy thread my brain lets fall,
Through every part
Can tie those parts and make me one of
• all;
The hairs, which upward grew, and
strengtli and art
Have from a better brain,
THE FUNERAL
Can better do't; except she meant that I
B}' this should know my pain,
As prisoners then are manacled when
they 're condemned to die.
Whate'er she meant by 't, bury it with me;
For since I am
Love's martyr, it might breed idolatry
If into other's hands these relics came.
As 't was humility
To afford to it all that a soul can do,
So 'twas some bravery
That since you would have none of me,
I bury some of you.
Daybreak
Stay, O sweet, and do not rise!
The light that shines comes from thine
eyes ;
The day breaks not; it is my heart,
Because that thou and I must part.
Stay or else my joys will di^
And perish in their infancy.
Richard Barnefield
The
Nightingale
As it fell upon a day
In the merry month of May,
Sitting in a pleasant shade
Which a row of myrtles made,
Beasts did leap and birds did sing,
Trees did grow, and plants did spring
Everything did banish moan
Save the Nightingale alone.
She, poor bird, as all forlorn
Leaned her breast against a thorn
And there sung the dolefull'st ditty
That to hear it was great pity.
Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry;
Tereu, tere'i, by and by:
That to hear her so complain
Scarce I could from tears refrain;
THE NIGHTINGALE
For her griefs so lively shown
Made me think upon my own.
— Ah, thought I, thou mourn'st in vain,
None takes pity on my pain:
Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee,
Ruthless beasts, they will not cheer thee.
King Pandion, he is dead.
All thy friends are lapped in lead:
All thy fellow birds do sing
Careless of thy sorrowing:
Even so, poor bird, like thee
None alive will pity me.
Ben J
onson
Chans'
Triumph
See the chariot at hand here of Love,
Wherein my lady rideth !
Each that draws is a swan or a dove,
And well the car Love guideth.
As she goes all hearts do duty
Unto her beauty;
And enamoured do wish, so they might
But enjoy such a sight,
That they still were to run by her side,
Through swords, through seas, whither
she would ride.
Do but look on her eyes, they do light
All that love's world compriseth!
Do but look on her, she is bright
As love's star when it riseth !
i3
CHARIS' TRIUMPH
Do but mark, her forehead's smoother
Than words that soothe her!
And from her arched brows, such a grace
Sheds itself through the face,
As alone there triumphs to the life
All the gain, all the good of the elements'
strife.
Have you seen but a bright lily grow
Before rude hands have touched it?
Have you marked but the fall of the snow
Before the soil hath smutched it?
Have you felt the wool of the beaver,
Or swan's down ever?
Or have smelled o' the bud o' the brier
Or the nard in the tire?
Or have tasted the bag of the bee?
O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is
she!
14
Jealousy
Wretched and foolish jealousy,
How cam'st thou thus to enter me?
I ne'er was of thy kind:
Nor have I yet the narrow mind
To vent that poor desire,
That others should not warm them at my
fire:
I wish the sun should shine
On all men's fruits and flowers as well
as mine.
But under the disguise of love.
Thou say'st thou only cam'st to prove
What my affections were.
Think'st thou that love is helped by fear?
Go, get thee quickly forth.
Love's sickness and his noted want of
worth,
Seek doubting men to please.
I ne'er will owe my health to a disease.
15
Epitaph on
Elizabeth L. H.
Wouldst thou hear what many say
In a little? — reader, stay.
Underneath this stone doth lie
As much beauty as could die;
Which in life did harbour give
To more virtue than doth live.
If at all she had a fault,
Leave it buried in this vault.
One name was Elizabeth,
The other, let it sleep in death:
Fitter where it died to tell
Than that it lived at all. Farewell!
l6
Hymn to
Diana
Queen and Huntress, chaste and fair,
Now the sun is laid to sleep.
Seated in thy silver chair
State in wonted manner keep:
Hesperus entreats thy light,
Goddess excellently bright!
Earth, let not thy envious shade
Dare itself to interpose;
Cynthia's shining orb was made
Heaven to clear when day did close:
Bless us then with wished sight.
Goddess excellently bright!
Lay thy bow of pearl apart.
And thy crystal-shining quiver,
Give unto the flying hart
Space to breathe, how short soever:
Thou that mak'st a day of night.
Goddess excellently bright!
{ B 126 ) 17
On my First
Daughter
Here lies to each her parents' ruth,
Mary, the daughter of their youth:
Yet all Heaven's gifts being Heaven's
due,
It makes the father less to rue.
At six months' end she parted hence
With safety of her innocence;
Whose soul Heaven's Queen (whose name
she bears).
In comfort of her mother's tears,
Hath placed among her virgin train:
Where, while that severed doth remain,
This grave partakes the fleshly birth.
Which cover lightly, gentle earth.
x8
Echo's Lament
for Narcissus
Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with
my salt tears;
Yet, slower yet ; O faintly, gentle
springs;
List to the heavy part the music bears;
Woe weeps out her division when she
sings.
Droop herbs and flowers;
Fall grief in showers,
Our beauties are not ours;
O, I could still.
Like melting snow upon some craggy hill,
Drop, drop, drop, drop,
Since nature's pride is now a withered
daffodil.
19
An Epitaph on
Salathiel Pavy,
a Child of Queen
Elizabeth's Chapel
Weep with me, all you that read
This little story;
And know, for whom a tear you shed
Death's self is sorry.
It was a child that so did thrive
In grace and feature,
As Heaven and Nature seemed to strive
Which owned the creature.
Years he numbered scarce thirteen
When fates turned cruel,
Yet three filled zodiacs had he been
The stage's jewel;
And did act (what now we moan)
Old men so duly,
Ah, sooth, the Parca^ thought him one
He played so truly.
AN EPITAPH
So by error to liis fate
They all consented,
But viewing him since, alas, too late
They have repented;
And have sought, to give new birth,
In baths to steep him;
But being much too good for earth,
Heaven vows to keep him.
The Noble j^ ^
Balm
High-spirited friend,
I send nor balms nor cor'sives to your
wound:
Your fate hath found
A gentler and more agile hand to tend
The care of that which Is but corporal;
And doubtful days, which were named
critical,
Have made their fairest flight
And now are out of sight.
Yet doth some wholesome physic for the
mind
Wrapp'd in this paper lie,
Which in the taking if you misapply,
You are unkind.
Your covetous hand,
Happy In that fair honour it hath gained.
Must now be reined.
True valour doth her own renown com-
mand
THE NOBLE BALM
In one full action; nor have you now
more
To do, than be a husband of that store.
Think but how dear you bought
This fame which you have caught:
Such thoughts will make you more in
love with truth.
'Tis wisdom, and that high.
For men to use their fortune reverently,
Even in youth.
23
Thomas Dekker
Lullaby
Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,
Smiles awake you when you rise.
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby.
Rock them, rock a lullaby.
Care is heavy, therefore sleep you;
You are care, and care must keep you.
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing- a lullaby.
Rock them, rock a lullaby.
25
Sweet Content
Art thou poor, and hast ihou g-olden
slumbers?
O sweet content!
Art thou rich, and is thy mind per-
plexed?
O punishment !
Dost thou laugh to see how fools are
vexed
To add to golden numbers, golden
numbers?
O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet con-
tent!
Work apace, apace, apace, apace;
Honest labour bears a lovely face;
Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny
nonny!
Canst drink the waters of the crisped
spring?
O sweet content!
Swimm'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in
thine own tears?
O punishment!
26
SWEET CONTENT
Then he that patiently want's burden
bears
No burden bears, but Is a kuig, a khig !
O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet con-
tent!
Work apace, apace, apace, apace;
Honest labour bears a lovely face;
Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny
27
Thomas Heywood
Good-morrow j^ J^
Pack, clouds, away, and welcome day,
With night we banish sorrow;
Sweet air blow soft, mount larks aloft
To give my Love good-morrow!
Wings from the wind to please her mind,
Notes from the lark I '11 borrow;
Bird, prune thy wing, nightingale sing
To give my Love good-morrow;
To give my Love good-morrow.
Notes from them both I '11 borrow.
Wake from thy nest, robin redbreast,
Sing, birds, in every furrow;
And from each hill, let music shrill
Give my fair Love good-morrow!
Blackbird and thrush in every bush.
Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow!
,29
GOOD-MORROW
You pretty elves, amongst yourselves.
Sing my fair Love good-morrow.
To give my Love good-morrow
Sing, birds in every furrow!
30
John Fletcher
Invocation
to Sleep ^
FROM VALENTINIAN
Care - charming Sleep, thou easer of all
woes,
Brother to Death, sweetly thyself dispose
On this afflicted prince ; fall like a cloud
In gentle showers; give nothing that is
loud
Or painful to his slumbers ; — easy, sweet,
And as a purling stream, thou son of
Night,
Pass by his troubled senses ; sing his pain
Like hollow murmuring wind or silver
rain ;
Into this prince gently, oh gently, slide
And kiss him into slumbers like a bride.
31
Beaumont and Fletcher
"I Died
True"
Lay a garland on my hearse
Of the dismal yew;
Maidens, willow-branches bear;
Say, I died true.
My love was false, but J was firm
From my hour of birth.
Upon my buried body lie
Lightly, gentle earth.
(Bic6) 33
Francis Beaumont
On the Tombs
in Westminster j^ j^
Abbey
Mortality, behold and fear!
What a change of flesh is here !
Think how many royal bones
Sleep within these heaps of stones ;
Here they lie had realms and lands,
Who now want strength to stir their
hands ;
Where from their pulpits sealed with dust
They preach, In greatness is no trust.
Here 's an acre sown indeed
W^ith the richest royallest seed
That the Earth did e'er suck in
Since the first man died for sin :
Here the bones of birth have cried,
Though gods they were, as men they died I
35
IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY
Here are sands, ignoble things,
Dropt from the ruined sides of kings :
Here 's a world of pomp and state
Buried in dust, once dead by fate.
William Drummond of
Hawthornden
Song ^ j^
Phoebus, arise !
And paint the sable skies
With azure, white, and red:
Rouse Memnon's mother from her Tithon's
bed
That she thy career may with roses spread:
The nightingales thy coming each-where
sing :
Make an eternal spring!
Give life to this dark world which lieth
djad ;
Spread forth thy golden hair
In larger locks than thou wast wont
before,
And emperor-like decore
With diadem of pearl thy temples fair:
Chase hence the ugly night
Which serves but to make dear thy glori-
ous light.
37
PHCEBUS, ARISE!
This is that happy morn,
That day, long-wished day
Of all my life so dark
(If cruel stars have not my ruin sworn
And fates not hope betray),
Which, purely white, deser\es
An everlasting diamond should it mark.
This is the morn should bring unto this
grove
My Love, to hear and recompense my
love.
Fair king, who all preserves,
But show thy blushing beams,
And thou two sweeter eyes
Shalt see than those which by Peneus'
streams
Did once thy heart surprise.
Nay, suns, which shine as clear
As thou, when two thou didst to Rome
appear.
Now, Flora, deck thyself in fairest guise:
If that ye winds would hear
A voice surpassing far Amphion's lyre.
Your stormy chiding stay;
Let Zephyr only breathe,
And with her tresses play,
Kissing sometimes these purple ports of
death.
38
PHCEBUS, ARISE!
The winds all silent are,
And Phoebus in his chair
Ensaffroning sea and air
Makes vanish every star:
Night like a drunkard reels
Beyond the hills, to shun his flaming
wheels t
The fields with flowers are decked in
every hue,
The clouds with orient gold spangle their
blue ;
Here is the pleasant place—
And nothing wanting is, save She, alas!
39
Sleep, Silence* j^ j^
Child
Sleep, Silence' child, sweet father of soft
rest.
Prince, whose approach peace to all
mortals brings,
indifferent host to shepherds and to kings,
Sole comforter of minds with grief op-
pressed ;
Lo, by thy charming rod all breathing
things
Lie slumb'ring, with forgetfulness pos-
sessed.
And yet o'er me to spread thy drowsy
wings
Thou sparest, alas ! who cannot be thy
guest.
Since I am thine, O come, but with that
face
To inward light which thou art wont to
show ;
With feigned solace ease a true-felt woe;
Or if, deaf god, thou do deny that grace,
Come as thou wilt, and what thou wilt
bequeath :
I long to kiss the image of my death.
40
To the j^ j^
Nightingale
Dear chorister, who from these shadows
sends,
Ere that the blushing- morn dare show
her light,
Such sad lamenting strains, that night
attends,
Become all ear, stars stay to hear thy
plight :
If one whose grief even reach of thought
transcends.
Who ne'er, not in a dream, did taste de-
light.
May thee importune who like care pre-
tends,
And seems to joy in woe, in woe's
despite;
Tell me (so may thou fortune milder
try,
And long, long sing) for what thou thus
complains,
Sith, winter gone, the sun in dappled
sky
Now smiles on meadows, mountains,
woods, and plains?
41
TO THE NIGHTINGALE
The bird, as if my question did her
move,
With trembling wings sobbed forth, "I
love! I love!"
42
Madrigal I j^ j^
Like the Idalian queen,
Her hair upon her eyne,
With neck and breast's ripe apples to be
seen,
At first glance of the morn,
In Cyprus' gardens gathering those fair
flowers
Which of her blood were born,
I saw, but fainting saw, my paramours.
The graces naked danced about the place
The winds and trees amazed
With silence on her gazed ;
The flowers did smile, like those upon her
face,
And as their aspen stalks those fingers
band.
That she might read my case
A hyacinth I wished me in her hand.
43
Madrigal W J^ J^
The beauty and the life
Of life's and beauty's fairest paragon,
O tears! O grief! hung at a feeble thread
To which pale Atropos had set her knife;
The soul with many a groan
Had left each outward part,
And now did take its last leave of the
heart ;
Nought else did want, save death, even
to be dead;
When the afflicted band about her bed,
Seeing so fair him come in lips, cheeks,
eyes,
Cried, "Ah! and can death enter para-
dise?"
44
Sir Francis Kynaston
To Cynthia,
on Concealment -^ J^
of her Beauty
Do not conceal those radiant eyes,
The starlight of serenest skies;
Lest, wanting of their heavenly light,
They turn to chaos' endless night!
Do not conceal those tresses fair,
The silken snares of th}' curled hair;
Lest, finding neither gold nor ore,
The curious silk- worm work no more.
Do not conceal those breasts of thine,
More snow-white than the Apennine;
Lest, if there be like cold or frost,
The lily be forever lost.
45
TO CYNTHIA
Do not conceal that fragrant scent,
Thy breath, which to all flowers hath lent
Perfumes; lest, it being supprest,
No spices grow in all the rest.
Do not conceal thy heavenh voice,
Which makes the hearts of gods rejoice;
Lest, music hearing no such thing,
The nightingale forget to sing.
Do not conceal, nor yet eclipse,
Thy pearly teeth with coral lips;
Lest that the seas cease to bring forth
Gems which from thee have all their worth.
Do not conceal no beauty, grace,
That's either in thy mind or face;
Lest virtue overcome by vice
Make men believe no Paradise.
46
Nathaniel Field
Matin ^ j^
Song
Rise, Lady Mistress, rise!
The night hath tedious been;
No sleep hath fallen into mine eyes
Nor slumbers made me sin.
Is not she a saint then, say,
Thoughts of whom keep sin away?
Rise, Madam ! rise and give me light,
Whom darkness still will cover.
And ignorance, darker than night,
Till thou smile on thy lover.
All want day till thy beauty rise ;
For the grey morn breaks from thine eyes.
47
George Wither
Sleep, Baby.
Sleep! ^ -^
Sleep, baby, sleep! what ails my dear,
What ails my darling thus to cry?
Be still, my child, and lend ihine ear,
To hear me sing thy lullaby.
My pretty lamb, forbear to weep;
Be still, my dear; sweet baby, sleep.
Thou blessed soul, what canst thou fear?
What thing to thee can mischief do?
Thy God is now thy father dear,
His holy Spouse thy mother too.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
Though thy conception was in sin,
A sacred bathing thou hast had;
And though thy birth unclean hath been,
A blameless babe thou now art made.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
(B126) 49 E
SLEEP, BABY, SLEEP!
While thus thy lullaby I sing,
For thee great blessing's ripening be;
Thine Eldest Brother is a king-,
And hath a kingdom bought for thee.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
Sleep, baby, sleep, and nothing fear;
For whosoever thee offends
By thy protector threaten'd are,
And God and angels are thy friends.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe ; sweet baby, sleep.
When God with us was dwelling here,
In little babes He took delight;
Such innocents as thou, my dear.
Are ever precious in His sight.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
A little infant once was He;
And strength in weakness then was laid
Upon His Virgin Mother's knee,
That power to thee might be convey'd.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
50
SLEEP, BABY, SLEEP!
In this thy frailt}- and thy need
He friends and helpers doth prepare,
Which thee shall cherish, clothe, and feed,
For of thy weal they tender are.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
The King of kings, when He was born.
Had not so much for outward ease;
By Him such dressings v/ere not worn,
Nor suchlike swaddling-clothes as these.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
Within a manger lodged thy Lord,
Where oxen lay and asses fed:
Warm rooms we do to thee afford,
An easy cradle or a bed.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
The wants that He did then sustain
Have purchased wealth, my babe, for thee;
And by His torments and His pain
Thy rest and ease secured be.
My baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe ; sweet baby, sleep.
51
SLEEP, BABY, SLEEP!
Thou hast, yet more, to perfect this.
A promise and an earnest got
Of gaining everlasting bliss,
Though thou, my babe, perceiv'st it not.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
52
Thomas Carew
Song -^ -^
Ask me no more where Jove bestows,
When June is past, the fading rose;
For in your beauties, orient deep,
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.
Ask me no more whither do stray
The golden atoms of the day;
For in pure love heaven did prepare
Those powders to enrich your hair.
Ask me no more whither doth haste
The nightingale when May is past;
For in your sweet dividing throat
She winters, and keeps warm her note.
Ask me no more if east or west
The phoenix builds her spicy nest;
For unto you at last she flies,
And in your fragrant bosom dies!
53
To my
Inconstant ^ ^
Mistress
When thou, poor Excommunicate
From all the joys of Love, shalt see
The full reward and g^lorlous fate
Which my strong- faith shall purchase
me,
Then curse thine own inconstancy.
A fairer hand than thine shall cure
That heart which thy false oaths did
wound;
And to my soul a soul more pure
Than thine shall by Love's hand be
bound,
And both with equal glory crowned.
Then shalt thou weep, entreat, complain
To Love, as I did once to thee :
When all thy tears shall be as vain
As mine were then: for thou shalt be
Damned for thy false Apostacy.
54
An Hymeneal ^ ^
Dialogue
Groom. — Tell me, my Love, since Hymen
tied
The holy knot, hast thou not felt
A new-infused spirit slide
Into thy breast, whilst mine did melt?
Bride. — First tell me, Sweet, whose words
were those?
For though your voice the air did break,
Yet 'did m}- soul the sense compose,
And through your lips my heart did
speak.
Groom. — Then I perceive, when from the
flame
Of love my scorched soul did retire,
Your frozen heart in that place came.
And sweetly melted in that fire.
Bridi\—'T is true, for when that mutual
change
Of souls was made, with equal gain,
I straight might feel diffused a strange
Bui gentle heat through every vein.
AN HYMENEAL DIALOGUE
Bride. — Thy bosom then I'll make my
nest,
Since there my willing- soul doth perch.
Groom. — And for my heart, in thy chaste
breast,
I'll make an everlasting search.
O blest disunion, that doth so
Our bodies from our souls divide ;
As two to one, and one four grow,
Each by contraction multiplied.
56
Ingrateful
Beauty J^ J^
Threatened
Know, Celia (since thou art so proud),
'T was I that gave thee thy renown !
Thou hadst in the forgotten crowd
Of common beauties lived unknown,
Had not my verse exhaled thy name,
And with it imped the wings of fame.
That killing power is none of thine;
I gave it to thy voice and eyes;
Thy sweets, thy graces, all are mine;
Thou art my star, shin'st in my skies;
Then dart not from thy borrowed sphere
Lightning on him that fixed thee there.
Tempt me with such affrights no more
Lest what I made I uncreate !
Let fools thy mystic forms adore;
I '11 know thee in thy mortal state.
Wise poets, that wrapped truth in tales,
Knew her themselves through all her veils.
Robert Herrick
To Dianeme ^ ^
Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes
Which star-like sparkle in their skies ;
Nor be you proud, that you can see
All hearts your captives ; yours yet free.
Be you not proud of that rich hair
Which wantons with the love-sick air;
Whenas that ruby which you wear,
Sunk from the tip of your soft ear,
Will last to be a precious stone
When all your world of beauty's gone.
59
To Meadows
Ye have been fresh and green,
Ye have been filled with flowers ;
And ye the walks have been
Where maids have spent their hours.
Ye have beheld how they
With wicker arks did come
To kiss and bear away
The richer cowslips home.
You 've heard them sweetly sing-,
And seen them in a round,
Each virgin, like a Spring,
With honeysuckles crowned.
But now we see none here
Whose silvery feet did tread.
And with dishevelled hair
Adorned this smoother mead.
Like unthrifts, having spent
Your stock, and needy grown,
You Ve left here to lament
Your poor estates alone.
60
To Blossoms
Fair pledges of a fruitful tree,
Why do ye fall so fast?
Your date is not so past,
But you may stay yet here awhile
To blush and gently smile,
And go at last.
What, were you born to be
An hour or half's delight.
And so to bid good-night?
'Twas pity Nature brought ye forth
Merely to show your worth,
And lose you quite !
But you are lovely leaves, where we
May read how soon things have
Their end, though ne'er so brave :
And after they have shown their pride
Like you, awhile, they glide
Into the grave.
61
To Daffodils j^ j^
Fair Daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon :
As yet the early-rising Sun
Has not attained his noon.
Stay, stay,
Until the hasting day
Has run
But to the even-song;
And, having prayed together, we
Will go with you along.
We have short time to stay, as j'ou,
We have as short a Spring ;
As quick a growth to meet decay
As you, or any thing.
We die.
As your hours do, and dry
Away,
Like to the Summer's rain.
Or as the pearls of morning's dew,
Ne'er to be found again.
62
To Daisies,
Not to Shut ^ j^
so Soon
Shut not so soon; the dull-eyed night
Hath not as yet begun
To make a seizure on the light,
Or to seal up the sun.
No marigolds yet closed are,
No shadows great appear;
Nor doth the early shepherd's star
Shine like a spangle here.
Stay but till my Julia close
Her life-begetting eye.
And let the whole world then dispose
Itself to live or die.
63
To Violets
Welcome, Maids of Honour!
You do bring-
In the Spring,
And wait upon her.
She has Virgins man}^,
Fresh and fair;
Yet you are
iMore sweet than any.
Y'are the Maiden Posies,
And so graced.
To be placed
'Fore Damask Roses.
Yet though thus respected,
By and by
Ye do lie,
Poor Girls, neglected.
To the Virgins,
To Make Much
of Time
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying :
And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.
The glorious Lamp of Heaven, the Sun,
The higher he 's a-getting.
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he 's to setting.
That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.
Then be not coy, but use your time;
And while ye may, go marry :
For having lost but once your prime.
You may for ever tarry.
(B126) ^5
Dress J^ J^
A sweet disorder in the dress
Kindles in clothes a wantonness : —
A lawn about the shoulders thrown
Into a fine distraction, —
An erring lace, which here and there
Enthrals the crimson stomacher, —
A cuff neglectful, and thereby
Ribbands to flow confusedly, —
A winning wave, deser\ing note,
In the tempestuous petticoat, —
A careless shoe-string, in whose tie
I see a wild civility, —
Do more bewitch me, than when art
Is too precise in every part.
66
In Silks J^ j^
Whenas in silks my Julia goes,
Then, then (methinks) how sweetly flows
That liquefaction of her clothes.
Next, when I cast mine eyes and see
That brave vibration each way free;
O how that glittering taketh me!
Corinna's
Going JS^ ^
a-Maying
Get up, get up tor shame I Thr hlooinin^^
morn
Upon her wings presents the gud un-
shorn.
See how Aurora throws lier fair
Fresh-quilted colours through the air I
Get up, sweet Slug-a-bed, and see
The dew bespangling herb and trer.
Each flower has wept, and bowed toward
the east
Above an hour since ; yet you nf)t drest —
Nay! not so much as out of bed,
When all the birds have matins said,
And sung their thankful hymns: "ti->
sin,
Nay, profanation, to keep in—
Whereas a thousaiid virgins on tliis
day
Spring, sooner than the lark, to fetch in
May.
68.,
COJ^/XXA'S GOIXG A-MAVIXG
Ri>e, and pul on your foliaj^r, ;ind hv
s<*en
To come fortli, liUt- ilu* Sprini,'-tinu', fresh
and ^^reen,
And sweet as Flora. Take no can'
Vor jewtis for your i^^own or liair:
Kear not ; the leaves will strew
(iems in abundance upon you :
Besides, the childhood of the day has kepi
Aj(^ainst you come. som»- ori«MU pt-arls un-
wrpi :
Come, and receive th«*ni while ihc \'\^\n
Hani^^s on the dew-Iock.s of the nij^hl :
And Titan on the eastern hill
Retires himself, or else stands still
Till you come forth. Wash. dres^. be brief
in prayinj^ :
F«'W beads are best, when once wf j^o
a- Maying.
Come, m\ Curinna. come! and comlnj^^.
mark
How each field unn-< a >irfel, each street
a park
Made ^'reen, and trimmed with trees:
see how
Devotion §^ives each houst* a boujj^h
Or branch: each porch, each door, ere
this,
An ark. a tabernacle is,
69
co7?AVAVi\v go/at; J-A/A]'/\G
Made up of whitc-tliurn m-ally iiUn wove,
As if here were those cooler >liade.s of love.
Can such dehj^^hts be in the street
And open tulds, and we not see't?
Come, we '11 abroad : and l««t 's obey
The proclamation made fur Ma) :
And sin iiu niDrc, as \\r ha\e dom-. by
staying :
But, mv Corinn.i, < ome ! Id '> i^o a-Mayinj^.
There's not a budding boy or j^irl, this
day,
But is got up, and gone to bring in May.
A deal of youth, ere this, is come
Back, and with white-thorn laden home.
Some have despatched their cak'- \v(\
cream,
Before that we have lel't to dream :
And some have wept, and wooed, and
plighted troth,
And cliose their priest, ere we can cast oft'
sloth:
Many a green-gown has been given ;
Many a kiss, both odd and even :
Many a glance, too, has been sent
From out the eye, Love's firmament :
Many a jest told of the keys betraying
This night, and locks picked : — Yet we 're
not a-Maying.
70
COJ^LVAWS GOIXG A-MAVING
Coiiit*! I«*l lis ^o, whilr uc air \u niir
prime.
And lake llio harniKss lolly of lh»- liinc!
VV^' shall j^row old apact-, and (ii»-
Hetbrf we know our liberty.
Our life is short : and our days run
As fast away as does the sun:
Aiul as a vapour, or a drop of rain
C)iu«- lost, can ne'er be found ajjain ;
So when or you or I are made
A fabU', sonj^, or tleelinj^ shade,
All love, all likinl,^ all deli^^ht
Lies drowned with us in endless ni^ht.
Then while time *er\e.s. and we an- but
decayinj^,
Come, my C'orlnna, Lome ! let's j^o
a-Mayini^.
Grace for
a Child
Here, a little child, I stand,
HeavinjJ^ up my either hand :
Cold as paddocks though they be,
Here I lift them up to Thee,
For a benison to fall
On our meat and on our all. Amen.
72
Ben Jonson J^ -^
Ah. Brii!
Say how, or when,
Sliall we th\ ^iirsts
Meet at those lyric feasts
Made at the Sun,
The Dog^, the Triple Tun?
Where we such clusters had
As made us nobly wild, not mad ;
And yet each verse of thine
Out-did the meat, out-did the frolic wine,
My Ben!
Or come again
Or send to us
Thy wil's great o\rr-plus;
But teach us yet
Wisely to husband it.
Lest we that talent spend :
And having once brought to an end
That precious stock, the store
Of suchawit. the world should havenomore
73
Cock-Crow
Bell-man of Night, if I about shall i^o
For to deny my Master, do thou crow.
Thou stop'st St. Peter in the midst of sin ;
Stay me, by crowing- ere I do begin.
Better it is, premonished, for to shun
A sin, than fall to weeping when 't is done.
74
A Thanksgiving
to God, for His J^ ^
House
Lord, thou hast given me a cell
Wherein to dwell;
A little house, whose humble Roof
Is weather-proof;
Under the spars of which I lie
Both soft, and dry;
Where Thou my chamber for to ward
Hast set a Guard
Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep
Me, while 1 sleep.
Low is my porch, as is my Fate,
Both void of state;
And yet the threshold of my door
Is worn by th' poor,
Who thither come and freely get
Good words, or meat:
Likeas my Parlour, so my Hall
And Kitchen's small:
75
A THANKSGIVING
A little Butterv, and therein
A little Bin.
Which keeps my little loaf of Bread
L'nchipl, un tit-ad:
Some brittle slicks ol" Thorn or Briar
Make me a fire,
Close by whose livint;^ coal 1 sit,
And glow like it.
Lord, 1 confess too, when I dine,
The Pulse is Thine,
And all those other Bits, that be
There plac'd by Thee;
The Worts, the Purslain, and the Mess
Of water-cress,
Which of Thy kindness Thou hast
sent;
And my content
Makes those and my beloved Beet
To be more sweet.
'Tis Thou that crown'st my glittering
Hearth
With guiltless mirth;
And giv'st me Wassail Bowls lo drink,
Spic'd to the brink.
Lord, 'tis Thy plenty-dropping hand,
That soils my land;
And gives me, for my Bushel sown,
Twice ten for one:
Thou mak'st my teeming Hen to lay
Her egg each day:
76
A THANKSGIVING
Besides my healthful Ewes to bear
Mc twins each year:
The wliile the conduits of my Kine
Run Cream (for Wine).
All these, and better Thou dost send
Me, to this end.
That I should render, for my part,
A thankful heart;
Which, fir'd with incense, I resign
As wholly Thine;
But the acceptance, that must be.
My Christ, by Thee.
71
To Death
Thou bidst me come away,
And I ']1 no longer stay,
Then for to shed some tears
For faults of former years;
And to repent some crimes,
Done in the present times:
And next, to take a bit
Of Bread, and Wine with it:
To don my robes of love,
Fit for the place above;
To gird my loins about
With charity throughout;
And so to travail hence
With feet of innocence:
These done, I '11 only cry
God mercy; and so die.
7^
The New- ^ ^
Year's Gift
Let others look for pearl and gold,
Tissues or tabbies manifold;
One only look of that sweet hay
Whereon the blessed Baby lay,
Or one poor swaddling-clout, shall be
The richest New-Year's gift to me.
79"
Eternity
O Years! and Age I Farewell:
Behold 1 go,
Where I do know
Infinity to dwell.
And these mine eyes shall see
All times, how they
Are lost i' th' Sea
Of vast Eternity.
Where never Moon shall sway
The Stars; but she,
And Night, shall be
Drown'd in one endless Day.
So
To his Saviour,
a Child; ^ ^
a Present,
by a Child
Go, pretty child, and bear this Flower
Unto thy little Saviour;
And tell Him, by that Bud now blown,
He is the Rose of Sharon known:
When thou hast said so, stick it there
Upon His Bib, or Stomacher:
And tell Him (for good handsel! too),
That thou hast brought a Whistle new,
Made of a clean straight oaten reed,
To charm His cries (at time of need):
Tell Him, for Coral, thou hast none;
But if thou hadst. He should have one;
But poor thou art, and known to be
Even as moneyless, as He.
Lastly, if thou canst win a kiss
From those mellifluous lips of His;
Then never take a second on.
To spoil the first impression.
(B126) 81 G
To his
Conscience
Can I not sin, but thou wilt be
My private Protonotary?
Can I not woo thee to pass by
A short and sweet iniquity?
1 Ml cast a mist and cloud, upon
My delicate transgression,
So utter dark, as that no eye
Shall see the hug'd impiety:
Gifts blind the wise, and bribes do please,
And wind all other witnesses:
And wilt not thou, with gold, be tied
To lay thy pen and ink aside?
That in the mirk and tonguelcss night,
Wanton 1 may, and thou not w^ite?
It w'ill not be: And, therefore, now.
For times to come, I 'W make this Vow,
From aberrations to live free;
So I '11 not fear the Judge, nor thee.
32
His Dream
1 dreamt, last night, Thou didst transfuse
Oil from Thy Jar, into my cruse;
And pouring still Thy wealthy store,
The vessel, full, did then run o'er:
Methought, I did Thy bounty chide,
To see the waste; but 'twas replied
By Thee, Dear God, God gives man seed
Oft-times for waste, as for his need.
Then I could say, that house is bare
That has not bread, and some to spare.
83
An Ode, or
Psalm, to God
Dear God,
If Thy smart Rod
Here did not make me sorry,
1 should not be
With Thine, or Thee,
In Thy eternal Glory.
But since
Thou didst convince
My sins, by gently striking-;
Add still to those
First stripes, new blows,
According- to Thy liking.
Fear me,
Or scourging tear me;
That thus from vices driven,
I may from Hell
Fly up, to dwell
With Thee, and Thine in Heaven.
84
Evil
J^
Evil no Nature hath; the loss of good
Is that which gives to sin a livelihood.
3S
To his j^ ^
dear God
I '11 hope no more
For things that will not come:
And, if they do, they prove but cumber-
some;
Wealth brings much woe:
And, since it fortunes so,
'Tis better to be poor
Than so abound.
As to be drowned,
Or overwhelmed with store.
Pale care, avant!
I '11 learn to be content
Willi that small stock, Thy Bounty gave
or lent.
What may conduce
To my most healthful use,
Almighty God me grant;
But that, or this,
That hurtful is.
Deny thy suppliant.
86
To Heaven
open thy gates
To him, who weeping waits,
And might come in,
But that held back by sin.
Let mercy be
So kind, to set me free,
And 1 will strait
Come in, or force the srate.
His Meditation j^ ^
upon Death
Be those few hours, which 1 have yet to
spend,
Blest with the Meditation of my end:
Though they be few in number, I 'm con-
tent;
If otherwise, I stand indifferent:
Nor makes it matter, Nestor's years to tell.
If man lives long, and if he live not well.
A multitude of days still heaped on,
Seldom brings order, but confusion.
Might I make choice, long life should be
withstood;
Nor would I care how short it were, If
good:
Which to effect, let every passing Bell
Possess my thoughts, next comes my dole-
ful knell:
And when the night persuades me to my bed,
I'll think I'm going to be buried:
So shall the Blankets which come over me,
Present those Turfs, which once must cover
me:
88
MEDITATION UPON DEATH
And with as firm behaviour I will meet
The sheet I sleep in, as nn VVinding--
sheet.
When sleep shall bath his body in mine
eyes,
I w'll believe, that then my body dies:
And if I chance to wake, and rise thereon,
I '11 have in mind my Resurrection,
Which must produce me to that General
Doom,
To which the Peasant, so the Prince must
come.
To hear the Judge give sentence on the
Throne,
Without the least hope of affection.
Tears, at that day, shall make but weak
defence,
When Hell and Horror fright the Con-
science.
Let me, though late, yet at the last, begin
To shun the least Temptation to a sin;
Though to be tempted be no sin, until
Man to the alluring object gives his will.
Such let my life assure me, when my
breath
Goes thieving from me, I am safe in
death ;
Which is the height of comfort, when I
fall,
I rise triumphant in m)' Funeral.
89
Henry King,
Bishop of Chichester
A Renunciation ^ «^
We, that did nothing- study but the way
To love each other, with which thoughts
the day
Rose with delight to us and with them set,
Must learn the hateful art, how to forget.
We, that did nothing wish that Heaven
could give
Beyond ourselves, nor did desire to live
Beyond that wish, all these now cancel
must,
As if not writ in faith, but words and dust.
Yet witness those clear vows which lovers
make,
W^itness the chaste desires that never
break
Into unruly heats; witness that breast
Which in thy bosom anchored his whole
rest —
91
A RENUNCIATION
'T is no default in us : I dare acquite
Thy maiden faith, thy purpose fair and
white
As thy pure self. Cross planets did envy
Us to each other, and Heaven did untie
Faster than vows could bind. Oh that
the stars,
When lovers meet, should stand opposed
in wars !
Since, then, some higher destinies com-
mand.
Let us not strive, nor labour to withstand
What is past help. The longest date of
grief
Can never yield a hope of our relief
Fold back our arms; take home our fruit-
less loves.
That must new fortunes try, like turtle-
doves
Dislodged from their haunts; we must in
tears
Unwind a love knit up in many j'ears.
In this last kiss I here surrender thee
Back to thyself — so thou again art free ;
Thou in another, sad as that, resend
The truest heart that lover e'er did lend.
Now turn from each ; so fare our severed
hearts
As the divorced soul from her body parts.
92
Exequy on
his Wife
Accept, thou shrine of my dead saint,
Instead of dirges, this complaint;
And, for sweet flowers to crown thy
hearse,
Receive a strew of weeping verse
From thy grieved friend whom thou
might'st see
Quite melted into tears for thee.
Dear loss ! since thy untimely fate,
My task hath been to meditate
On thee, on thee ! Thou art the book,
The library whereon I look.
Though almost blind. For thee, loved
clay,
I languish on, not live, the day. . . .
Thou hast benighted me; thy set
This eve of blackness did beget.
Who wast my day (though overcast
Before thou hadst thy noontide past).
And I remember must in tears
Thou scarce hadst seen so many years
93
EXEQUY ON HIS WIFE
As day tells hours. By thy clear sun
My love and fortune first did run ;
But thou wilt never more appear
Folded within my liemlsphere,
Since both thy light and motion,
Like a fled star, is fallen and gone,
And 'twixt me and my soul's dear wish
The earth now interposed is. . . .
I could allow thee for a time
To darken me and my sad clime ;
Were it a month, a year, or ten,
I would thine exile live till then,
And all that space my mirth adjourn,
So thou would'st promise to return,
And putting off thy ashy shroud
At length disperse this sorrow's cloud.
But woe is me! the longest date
Too narrow is to calculate
These empty hopes ; never shall I
Be so much blest as to descry
A glimpse of thee, till that day come
Which shall the earth to cinders doom,
And a fierce fever must calcine
The body of this world — like thine,
My little world ! That fit of fire
Once off, our bodies shall aspire
To our souls' bliss ; then we shall rise
And view ourselves with clearer e3es
In that calm region where no night
Can hide us from each other's sight.
94
EXEQUY ON HIS WIFE
Meantime thou hast her, earth! much
good
May my harm do thee ; shicc it stood
With Heaven's will I might not call
Her longer mine, 1 give thee all
My short-lived right and interest
In her whom living 1 loved best.
Be kind to her, and prithee look
Thou write into thy Doomsday book
Each parcel of this rarity
Which in thy casket shrined doth lie,
As thou wilt answer Him that lent —
Not gave — thee my dear monument.
So close the ground, and 'bout her shade
Black curtains draw ; my bride is laid.
Sleep on, my Love, in thy cold bed
Never to be disquieted!
My last good - night ! Thou wilt not
wake
Till I thy fate shall overtake:
Till age, or grief, or sickness must
Marry my body to that dust
It so much loves, and fill the room
My heart keeps empty in thy tomb.
Stay for me there! I will not fail
To meet thee in that hollow vale.
And think not much of my delay —
I am already on the way,
And follow thee with all the speed
Desire can make, or sorrow breed.
95
EXEQUY ON HIS WIFE
Each minute is a short degree
And every hour a step towards thee.
'T is true — with shame and grief I
yield —
Thou, like the van, first took'st the field ;
And gotten hast the victory
In thus adventuring to die
Before me, whose more years might crave
A just precedence in the grave.
But hark! my pulse, like a soft drum,
Beats my approach, tells thee I come ;
And slow howe'er my marches be,
1 shall at last sit down by thee.
The thought of this bids me go on
And wait my dissolution
With hope and comfort. Dear, forgive
The crime — I am content to live
Divided, with but half a heart,
Till we shall meet and never part.
George Herbert
Holy Baptism ^ ^^
Since, Lord, to Thee
A narrow way and little gate
Is all the passage, on my infancy
Thou didst lay hold, and antedate
My faith in me.
O, let me still
Write Thee "great God", and me "a
child";
Let me be soft and supple to Thy will,
Small to myself, to others mild,
Behither ill.
Although by stealth
My flesh get on; yet let her sister.
My soul, bid nothing but preserve her
wealth :
The growth of flesh is but a blister;
Childhood is health.
( B 126 ) 97 H
Virtue J^ ^
Sweet day, so cool, so ctilm, so bright,
The bridal of the earth and sky,
The dew shall weep thy fall to-night,
For thou must die.
Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave.
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye,
Thy root is ever in its grave,
And thou must die.
Sweet Spring, full of sweet days and roses
A box where sweets compacted lie,
My music shows ye have your closes,
And all must die.
Only a sweet and virtuous soul,
Like seasoned timber, never gives;
But though the whole world turn to coal.
Then chiefly lives.
98
Unkindness
Lord, make me coy and tender to offend:
In friendship, first I think if that agree
Which I intend
Unto my friend's intent and end;
I would not use a friend as I use Thee.
If any touch my friend or his good name,
It is my honour and my love to free
His blasted fame
From the least spot or thought of blame;
I could not use a friend as I use Thee.
My friend may spit upon my curious floor;
Would he have gold? I lend it instantly;
But let the poor,
And Thee within them, starve at door;
I cannot use a friend as I use Thee.
When that my friend pretendeth to a place,
I quit my interest, and leave it free ;
But when Thy grace
Sues for my heart, I Thee displace;
Nor would I use a friend as I use Thee.
99
UNKINDNESS
Yet can a friend what Tliou hast done
fulfil?
O, write in brass, " My God upon a tree
His blood did spill,
Only to purchase my good-will " ;
Yet use I not my foes as I use Thee.
Love j^ ^
Love bade me welcome ; yet my soul drew
back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow
slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lacked anything.
"A guest," I answered, "worthy to be
here":
Love said, "You shall be he."
" I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear!
I cannot look on Thee."
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
' ' Who made the eyes but I ? "
"Truth, Lord; but I have marred them;
let my shame
Go where it doth deserve."
"And know you not," says Love, "who
bore the blame?"
" My dear, then I will serve."
"You must sit down," says Lov^e, "and
taste My meat."
So I did sit and eat.
lOI
The Pulley j^ J^
When God eit first made man,
Having' a glass of blessings standing by,
"Let us," said He, "pour on him all we
can ;
Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie,
Contract into a span."
So strength first made a way,
Then beauty flowed, then wisdom, honour,
pleasure ;
When almost all was out, God made a
stay.
Perceiving that, alone of all His treasure.
Rest in the bottom lay.
" For if I should," said He,
" Bestow this jewel also on My creature,
He would adore My gifts instead of Me,
And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature:
So both should losers be.
"Yet let him keep the rest,
But keep them with repining restlessness;
Let him i)c rich and weary, that at least,
If goodness lead him not, yet weariness
May toss him to My breast."
I02
The Collar ^ j^
I struck the board, and cried, " No more;
I will abroad.
What, shall I ever sigh and pine?
My lines and lite are free; free as the
road,
Loose as the wind, as large as store.
Shall I be still in suit?
Have I no harvest but a thorn
To let me blood, and not restore
What I have lost with cordial fruit?
Sure there was wine
Before my sighs did dry it; there was corn
Before my tears did drown it;
Is the year only lost to me?
Have I no bays to crown it.
No flowers, no garlands gay? all blasted,
All wasted?
Not so, my heart; but there is fruit,
And thou hast hands.
Recover all thy sigh-blown age
On double pleasures; leave thy cold dis-
pute
Of what is fit and not; forsake thy cage,
Thy rope of sands,
103
THE COLLAR
Which petty thoughts have made; and
made to thee
Good cable, to enforce and draw,
And be thy law,
While thou didst wink and wouldst not
see.
Away! take heed;
I will abroad.
Call in thy death's-head there, tie up thy
fears ;
He that forbears
To suit and serve his need
Deserves his load."
But as I raved and grew more fierce and
wild
At every word,
Methought I heard one calling, "Child";
And I replied, "My Lord."
104
Life ^ ^
I made a posy while the day ran by:
Here will I smell my remnant out, and tie
My life within this band;
But Time did beckon to tlie flowers, and
they
By noon most cunningly did steal away,
And withered in my hand.
My hand was next to them, and then my
heart;
I took, without more thinking, in good part
Time's gentle admonition;
Who did so sweetly Death's sad taste
convey.
Making my mind to smell my fatal day.
Yet sugaring the suspicion.
Farewell, dear flowers; sweetly your time
ye spent.
Fit while ye lived for smell or ornament,
And after death for cures.
I follow straight, without complaints or
grief.
Since if my scent be good, I care not if
It be as short as yours.
105
Misery j^ j^
Lord, let the angels praise Tliy name:
Man is a foolish thing, a foolish thing;
Folly and sin play all his game;
His house still burns, and yet he still
doth sing —
Man is but grass,
He knows it — "Fill the glass."
How canst Thou brook his foolishness?
Why, he '11 not lose a cup of drink for
Thee:
Bid him but temper his excess.
Not he: he knows where he can better be —
As he will swear —
Than to serve Thee in fear.
What strange pollutions doth he wed.
And make his own ! as if none knew
but he.
No man shall beat into his head
That Thou within his curtains drawn
canst see:
" The-y are of cloth
Where never yet rame moth."
io6
MISERY
The best of men, turn but Thy hand
For one poor minute, stumble at a
pin ;
They would not have their actions scanned,
Nor any sorrow tell them that they
sin,
Though it be small.
And measure not the fall.
They quarrel Thee, and would give over
The bargain made to serve Thee ; but
Th} lo\e
Holds them unto it, and doth cover
Their follies with the wings of Thy
mild Dove,
Not suffering those
Who would, to be Thy foes.
My God, man cannot praise Thy name:
Thou art all brightness, perfect purity;
The sun holds down his head for shame,
Dead with eclipses, when we speak of
Thee:
How shall infection
Presume on Thy perfection?
As dirty hands foul all they touch,
And those things most which are most
pure and fine,
I07
MISERY
So our clay-hearts, even when we crouch
To sing^ Tliy praises, make them less
divine:
Yet either this
Or none Thy portion is.
Man cannot serve Thee: let him go
And serve the swine— there, that is his
delight:
He doth not like this virtue, no;
Give him his dirt to wallow in all night
"These preachers make
His head to shoot and ache."
O foolish man! where are thine eyes?
How hast thou lost them in a crowd of
cares !
Thou pull'st the rug, and wilt not rise,
No, not to purchase the whole pack of
stars :
"There let them shine;
Thou must go sleep or dine."
The bird that sees a dainty bower
Made in the tree, where she was wont
to sit,
Wonders and sings, but not His power
\Vhomade thearbour; thisexceeds her wit.
But man doth know
The Spring whence all things flow:
io8
MISERY
And yet, as though he knew it not,
His knowledge winks, and lets his
humours reign;
They make his life a constant blot,
And all the blood of God to run in
vain.
Ah, wretch! what verse
Can thy strange ways rehearse?
Indeed, at first man was a treasure,
A box of jewels, shop of rarities,
A ring whose posy was "my pleasure";
He was a garden in a Paradise;
Glory and grace
Did crown his heart and face.
But sin hath fooled him; now he is
A lump of ilesh, without a foot or wing
To raise him to a glimpse of bliss;
A sick-tossed vessel, dashing on each
thing,
Nay, his own self:
My God, I mean myself.
109
Easter
I got me flowers to straw Th)- way,
I got me boughs of many a tree;
But Thou wast up by break of day,
And brought'st Thy sweets along with
Thee.
Yet though my flowers be lost, they say
A heart can never come too late;
Teach it to sing Thy praise this da}-,
And then this day my life shall date.
Discipline
Throw away Thy rod,
Throw away Thy wrath;
my God,
Take the gentle path!
For my heart's desire
Unto Thine is bent:
1 aspire
To a full consent.
Not a word or look
I affect to own.
But by book,
And Thy Book alone.
Though I fail, I weep;
Though I halt in pace,
Yet I creep
To the throne of grace.
Then let wrath remove;
Love will do the deed;
For with love
Stony hearts will bleed.
DISCIPLINE
Love is swift of foot;
Love 's a man of war,
And can shoot,
And can hit from far.
Who can 'scape his bow?
That which wrought on Thee,
Brought Thee low,
Needs must work on me.
Throw away Thy rod;
Though man frailties hath.
Thou art God;
Throw away Thy wrath !
A Dialogue ^ j^
Man. Sweetest Saviour, if my soul
Were but worth the having,
Quickly should I then control
Any thought of waving.
But when all my care and pains
Cannot give the name of gains
To Thy wretch so full of stains,
What delight or hope remains?
Saviour. What, child, is the balance thine,
Thine the poise and measure?
If I say, "Thou shalt be Mine",
Finger not My treasure.
What the gains in having thee
Do amount to, only He
Who for man was sold can see;
That transferred th' accounts to Me.
Man. But as I can see no merit
Leading to this favour,
So the way to fit me for it
Is beyond my savour.
(8X26) 113 I
A DIALOGUE
As the reason, then, is Thine,
So the way is none of mine;
I disclaim the whole design;
Sin disclaims and I resign.
Saviour. That is all: if that I could
Get without repining,
And My clay, My creature, would
Follow My resigning;
That as I did freely part
With My glory and desert,
Left all joys to feel all smart —
Man. Ah, no more ! Thou break'st my
heart !
114
James Shirley
Equality j^ J^
The glories of our blood and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armour against fate;
Death lays his icy hand on kings:
Sceptre and Crown
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they
kill:
But their strong nerves at last must yield;
They tame but one another still:
Early or late
They stoop to fate,
And must give up their murmuring breath
When they, pale captives, creep to death.
EQUALITY
The garlands wither on your brow;
Then boast no more your might} deeds;
Upon Death's purple altar now
See where the victor-victim bleeds:
Your heads must come
To the cold tomb;
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust.
ii6
Anonymous
Lullaby
Weep you no more, sad fountains;
What need you flow so fast?
Look how the snowy mountains
Heaven's sun doth gently waste.
But my sun's heavenly eyes
View not your weeping,
That now lies sleeping
Softly, now softly lies
Sleeping.
Sleep is a reconciling,
A rest that peace begets;
Doth not the sun rise smiling
When fair at eve he sets?
Rest you, then, rest, sad eyes,
Melt not in weeping,
While she lies sleeping
Softly, now soft'y lies
Sleeping.
117
Sir William Davenant
Morning j^ ^
The lark now leaves his watery nest,
And climbing shakes his dewy wings,
He takes your window for the east.
And to implore your light, he sings;
Awake, awake, the morn will never rise.
Till she can dress her beauty at your eyes.
The merchant bows unto the seaman's
star,
The ploughman from the sun his season
takes ;
But still the lover wonders what they are,
Who look for day before his mistress
wakes ;
Awake, awake, break through your veils of
lawn !
Then draw your curtains and begin the
dawn.
119
Edmund Waller
The Rose ^ -^
Go, lovely rose!
Tell her that wastes her time and me,
That now she knows,
When I resemble her to thee,
How sweet and fair she seems to be.
Tell her that 's young
And shuns to have her graces spied,
That hadst thou sprung
In deserts, where no men abide,
Thou must have uncommended died.
Small is the worth
Of beauty from the light retired;
Bid her come fortii,
Suffer herself to be desired,
And not blush so to be admired.
THE ROSE
Then die ! that she
The common uite of all thinijs rare
May read in thee:
How small a part of time they share
That are so wondrous sweet and fair !
To Vandike ^ -^
Rare artisan ! whose pencil moves
Not our delights alone, but loves;
From thy shop of beauty we
Slaves return, that entered free.
The heedless lover does not know
Whose eyes they are that wound him
so;
But, confounded with thy art,
Asks her name who has his heart.
Another who did long refrain
Feels his old wound bleed fresh again,
With dear remembrance of that face
Where now he reads new hope of grace;
Nor scorn nor cruelty does find,
But gladly suffers a false wind
To blow the ashes of despair
From the reviving brand of care:
Fool, that forgets her stubborn look
This softness from thy finger took.
Strange that thy hand should not inspire
The beauty only, but the fire;
Not the form alone, and grace,
But act and power of a face.
123
TO V AND IKE
May'st thou yet thyself as well
As all the world besides excel;
So you the unfeigned truth rehearse
(That I may make it live in verse)
Why thou couldst not at one essay
That face to after-times convey,
Which this admires; was it thy wit
To make her oft before thee sit?
Confess, and we'll forgive thee this;
For who would not repeat that bliss,
And frequent sight of such a dame
Buy with the hazard of his fame?
Yet who can tax thy blameless skill
Though thy good hand had failed still.
When Nature's self so often errs?
She for this many thousand years
Seems to have practised with much care
To frame the race of woman fair;
Yet never could a perfect birth
Produce before to grace the earth,
Which waxed old ere it could see
Her that amazed thy art and thee.
But now 't is done, O let me know
Where those immortal colours grow.
That could this deathless piece compose
In lilies or the fading rose?
No, for this theft thou hast climbed higher
Than did Prometheus for his fire.
124
On the
Friendship ^ ^
betwixt two
Ladies
Tell me, lovely loving pair,
Why so kind and so severe?
Why so careless of our care,
Only to yourselves so dear?
By this cunning change of hearts.
You the pow'r of love control;
While the boy's deluded darts
Can arrive at neither soul.
For in vain to either breast
Still beguiled love does come
Where he finds a foreign guest,
Neither of your hearts at home.
Debtors thus with like design,
Where they never mean to pay,
That they may the law decline.
To some friend make all away.
125
FRIENDSHIP
Not the silver doves that Hy,
Yok'd in Citharea's car;
Not the wings that lift so high
And convey her son so far,
Are so lovely, sweet and fair.
Or do more ennoble love;
Are so choicely matched a pair,
Or with more content do move.
X26
Of Loving
at First J^ J^
Sight
Not caring to observe the wind,
Or the new sea explore,
Snatched from myself, how far behind
Already I behold the shore!
May not a thousand dangers sleep
In the smooth bosom of the deep?
No, 't is so rockless and so clear
That the rich bottom does appear
Paved all with precious things, not torn
From shipwrecked vessels, but there born.
Sweetness, truth, and every grace
Which time and use are wont to teach.
The eye may in a moment reach,
And read distinctly in her face.
Some other nymphs, witli colours faint,
And pencil slow, may Cupid paint,
127
OF LOVING AT FIRST SIGHT
And a weak heart in time destroy. —
She has a stamp, and prints the Boy;
Can with a single look inflame
The coldest breast, the rudest tame.
128
Thomas Randolph
Mistress
I have a mistress, for perfections rare
In every eye, but in my thoughts most fair.
Like tapers on the altar shine her eyes;
Her breath is the perfume of sacrifice;
And wheresoe'er my fancy would begin,
Still her perfection lets religion in.
We sit and talk, and kiss away the hours
As chastely as the morning dews kiss
flowers.
I touch her, like my beads, with devout
care.
And come unto my courtship as my prayer.
( B 126 ) 129
Charles Best
A Sonnet of
the Moon
Look how the pale Queen of the silent
night
Doth cause the ocean to attend upon
her,
And he, as long as she is in his sight,
With his full tide is ready her to honour.
But when the silver waggon of the Moon
Is mounted up so high he cannot follow,
The sea calls home his crystal waves to
moan,
And with low ebb doth manifest his
sorrow.
So you that are the sovereign of my
heart.
Have all my joys attending on your w^ill,
131
A SONNET OF THE MOON
My joys low ebbing when you do depart,
When you return, their tide my heart
doth fill.
So as you come, and as you do depart,
Joys ebb and flow within my tender heart.
132
John Milton
Hymn
on Christ's j^ j^
Nativity
It was the winter wild
While the heaven-born Child
All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies:
Nature in awe to Him
Had doffed her gaudy trim,
With her great Master so to sympathise:
It was no season then for her
To wanton with the sun, her lusty para-
mour.
Only with speeches fair
She woos the gentle air
To hide her guilty front with Innocent
snow;
And on her naked shame,
Pollute with sinful blame,
The saintly veil of maiden white to
throw;
133
HYMN ON CHRIST'S NATIVITY
Confounded, that her Maker's eyes
Should look so near upon her foul de-
formities.
But He, her fears to cease,
Sent down the meek-eyed Peace;
She, crowned with olive green, came
softly sliding
Down through the turning sphere.
His ready harbinger,
With turtle wing the amorous clouds
dividing;
/\nd waving wide her myrtle wand.
She strikes a universal peace through sea
and land.
No war, or battle's sound,
Was heard the world around:
The idle spear and shield were high
uphung;
The hooked chariot stood
Unstained with hostile blood;
The trumpet spake not to the armed
throng;
And kings sat still with awful eye,
As if they surely knew their sovran Lord
was by.
But peaceful was the night
Wherein the Prince of Light
134
HYMN ON CHRIST'S NATIVITY
His reign of peace upon the earth began:
The winds, with wonder whist,
Smootlily tlie waters kist,
VVHiispering new joys to the mild ocean
Wlio now hath quite forgot to rave.
While birds of calm sit brooding on the
charmed wave.
The stars, with deep amaze,
Stand fixed in steadfast gaze,
Bending one way their precious in-
jfluence;
And will not take (heir flight
For all the morning light,
Or Lucifer that often warned them
thence;
But in their glimmering orbs did glow.
Until their Lord Himself hespake, and bid
them go.
And though the shady gloom
Had given day her room.
The sun himself withheld his wonted speed.
And hid his head for shame.
As his inferior flame
The new -enlightened world no more
should need;
He saw a greater Sun appear
Than his bright throne or burning axletree
could bear.
135
HYMN ON CHRIST S NATIVITY
The shepherds on the lawn,
Or ere the point of dawn,
Sat simply chatting in a rustic row;
Full little thought they than
That the mighty Pan
Was kindly come to live with them
below;
Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep,
Was all that did their silly thoughts so
busy keep.
When such music sweet
Their hearts and ears did greet
As never was by mortal fingers strook—
Divinely-warbled voice
Answering the stringed noise,
As all their souls in blissful rapture took ;
The air, such pleasure loth to lose,
With thousand echoes still prolongs each
heavenly close.
Nature, that heard such sound
Beneath the hollow round
Of Cynthia's seat the airy region thrill-
ing,
Now was almost won
To think her part was done,
And that her reign had here its last ful-
filling;
136
HYMN ON CHRIST'S NATIVITY
She knew such harmony alone
Could hold all Heaven and Earth in hap-
pier union.
At last surrounds their sight
A globe of circular light,
That with long beams the shamefaced
night arrayed;
The helmed Cherubim
And sworded Seraphim
Are seen in glittering ranks with wings
displayed,
Harping in loud and solemn quire.
With unexpressive notes, to Heaven's new-
born Heir.
Such music (as 'tis said)
Before was never made
But when of old the Sons of Morning
sung.
While the Creator great
His constellations set.
And the well-balanced world on hinges
hung;
And cast the dark foundations deep,
And bid the weltering waves their oozy
channel keep.
Ring out, ye crystal spheres !
Once bless our human ears,
^37
HYMN ON CHRIST'S NATIVITY
If ye have power to touch our senses so;
And let your silver chime
Move ill melodious time;
And let the bass of Heaven's deep organ
blow;
And with your ninefold harmony
Make up full concert to the angelic sym-
phony.
Enwrap our fancy long,
Time will run back and fetch the age
of gold;
And speckled Vanity
Will sicken soon and die,
And leprous Sin will melt from earthly
mould;
And Hell itself will pass away,
And leave her dolorous mansions to the
peering day.
Yea, Truth and Justice then
Will down return to men,
Orbed in a rainbow; and, like glories
wearing,
Mercy will sit between
Throned in celestial sheen,
With radiant feet the tissued clouds
down steering;
^^8
HYMN ON CHRIST'S NATIVITY
And Heaven, as at some festival,
Will open wide the gates ot her high
palace-hall.
But wisest Fate says No ;
This must not yet be so;
The Babe yet lies in smiling infancy
That on the bitter cross
Must redeem our loss;
So both Himself and us to glorify:
Yet first, to those ychained in sleep,
The wakeful trump of doom must thunder
through the deep.
With such a horrid clang
As on Mount Sinai rang,
While the red fire and smouldering
clouds outbrake:
The aged Earth aghast
With terror of that blast
Shall from the surface to the centre
shake,
When at the world's last sessi6n,
The dreadful Judge in middle air shall
spread His Throne.
And then at last our bliss
Full and perfect is,
139
HYMN ON CHRIST'S NATIVITY
But now begins ; for from this happy day
The old Drag-on underground,
In straiter limits bound,
Not half so far casts his usurped sway;
And, wroth to see his kingdom fail,
Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail.
The oracles are dumb;
No voice or hideous hum
Runs through the arched roof in words
deceiving.
Apollo from his shrine
Can no more divine,
With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos
leaving:
No nightly trance or breathed spell
Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the pro-
phetic cell.
The lonely mountains o'er
And the resounding shore
A voice of weeping heard and loud
lament;
From haunted spring and dale
Edged with poplar pale.
The parting Genius is with sighing
sent;
With flower-inwoven tresses torn
The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled
thickets mourn.
140
HYMN ON CHRIST'S NATIVITY
In consecrated earth
And on the holy hearth
The Lars and Lemures moan with mid-
night plaint;
In urns, and altars round,
A drear and dying sound
Affrights the Flamens at their service
quaint;
And the chill marble seems to sweat,
While each peculiar Powder forgoes his
wonted seat.
Peor and Baalim
Forsake their temples dim,
With that twice-battered God of Pales-
tine;
And mooned Ashtaroth,
Heaven's queen and mother both,
Now sits not girt with tapers' holy
shine;
The Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn:
In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded
Thammuz mourn.
And sullen Moloch, fled,
Hath left in shadows dread
His burning idol all of blackest hue:
In vain w^ith cymbals' ring
They call the grisly king,
In dismal dance about the furnace blue;
141
HYMN ON CHRIST'S NATIVITY
The brutish g-ods of Nile as fast,
Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste.
Nor is Osiris seen
In Memphian grove or green,
TrampUng the unshowered grass with
lowings loud:
Nor can he be at rest
Within his sacred chest;
Not but profoundest Hell can be his
shroud;
In vain with tinibrelled anthems dark
The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his wor-
shipped ark.
He feels from Juda's land
The dreaded Infant's hand;
The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky
eyn;
Nor all the gods beside
Longer dare abide,
Not Typhon huge ending in snaky
twine:
Our Babe, to show His Godhead true,
Can in His swaddling bands control the
damned crew.
So, when the sun in bed,
Curtained with cloudy red,
142
HYMN ON CHRIST'S NATIVITY
Pillows his chin upon an orient wave,
The flocking shadows pale
Troop to the infernal jail,
Each fettered ghost slips to his several
grave;
And the yellow-skirted fays
Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their
moon-loved maze.
But see ! the Virgin blest
Hath laid her Babe to rest;
Time is, our tedious song should here
have ending:
Heaven's )-oungest-teemed star
Hath fixed her polished car.
Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp
attending:
And all about the courtly stable
Bright-harnessed Angels sit In order ser-
viceable.
143
L'Allegro ^ ^
Hence, loathed Melancholy,
Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born
In Stygian cave forlorn,
'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and
sights unholy!
Find out some uncouth cell
Where brooding Darkness spreads his
jealous wings
And the night-raven sings;
There under ebon shades, and low-
browed rocks
As ragged as thy locks,
In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.
But come, thou goddess fair and free.
In heaven yclept Euphrosyne,
And by men, heart-easing Mirth,
V/hom lovely Venus at a birth
With two sister Graces more
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore ;
Or whether (as some sager sing)
The frolic wnnd that breathes the spring,
Zephyr, with Aurora playing,
As he met her once a-Maying —
144
L' ALLEGRO
There on beds of violets blue
And fresh-blown roses washed in dew
F'illed her with thee, a daughter fair,
So buxom, blithe, and debonair.
Haste thee. Nymph, and bring with
thee
Jest, and youthful jollity.
Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles.
Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles,
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek.
And love to live in dimple sleek;
Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides : —
Come, and trip it as you go
On the light fantastic toe ;
And in thy right hand lead with thee
The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty;
And if I give thee honour due.
Mirth, admit me of thy crew.
To live with her, and live with thee
In unreproved pleasures free ;
To hear the lark begin his flight
And singing startle the dull night
From his watch-tower in the skies,
Till the dappled dawn doth rise ;
Then to come, in spite of sorrow,
i\nd at my window bid good-morrow
Through the sweetbriar, or the vine.
Or the twisted eglantine:
While the cock with lively din
(B126) 145 L
V ALLEGRO
Scatters the rear of darkness tliin,
And to the stack, or the barn-door,
Stoutly struts his dames before :
Oft listening how the hounds and horn
Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn,
From the side of some hoar hill,
Through the high wood echoing shrill :
Sometime walking, not unseen,
By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green.
Right against the eastern gate
Where the great Sun begins his state
Robed in flames and amber light.
The clouds in thousand liveries dight ;
While the ploughman, near at hand.
Whistles o'er the furrowed land.
And the milkmaid singeth blithe.
And the mower whets his scythe.
And every shepherd tells his tale
Under the hawthorn in the dale.
Straight mine eye hath caught new
pleasures
Wliilst the landscape round it measures;
Russet lawns, and fallows gray,
Where the nibbling flocks do stray ;
Mountains, on whose barren breast
The labouring clouds do often rest ;
Meadows trim with daisies pied.
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide;
Towers and battlements it sees
Bosomed high in tufted trees,
146
V ALLEGRO
Where perhaps some Beauty lies,
The cynosure of neighbouring eyes.
Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes
From betwixt two aged oaks,
Where Corydon and Thyrsis, met,
Are at their savoury dinner set
Of herbs, and other country messes,
Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses;
And then in haste her bower she leaves,
With Thestylis to bind the sheaves;
Or, if the earlier season lead,
To the tanned haycock in the mead.
Sometimes vi'ith secure delight
The upland hamlets will invite,
When the merry bells ring round,
And the jocund rebecks sound
To many a youth and many a maid,
Dancing in the chequered shade;
And young and old come forth to play
On a sunshine holiday,
Till the live-long day-light fail:
Then to the spicy nut-brown ale,
With stories told of many a feat.
How Faery Mab the junkets eat :—
She was pinched and pulled, she said;
And he by Friar's lantern led;
Tells how the grudging goblin sweat
To earn his cream-bowl duly set,
When in one night, ere glimpse of morn,
His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn,
147
r ALLEGRO
That ten day-labourers could not end ;
Then lies him down the lubber fiend,
And, stretched out all the chimney's length.
Basks at the fire his hairy strength ;
And crop-full out of doors he flings,
Ere the first cock his matin rings.
Thus done the tales, to bed they creep.
By whispering winds soon lulled asleep.
Towered cities please us then
And the busy hum of men,
Where throngs of knights and barons bold.
In weeds of peace, high triumphs hold,
With store of ladies, whose bright eyes
Rain influence, and judge the prize
Of wit or arms, while both contend
To win her grace whom all commend.
There let Hymen oft appear
In saffron robe, with taper clear.
And pomp, and feast, and revelry,
With mask, and antique pageantry;
Such sights as youthful poets dream
On summer eves by haunted stream.
Then to the well-trod stage anon,
If Jonson's learned sock be on.
Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child,
Warble his native wood-notes wild.
And ever against eating cares
Lap me in soft Lydian airs
Married to immortal verse,
Such as the meeting soul may pierce
148
V ALLEGRO
In notes, with many a winding bout
Of linked sweetness long drawn out,
With wanton heed and giddy cunning,
The melting voice through mazes run-
ning,
Untwisting all the chains that tie
The hidden soul of harmony ;
That Orpheus' self may heave his head
From golden slumber, on a bed
Of heaped Elysian flowers, and hear
Such strains as would have won the ear
Of Pluto to have quite set free
His half-regained Eurydice.
These delights if thou canst give,
Mirth, with thee 1 mean to live.
149
II Penseroso .^ -^
Hence, vain deluding Joys,
The brood of Folly without father bred!
How little you bestead
Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys!
Dwell in some idle brain,
And fancies fond with gaudy shapes
possess
As thick and numberless
As the gay motes that people the sun-
beams,
Or likest hovering dreams.
The fickle pensioners of Morpheus'
train.
But hail, thou goddess sage and holy,
Hail, divinest Melancholy !
Whose saintly visage is too bright
To hit the sense of human sight.
And therefore to our w^eaker view
O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue;
Black, but such as in esteem
Prince Memnon's sister might beseem,
Or that starred Ethiop queen that strove
To set her beauty's praise above
150
IL PENSEROSO
The sea -nymphs, and their powers of-
fended :
Yet thou art higher far descended :
Thee bright-haired Vesta, 'long of yore,
To solitary Saturn bore ;
His daughter she; in Saturn's reign
Such mixture was not held a stain :
Oft in glirhmering bowers and glades
He met her, and in secret shades
Of woody Ida's inmost grove,
While yet there was no fear of Jove.
Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure,
Sober, steadfast, and demure.
All in a robe of darkest grain
Flowing with majestic train.
And sable stole of Cipres lawn
Over thy decent shoulders drawn :
Come, but keep thy wonted state,
With even step and musing gait,
And looks commercing with the skies.
Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes :
There, held in holy passion still.
Forget thyself to marble, till
With a sad leaden downward cast
Thou fix them on the earth as fast :
And join with thee calm Peace, and
Quiet,
Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet,
And hears the Muses in a ring
Aye round about Jove's altar sing :
IL PENSEROSO
And add to these retired Leisure
That in trim gardens takes his pleasure: —
But first and chiefest with thee bring
Him that yon soars on golden wing,
Guiding the fierj^-wheeled throne,
The cherub Contemplation ;
And the mute Silence hist along,
'Less Philomel will deign a song
In her sweetest, saddest plight,
Smoothing the rugged brow of Night,
While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke
Gently o'er the accustomed oak.
Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of
folly.
Most musical, most melancholy !
Thee, chauntress, oft the woods among,
I woo to hear thy even-song;
And missing thee, I walk unseen
On the dry smooth-shaven green.
To behold the wandering Moon
Riding near her highest noon.
Like one that had been led astray
Through the heaven's wide pathless
w^ay.
And oft, as if her head she bowed,
Stooping through a fleecy cloud.
Oft on a plat of rising ground
I hear the far-ofl" curfew sound
Over some wide-watered shore,
Swinging slow with sullen roar;
152
IL PENSEROSO
Or, if the air will not permit,
Some still, removed place will fit,
Where glowing embers through the room
Teach light to counterfeit a gloom ;
Far from all resort of mirth,
Save the cricket on the hearth,
Or the bellman's drowsy charm
To bless the doors from nightly harm.
Or let my lamp at midnight hour
Be seen in some high lonely tower,
Where I may oft out-watch the Bear
With thrice-great Hermes, or unsphere
The spirit of Plato, to unfold
What worlds or what vast regions hold
The immortal mind, that hath forsook
Her mansion in this fleshly nook :
And of those demons that are found
In fire, air, flood, or under ground.
Whose power hath a true consent
With planet, or with element.
Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy
In sceptered pall come sweeping by,
Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line,
Or the tale of Troy divine ;
Or what (though rare) of later age
Ennobled hath the buskined stage.
But, O sad Virgin, that thy power
Might raise Musaeus from his bower,
Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing
Such notes as, warbled to the string,
IL PENSEROSO
Drew Iron tears down Pluto's cheek
And made Hell orranl what Love did
seek !
Or call up him that kit hall-told
The story of Cambuscan bold,
Of Camball, and of Algarsife,
And who had Canace to wife
That owned the virtuous ring and glass;
And of the wondrous horse of brass
On which the Tartar king did ride:
And if aught else great bards beside
In sage and solemn tunes have sung,
Of tourneys and of trophies hung,
Of forests and enchantments drear,
Where more is meant than meets the ear.
Thus, Night, oft see me in thy pale
career.
Till civil-suited Morn appear,
Not tricked and frounced as she was wont
With the Attic Boy to hunt.
But kercheft in a comely cloud
While rocking winds are piping loud.
Or ushered with a shower still,
When the gust hath blown his fill.
Ending on the rustling leaves
With minute drops from off the eaves.
And when the sun begfins to fling
His flaring beams, me, goddess, bring
To arched walks of twilight groves,
And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves,
154
IL PENSEROSO
Of pine, or monumental oak,
Where the rude axe, with heaved stroke,
Was never heard the nymphs to daunt,
Or fright them from their hallowed haujit.
There in close covert by some brook.
Where no profaner eye ma\ look,
Hide me from day's j^arish eye,
While the bee with honeyed thii^^h,
That at her flowery work doth singf,
And the waters murmuring,
W^ith such consort as they keep
Entice the dewy-feathered Sleep;
And let some strange mysterious dream
Wave at his wings in airy stream
Of lively portraiture displayed.
Softly on my eyelids laid :
And, as I wake, sweet music breathe
Above, about, or underneath,
Sent by some Spirit to mortals good,
Or the unseen Genius of the wood.
But let my due feet never fail
To walk the studious cloister's pale,
And love the high-embowed roof,
With antique pillars massy proof,
And stoned windows richly dight
Casting a dim religious light.
There let the pealing organ blow
To the full-voiced quire below
In service high and anthems clear,
As may with sweetness, through mine ear,
155
IL PENSEROSO
DIssolsc* iiu- Into ec.>lasit'>,
And brini,^ all Heaven before mine eyes.
And may at last my weary age
Find out the peaceful hermitage,
The hairy gown and mossy cell
Where I may sit and rightly spell
Of ever}' star that heaven doth shew,
And every herb that sips the dew ;
Till old experience do attain
To something like prophetic strain.
These pleasures, Melancholy, give,
And 1 with thee will choose to live.
iS6
Lycidas
ELKGY UN A FRIEND
DKOWNED IN THIi
IRISH CHANNEL, 1637
Yet once more, C) ye laurels, and once
more,
Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere,
I come to pluck your berries harsh and
crude,
And with forced fingers rude
Shatter your leaves before the melluwing
year.
Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear
Compels me to disturb your season due :
For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime,
Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer.
Who would not sing for Lycidas? he knew
Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme.
He must not float upon his watery bier
Unwept, and welter to the parching wind,
Without the meed of some melodious tear.
Begin, liien, Sisters of the sacred well
That from beneath the seat of Jove doth
spring ;
157
LYCTDAS
Be^in, and somewhat luudly ^\mo|> the
string.
Hence wilh drnial \ain and coy excuse:
So may some gentle Muse
With lucky words lavour ni) destined
urn ;
And, as In- passes, turn
And hid fair peace be to m\ sahlr shroud.
Fcti we were nursed upon the >eh"->ame
hiil,
Fed the same flock by fountain, .shade,
and rill :
Together both, ere tin- high law ns appeared
Under the opening eyelids of the Morn,
We drove a-lield, and both together heard
What time the grey-fly winds her sultry
horn,
Battening our flocks with the fresh dews
of night,
Oft till the star that rose at e\ening bright
Toward heaven's descent had sloped his
westering wheel.
Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mule,
Tempered to the oaten flute.
Rough Satyrs danced, and Fauns with
cloven heel
From the glad sound would not be absent
long ;
And old Damoetas loved to hear our song.
158
LVCIDAS
But, oh! llic htavy change, now ihou
art gom-,
Now tliou art i^one and never must
return !
Thee, Sliepherd, thee tlie woods and desert
ca\es
Witli wild tliymi' and the j^addint^ \ine
o'er^rown,
And all their eclK)es, mourn:
The willows and the hazel copses ^reen
Shall now no more be seen
Fanninj^ their joyous leaves lu tiiy soft
lays.
As killing" as tli«' eankcr to the rose.
Or taint-worm to th«.' weanlini,'^ herds that
graze,
Or frost to flowers, that their g^ay ward-
robe wear
When first the uhite-thorn blows;
Such, Lyeidas, lliy loss to shepherd's ear.
Where were ye, Nymphs, when the
remorseless deep
Closed o'er the head of your loved Lyeidas?
Kor neither were ye playing on the steep
Where your old bards, the famous Druids,
lie.
Nor on the shaj^^gy top of IMona high,
Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizara
stream :
159
LVCIDAS
Ay me I 1 fondly droam
Had ye been there . . . Vov wliat could
that have done?
What could llie Muse herself that Orpheus
bore,
The Muse herself, lor her enchanting son,
Whom universal nature did lament,
When by the rout that made the hideous
roar
His gory visage down the stream was
sent,
Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian
shore?
Alas! what boots it with incessant care
To tend the homely, ^lighted, shepherd's
trade,
And strictly meditate the thankless Muse?
Were it not better done, as others use,
To sport with Amaryllis in the shade.
Or with the tangles of Neaera's hair?
Fame is the spur that the clear spirit dolh
raise
(That last infirm it v of noble mind)
To scorn delights, and live laborious days ;
But the fair guerdon when we hope to
find,
And think to burst out into sudden blaze,
Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred
shears,
1 60
LYCIDAS
And slits the thin-spun life. " But not the
praise,"
Phoebus rephed, and touched my trem-
bhng ears ;
" Fame is no plant that grows on mortal
soil,
Nor in the glistering foil
Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies:
But lives and spreads aloft by those pure
eyes
And perfect witness of all-judging Jo\c;
As he pronounces lastly on each deed,
Of so much fame in hea\en expect thy
meed."
O fountain Arelhuse, and thou honoured
flood,
Smooth -sliding Mincius, crowiud with
vocal reeds,
That strain I heard was of a higher mood.
But now my oat proceeds,
And listens to the herald of the sea
That came in Neptune's plea.
He asked the waves, and asked the felon
winds,
What hard mishap hath doomed this gentle
swain?
And questioned every gu^t of rugged winds
That blows from off each beaked pro-
montory.
( B 126 ) 161 M
LYCIDAS
They knew not of his story ;
And sage Hippotades their answer l)rini;s,
That not a blast was iVoni his dungeon
strayed ;
The air was cahn, and on the level brine
Sleek Panope with all her sisters played.
It was that fatal and perhdious bark
Built in the eelipse, and i iggi-d with eurses
dark,
That sunk so low that sacied head ol
thine.
Next Camus, reverend sire, went tooting
slow,
His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge
Inwrought with figures dim, and on the
edge
Like to that sanguine llower inseribed
with woe,
"Ah! who hath rei't," quoth he, " my dear-
est pledge?"
Last came, and last did go
The Pilot of the Galilean lake;
Two massy keys he bore of metals twain
(The golden opes, the iron shuts amain);
He shook his mitred locks, and stern be-
spake :
"How well could 1 have spared for thee,
young swain,
Enow of such, as for their bellies' sake
l63
LYCIDAS
Creep and intrude and climb into the
fold?
Ot other care they little reckoning make
Than how to scram I 'le at the shearers'
feast,
And shove away the worthy bidden truest.
Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know
how to hold
A sheep-hook, or have learned aught else
the least
That to the faithful herdman's art be-
longs !
What recks it them? What need they?
They are sped ;
And when they list, tlnir lean and llashy
songs
Grate on their scrannel pipes ot wretched
straw ;
The hungry sheep look up, and are not
fed,
But, swoln with wind and the rank mist
they draw.
Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread:
Besides what the grim wolf with privy
paw-
Daily devours apace, and nothing said :
But that two - handed engine at the
door
Stands ready to smite once, and smite no
more."
163
LYCIDAS
Return, Alpheus; the dread voice is past
That shrunk thv streams; roturii, Sicilian
Must',
And call iIk- \aks, and hid ih^ni iililur
cast
Their bells and Howerets of a thousand
hues.
Vc valleys low, where tlu niikl whispers
use
Of shades, and wanton uinds, and i;ush-
ing brooks
On whose fresh lajj the swarl star sparely
looks ;
Throw hither all your quaint enamelled
eyes
That on the green turf suck the honeyed
showers
And purple all the ground with vernal
flowers.
Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies,
The tufted cow-toe, and pale jessamine,
The white pink, and the pansy freaked
with jet.
The glowing violet,
The musk-rose, and the well-attired wood-
bine,
With cowslips wan that hang the pensive
head,
And every flower that sad embroidery
wears :
164
LVCIDAS
Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed,
And datTadillies fill lli.ir cups with tears,
To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid
lies.
For so to interpose a little ease,
Let our frail thoui^^hts dally with talst;
surmise :
Ay me! whilst thee the shores and sound-
ing seas
Wash far away, where'er thy hones are
hurled,
Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides,
WMicre thou perhaps, under the whehninj^
tide,
Visitest the bottom of the monstrous
world ;
Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied.
Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old.
Where the great Vision of the guarded
mount
Looks toward Namancos and Hayona's
hold ;
Look homeward. Angel, now, ami nirlt
with ruth :
And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless
youth !
Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep
no more,
For Lycida^. your sorrow, is not dead,
16;
LY'CWAS
Sunk tlioiii^li he be honratli the wattTV
tloor :
So sinks the day-slar in the ocean bed,
And yet anon repairs his dioopini;^ head
And tricks his beams, and with new-
spani^lcd ore
Fhinies in lh«' forflicad ot ihr morning;
sky :
So Lycidas sunk k)\v, but niountrd hii^'^li
Throui^h the dear mi^lit ol Him that
w.ilkt'd the waves;
Where, other tj-roves and other streams
alon^,
With nectar pure liis oozy locks he kives.
And hears the unexpressive nuptial song-
In the blest kini^'-doms meek of joy and
love.
There entertain him all the Saints above,
In solemn troops, and sweet societies,
That sint;, and sinjj^ini^ in their g^lory
move.
And wipe the tears for ever from lils
eyes.
Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no
more ;
Henceforth thou art the Genius of the
shore.
In thy larg-e recompense, and shalt be
g^ood
To all that wander in that perilc»us flood.
1 66
LYCIDAS
Tlius san.t( tli»' uncoulli swain to llie
oaks and rills,
Whik' tlic sllll morn \\v\\\ out with sandak
gre\- ;
Hi' touched tlic tender stops of various
quills,
With oaf^er ihoui^ht vvarMin^^ ills Doric
lay :
And now th«- sun iiad strctclu'd out all
the hills,
And now was dropt into the western hay:
At last he rose, and twitched his mantle
hlue :
To-morrow tc> fresh woods, and pastures
new.
167
On his ^ ^
Blindness
When I consider how iny HL;ht is spent
Krt' half my days, in thi^ dark world
and wide,
And tliat one taleni wliich is death to
hide
Lodg^ed witli ine useless, tluni^'^li my soul
more bent
To serve therewith my .Maki>r, and present
M\ true account, lesi lie returnin>4
chide, —
Doth God exact day-labour, lij^ht denit'd?
I fondly ask: — But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies : God doth not
need
Either man's works, or His own ^<ifl^;
who best
Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him
best: His state
Is kingly; thousands at His bidding speed
And post o'er land and ocean without
rest :
They also serve who only stand and
wait.
x68
On his De- ^
ceased Wife
Methou^^lU I saw my late espoused saint
Hrouj^lU lo me liki- Alkeslis from the
grave,
VV'hom Jove's great son to h«r glad
husband gave,
Rescued from dealli by force, though pale
and faint.
Mine, as whom washed from >|)ot of child-
bed taint
Purification in the Old Law did save,
And such as yet once more I trust to
have
Full sight of htr in Heaven without re-
straint,
Came vested all in white, pure as her
mind ;
Her face was veiled, yet tu my fancied
sight
Love, sweetness, goodness in \\vr person
shined
So clear as in no face with more delight.
But oh! as to embrace me she inclined,
I waked, she fled, and day brout^ht
back mv night.
169
On Shakespeare j^ j^
WHiat needs my Shakt'sprarc, k)r his
honoured bones,
The labour of an aj^e in pilid stones?
Or that his hallowed rcliques should be hl»l
Under a star-y-poinlinj;^ pyramid?
Dear son of mcmorv, j^rcat heir of fanu'.
What need'st thou such weak witness of
thy name?
Tlu)u in our wonder and astonishment
Hast built thyself a livelong monument.
For whilst, to shame of slow-endeavourinj^
art
Thy i-asy numbers How, and that <'ach
heart
Hath from the leav(\s of thy unvalued book
Those Delphic lines with deep impression
took,
Then thou, our fancy of itst^f berea\ int;-.
Dost make us marble with too much
conceiving- ;
And so sepulchered in such, pomp dost lie,
That king's for sucli a tomb would wish
to die.
170
Song on
May Morning
Now th»' hrlj^^ht iiiornin«^ star, clay'> liar-
Comes dancini^ from iho Kasl, and leads
with her
Thr (lower) Mas', who from hi-r j:4rit'n lap
throws
Tlv* yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.
Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire
Mirth and youth and younj^ desire!
Woods and groves are of thy dressing,
Hill and dale doth boast thy blessini,'^.
Thus we salute thee with our early song,
And welcome thee and wish thee lontf.
17X
Invocation
to Sabrina
FROM COMUS
Sabrina fair!
Listen, wluTc thou art sitlini^,
Under the t^'hi.ssy, cool, translucent wave,
In twisted braids oi lilies knitting
The loose train of thine amber - dripping
hair.
Listen for dear honinir'^. sake,
Goddess ol the silver lake,
Listen antl sa\e !
Listen, and appear to us.
In name ot great Oceanus,
By the earth-shaking Neptune's mace,
And Tethys' grave majt-slic paci-
By hoary Nereus' wrinkled look.
And the Carpathian wizard's hook ;
By scaly Triton's winding shell.
And old soothsaying Glaucus' spell ;
And her son that rules the strands;
By Tlietis' tinsel-slippered feet,
And the songs of sirens sweet ;
172
LWOCATIOX TO SABRIXA
By dead Parthenope's dtar loinb,
And fair Ligea's golden comb,
Wlierewith she sits on diamond rocks
Sleeking her soft alluring locks;
By all the nymphs that nightly dance
Upon thy streams with wily glance;
Rise, rise, and heave thy rosy head
From thy coral-paven bed.
And bridle in thy headlong wave,
Till thou our summons answered have.
Listen and save !
173
Invocation
to Echo
FROM COMUS
Swcfl Kclic, .-,u»<it-i N\in()h, th.it liv'st
unseen
Within thine airy >\\v\\
V>\ -slow Meander's niarj^aiit f;rern,
Anl in the violet-enibroidend \ale,
W'liere llie love-lorn nii^^htinj^Mle
Nii^hlly Id lliee her sad >on,i^^ inourticth
well ;
Canst thou not tell nie ol a sinL,He pair
That likest thy Narcissus are?
O, if thou have
Hid them in some Howery cave,
Tell me but where,
Sweet Queen of Parley, dauj;liter of the
Sphere !
So mayest thou be translated to the skies,
And give resounding grace to all Heaven's
harmonies.
VIA
The Revel
FROM COMU^
Tlu' stai that bid;> llu- sIk phcrd told
Now the top of Heaven doth hold,
And the i^ilded car oi day
His j^Mowinj^ axle doth allay-
In tlic stet'|) Atlantic stn-ani,
And the slope sun his u[)\vard beam
Shoots aj^ainst the dusky pole,
Pacinj4^ toward the other j^^oal
Of his chambtr in thr Kasl.
Meanwhile wtlconu- joy and feast,
Midni^'ht shout and revelry,
Tipsy dance and jollity.
Hraid your locks with ro.sy twine,
Oioppin^ odours, dropping \sine.
Rigour now is gone to bed,
And advice, with scrupulous head.
Strict age, and sour severity
With their grave saws in slumber lie.
We that are ot purer fire
Imitate the starry quire.
Who in their nightly watchful spheres
Lead in swift round the months and years.
175
THE REVEL
The sounds and seas, willi all their finny
drove
Now to the moon in wavering- morrice
nio\e,
And on the tawny sands and shelves
Trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves;
By dimpled hrook, and fountain brim
The wood-nymphs decked with d.iisies
trim
Their merry wakes and pastimes keep;
W'h^'^ hath nij^ht to do with sleep?
176
The Attendant
Spirit
FROM COMUS
To the ocean now I fly,
And those happy climes that He
Where day never shuts his eye,
Up in the broad fields of the sky.
There I suck the liquid air,
AH amid the gardens fair
Of Hesperus, and his daughters three
That sing about the golden tree.
Along the crisped shades and bowers
Revels the spruce and jocund Spring;
The Graces and the rosy-bosomed Hours
Thither all their bounties bring.
There eternal Summer dwells.
And west winds with musky wing
About the cedarn alleys fling
Nard and cassia's balmy smells.
Iris there with humid bow
Waters the odorous banks, that blow-
Flowers of more mingled hue
Than her purpled scarf can show,
(bij6) 177 N
THE ATTENDANT SPIRIT
And (Irciulio uilli Illysiaii (l«\v
(Li^t, inorlals, if your rarr> be true)
Reels of hyaciiuli and roses,
W'iiere youiiij Adonis oft rep<i>es,
W'.ixiiii,^ well ot Ills deep wound
In -.lumber soft, and on the j^Mound
Sadly sits the Assyrian queen.
I^ut far above, in spangled sheen.
Celestial Cupid, her tamed son, advanced,
Molds his dear Psyche, sweet entranced,
After her wanderinj^^ labours lonj,'.
Till free consent the j^ods amon^
Make her his eternal bride,
And from her fair unspotted side
Two blissful twins are to be born,
Youth and Joy; so Jove hath sworn.
But now my task is smoothly done:
I can Hy or I can run
(Juickly to the j^reen earth's end,
Where the bowed welkin slow doth bend,
And from thence can soar as soon
To the corners ot the moon.
Mortals that would follow me,
Love Virtue; she alone is ivi.'i-,
She can teach ye how to climb
Higher than the sphery chime;
Or if feeble Virtue were,
Heaven itselt would stoop to iier.
178
From Arcades J^ j^
O'er the smooth onaiiicllcd j;^rreii
\\'hrr«" lU) [)riiU of step liath boon,
Follow Mu- as I sin^
And touch the warbled striiif^''
L'nd»'r the shady roof
Of branchiiij^'^ ehii star-proof,
Follow me;
I will brinj*^ you where she sits
Clad in splendour as befits
Her deity.
Such a rural queen
All Arcadia hath not been.
179
To Mr.
Lawrence
Lawrence, dl" virtuous lather virtuous son,
Now lliat the lielcU are dirU, and
ways are mire,
Where shall we sonielinies meet, .ind
by the tire
III I[) wa^tr a sullen day -what ma) he
won
From (he hard season's ^aininji;/ Time
will run
On smoother, till Fa\onius reinspire
The frozen earth, and clothe with fresh
altire
Ihe lily and rose that neither sowefj nnr
spun.
What neat repa.>l >hall OmsI us. li^hl
and choice,
Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we
may rise
To hear the lute well touched, or artful
voice
Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air?
He who of these delights can judge,
and spare
To interpose them oft, is not unwise.
i8o
Sir John Suckling
The Shades J^ J^
Oh for some honest Iovjt's j^host,
Some kind unbodied post
Sent from the shades below!
I strantjtiy lon^ to know
Whether the nobler chaplets wear —
Those thai their mistrer.s' scorn did bear
Or thosf that were used klndlv.
For whatsoe'er they tell u-> here
To make these sufferings dt-ar,
Twill there, 1 fear, be found
That to the being crowned
To have loved alone will not suffice,
Unless we also have been wise,
And have our loves enjoyed.
What posture can we think him in
That, hen- unloved, again
;3i
THE SHADES
Departs, ami 's ililihcr i^oiif
Where each sits by liis own?
Or iiow can that Elysium be
Where I my mistress still must see
('ir(I«-(i in another'^, arms?
182
Richard Crashaw
On a Prayer-
Book sent to j^ JS/
Mrs. M. R.
Lo, here a little volume, but pfra.il book !
A nest of new-born sweets,
Whose native pages, 'sdaining
To be thus folded, and conijjl.'iinin;;
Of these ignoble sheets,
Affect more comely bands,
Fair one, from tliy kind hands.
And contidently look
To find the rest
Of a rich bindint^ In your breast!
It is in one choice iuindfiil, hta\en; and
all
Heaven's royal hosts encamped, tiuis small
To prove that true Schools use to tell,
A thou'^and angels in one point can dwell.
1R3
OAT A PRAYER-BOOK
It is love's great artillery.
Which here coiitracls it^t■lf. and comes to
lie
Close couched in your while bosom; and
from thence,
As from a snowy fortress of defence,
Against your ghostly foe to take your
part,
And fortify the hold of your chaste heart.
It is an armoury of light;
Let constant use but keep it bright,
You '11 find it yields
To holy hands and humble hearts
More swords and shields
Than sin hath sn.ire^, or hell balh darts.
Only be sure
The hands be pure
That hold these weapons, and the eyes
Those of turtles, chaste, and true,
Wakeful, and wise.
Here's a friend shall fight for you;
Hold but this book before your heart,
Let prayer alone to play his part.
But, O! the heart
That studies this high art
Must be a sure housekeeper,
And yet no sleeper.
184
ON A PRAYER-BOOK
Dear soul, be strong;
Morcy will come ere long,
And bring lier bosom full of blessings,
Flowers of never-fading graces,
To make immortal dressings
For worthy souls, whose wise embraces
Store up themselves for Him who is alone
The Spouse of virgins, and the Virgin's
Son.
But if the nohir Bridegroom when He
come
Shall find the wandering heart from home,
Leaving her chaste abode
To gad abroad,
Amongst the gay mates of the god of
flies
To take her pleasure, and to play
And keep the Devil's holy day;
To dance in the sunshine of some smiling
But beguiling
Spheres of sweet and sugared lies.
Some slippery pair
Of false, perhaps, as fair,
Flattering, but foreswearing, eyes;
Doubtless some other heart
Will get the start
Meanwhile, and, stepping in before.
Will take possession of that secret store
i8q
ox A PR A } ER-BOOK
Of irnKlt 11 s\v»('ts, aiid livly joy^,
W(jrds wliicli an* not lu-ard with t'ars —
These tumultuous shops of noise-
EfTectual whispers, whose still voice
The soul iisfh' inorr fiiU than lir.ir^;
Aiiitnous lari_t;^iiishni<'iits, luniun'us trames,
Slights which are not seen ulth eyes,
Spiritual and soul-piercinj;^ i^lances
Whose pure and suhtle M^htnini^ tlies
Home to the iieart, and sei^ the house
on tire
And mehs it dc)wn in ^ueet desire,
^'el does not stav
To ask the window's lea\e lu pass that
way;
Delicious deaths, soft exlirilations
Of soul; dear and divine annihilations;
A thousand unknown rites
Of joys, and rarefied deli_i,'hts;
A hundred thousiuid t^oods, iHori.-s, and
graces,
And many a mystic thing,
Which the divine embraces
Of the dear Spouse of spirits with them
will bring,
For which it is no shame
That dull mortality must not know a name.
t86
ON A PRAYER-BOOK
Of all this siorc
{){ blfssintrs, and ten thousand more,
If when Ht> conif
He find thr heart from home,
Doubtless He will unload
Himself some olherwiurc.
And pour abroad
His precious svvet-i^,
On the fair soul whom lirsi H«* nu'ets.
O fair! O furtunatr! O rich! O d( ar!
() happy, and thrice h.ippy ^he,
Dear silver-breasted dove,
Whoe'er she be,
Whose early love
With winged vows
Makes haste to meet her morning S{)t)U'
And close with His immortal kisses!
Happy, indeed, who never misses
To impro\e that precious hour,
And every day
Seize her sweet prey,
All fresh and fragrant as He rises,
Dropping, with a balmy shower,
A delicious dew of spices.
O. let the blissful heart hold fast
Her heavenly armful, she shall taste
At once ten thousand paradises!
1 3?
ox A PRAYER-BOOK
She shall have power
To rifle and deflower
The rich and rosial sprint; of tho.se rare
sweets,
Which with a suellin- bosom then- she
nu't'ls;
Boundh'ss and intlniti'. bottomless treasures
Of pun^ inebriating pleasures;
Happy proof she shall discover,
What joy, what bliss,
How mafiy heavens at onc«- ii is,
To have a (iod b«come her lover!
i88
To the
Morning
SATISFACTION
FOR SLEEI-
JZ^
What succour can I hope the Muse will
send,
Whose drowsiness hath wronged ihe Muse's
friend ?
Wliat hope, Aurora, to propitiate thee,
Unless the Muse sing my apology?
O! in that morning of my shame, \\\v\\ I
Lay folded up in sleep's capti\ity;
How at the sight didst thou draw back
thine eyes
Into thy modest veil ! how didst thou rise
Twice dyed in ihine own blushes, and
didst run
To draw the curtains and awake the sun!
Who, rousing his illustrious tresses, came,
And seeing the loathed object, hid for
shame
His head in thy fair bosom, and still
hides
Me from his patronage; I pray, he chides;
i8g
TO TffE MORXIXG
And, pdintin^ to dull M()r|)Iu'U>, l»id> im-
t;ik.-
M\ own Apollo, li\ if I tan maUc
His Lcllu- Ijr my HrlKon, and mt
If Morplnus iiavc a Miisl' to uail on nu*.
Iliiuf 'l is my lumihlr laiK\ lindh no
u injL;^,
No nimhlf raplurrs, starts lo hcavin and
iMinK-^
I'aitluislastic Jiamiv. such as can t,M\r
M.uiuw lo my f)Iunip f^cnius, make It llvi'
Drcsst'd in the f^iorioiis madness ol a
muse,
\\ ho>t.' feet can walk th* milk\-uav and
cllOOSJ'
Her Starr) throne; whose huly h' lU < an
warm
The mra\f. and hokl u() an e.\aU< w .oin
T(j lift me from my la/y urn, and climb
L'pon the stooped shoidders ot old Timv-,
And trace eternity. But all is dead,
All these delicious hopes are buried
In the deep wrinkles of his ani^ry brow.
Where mercy cannot fmd them; but O
thou
Bright lady of the morn, pity doth lie
So warm in thy soft breast, it cannot die;
Have mercy, then, and when he next doth
rise,
O, meet the angry god, invade his eyes,
TO TIJE MORXIXG
And strokf liis r.icii.ml cliceks; on«^ timely
kihs
Will kill his anger, and iivi\c my bri^>.
So to the treasure of thy pearly drw
Thrice will I pay three tears, to show how
true
My i;rief is; so my wakt tiij lay shall
knock
At the oriental j^ate>, and dul) mot k
The early lark's shrill orisons to be
An anthem at the day's nativity.
And the same rosy-tinj^cred hand of thine,
That shuts night's d}in^^ eyes shall open
mine.
liut liiou, faint j^od of sleep, forget that I
Was ever known to be thy votary.
No more my pillow shall thine altar b<',
Nor will 1 olVer any more to thee
M)self a melting sacritice; 1 ni born
.\gain a fresh child of the buxom ninrn,
Heir of the sun's tirst beams; why threat'st
thou so?
Why dost tlinii -Ii.ike tii\ le.Kl.-n sccplre?
Go,
Bestow thv j'"i'i'.^ upon w.iktiul \\u«-,
Sickness and sorrow, whose pale lids ne'er
know
Thy downy linger dwell upon th«ir eyes;
Shut in their tears, shut out their miseries.
191
Loves ^ ^
Horoscope
Lovi', bra\f \'irtuc's youiim'r biutlui,
Erst liatli m.idt' my luart a inolher.
She consults the anxioub spheres,
To calculate her youn^ son's years;
She asks it' sad or savings powers
Gave omen to his infant hours;
She asks each star tliat then stood b}
it" poor Love sliall live or die.
Ah, my heart, is thai the way?
Are these llie beams that rule thy day?
Thou know'st a face in whose each look
Beauty lays ope Love's fortune-book.
On whose fair revolutions wait
The obsequious motions of Love's fate.
Ah, my heart! her eyes and she
Have tauj3^ht thee new astrolog^y.
Howe'er Love's native hours were set,
Whatever starry synod met,
'T is in the mercy of her eye,
If poor Love shall live or die.
192
LOVE'S HOROSCOPE
If those sharp rays, puttirifj on
Foiiils of death, bid Love bo g^one;
Thouj4^h the heavens in council sat
To crown an uncontrolled fate;
Though their best aspects twined upon
Thf kindest constellation,
Cast amorous glances on his birth,
And whispered the confederate earth
To pave his paths with all the good
That warms the bed of youth and blood:
Love lias no plea against her eye;
Beauty frowns, and Love must die.
But it lu-r milder intluenct' move,
And gild the hopes of humble Love; —
Though heaven's inauspicious eye
Lay black on Love's nativity;
Though every diamond in Jove's crown
Fixed his forehead to a frown; —
Her eye a strong appeal can give.
Beauty smiles, and Love shall live.
O, if Love shall live, O where,
But in her eye, or in her ear.
In her breast, or in her breath.
Shall I hide poor Love from death?
For in the life aught else can give,
Love shall die, although he live.
(B126) 193 O
Loi/rs HOROscori!:
(3r. it I.ovc shall die, () vvliorc,
But in luT eyr, ur in her ear,
III lur hn-ath. or in hrr breast,
Shall 1 build his funeral nest !'
While I^ive shall thus entoniJx-d lie.
Love shall live, althouj^h he die !
194
On Mr. G.
Herbert's
Book
KNTITLEO, 'the TRMTIK
or SACRED IOKM>, '
SENT TO A (.fcN I LKWOMAN
Know you, lair, on what you look?
Dlvincst love lies in this book,
ICxp«ctin}^ fire from your eyes,
To kindle this his sacrifice.
Wlun your hands untie thes«' strinfjs,
Think you've an anj^e! by tli«' winu,^s:
One that gladly will l)e ni^^di
To wait ufK)n each inorninj^ sigh,
To flutter in the balmy air
Of your will perfumed prayer.
These white plumes of his he Ml lend you,
Which every day to heaven will send you,
To take acquaintance of the sphere,
.And all tin- smooth-faced kindred there.
And thou4^h Herbert's name do owe
These devotions, fairest, know
That while 1 lay them on the slirine
Of your white hand, thty are mine.
195
Wishes to
his Supposed J^ ^
Mistress
Whoe'er she be.
That not inipobsible She
That shall command mv heart and me:
Where'er she lie,
Locked up from mortal eye
In shady leaves of destiny:
Till that ripe birth
Of studied F"ate stand forth,
And teach her fair steps tread our earth;
Till that divine
Idea take a shrine
Of crystal flesh, through which to shine:
Meet you her, my Wishes,
Bespeak her to my blisses,
And be ye called, my absent kisses.
196
WISHES
I wish her beauty
That owes not all its duty
To g-audy tire, or glist'riii^ shoe-tie.
Something- more than
TalTata or tissue can,
Or rampant feather, or rich fan.
More than the spoil
Of shop, or silkworm's toil,
Or a bought blush, or a stn smile.
A face that 's best
By its own beauty drest,
And can alone commend the rest.
A cheek where youth
And blood, with pen of truth,
Write what the reader sweetly rueth.
A cheek where grows
More than a morning rose,
Which to no box his being" owes.
Lips where all day
A lover's kiss may play.
Vet carry nothing thence away.
197
WISHES
Looks that oppress
Their richest tires, hut dress
And clothe their simi)le nakedness.
I^iycs thai displace
Their neit^hbour diamond, and outface
That sunshine hy their own sweet f;;-race.
Tresses tliat wear
Jewels, but to declan-
How much th< msclves more precious are;
VV'hotee native ray
Can tame the wanton day
Of i^ems tiiat in iheir brii^lit shades play.
Each ruby there,
Or pearl that dare appear.
Be its own blush, be its own tear.
A well-tamed iieart,
For whose more noble smart
Love may be long- choosing a dart.
Eyes that bestow
Full quivers on love's bow,
Yet pay less arrows than they owe.
Smiles that can warm
The blood, yet teach a charm,
That chastity shall lake no harm.
198
JV/SlfES
Blushes ihal bin
The burnish of no sin,
Nor flames of aut^ht too hot within.
Joys that confess,
V^irtue their mistress,
And ha\'e no other liead to dress.
Fears fond and ^li^-hl
As the coy bride's, when nii<ht
First does the lon^int;- lover rijfht.
Tears quickly Hed,
And vain, as those are shed
For a dyin|j^ maidenhead.
Soft silken hours.
Open suns, shady bowers;
'liove all, nothing- within that lowers.
Days that need borrow
No pan oi their good- morrow
From a fore-spent nltchi of sorrow.
Days that in spite
C)t darkness, by the lic^hl
Ot a ck-ar mind, are day all nii^hi.
Nights, sweet as they.
Made short by lovers' play,
Vet long- by the absence ol the day.
199
WISHES
Life, that dares send
A challeiifj^e to his end,
And when it comes, s.iy. Welcome, friend I
Sydneian ^ho\ver>
Of sweet discourse, u host- powers
Can crown old winter's head with tlowers.
Whate'er delii;hl
Can make day's forehead brii^ht.
Or ^ive down to the win^s of nit^fht.
In her whole frame.
Have Nature all the name,
Art and ornament the shame.
Her flattery,
Picture and poesy.
Her counsel her own virtue be.
I wish her store
Of worth may leave her poor
Of wishes; and I wish no more.
Now, if Time knows
That Her, whose radiant brows
Weave them a i^arland of my vows;
Her whose just bays
My future hopes can raise,
A trophy to her present praise;
WISHES
Her that dares be
What these hnes wish to see;
1 sc^ek no further, it Is She.
Tis She, and here.
Lo! I unclothe and clear
My wishes' cloudy character.
May she enjoy it
Whose merit dare apply it,
But modesty dares still deny it!
Such worth as this is
Shall fix my tlyin^ wishes,
And determine them to kisses.
Let her full ^lory,
My fancies, tly before ye;
Be ye my tactions :- -but her story
Quern Vidistis
Pastores, &c.
A HVMN OF THE
NATIVITY, SUNG BY
THE SHEPHERDS
JS^
Cho
Come, we shepherds whose blest sii<ht
Hath met Love's noon in Nature's nitihl
Come lift we up our loftier sont^^,
And wake the sun that lies too loni^.
To all our world of well-stoi'n joy
He slept, and dreamt of no such thiiii,^,
While we found out Heaven's fairer eye,
And kissed the cradle of our Kini^;
Tell him he rises now too late
To show us aue^ht worth lookint;' at.
Tell him we now can show him more
Than he e'er showed to mortal sit^hl,
Than he himself e'er saw before,
Which to be seen needs not his light :
Tell him, Tityrus, where th' hast been,
Tell him, Thyrsis, what th' hast seen.
QUEM VIDISTIS PASTORES
Titvnis
Gloomy nig^ht (Miibracod the place
Where the noble infant lay:
The babe looked up, and showed His face;
In spite of darkness it was day.
It was Thy day, sweet, and did rise.
Not from tin- Fast, but from Thine eyes.
Chorus
It was Thy day, sweet, and did rise,
Not from the Kast, but from Thine eyes.
Th vrsis
Winter chid aloud, and sent
The ang^ry North to wage his wars:
The North forgot his fierce intent.
And left perfumes instead of scars.
By those sweet eyes' persuasive powers.
Where he meant frosts he scattered tlowers.
Chorus
By those sweet eyes' persuasive powers,
Where he meant frosts he scattered flowers.
Both
We saw Thee in Thy balmy nest,
Voung dawn of our eternal day;
QUEM VI D I ST IS PA STORES
We saw Thine eyes break from the East,
And chase the tremblint^ shades away:
We saw Thee, and we blest the sig-ht,
We saw Thee by Thine own sweet li^t^ht.
J'ityrus
Poor world, said 1, what wiU thou do
To entertain this starry stmn^or?
Is this the best thou canst bestow —
A cold and not too cleanly mant^er?
Contend the powers of heaven and earth
To fit a bed for this hug:e birth.
L ^ horns
Contend the powers of heaven and earth,
To ht a bed for this huge birth.
Thynis
Proud world, said I, cease your contest,
And let the mighty babe alone,
The phoenix builds the phoenix' nest,
Love's architecture is his own.
The babe, whose birth embraves this morn.
Made His own bed ere He was born.
Chants
The babe, whose birth embraves this morn,
Made His own bed ere He was born.
204
QUEM VIDISTIS PASTORES
Tityrus
I saw the curled drops, soli and slow,
Come hovering o'er the place's head,
OtfVing their whitest sheets of snow,
To furnish the fair infant's bed.
Forbear, said I, be not too bold.
Your fleece is white, but 'tis loo cold.
Thyrsis
I saw th' obsequious seraphim
Their rosy fleece of fire bestow,
F'or well thjy now can spare their v\ings,
Since Heaven itself lies here below.
Well done, said I ; but are you sure
Your down, so warm, will pass for pure?
Chorus
Well done, said I ; but are you sure
Your down, so warm, will pass for pure?
Roth
No, no, your King 's not yet to seek
Where to repose His royal head;
See, see how soon His new-bloomed cheek
'Twixt mother's breasts is gone to bed.
Sweet choice, said we; no way but so.
Not to lie cold, yet sleep in snow !
20.=;
QUEM VIDISriS PASTORES
C/iofus
Sweet choice, said we; no way bul so,
Nut to lie cold, yet sleep in snow !
J-'u/I ( '/io?-us
Welcome all wonders in one sii;lu !
Eternity shut in a span !
Siunnier in winter! day in nii^lu !
Cliurus
Heaven in earth! and (Jod in man I
Great little one, whose all-embracing birili
Lifts earth to Heaxcn, stoops liea\en to
earth,
Welcome, tho' nor to ^o\d, nor silk.
To more than Csesar's birthright is:
Two sister seas of virgin's milk,
With many a rarely-tempered kiss,
That breathes at once both maid and
mother,
Warms in the one, cools in the other.
She sings Thy tears asleep, and dips
Her kisses in Thy weeping eye;
She spreads the red leaves of Thy lips.
That in their buds yet blushing lie.
She 'gainst those mother diamonds tries
The points of her young eagle's eyes.
206
QUEM VIDISTIS PASTORES
W't'lcome -tho' not to those gay flies,
Gilded i' th' beams of earthly kings,
Slippery souls in smiling eyes —
But to poor shepherds, homespun things,
Whose wealth's their flocks, whose wit's
to be
Well read in their simplicity.
Yet, when young April's husband ^how'rs
Shall bless the fruitful Maia's bed.
We'll bring the first-born of her flowers
To kiss Thy feet and crown Thy head,
To Thee, dread Lamb! whose love must
keep
The sh'-pherds while they feed their sheep.
To Thee, meek Majesty, soft King
Of simple graces and sweet loves I
Each of us his lamb will bring,
Each his pair of silver doves I
At last, in fire of Thy fair eyes,
Ourselves become our own best sacrifice!
207
Music's Duel j^ /^
Now westward Sol had ^pciit the richest
beams
Ol noon's hi^q-h i^lory, when, hard by the
streams
Of Tiber, on tin- scene of a green plat,
Under protection of an oak, there sat
A sweet lute's master: in whose gentle
airs
He lost the day's heat, and his own hot
cares.
Close In the covert of the leaves there
stood
A nightingale, come from the neighbour-
ing wood: —
The sweet inhabitant of each glad tree,
Their muse, their Siren, harmless Siren
she, —
There stood she listening, and did entertain
The music's soft report, and mould the
same
In her own murmurs, that whatever mood
His curious fingers lent, her voice made
good.
208
MUSIC'S DUEL
The nuui perceivetl his ri\al, and her art;
Disposed to give tlie light-foot lady sport,
Awakes his lute, and 'gainst the fight to
come
Informs it, in a sweet prceludium
Of closer strains ; and ere the war begin
He slightly skirmishes on every string,
Charged with a flying touch; and straight-
way she
Carves out her dainty voice as readily
Into a thousand sweet distinguished tones;
And reckons up in soft divisions
Quick volumes of wild notes, to let him
know
By tiiat shrill taste she could do some-
thing too.
His nimble hand's instinct then taught
each string
A cap'ring cheerfulness ; and made them
sing
To their own dance; now negligently rash
He throws his arm, and with a long-
drawn dash
Blends all together, then distinctly trips
From this to that, then, quick returning,
skips
And snatches this again, and pauses there.
She measures every measure, everywhere
Meets art with art ; sometimes as if in
doubt —
(B126) 209 P
MrsrC'S DUEL
Not perfect \ct, and iVaring to be out
Trails her plain ditty in one loni^-sjuin note
Tliroug^h the sleek passage oi her open
throat :
A clear unwrinkled sontj- ; thin doth she
point it
With tender accents, and se\erely joint it
By short diminutives, that, heintif reared
In controverting^ warbles e\enly shared,
With her sweet self she wrani^les ; he,
amazed
That from so small a channel should be
raised
The torrent of a voice whose melodv
Could melt into such sweet variety,
Strains hij^^her yet, that, tickled with rare
art.
The tattlinj^- ^trinj^s each breathini;' in
his part —
Most kindly do fall out; the orumbiinj;-
bass
In surly i^roans disdains the treble's j^race;
The hii^h - perched treble chirps at this,
and chides
Until his tinger-moderator hides
And closes the sweet quarrel, rousin.i;' .ill.
Hoarse, shrill, at once: as when the trum-
pets call
Hot Mars to th' har\est of death's tield,
and woo
2IO
MUSIC'S DUEL
Men's hearts into iheir hands; this Irsson,
too,
She f^ivt's him back, hi-r supple bri-asl
thrills out
Sharp airs, and staggers in a warbling
doubt
Of dallying sweetness, hovers o'er lu i
skill.
And folds in waved notes, with a trembling
bill.
The pliant series of her slippery song;
Then starts she suddenly into a throng
Of short thick sobs, whose thundVing
volleys float
And roll themselves over her lubric throat
in panting murmurs, 'stilled out of her
breast.
That ever- bubbling spring, the sugared
nest
Of her delicious soul, thai there does lie
Bathing in streams of liquid melody, —
Music's best seed-plot; when in ripened
ears
A golden-headed harvest fairly rears
His honey-dropping tops, ploughed by her
breath.
Which there reciprocally laboureth.
In that sweet soil it seems a holy quire
Founded to th' name of great Apollo's
lyre ;
211
MUSIC'S DUEL
W'liosc sihir ruot riiif^s vvilli tlit; sprij^htly
notes
Orsweet-lip|)cd an^rl-inips. that swill tlu'ir
throats
In cream of niornini; Hrlicon ; and then
Prefer soft antli'-nis to the ears of men,
To woo them from their beds, still mur-
muring
That men can sKep whiK' tlu-y their matins
sini,^:-
Most divine service! whose so earh lay
Prevents the eyelids of the blushinj^^ day.
There mig^ht you hear her kindle her soft
voice
In the close murmur of a sparklini^'^ noise,
And lay the t^round-work of her hopeful
souK^;
Still keepinjL,'^ in the forward stream so
long,
Till a sweet wliirKvind, slrivini; to ^^.-i out.
Heaves her soft bosom, wanders round
about,
And makes a pretty earthquake in her
breast ;
Till the fledi<-ed notes at leng-th forsake
their nest.
Fluttering- in wanton shoals, and to the
sky,
Winged with their own wild echoes, prat-
tling fly.
212
MUSIC'S DUEL
Slie opes the floodgate, and lets loose a
tide
or streaininj;' sweetness, which in state
doth ride
On the waved biick of every swelling
strain,
Rising and falling in a pompous train;
And while she thus discharges a shrill peal
Of flashing airs, she qualiHcs their zeal
With the cool epode of a graver note ;
Thus high, thus low, as if her silver throat
Would reach the bnizen voice of war's
hoarse bird ;
Her little voice is ravished ; and so poured
Into loose ecstasies, that she is placed
Above herself — music's enthusiast !
Shame now and anger mixed a douhit-
stain
In the musician's face: Vet once again,
Mistress, I come. Now reach a strain,
my lute,
Above her mock, or be for ever mute ;
Or tune a song of victory to me.
Or to thyself sing thine own obsequy!
So said, his hands sprightly as fire he
flings.
And with a quivering coyness tastes the
strings :
The sweet-lipped sisters, musically frighted.
Singing their fears, are fearfully delighted:
213
MUSIC'S DUEL
Treinbliiij; as vviicn Apollo'^ i(olcltii hairs
Are fanned and Irizzled in tlu* wanton airs
Of his own l^roath. whicli, married to his
lyiv.
I^oth tun«- the sph-^res, ami make liea\en's
M If k)(>k higher ;
From this lo that. fri)m (hat to this, he
Hies,
Feels music's pulsr in all iitr arteries;
Caught in a n«( whirli there Apollo
spreads.
His fmi^t-rs stru^-^lr wiiii th«- vocal
ihrr.ids.
h'oliowintj;^ tho^e litth- rills, he sinks into
\ sea of Helicon ; his hand does ljo
Those parts of sweetness \\ hi( h with
nectar drop.
Softer than that which panis in H«be'sciip:
The humorous slrint^s e.\f)ound iiis hvirned
touch
I>\ \ariuus t^losses; now llu-v seem to
.^^rutch
And murmur in a buzzing^ din, then t^ingle
in shrill-tont>ued accents, slriving^ to be
single ;
Every smooth turn, every delicious stroke,
Gives life to some new g^race : thus doth
he invoke
Sweetness by all her names ; thus, bravely
thus—
214
MUSIC'S DUEL
I'Vauijlit wiili a fury s»i luirnumious —
Tilt' lute's lii^lil (jt-nius nu\s dt)i-.s promlly
rise,
Heavt'd on llu- surt(«s of swoH'n i ha[>-
sodifs,
VVhos*^ nourish, inttror-Hk*-, dtttli turl tin-
air
With Hash of hif^h-born fanclt-s ; h^n* and
ihci.'
Dancing in lolly nu-asures, and anon
Creeps on the soft lou( h of a tender lone,
Whose trenihllnj^ nuirniurs, nn-ltint; in
wild airs,
Run to and fro, complainint^ his sweci
ciires ;
Because those precious nnsteries that
dwell
in music's ravished soul he dare n(»t tell,
But whisp<T to the world : tlui-^ do thev
vary,
Kach string his note, as if iluy nieanl lo
carry
Their master's blest soul, snatched out at
his ears
By a stront; ecstasy, throuj^h all ihe
spheres
Of music's heaven ; and seal It there on
hit<^h
In th' tnipyrwum of pure harmony.
At leni^th- after so lont<-, so loud a strife
MUSIC'S DUEL
Of all lh(^ strini;'s, still hrcalhinji; the best
life
Of blest variety, atteiKJinj; on
His fingers' fairest revolution,
In manv a sweet rise, main as sweet a
fall-
A full-mouthed diapason swallows all.
This done, he lists what she would say
to this;
And she, althout^'^h her breath's late exer-
cise
Had dealt too roughly with her tender
throat,
Yet summons all her swi'ct powers for a
note.
Alas, in vain ! for while, sweet soul, she
tries
To measure all those wild diversities
Of chattVing strings, by the small size of
one
Poor simple voice, raised in a natural tone.
She fails; and failing, grieves; and griev-
ing, dies ;
She dies, and leaves her life the victor's
prize,
Falling upon his lute. O, fit to have —
That lived so sweetly — dead, so sweet a
grave !
2X6
The Flaming
Heart
UI'ON THE BOOK AND PICTURE
OK THE SKRAFHICAL SAIN I
TERESA, AS SHK IS USUALLY
EXPRKSSKI) WITH A SERAPHIM
bESIDK HEK
VVt'll-iiu'an'ui^ rt-aders! you that come as
friends
And catch the precious nam*' this piece
pretends,
Make not too much haste t' admire
That fair-cheeked fallacy of fire.
That is a seraphim, they say,
And this the ^reat Teresia.
Readers, be ruled by me, and make
Here a well-placed and wise mistake;
You must transpose the picture quite.
And spell it wrong to read it rig^hl;
Read Him for Her, and Her for Him,
And call the saint the seraphim.
Painter, what didst thou understand
To put her dart into his hand?
See, even the years and size of liini
217
THE FLAMIXG HEART
Shows tills the mother seniphiin.
This is the mistress flame, and duteouN lie
Her happy fireworks, here, comes down
to see :
O, most poor-spirited ol men I
Had thy cold pencil kissed her pen.
Thou couldst not so unkindl\ err
To show us this faint shade lor her.
Why, man, this speaks pure mortal frame.
And mock-^ with t'emalc frost love's manly
flame ;
One would suspect thou meani'si to paint
Some weak, inferior woman Saint.
l>ut, had thy pale-faced purple took
l-'lre from the hurnlnj^- ciu't-ks of that
brijj-ht book.
Thou wouldsl on her have heaped up all
That could be found seraphical ;
Whate'er this youth of fire wears fair,
Rosy fingers, radiant hair,
Glowing cheek, and glistVing wings,
All those fair and flagrant things;
But, before all, that fier}- dart
Had filled the hand of this great heart.
Do, then, as equal right requires,
Since his the blushes be, and hers the fires,
Resume and rectify thy rude design,
Undress thy seraphim Into mine;
Redeem this injury of thy art.
Give him the veil, give her the dart.
218
THE FLAMING HEART
Give him the veil, tlial he may cover
The red clieeks of a rivalled lover,
Ashamed that our world now can slion'
Nests of new Seraphims here below.
Give her the dart, for it is she,
Fair youth, shoots both thy shaft and
thee ;
Say, all ye wise and v.dl-pierced iiearts
That live and die amidst her darts,
What is 't your tasteful spirits do prove
In that rare life of her and love?
Say and bear witness. Sends she not
A seraphim at every shot?
What mag^azines of immortal arms there
shine !
Heav'n's j^reat artillery in each love-spun
line !
Give, then, the dart to her who ^ives the
flame,
(jive him the veil who g^ives the shame.
But if it be the frequent fate
Of worst faults to be fortunate.
If all 's prescription, and proud wrong
Hearkens not to an humble song.
For all the gallantry of him.
Give me the suffVing seraphim.
His be the bravery of those bright things,
The glowing cheeks, tiie glistering wings.
The rosy hand, the radiant dart ;
Leave her alone ilie flaming he:irt.
219
THE FLAMING HEART
Leave her that, and lliou shall leave her
Not one loose shaft, but Love's whole
quiver.
For in Love's field was never found
A nobler weapon than a wound.
Love's passives are his activ'st part,
The wounded is the wounding heart.
O heart! the equal poise of Love's both
parts,
Big alike with wounds and darts,
Live in these conquering leaves, live all
the same,
And walk through all tongues one trium-
phant flame !
Live here, great heart, and love, and die,
and kill.
And bleed, and wound, and yield, and
conquer still.
Let this immortal Life, where'er it comes.
Walk in the crowd of loves and martyr-
doms.
Let mystic deaths wait on 't, and wise
souls be
The love-slain witnesses of this life of thee.
O sweet incendiary! show here thy art
Upon this carcass of a hard, cold heart ;
Let all thy scattered shafts of light, that
play
Among the leaves of thy large books of
day,
220
THE FLAMING HEART
ConibiiK-d af^^ainst this breast, at once
break in
And take away from me myself and sin;
This gracious robbery shall thy bounty be,
And my best fortunes sucii fair spoils of
me.
O thou undaunted dauj^hter of desires!
By all thy dower of lights and tires,
By all the eagle in thee, all the dove,
By all thy lives and deaths of love.
By thy large draughts of intellectual day.
And by thy thirst of love more large than
they ;
By all thy brim-tilled bowls of tierce desire,
By thy last morning's draught of liquid
fire,
By the full kingdom of that final kiss
That seized thy parting soul, and sealed
thee His ;
By all the heav'ns thou hast in Him,
Fair sister of the seraphim !
By all of Him we have in thee,
Leave nothing of myself in me :
Let me so read thy life that I
Unto all life of mine may die.
Abraham Cowley
On the
Death of j^ JS^
Mr. Crashaw
Poet and Saint! to thee alone are given
The two most sacred names of earth and
heaven;
The hard and rarest union which can be,
Next that of Godhead with humanity.
Long did the Muses banished slaves abide,
And built vain pyramids to mortal pride;
Like Moses, thou (though spells and
charms withstand)
Hast brought them nobly back home to
their Holy Land.
Ah, wretched we, poets of earth ! but
thou
Wert living the same poel which iliou'ri
now.
Whilst angels sing to thee their airs
divine,
223
ELEGY
And join in an applause so great as thine,
Equal society with them to hold,
Thou need'st not make new songs, but
say the old.
And they (kind spirits!) siiall all rejoice to
see
How little less than they exalted man mav
be.
Still the old heathen gods in numbers
dwell,
The heaven liest thing on earth still keeps
up hell.
Nor have we yet quite purged the Christian
land;
Still idols here, like calves at Bethel,
stand.
And though Pan's death long since all
oracles broke,
Yet still in rhyme the fiend Apollo spoke:
Nay, with the worst of heathen dotage we
(Vain men !) the monster woman deify; »
Find stars, and tie our fates there in a
face.
And paradise in them, by whom we lost
it, place.
What different faults corrupt our Muses
thus !
Wanton as girls, as old wives fabulous !
Thy spotless muse, like Mary, did con-
tain
224
ELEGY
The boundless Godhead; she did well dis-
dain
That her eternal verse employed should be
On a less subject than eternity;
And for a sacred mistress scorned to take
But her whom God Himself scorned not
His spouse to make.
It (in a kind) her miracle did do;
A fruitful mother was and virgin too.
How well, blest swan, did Fate contrive
thy death,
And make thee retider up thy tunetul
breath
In thy great Mistress' arms, thou most
divine
And richest oft'ering of Loretto's shrine!
Where, like some holy sacrifice to expire,
A fever burns thee, and Ijve lights the fire.
Angels (they say) brought the famed chapel
there,
And bore the sacred load in triumph
through the air.
'Tis surer much they brought thee there,
and they
And thou, their charge, went singing all
the way.
Hail, bard triumphant! and some care
bestow
On us, the poets militant below.
( B 126 ) 225 Q
ELEGY
(3ppu^t'd by uur old •■tuMiiv, .id\ersr chance,
Attacked by envy and by i^iiorancf,
Enchained by beauty, tortured by desires,
Exposed by tyrant love to savaj^e beasts
and Kires.
Thou frojn low earth In nohhr llanics didst
rise,
And, like Elijah, inouni alive the skies.
Elisha-like (but with a wish much less,
More fit thy greatness and my littleness),
Lo, here I beg (I, whom thou once didst
pro\ e
So humble to esteem, so good to love)
Not that thy spirit might on me doubled
be-
I ask but half thy mighty spirit for nie;
And when my muse soars with so strong
a wing.
Twill learn of things di\ine, and hrst of
thee, to sing.
226
Hymn to j^ j^
the Light
First-born ol" cliaus, who so fair didst
come
From ihf old N'('i;ru's darksome
womb !
Which, when it saw ihi' lovely child,
The melancholy mass put on kind looks
and smiled !
Thou tide of i^lory which no rest dost
know,
But ever ebb and ever tlow !
Thou golden shower of a true Jove,
Who does in thee descend, and Heaven to
Karth make love !
Hail, active Nature's watchful life and
health!
Her ioy, her ornament, and wealth!
Hail to thy husband, Heat, and thee!
Thou the world's beauteous Bride, the lusty
Bridegroom he.
227
HYMN TO THE LIGHT
Say from what p^oldeii nuixrrs ol llie
sky
Do all tliy ui lifted arrows fly?
Swifliu'ss and power by birth are
thine:
From I by preat Sire they came, thy Sire
the Word di\ine.
'Tis. 1 beliexe, this arciicr) to show,
That so much cost in colours thou
And skill in painting dost bestow
L'pon thy ancient arms, the t^audy heavenly
bow.
Swit"t as li^lil thoui^hts their empty career
run,
Thy race is finished when beg^un.
Let a post-angel start with thee,
And thou the goal of earth shalt reach as
soon as he.
Thou, in the moon's bright chariot
proud and gay.
Dost thy bright wood of stars
survey;
And all the year dost with thee
bring
Of thousand flowery lights thine ow n noc-
turnal spring.
228
HYMX TO THE LIGHT
Thou, Sc\ thlan-like, closl round ili\ lands
above
The sun's ^ili tent for <ver move;
And still as thou in pomp do-^t
The shinin<^ pageants of the world attend
thv show.
Nor amidst all these triumj^hs dost thou
scorn
The humble f^^low-vvorms to adorn,
And with those livinj^ spangles ^ild
(O greatness without pride!) the lilies of
the field.
Nig-ht and her utjly subjects thou dost
frig-ht,
.\nd sleep, the lazy owl of ni^ht;
.\shamed and fearful to appear,
They screen their horrid shapes with the
black hemisphere.
With them there hastes, and wildly takes
the alarm
Of painted dreams a busy swarm.
At the first opening of thine eye
The various clusters break, the antic atoms
fly.
HYMN TO THE LIGHT
Tin j^iiilty serpents and obsa-ntT beasts
('n«p. conscious, to their socrel
rests;
Nature to ther dots rexerenci- pay,
111 onuns .111(1 ill >iKl>t^ remove out of thy
wav.
Al ihy appearance, (irief itscH i> said
To shake his \vinj.;s and rousr his
liead:
Aiul { loudy Care has often totdc
A i^riUle ht'aniy >nillr, retli'iteii from thy
look.
At thy appearance, Fear itselt iji^rows
bold';
Thy sunshine melts away his cold.
Encoura£j«'d at the sig^ht ol" th«'e.
To the cheek colour conies, and l"irnin»*SN
to the knee.
Even Lust, the master of a hardened
face,
Blushes, if thou be 'st in the place,
To darkness' curtain he retires.
In sympathisinii nio-ht he rolls liis smoky
fires.
2^0
HYMN TO THE LIGHT
When, j^otldi'sN, tlmu litV^i up lh\
wakent'd lit^ad
Out of tlu- morning's purple uilI,
riiy quire of bird^ about thee play,
And all tin joyful world salutes tin* rislut;
dav.
'I'he j>llOSts and nmn^i' i - pn n^ iii.il
presume
A IhkIv's pri\ilej^e to assuiuf.
Vanish a^ain in\isil)ly,
And Ixxlies j^ain aj^Min their visibility.
All the world's bravery that delij^hls our
eyes
Is but lln se\eral liv<ri«'s:
Thou the rich d\r on them !)«•-
slow'st,
"by nimble pencil paints thii landscape as
thou t;o'st.
A crimson j^armeni in the rose thou
wear'st,
A crown of studded j^old thou
bear'st.
The virt^in lilies in their white
Are clad but with the lawn ol almost naked
i«s:ht.
231
HYMN TO THE LIGHT
The viuk't, Sprinj^'s lillle infant, stands
Girt in the purple swaddling'-bands;
On the fair tulip liiou dost dote,
Thou cloth'st it in a gay and parti-coloured
coat.
W'i'Ji tianits condensed thou dost thy
jewels tlx,
And solid colours in it mix:
Flora hers«"lf cnxirs to sfc
Flowers fairer than h'l own. ,in<i (hirahlr
as she.
Ah g-oddess! would thou couldst th\
hand withhold
And be less liberal to i^^old;
Did thou less value to it give,
Of how much care (alas!) might'st thou
poor man relieve.
To me the sun is more deli.<j"hlful
far,
And all fair days mucii fairer
are.
But tew, ah, wondrous few there
be
Who do not gold prefer, O goddess, even
to thee !
232
HYMN rO THE LIGHT
Throuj^h iht- soft ways of hea\fn, and
air, and sea,
Which open all their pores to thoc;
Like a clear river thou dost j^Iidi-,
And with thy living streams through the
( lose channels slide.
W\x\ where firm hodirs thy iVee course
oppose,
Gently thy source the land o'erflows;
Takes there possession, and does
make,
Of colours minj^led, Li^hl, a thick and
standing lak(\
Hul the vast ocean of unhounded Day
In the Empyrean Heaven does stay.
Thy rivers, lakes, and springs below
From thence took first their rise, thither at
last must flow.
233
On the Death of Sir
Anthony Vandike, the j^
Famous Painter
Vandike Is dead ; but what bold Muse
shall dare
(Though poets in that word with painters
share)
To express her sadness? Poesy must
become
An art, like painting here, an art that 's
dumb.
Let 's all our solemn grief in silence keep.
Like some sad picture which he made to
weep.
Or tliose who saw it, for none his works
could view
Unmoved with the same passions which
he drew.
His pieces so with their live objects strive.
That both or pictures seem, or both alive.
Nature herself amazed, does doubting
stand,
Which is her own, and which the painter's
hand,
234
SIR ANTHONY VANDIKE
And does attempt the like with less suc-
cess,
When her own work in turns she w^ould
express.
His all-resembling" pencil did out-pass
The mimic imagery of looking-glass.
Nor was his lite less perfect than his art,
Nor was his hand more erring than his
heart.
There was no false, or fading- colour there,
The figures sweet and well proportioned
were.
Most other men, set next to him in view,
r\ppeared more shadows than the men he
drew.
Thus still he lived till Heaven did for him
call,
Where reverend Luke salutes him tirst of
all:
Where he beholds new sights, divinel}- fair;
And could almost wish for his pencil there.
Did he not gladly see how all things
shine,
Wondrously painted in the Mind divine,
Whilst he for ever ravished with the show,
Scorns his own art which we admire
below.
Only his beauteous lady still he loves;
(The love of heavenly objects Hea\en
Improves)
235
SIR ANT/IOXV VAX DIKE
He st-es brif^lu ant^tls In pure beams
appear.
And lliinks on lier he left .so like iheni
here.
And you, fair widow, who slay here alive,
Since he so much rejoices, cease to j^rieve.
Your joys and j^riefs wen* wont the same
to be;
He^ln not now, blest pair, to disaf^ree.
No wonder Death moved not his j^enerous
mind,
Vou, and a new born you, he left behind.
Kven Kate expressed iiis love to his dear
wife,
And let him end vour picture with his
life.
936
On the Death
of Mr. William j^ J^
Hervey
It was a dismal, and a fearful niglu,
Scarce could th<- morn driw ow the un-
willing I'^lil'
When sleep, death's iniaj^e, kli my
troubled breast
By something liker Death possessed.
My eyes with tears did uncomtnanded flow,
And on my soul hung the dull weight
Of some intolerable fate.
What bell was that? Ah me! Too much
1 know.
My sweet companion, and my gentle peer,
Why hast thou left me thu> unkindly here,
Thy end lor ever, and my life to moan?
O thou hast left me all alone!
Thy .soul and body when death's agony
Besieged .uound thy noble heart,
Did not with more reluctance part
Than 1, my dearest friend, do part from
thee.
237
ON THE DEATH OF
My dearest triend, would 1 he\d died for
thee!
Life and this world henceforth will tedious
be.
Nor shall I know hereafter what to do
If once my griefs prove tedious too.
Silent and sad I walk about all day,
As sullen ghosts stalk speechless by
Where their hid treasures lie;
Alas, my treasure 's gone — why do I stay?
He was my friend, the truest friend on
earth ;
A strong and mighty influence joined our
birth.
Nor did we envy the most sounding name
By friendship given of old to fame.
None but his brethren he and sisters
knew
Whom the kind youth preferred to
me;
And even in that we did agree,
For much above myself I loved them
too.
Say, for you saw us, you immortal lights,
Hovv' oft unwearied we have spent the
nights,
Til! the Ledccan stars, so famed for love,
Wondered at us from above.
238
MR, WILLIAM HERVEY
We spent them not in toys, in lusts, or
wine;
But search of deep philosophy,
Wit, eloquence, and poetry;
Arts which I loved, for they, my friend,
were thine.
Ye fields of Cambridge, our dear Cam-
bridge, say.
Have ye not seen us walking every day?
Was there a tree about which did not know
The love betwixt us two?
Henceforth, ye gentle trees, for ever fade;
Or your sad branches thicker join,
And into darksome shades combine.
Dark as the g^rave wherein my friend is laid.
Henceforth no learned youths beneath you
sing-,
Till all the tuneful birds to your boug^hs
they bring;
No tuneful birds play with their wonted
cheer
And call the learned youths to hear;
No whistling- winds through the glad
branches fly;
But all, with sad solemnity
Mute and unmoved be.
Mute as the grave wherein mv friend does
lie.
239
ON THE DEATII OF
To him my mu>c made ha^,le uitli pvi-ry
strain
Whilst it was lu-w and warm yet from the
brain.
He loved my wortiikss ihynu.s, and like
a friend
Would find t)ut sonnthlni; to commend.
Hence now, my muNe, ihou canst not mc
delight;
Be this my latest verse
With which I now adorn his luarse,
And this my grief without thy help shall
write.
Had I a wreath of bays about my brow,
1 could contemn that flourishing honour
now,
Condemn it to the fire, and joy to hear
It rage and crackle there.
Instead of bays, crown with sad cypress me,
Cypress which tombs does beautify.
Not Phcebus grieved so much as I
For him who first was made that mourn-
ful tree.
Large was his soul; as large a soul as e'er
Submitted to inform a body he-'e;
High as the place 'twas shortly in Heaven
to have,
But low and humble as his grave;
240
MR. WILLIAM HERVEY
So high that all the \ u lues tluTc did come,
As to the chiefest seat,
Conspicuous and great;
So low that for me too il madi- a room.
He scorned this busy world below, and all
That we, mistaken mortals, pleasure call;
Was filled with innocent gaiety and truth,
Triumphant o'er the sins of youth.
He, like the stars to which he now is
gone.
That shine with beams like llame.
Yet burn not with the same,
Had all the lights of youth, of the fire
none.
Knowledge he only sought, and so soon
caught.
As if for him knowledge had rather sought.
Nor did more learning ever crowded lie
In such a short mortality.
Whene'er the skilful youth discoursed or
writ,
Still did the notions throng
About his eloquent tongue,
Nor could his ink flow faster than his
wit.
So strong a wit did nature to him frame.
As all things but his judgment overcame;
{ B 1 26 ) 24 r H
ON THE DEATH OF
His JLidgmeiit like the heavenly moon did
show,
Tempering- that mig-hty sea below.
O had he lived in learning-'s world, what
bound
Would have been able to control
His overpowering soul?
We have lost in him arts that not yet
are found.
His mirth was the pure spirits of various
wit,
Yet never did his God or friends for-
get.
And when deep talk and wisdom came in
view.
Retired and gave to them their due.
For the rich help of books he always
took,
Though his own searching mind before
Was so with notions written o'er
As if wise nature had made that her
book.
So many virtues joined in him, as we
Can scarce pick here and there in his-
tory;
More than old writers' practice e'er could
reach.
As much as they could ever teach.
242
MR. WILLIAM HERVEY
These did relig^ion, Queen of virtues sway
And all their sacred motions steer
Just like the first and highest sphere
Which wheels about, and turns all heav'n
one way.
With as much zeal, devotion, piety.
He always lived, as other saints do die.
Still with his severe account he kept,
Weeping all debts out ere he slept;
Then down in peace and innocence he lay,
Like the sun's laborious light.
Which still in water sets at night.
Unsullied with his journey of the day.
Wondrous young man, why wert thou
made so good,
To be snatched hence ere better understood?
Snatched before half enough of thee was
seen!
Thou ripe, and yet thy life but green!
Nor could thy friends take their last sad
farewell.
But danger and infectious death
Maliciously seized on that breath
Where life, spirit, pleasure always used to
dwell.
But happy thou, ta'en from this frantic age.
Where ignorance and hypocrisy does rage!
243
MR. WILLIAM HERVEY
A fitter time im- lieiu'ii w^ soul f'er chose,
The place now only free from ihose.
There 'mong the blest thou dost for ever
shine,
And wheresoe'er thou cast'st thy view
Upon that white and radiant crew.
See'st not a soul clothed with more lii^ht
than thine.
And if the g^iorious saints cease not to
know
Their wrctciied friends who flight uiih
life below;
Thy rtame to me does still the same
abide,
Only more pure and rarefied.
There whilst immortal hymns thou dost
rehearse,
Thou dost with holy pity see
Our dull and earthly poesic,
Where j^rief and misery can be joined with
verse.
244
For Hope J^ -^
Hope, of all Ills tliat men endure
The only cheap and universal cure !
Thou captive's freedom and thou sick man's
health !
Thou lover's victory, and thou be^t,rar's
wealth !
Thou manna, which from heaven we
eat.
To every taste a several meat.
Thou strong retreat! thou sure entailed
estate
Which nought has power to alienate!
Thou pleasant, honest flatterer! for none
Flatter unhappy men, but thou alone.
Hope, thou first-fruits of happiness !
Thou gentle dawning of a bright success!
Thou good preparative, without which our
joy
Does work too strong, and whilst it cures,
destroy;
Who out of fortune's reach dost stand,
And art a blessing still in hand !
245
FOR HOPE
Whilst llu'c, luT cariU'sl-niDuev, we n'tain,
We certain are to i;ain,
Whether she her bargain hicaU, or clsr,
fulfil;
Thou onI\- t;ood, not worse for ending ill.
IJrolhcr of failh, 'iwixl whom and thee
The joys of hea\ en and earth divided be !
Though failh be heir, and have the tirst
estate,
Thy portion yet in moveables is jLj^reat.
Happiness itself 's all one
In thee, or in possession!
Only the future's thine, the present his!
Thine 's the mon- hard and noble
bliss;
Best apprehender of our joys, which hast
So long a reach, and vet canst hold so
fast !
Hope, thou sad lovers' only friend !
Thou way which may'st dispute it with the
end !
For love I fear's a fruit that does delight
The taste itself less than the smell and
sight.
Fruition more deceitful is
Than thou canst be, when thou dost
miss ;
246
FOR HOPE
Men leave thee by ohuiIninj<-, and stiaigln
flee
Some other way a^ain to thee;
And that 's a pleasant country, without
doubt,
To which all soon nturn that travel out.
347
On Orinda's ^ ^
Poems
We allowed you beauty, and we did submit
To all the tyrannies of it;
Ah! cruel sex, will you depose us too in
wit?
# Orinda does in that too reign.
Does man behind her in proud triumph
draw,
And cancel great Apollo's Salic law.
We our old title plead in vain,
Man may be head, but woman 's now the
brain.
Verse was Love's fire-arms heretofore,
In Beauty's camp it was not known.
Too many arms besides that Conqueror
bore:
'Twas the great cannon we brought
down
To assault a stubborn town;
Orinda first did a bold sally make,
Our strongest quarter take.
And so successful proved, that she
Turned upon Love itself his own artillery.
248
ON ORINDA'S POEMS
Thou dost my wonder, wouldsl my envy
raise
If to be praised 1 loved more llian to
praise
Where'er 1 see an excellence;
I must admire to see thy well-knit sense,
Thy numbers gentle and thy fancies hiirh,
Those as thy forehead smooth, these spark-
ling as thine eye.
'Tis solid, and 'tis manly all,
Or rather 'tis angelical,
For, as in angels we
Do in thy verses see
Both improved sexes eminently meet,
They are than man more strong, and more
than woman sweet.
They talk of Nine, I know not who—
Female Chimeras, that o'er poets reign.
1 ne'er could find their fancy true.
But have invoked them oft I 'm sure in
vain !
They talk of Sappho, but alas the sluur.e !
Ill manners soil the lustre of her fame.
Orinda's inward virtue is so bright
That like a lanthorn's fair enclosed light,
It through the paper shines where she doth
write.
Honour, and friendship, and the generous
scorn
aAQ
ON GRIND A' S POEMS
Of tliltiL^s tor which we wore not lioni
(Things that can only by a fond disease,
Likf^ that of girls our vicious stomachs
[di'ast'l.
Are the instructive subjects of lier pen;
And as the Roman victory
Taught our rude land arts and civility,
At once she overcomes, cnslaveb, and betters
man.
But Roni<' with all her arts could ne'er
inspire
A female breast with such a tire.
The warlike .Amazonian train
Who in Elysium now do peaceful reign,
And Wit's mild empire before Arms prefer,
Hope 't will be settled in her sex by her.
Merlin the seer (and sure he would not He
In such a sacred company)
Does prophecies of learn 'd Orinda show,
Which he had darkly spoke so long ago;
Even Boadicea's angry ghost
Forgets her own misfortune and disgrace,
And to her injured daughters now does
boast
That Rome o'crcome at last, by a woman
of her race.
Richard Lovelace
To Lucasta
on going X.Q JS^ J^
the Wars
Tell nie not, Sweet, I am unkliui,
Thai from the nunnery
Of thy ciiaste breast and qulit mind
To war and arms 1 fly.
True; a now mistress now 1 chase,
The first foe in the field;
Antl with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a lior>^»\ a shi«'M.
Yet this inconstancy is such
As thou, too, shalt adore;
I could not love thee, dear, so mucli
Loved 1 not honour more.
To Amarantha
THAT SIIK WOUI.U
DISHEVI I I IKK HAIR
Aniauuitlui, sweet and fair,
Ah, braid no more that shining hair!
As my curious hand or eye
Hoverin.t^ round tliee, let it tly.
Let it fly as uncon fined
As its calm ravisher the wind.
Who hath left his darling", th' east.
To wanton in that spicy nest.
Every tress must be confessed;
But neatly tangled at the best;
Like a clew of golden thread
Most excellently rav(^lled.
Do not, then, wind up that light
In ribands, and o'er cloud in night,
Like the sun in 's early ray;
But shake vour head and scatter day
252
Lucasta
J'AM.NO HEk OUsKlJUIES
TO THE CHASTE MKMOKY
OF MY DEAREST COUSIN,
MRS. BOWES BARNE
See wliat an undisliirbtcl tear
She weeps for her last sleep!
But viewing lier, straij^ht waked, a star,
She weeps that she did weep.
(irief ne'er before did tyrannise
On the honour of that brow,
And at tlie wheels of her brave eyes
Was captive led, till now.
Thus for a saint's apostasy,
The uniniaf^ined woes
And sorrows of the hierarchy
None but an ani^-el knows.
Thus for lost soul's recover}',
The clappinijf of the wing-s
And triumph of this victory
None but an ant(el sings.
253
LUC A ST A
So noiu- hut •*<\v kno\v> to Ix'ino.m
This tqual virgin'^ lali-;
None hul Luc;ist.i can //<•/' crown
Ol' jL^lorv (-••!. -hratr.
Thfii dart on nir, (haste Li^'ht, one ra;
r>y wli'u h I ina\ cii^cn
Thy joy clear ihroii-h this cloudy day
To dress niy sorrow hy.
254
To Althea, ^ ^
from Prison
W'ht-n Iov(* with uiKoiilim J winj^^s
IIov«rs williin my gates,
Aiul m\ divine Althea hrinj^s
To whisper at the j^ratis;
W'hrii 1 He taiij^led in hrr liair
And fettered to lier eye;
The birds that wanton in the air
Know no such hhtrty.
W'hi'ii llowing cu|)> run swiftly roun J
W'itli no alhiyinj^ Thames,
( >ur careless lieads with roses crowned,
Our hearts with loyal flames;
When thirsty j^rief in wine we steep,
When healths and draughts go free,
Fishes that tipple in the deep
Know no such libert}*.
Winn (like committed linnets) 1
With shriller throat shall sing
The sweetness, mercy, majesty
And glories of my King;
-55
TO ALTIIEA, FROM PRISON
W lit'ii I .sli.ill voice aloud how ^ood
He is, how f^real should be,
Enlart^ed winds tliat curl llie Hood
Know no such hbrri\ .
Sloiie walls do nol a prison in. ike
Nor iron bars a caj,'e;
Minds innoceni and t|uiei take
Tlial for an herniitaj^e.
If 1 have freedom in my love,
And in my soul am free,
Angels alone that soar abov<-
Knjoy such liberty.
20
A guiltless
Lady imprisoned: JZ^ ^
after Penanced
Hark, fair one, how whairVr hero is
Doth lau^h and hin^ Ht thy distress,
Not out of hate to thy relief,
But joy -to enjoy thee, though in griel.
See! that which chains you, you chain
here,
The prison is thy prisoner;
How much ihv jailer's keeper art!
He binds thy hands, but thou his heart.
The gyves to rase so smooth a skin
Are so unto themselves within;
But, blest to kiss so fair an arm,
Haste to be happy with that li:.rm;
And play about thy wanton wrist.
As if in them thou so wert dressed;
But if too rough, too hard they press,
O they but closely, closely kiss.
{ B 136 ) 237 ^
A LADY IMPRISONED
And as lliy ban* feet bless the way,
The people do not mock, but pray,
And call thee, as amazed they run,
Instead of prostitute, a nun.
The merry torch burns wltii desire
To kindle the eternal fire,'
And lii^htly dances in thine eyes
To tunes of epithalamics.
The sheet tied ever to thy waist,
How thankful to be so embraced!
And see! thy very, very bands
Are bound to thee to bind such hands.
1 Kvideiilly of love.
258
The Rose
Sweet, serene, sky-likt- flower,
Haste to adorn the bower;
From thy lont^ cloudy bed,
Shoot forth thy damask liead.
New-startled blush of Flora,
The t^rief of pale Aurora
(Who will contest no more).
Haste, haste to strew her floor!
Vermilion ball that 's j^lven
From lip to lip in Heaven;
Love's couch's coverled,
Haste, haste to make her bed.
Dear offspring of pleased Venus
And jolly, plump Silenus,
Haste, haste to deck the hair
Of the only sweetly fair!
See ! rosy is her bower,
Her floor is all this flower,
259
THE ROSE
Her brd a rosy nest
By a btd of roses pressed.
But t-arly as she dresses,
Why fly you her bright tresses?
Ah ! I have found, T fear, —
Because her cheeks are near.
e6o
The j^ j^
Grasshopper
O thou ihat swing'st upon the wav'uii,^ ha\r
Of some well-tilled oaten beard,
Drunk every ni^hl with a delicious tear
Dropped thee from heaven where thou
wert reared !
The joys of earth and air are thlnr entire,
That with thy feet and wings dost hop
and fly;
And when thy poppy works thou dosl retire
To thy carved acorn-bed to lie.
Up with the day, tin- sun thou wt-lcom'st
then,
Sport'st in the gih plaits of his beams,
And all these merry days mak'st merry
men,
Thvself, and melancholy streams.
261
Andrew Mar veil
A Horatian Ode
upon Cromwell's ^
Return from Ireland
The forward youlli that would apix-ar
Must now forsake his musis dear,
Nor in the shadows sin.e:
His numbers languishing .
'Tis time to leave the books in dust,
And oil the unused armour's rust,
Removing from the wall
The corselet of the hall.
So restless Cromwell could not cease
In the inglorious arts of peace,
But throui^^h adventurous war
Ur^ed his active star;
And, like the three-forked lightning, tirst
Breaking the clouds where it was nursl,
Did thorough his own side
His fiery way divide;
203
CROMWELL S RETURN
(For 't is all one to courai^c hi^h,
The emulous, or enoniv,
And with such to enclose
Is more than to oppose;)
Then burning through the air he went,
And palaces and temples rent;
And Ca'sar's head at last
Did through his laurels blast.
'T is madness to resist or blame
The force of angry Heaven's flame;
And if we would speak trut-,
Much to the man is due,
Who, from his private gardens, where
He lived reserved and austere,
As if his highest plot
To plant the bergamot,
Could by industrious valour climb
To ruin the great work of Time,
And cast the kingdoms old
Into another mould.
Though Justice against Fate complain
And plead the ancient rights in vain
(But those do hold or break,
As men are strong or weak),
Nature, that haleth emptiness,
Allows of penetration less,
And therefore must make room
Where greater spirits come.
What field of all the civil war
Where his were not the deepest scar?
264
FROM IRELAND
And Hampton shows what part
He had of wiser art;
Where, twining' subtle fears with hope,
He wove a net of such a scope
That Charles himself might chase
To Carisbrook's narrow case,
That thence the royal actor borne
The tragic scaffold might adorn,
While round the armed bands
Did clap their bloody hands;
He nothing com.mon did, or mean,
Upon that memorable scene,
But with his keener eye
The axe's edge did try;
Nor called the gods with vulgar spite
To vindicate his helpless right.
But bowed his comely head
Down, as upon a bed.
This was that memorable hour,
Which first assured the forced power;
So, when they did design
The Capitol's first line,
A bleeding head, where they begun.
Did fright the architects to run;
And yet in that the State
Foresaw its happy fate.
And now the Irish are ashamed
To see themselves in one year tamed;
So much one man can do,
That does both act and know.
265
CROMWELL'S RETURN
They can affirm his praises best,
And have, thou.erh overcome, confessed
How good he is, how just,
And fit for highest trust;
Nor yet grown stifter with comniMnd,
But still in the republic's hand
(How fit he is to sway,
That can so well obey!)
He to the Common's feet presents
A kingdom for his first year's rents;
And, what he may, forbears
His fame, to make ft theirs;
And has his sword and spoil ungirt,
To lay them at the Public skirt.
So when the falcon high
Falls heavy from the sky.
She, having killed, no more doth search,
But on the next green bough to perch;
Where, when he first does lure,
The falconer has her sure.
What may not then our isle presume,
WHiile victory his crest does plume?
What may not others fear,
If thus he crovv^s each year?
As CfEsar, he, ere long, to Gaul,
To Italy a Hanibal,
And to all states not free
Shall climacteric be.
The Pict no shelter now shall find
Within his parti-coloured mind,
266
FROM IRELAND
But, from his valour sad,
Shrink underneath the plaid;
TIappy, if in [he tufted brake
The English hunter him mistake,
Nor lay his hounds in nerir
The Caledonian deer.
But thou, the war's and fortune's son,
March indefatigably on.
And for the last effect,
Still keep the sword erect;
Beside the force it has to fright
The spirits of the shady night,
The same arts that did gain
A power, must it maintain
267
The Picture
of little T. C.
in a Prospect
of Flowers
j^ j^
See with what simplicity
This nyn-«ph begins her golden days!
In the green grass she loves to lie,
And there with her fair aspect tames
The wilder flowers, and gives them
nanii's;
But only with the roses plays,
And them does tell
What colours best become them, and what
smell.
Who can foretell for what high cause
This darling of the gods was born?
Yet this is she whose chaster laws
The wanton Love shall one day fear,
And, under her command severe,
See his bow broke, and ensigns torn.
Happy who can
Appease this virtuous enemy of man !
268
A PICTURE
O then let me in tinir compound
And parley with tliose conquerinp;^ eyes,
Ere they have tried tlieir force to wound;
Kre with their ghmcing- wheels they drive
In triumph over hearts that strive,
And them that yield but more despise:
Let me be laid,
W'liere 1 may see thy glories from some
shade.
Meantime, whilst every verdant thin^
Itself does at thy beauty charm,
Reform the errors of the Spring;
Make that the tulips may have share
Of sweetness, seeinj^ they are fair.
And roses of their thorns disarm;
But most procure
That violets ma) a longer age endure.
I3ut O young beauty of the woods,
Whom Nature courts with fruits and
flowers.
Gather the flowers, but spare the buds;
Lest Flora, angry at thy crime
To kill her infants in their prime,
Should quickly make the example yours;
.\nd, ere we see,
Nip, in the blossom, all our hopes in thee.
The Nymph
Complaining ^^ j^ j^
the Death of
her Fawn
The wanton trooper?, ridinir by
Plave shot niy fawn, and it will dit.
Ung^entle men ! they cannot thrive
Who killed thee. Thou ne'er didst, alive,
Them any harm, alas ! nor could
Thy death yet ever do them g^ood.
I 'm sure I never wished them ill,
Nor do I for all this, nor will.
But if my simple prayers may yet
Prevail with Heaven to forget
Thy murder, I will join my tears
Rather than fail. But O my fears !
It cannot die so. Heaven's King-
Keeps register of everything,
And nothing may we use in vain;
Even beasts must be with justice slain,
Else men are made their deodands.
Though they should wash their guilty
hands
270
NYMPH AND FAWN
111 th'u^ warm lile-blood which doth pari
From thine, and wound me to llic heart,
Yet could they not be clean, their stain
Is dyed in such a purple g^rain.
There is not such another in
The world, to offer for their sin.
Inconstant Sylvio, when yet
1 had not found him counterfeit,
One morning (I renumber well).
Tied in this silver chain and bell.
Gave it to me; nay, and 1 know
What he said then, 1 'm sure 1 do:
Said he, " Ix)ok how your huntsman here
Hath taught a fawn to hunt his deer!"
But Sylvio soon had me beguiled;
This waxed tame while he grew wild,
And quite regardless of my smart
Left me his fawn, but took my heart.
Thenceforth 1 set myself to play
My solitary time away
With this; and, very well content.
Could so mine idle life have spent;
For it was full of sport, and light
Of foot and heart, and did invite
Me to its game; it seemed to bless
Itself in me; how could 1 less
Than love it? O, I cannot be
Unkind to a beast that loveth me!
271
NYMPH AND FA WN
Had it Used I<)^^^ I d(j not know
VVliclhtr il too niijj^ht havr done so
As Sylvio did; his ^x^is might be
Perhaps as false, or more, tluin he.
But I am sure, for aught that 1
Could in so short a time espy,
Tliy love was far more better than
The love of false and cruel man.
With sweetest milk and sugar first
I it at my own fingers nursed;
And as it grew, so every day
It waxed more white and sweet than they—
It had so sweet a breath! and oft
I blushed to see its foot more soft
And white- shall I say? — than my hand.
Nay, any lady's of the land!
It is a wondrous thing how tieet
'T was on those little silver feet:
With what a pretty skipping grace
it oft would challenge me the race: —
And \\ hen 't had left me far away
T would stay, and run again, and stay;
For it was nimbler much than hinds,
And trod as if on the four winds.
I have a garden of my own,
But so with roses overgrown
And lilies, that you would it guess
27^
NYMPH AND FAWN
To be a little wilderness:
And all the spring^-time ol" the year
It only loved to be there.
Among the beds of lilies I
Have sought it oft, where it should lie;
Yet could not, till itself would rise.
Find it, although before mine eyes.
For in the flaxen lilies' shade
It like a bank of lilies laid.
Upon the roses it would feed.
Until its lips e'en seemed to bleed,
And then to me 'twould boldly trip,
And print those roses on my lip.
But all its chief delight was still
On roses thus itself to till,
And its pure virgin limbs to fold
In whitest sheets of lilies cold: -
Had it lived long, it would have been
Lilies without — roses within.
help! O help! I see it faint
And die as calmly as a saint!
See how it weeps! the tears do come
Sad, slowly, dropping like a gum.
So weeps the wounded balsam; so
The holy frankincense doth flow;
The brotherless Heliades
Melt in such amber tears as these.
1 in a golden vial will
Keep these two cr}'stal tears, and fill
( B 126 ) 273 T
NYMPH AND FAWN
It, till it (li)tli Dcillow, wiili mine,
Then place il in Diana's slirine.
Now my sweet fawn is vanished to
V\ liither the swans and turtles go;
In fair Klysiiiin to endure
With milk-white lambs and ermines purr
O, do not run too fast, for I
Will but bespeak thy ^'rave, and die.
First my unhappy statue shall
Be cut in marble; and withal
Let it be weeping too; but thtn-
The engraver sure his art may s[)are;
For I so truly thee bemoan
That I shall weep thout^h I be stone,
Until my tears, still droppini^, wear
My breast, themselves enf^'raving there;
Then at my feet shalt thou be laid,
Of purest alabaster made;
For I would have thine image be
White as 1 can, though not as thee.
374
Hopeless Love J^ J^
My love is of a birth as rare
As 'tis, for object, strange and high;
It was begotten by despair
Upon impossibility.
Magnanimous despair alone
Could show me so divine a thing,
Where feeble hope could ne'er have flown
But vainly flapped its tinsel wing.
And yet I quickly might arrive
Where my extended soul is fixed;
But fate does iron wedges drive.
And always crowds itself betwixt.
For fate with jealous eyes does see
Two perfect loves, nor lets them close;
Their union would her ruin be.
And her tyrannic power depose.
And therefore her decrees of steel
Us as the distant poles have placed
275
HOPELESS LOVE
(Tliougli Lovt's whole wotUi oil us cloth
Not by th'Miisrlvos to he cinbracrd,
I'nlrss ihf i^idtly luavcii fall.
And earth bonie new coiivul>iuii U .u ,
And, us to join, the world should all
Be eramped into a planisphere.
As lilies, so loves oblique may well
Themselves in every an^le j^reet;
But ours, so truly parallel,
Thouj^h infinite, can never meet.
Therefore the love which us doth bind,
But fate so enviously debars.
Is the conjunction of the mind,
And opposition of the stars.
276
The Garden
TRANSLATED OUT OK
HIS OWN LATIN
How vainly mtii themselves amaze
To win the palm, the oak, or bays,
And their incessant labours see
Crowned from some sinjjle herb or tree,
Whose short and narrow-verged shade
Does prudently their toils upbraid;
While all the Howers and trees do close
To weave the g^arlands of Repose,
Fair Quiet, have I found thee here,
And Innocence, thy sister dear?
Mistaken long, I sought you then
In busy companies of men:
Your sacred plants, if here below,
Only among the plants will grow:
Society is all but rude
To this delicious solitude.
No white nor red was ever seen
So amorous as this lovely green.
Fond lovers, cruel as their flame,
Cut in these trees their mistress' name:
277
THE GARDEN
Lillle, alas, tliey know oi lu't'd
How far ihesc beauties her exceed!
Fair trees! wheres'e'r your barks 1 wound,
No name shall, but your own, he found.
When we have run our passions' heat
Love hillier makes his best retreat;
The K^ods, who mortal beauty chase,
Still in a tree did end their race;
Apollo hunted Daphn«* so
Only that she mit^hl laurel i^row;
And I'an did after Syrinx sp-ed
Not as a nymph, but for a reed.
What wondrous life is this I lead!
Ripe apples drop about my head;
The luscious clusters of the vine
Upon my mouth do crush their wine;
The nectarine and curious peach
Into my hands themselves do reach;
Stumbling- on melons, as I pass.
Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass.
Meanwhile the mind, from pleasure less,
Withdraws into its happiness;
The mind, that ocean where each kind
Does straight its own resemblance find;
Yet it creates, transcending these,
F'ar other worlds and other seas;
THE GARDEN
Annihlhuliii^- all llial 's made
To a j^Tfon ihou^lu in a jj^reen shade.
Here at the fountain's sliding foot
Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root,
Casting- the hody's vest aside
My soul into the boughs docs glide;
There, like a bird, it sits and sings,
Then whets and claps its silver wings,
And, till prepared for longer flight,
Waves in its plumes the various light.
Such was that iuippy Garden-state
While man there walked without a mate:
After a place so pure and sweet,
What other help could yet be meet!
But 'twas beyond a mortal's share
To wander solitary there:
Two paradises 't were in one.
To live in Paradise alone.
How well the skilful gardener drew
Of flowers and herbs tiiis dial new!
Where, from above, the milder sun
Does through a fragrant zodiac run:
And, as it works, th' industrious bee
Computes its time as well as we.
How could such sweet and wholesome
hours
Be reckoned, but with herbs and flowers?
279
The Fair ^ ^
Singer
To makr a final coiujufst of all inc,
Love did compose bO swftM an fiu'my.
In whom both beauties to my death a^ree,
Joinint,'- themselves in fatal harmony,
That, while she with her eyes my heart
does bind,
She with her voice mi^^ht captivate my
mind.
I could have fled from one but singly fair;
My disentang^led soul itself mij^hl save.
Breaking the curled trammels of her hair;
But how should 1 avoid to be her slave,
Whose subtle art invisibly can wreath
My fetters of the very air I breathe?
It had been easy fighting in some plain,
Where victory might hang in equal
choice,
But all resistance against her is vain
W^ho has the advantage both of eyes
and voice,
And all my forces needs must be undone
She having gained both the wind and sun.
a8o
The Mower ^ ^
against Gardens
Luxurious man, to brin^ liis vice in use,
Did after him the world seduce.
And from the fields the tlowers and plants
allure,
Where nature was most plain and pure.
He first inclosed within the garden's square
A dead and standing- pool of air.
And a more luscious earth from them did
knead, .
Which stupefied them while it ted.
The pink grew then as double as his
mind;
The nutriment did change the kind.
With strange perfumes he did the roses
laint ;
And flowers themselves were taught to
paint.
The tulip white did for complexion seek,
And learnt to interline its cheek ;
Its onion root they then so high did hold.
That one was for a meadow sold :
Another world was searched through
oceans new
To find the mar^•el of Peru,
281
AGAINST GARDENS
And yet these rarities inli;lu bo allowed
To man, that sovereii;n \W\n^ and proud,
Had he not dealt between the bark and
tree
Forbidden mixtures there to sec.
No plant now knew the stock from whence
it came ;
He grafts upon the wild the tame,
That the uncertain and adulterate fruit
Might put the palate in dispute.
His green seraglio has its eunuchs too,
Lest any tyrant him undo,
And in the cherr}' he does nature vex
To procreate without a sex.
'TIs all enforced, the fountain and the
grot,
While the sweet fields do lie forgot.
Where willing nature does to all dispense
A wild and fragrant innocence,
And fauns and fairies do the meadows till
More by their presence than their skill.
Their statues, polished by some ancient
hand,
May to adorn the garden stand.
But, howsoeVr the figures do excel,
The gods themselves with us do dwell.
282
An Epitaph /^ ^
Enough; and leave the rest to fame;
'Tis to commend her, but to name.
Courtship which, living, she declined,
When dead to offer were unkind.
Where never any could speak ill,
Who would officious praises spill?
Nor can the truest wit, or friend.
Without detracting, her commend;
To say she lived a virgin chaste.
In this age loose and all unlaced.
Nor was, when vice is so allowed,
Of virtue or ashamed or proud ;
That her soul was on heaven so bent
No minute but it came and went;
That, ready her last debt to pay,
She summed her life up every day;
Modest as morn, as noonday bright.
Gentle as evening, cool as night: —
'Tis true; but all too weakly said;
'Tis more significant, she's dead.
281
The Coronet j^ j^
WIuMi with the thorns with which I lonj^,
loo \o\\)^.
With many a piercini;^ wound,
My Saviour's head have crowned,
1 seek with garhmds to redress that
wrong, —
Through ever}' garland, every mead,
I gatlier flowers (my fruits are only
flowers)
Dismantling all the fragrant towers
That onc^ adorned my shepherdess's head;
And now when I have summed up all my
store.
Thinking (so I myself deceive)
So rich a chaplet thence to weave
As never yet the King of Glory wore,
Alas! I find the Serpent old.
Twining in his speckled breast,
About the flowers himself does fold.
With wreaths of fame and interest.
Ah, foolish man that would'st debase with
them,
And mortal glory, Heaven's diadem !
284
THE CORONET
But Thuu who only could'bt ihc Serpent
tame,
Either his slippery knots at once untie,
And disentangle all his winding snare,
Or shelter too with him my curious frame,
And let these wither so that he may die.
Though set with skill and chosen out with
care,
That they, while Thou on both our spoils
dost tread,
May crown Thy feet that could not crown
Thy head.
As
Henry Vaughan
The Dawning J^ j^
Ah! what time wilt Thou come? When
shall that cry,
"The Bridegroom 's cominj^!" fill the sky?
Shall it in the evening run,
When our words and works are done?
Or will Thy all-surprising light
Break at midnight.
When either sleep or some dark pleasure
Possesseth mad man without measure?
Or shall these early, fragrant hours
Unlock Thy bowers?
And with their blush of light descry
Thy locks crowned with eternity?
Indeed it is the only time
That with Thy glory best doth chime :
All now are stirring, every field
Full hymns doth yield;
The whole creation shakes off night,
And for Thy shadow looks the light;
287
THE DAWNING
Stars now \anish without luiinber,
Sleepy planets set and slutnber,
The pursy clouds disband and scatter,
All expect some sudden matter;
Not one beam triumphs, but from far
That morning- star.
O at what time soever Thou,
Unknown to us, the heavens wilt bow,
And, with Thy angels in the van,
Descend to judge poor careless man.
Grant I may not like puddle lie
In a corrupt security,
Where, if a traveller water crave,
He finds it dead, and in a grave;
But as this restless vocal spring
All day and night doth run and sing,
And, though here born, yet is acquainted
Elsewhere, and flowing keeps untainted;
So let me all my busy age
In Thy free services engage;
And though — while here — of force I must
Have commerce sometimes with poor dust,
And in my flesh, though vile and low,
As this doth in her channel flow.
Yet let my course, my aim, my love,
And chief acquaintance be above ;
So when that day and hour shall come,
In which Thy Self will be the sun.
Thou 'It find me dressed and on my way,
Watching the break of Thy great day.
288
Childhood j^ j^
I cannot reach it ; and my striving eye
Dazzles at it, as at eternity.
Were now that chronicle alive,
Those white designs which children drive,
And the thoughts of each harmless hour,
With their content too in my power,
Quickly would I make my path even,
And by mere playing go to heaven.
Why should men love
A wolf, more than a lamb or dove?
Or choose hell-fire and brimstone streams
Before bright stars and God's own beams?
W^ho kisseth thorns will hurt his face,
But flowers do both refresh and grace;
And sweetly living — fie on men ! —
Are, when dead, medicinal then ;
If seeing much should make staid eyes.
And long experience should make wise;
Since all that age doth teach is ill,
Why should I not love childhood still?
( B 126 ) 289 U
CHILDHOOD
Why, if 1 si^e a rock or shelf,
Shall I from thence cast down myself?
Or by complying with the world,
From the same precipice be hurled?
Those observations are but foul,
Which make me wise to lose my soul.
And yet the practice worldlings call
Business, and weighty action all,
Checking the poor child for his play,
But gravely cast themselves away.
Dear, harmless age! the short, swift span
Where weeping Virtue parts with man ;
Where love without lust dwells, and bends
What way we please without self-ends.
An age of mysteries ! which he
Must live twice that would God's face see;
Which angels guard, and with it play;
Angels ! which foul men drive away.
How do I study now, and scan
Thee more than e'er I studied man,
And only see through a long night
Thy edges and thy bordering light !
O for thy centre and mid-day !
For sure that is the narrow wav!
290
Corruption j^ j^
Sure it was so. iMan in those early days
Was not all stone and earth ;
He shined a little, and by those weak rays
Had some glimpse of his birth.
He saw heaven o'er his head, and knew
from whence
He came, condemned, hither;
And, as first-love draws strongest, so from
hence
His mind sure progressed thither.
Things here were strange unto him ; sweat
and till ;
All was a thorn or weed ;
Nor did those last, but — like himself — died
still
As soon as they did seed ;
They seemed to quarrel with him ; for that
act,
That fell him, foiled them all;
He drew the curse upon the world, and
cracked
The whole frame with his fall.
This made him long for home, as loth to stay
With murmurers and foes ;
291
CORRUPTION
He sighed for Eden, and uould often say,
"Ah! what bright days were those!"
Nor was heaven cold unto him ; for eacli
day
The valley or the mountain
Afforded visits, and still Paradise lay
In some green shade or fountain.
Angels lay leaguer here; each bush, and
cell.
Each oak and highway knew them :
Walk but the fields, or sit down at some
well.
And he was sure to view them.
Almighty Love! where art Thou now?
mad man
Sits down and freezeth on ;
He raves, and swears to stir nor fire, nor
fan.
But bids the thread be spun.
1 see Thy curtains are close-drawn ; Thy
bow
Looks dim, too, in the cloud;
Sin triumphs still, and man is sunk below
The centre, and his sliroud.
All 's in deep sleep and night : thick dark-
ness lies
And hatcheth o'er Thy people -
But hark! what trumpet's that? what
angel cries
"Arise! thrust in Thy sickle"?
292
The Night 4^ J^
Through that pure virghi shrine,
That sacred veil drawn o'er Thy glorious
noon,
That men might look and live, as glow-
worms shine,
And face the moon :
Wise Nicodemus saw such light
As made him know his God by night.
Most blest believer he!
Who in that land of darkness and blind
eyes
Thy long-expected healing wings could see
When Thou didst rise!
And, what can never more be done.
Did at midnight speak with the Sun !
O, who will tell me where
He found Thee at that dead and silent
hour?
What hallowed solitary ground did bear
So rare a flower,
Within whose sacred leaves did lie
The fulness of the Deity?
293
THE NIGHT
No mercy-seat of gold,
No dead and dusty cherub nor carved
stone,
But His own living- works did my Lord
hold
And lodge alone;
Where trees and herbs did watch,
and peep,
And wonder, while the Jews did
sleep.
Dear night ! this world's defeat ;
The stop to busy fools; care's check and
curb ;
The day of spirits ; my soul's calm retreat
Which none disturb !
Christ's progress, and his prayer-
time ;
The hours to wliich high Heaven
doth chime.
God's silent, searching flight ;
When my Lord's head is filled with dew,
and all
His locks are wet w^ith the clear drops of
night ;
His still, soft call ;
His knocking-time ; the soul's dumb
watch,
When spirits their fair kindred catch.
294
THE NIGHT
Were my loud, evil days
Calm and unhaunted as in thy dark tent,
Whose peace but by some angel's winj^
or voice
Is seldom rent ;
Then I in heaven all the long year
Would keep, and never wander here.
But living where the sun
Doth all things wake, and where all mix
and tire
Themselves and others, I consent and run
To every mire ;
And by this world's ill-guiding light,
Err more than I can do by night.
There is in God — some say —
A deep but dazzling darkness ; as men
here
Say it is late and dusky, because they
See not all clear.
O for that night ! where 1 in Him
Might live invisible and dim !
295
The Eclipse J^ J^
Whither, O whither didst Thou fly,
When I did grieve Thine holy eye?
When Thou didst mourn to see me lost,
And all Thy care and counsels crossed?
O do not grieve, where'er Thou art !
Thy grief is an undoing smart,
Which doth not only pain, but break
My heart, and makes me blush to speak.
Thy anger I could kiss, and will ;
But O Thy grief. Thy grief, doth kill !
296
The Retreat J^ ^
Happy those early days when I
Shine'd in my angel infancy!
Before I understood this place
Appointed for my second race,
Or taught my soul to fancy ought
But a white, celestial thought;
When yet I had not walked above
A mile or two from my first love,
And looking back, at that short space.
Could see a glimpse of his bright face ;
When on some gilded cloud or flower
My gazing soul would dwell an hour,
And in those weaker glories spy
Some shadows of eternity;
Before 1 taught my tongue to wound
My conscience with a sinful sound,
Or had the black art to dispense
A several sin to every sense;
But felt through all this fleshly dress
Bright shoots of everlastingness.
O how I long to travel back,
And tread again that ancient track!
297
THE RETREAT
That I might once more reach tliat plain
Where first I left my j^Iorious train ;
From whence the enlij^htened spirit sees
That shady city of palm-trees.
But ah ! my soul with too much stay
Is drunk, and staggers in the way !
Some men a forward motion love,
But I by backward steps would move;
And, when this dust falls to the urn.
In that state I came, return.
298
The World ^ ^
of Light -^ ^
They are all gone into llie world of light,
And I alone sit lingering here;
Their very memory is fair and bright,
And my sad thoughts doth clear.
It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast,
Like stars upon some gloomy grove,
Or those faint beams in which this hill is
drest,
After the sun's remove.
1 see them walking in an air of glory.
Whose light doth trample on my days :
My days, which are at best but dull and
hoary,
Mere glimmerings and decays.
O holy Hope! and high Humility,
High as the heavens above!
These are your walks, and you have
shewed them me,
To kindle my cold love.
299
THE WORLD OF LIGHT
Dear, beauteous Death ! llie jewel of the
just,
Shining no where, but In the dark;
What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust,
Could man outlook that mark!
He that hath fuuiul some tledj^t'd bird's
nest may know,
At first sight, if the bird be flown;
But what fair well or grove he sings in
now,
That is to him unknown.
And yet, as Angels in some brighter
dreams
Call to the soul, when man doth sleep:
So some strange thoughts transcend our
wonted themes,
And into glory peep.
If a star were confined into a tomb,
Her captive flames must needs burn
there ;
But when the hand that locked her up
gives room,
She '11 shine through all the sphere.
O Father of eternal life, and all
Created glories under Thee!
300
THE WORLD OF LIGHT
Resume Thy spirit from thi^ uorld of
thrall '
Into tnio liberty.
Either disperse these mists, which blot
and fill
My perspective still as they pass;
Or else remove me hence unto that hill
Where I shall need no glass.
301
Sweet Peace j^ j^
My soul, there is a country
Far beyond the stars,
Where stands a winged sentry
All skilful in the wars.
There, above noise and danger,
Sweet Peace sits crowned with smiles
And One born in a manger
Commands the beauteous files.
He is tiiy gracious Friend,
And — O my soul, awake! —
Did in pure love descend
To die here for thy sake.
If thou canst get but thither,
There grows the flower of Peace,
The rose that cannot wither,
Thy fortress and thy ease.
Leave then thy foolish ranges;
For none can thee secure
But One who never changes —
Thy God, thy life, thy cure.
302
The Timber J^ ^
Sure, thuu didst flourish once I and many
springs,
Many briglit mornings, much dew,
many showers
Passed o'er thy head ; many light hearts
and wings.
Which now are dead, lodged in thy
living bowers.
And still a new succession sings and flies;
Fresh groves grow up, and their green
branches shoot
Towards the old and still enduring skies,
While the low violet thrives at their
root.
But thou beneath the sad and heavy line
Of death dost waste, all senseless, cold,
and dark ;
Where not so much as dreams of light
may shine,
Nor any thought of greenness, leaf, or
bark.
303
THE TIMBER
And yet,— as it iomt deep hate and dissent,
Bred in thy growth betwixt liigh winds
and thee,
Were still alive — tliou dost great storms
resent
Before thtv come, and kno\\ 'st how near
they be.
P^lse all at rest thou liest, and the tierce
breath
Of tempests can no more disturb thy
ease ;
But this thy strange resentment after
death
Means only those who brokt — in life —
thy peace.
304
John Dryden
Ode
TO THE PIOUS MEMORY
OF THE ACCOMPLISHED ^^
YOUNG LADY, MRS. ANNE ^^ ^^
KILLIGREW, EXCELLENT IN
THE TWO SISTER ARTS OK
POESY AND PATNTING
Thou youngest virgin - daughter of the
skies,
Made in the labt promotion of the blest;
Whose palms, new-plucked from paradise,
In spreading branches more sublimely rise,
Rich with immortal green, above the
rest:
Whether, adopted to some neighbouring
star,
Thou roll'st above us in thy wandering
race.
Or in procession fixed and regular
Moved with the heaven's majestic pace,
Or called to more superior bliss,
{ B 126 ) 305 ^
ODE TO
Tliou trrad'st with >rraphiins the vast
abyss :
Whatever happy region be thy place,
Cease thy celestial song a little space;
Thou wilt have time enough for hymns
divine,
Since heaven's eternal yrar is liiiiu-.
Hear, then, a mortal must* thy praise re-
hearse.
In no ignoble verse,
But such as thy own voire did practise
here,
When thy first-fruits of poesy were given
To make thyself a welcome inmate there;
While yet a young probationer
And candidate of heaven.
if by traduction came thy mind,
Our wonder is the less to find
A soul so charming from a stock so
good;
Thy father was transfused into thy blood:
So wert thou born into the tuneful strain
(An early, rich and inexhausted vein).
But if thy pre-existing soul
Was formed at first with myriads more.
It did through all the mighty poets roll
Who Greek or Latin laurels wore,
And was that Sappho last, which once it
was before.
306
MRS. ANNE KILLIGREW
If so, tluri cease thy fli.^'ht, () hea\ en-
born mind!
Tliou hast no dross to purine from tliy ricli
ore ;
Nor can thy soul a fairer mansion find
Than was the beauteous frame she left
behind:
Return, to Hi! or mend ihe choir of thy
celestial kind.
May we presume to say that, at thy birth,
New joy was sprung^ in heaven as well as
here on earth?
For sure the milder planets did combine
On thy auspicious horoscope to shine,
And e\en the most malicious were in trine.
Thy brother angels at thy birth
Strung^ each his lyre, and tuned it high,
That all the people of the sky
Might know a poetess was born on earth;
And then, if ever, mortal ears
Had heard the music of the spheres.
And if no clustering swarm of bees
On thy sweet mouth distilled their golden
dew,
'T was that such vulgar miracles
Heaven had not leisure to renew:
For all the best fraternity of love
Solemnized there thy birth, and kept thy
holiday above.
307
ODE TO
O ^'raclous (jod! how tar have we
PrDlaiu'd Tin hcutnly k''^ ^^ poesy!
Made prostitute and protlij^ale the Muse,
Debased to each obscene and impious use,
Whose harmony was first ordained above,
Vox lont;"ues of aiij^els and tor hvmns of
love!
() wretched w<! win were ue liurii<d
down
This lubric and adulteratt' a^e
(Nay, added fat pollutions of our own),
To increase the steaminjjf ordures of
the stage?
What can we say to excuse our second fail?
Let this thy Vestal, Heaven, atone for all!
Her Arethusan stream remains unsoiled,
I'nmixed with foreif:;^n filth and undefiled;
Her wit was more than man, her innocence
a child.
Art she had none, yet wanted none,
For Nature did that want supply:
So rich in treasures of her own.
She might our boasted stores def\ :
Such noble vigour did her verse adorn
That it seemed borrowed, where 'twas only
born.
Her morals, too, were in her bosom bred.
By great examples daily fed.
What in the best of books, her father's life,
she read.
cio8
MRS. ANNE KILLIGREW
And lo be read luTself she need not
fear;
Each test and every li^'^lu her muse will
hi'ar,
Though Epictetus with his lamp were
there.
Even love (for love sometimes her muse
expressed)
Was but a lambent flame which played
about her breast,
LijEfht as the vapours of a morniiitJ^
dream;
So cold herself, while she such warmth
expressed,
'T was Cupid bathing^ in Diana's stream.
When in mid-air the golden trump shall
sound,
To raise the nations underground;
When in the valley of Jehosophat
The judging God shall close the book of
Fate,
And there the last assizes keep
For those who wake and those who
sleep;
When rattling bones together fly
From the four quarters of the sky;
When sinews o'er the skeletons are spread,
Those clothed with flesh, and life inspires
the dead;
309
MRS, ANNE KILLIGREW
Thr sacred poets first shall hear the sound,
And foremost from the tomb shall i)ound,
For they are covered with ih<' lij,(htest
i^iDund;
And straij;ht with inborn vi.^oiir, on the
Like moinilinj^^ larks, to th.- inw mornin.i,^
sini;-.
There thou, ^weet saint, before the choir
shalt i^o.
As harbing^er of heaven, the way to show.
The way which thou so well hast learned
below.
310
Sir George Etherege
Song j^ j^
Ladies, though to your conquering eyes
Love owes his chiefest victories,
And borrows those bright arms from you
With which he does the world subdue,
Yet you yourselves are not above
The empire nor the griefs of love.
Then rack not lovers with disdain,
Lest love on you revenge their pain;
You are not free because you 're fair,
The Boy did not his Mother spare;
Beauty 's but an offensive dart,
It is not armour for the heart.
3TI
Thomas Traherne
The
Salutation ^ ^
These little limbs,
These eyes and hands which here I find,
These rosy cheeks wherewitli my life be-
gins,
Where have ye been? behind
What curtain were ye from me hid so
long?
Where was, in what abyss, my speaking
tongue?
When silent I
So many thousand, thousand years
Beneath the dust did in a chaos lie,
How could I smiles or tears,
Or lips or hands or eyes or ears perceive?
Welcome ye treasures which I now receive!
I, that so long
Was nothing from eternity,
313
THE SALUTATION
Did little think such joys as ear or tongue
To celebrate or see:
Such sounds to hear, such hands to feel,
such feet,
Beneath the skies on such a ground to
meet.
New burnisht joys!
Which yellow gold and pearl excel !
Such sacred treasures are the limbs in
boys,
In which a soul doth dwell;
Their organised joints and azure veins
More wealth include than all the world
contains.
From dust I rise,
And out of nothing now awake;
These brighter regions which salute mine
eyes,
A gift from God 1 take.
The earth, the seas, the light, the day, the
skies.
The sun and stars are mine; if those I
prize.
Long time before
I in my mother's womb was born,
A God preparing did this glorious store,
The world, for me adorn.
3H
THE SALUTATION
Into this Eden so divine and fair,
So wide and brig-ht, I come His son and
heir.
A stranger here
Strange things doth meet, strange glories
see;
Strange treasures lodg'd in this fair world
appear,
Strange all, and new to me;
But that they mine should be, who nothing
was,
This strangest is of all, yet brought to
pass.
31S
Wonder j^ j^/
How llkf ail An^ol came I down!
How brii^ht are al! thing's here!
When first among His works 1 did appear
O how tlieir gk)ry me did crown !
Tho world resemhlfd His Kternity,
In wliich my soul did walk;
And every thing that I did see
Did with me talk.
The skies in tlieir magnificence,
The lively, lovely air,
Oh how divine, how soft, how sweet, how
lair!
The stars did entertain my sense.
And all the works of God, so bright and
pure.
So rich and great did seem.
As if they ever must endure
In my esteem.
A native health and innocence
Within my bones did giow,
And while my God did all His glories
show,
316
WONDER
1 felt a rigour in my sense
That was all Spirit. 1 within did flow
With seas of life, like wine;
I nothing in the world did know
But 'twas divine.
Harsh ragged objects were concealed,
Oppressions, tears, and cries,
Sins, griefs, complaints, dissensions, weep-
ing eyes,
Were hid, and only things revealed
Which heavenly Spirits and the Angels
prize.
The state ot Innocence
And bliss, not trades and poverties.
Did fill my sense.
The streets were paved with golden
stones,
The boys and girls were mine.
Oh, how did all their lovely faces shme!
The sons ot men were holy ones.
In jov and beauty they appeared to me.
And every thing which here I found,
While like an angel I did see,
Adorned the ground.
Rich diamond and pearl and gold
In every place was seen;
i^7
WONDER
Rare splendours, yellow, blue, red, white
and green,
Mine eyes did everywhere behold.
Great Wonders clothed with glory did ap-
pear;
Amazement was my bliss.
That and my wealth was everywhere —
No joy to this !
Cursed and devised proprieties,
With envy, avarice
And fraud, those fiends that spoil even
Paradise,
Flew from the splendours of mine eyes.
And so did hedges, ditches, limits, bounds;
I dreamed not of those;
But wandered over all men's grounds,
And found repose.
Proprieties themselves were mine.
And hedges ornaments;
Walls, boxes, coffers, and their rich con-
tents
Did not divide m}- joys, but all combine.
Clothes, ribbons, jewels, laces, I esteemed,
My joys by others worn;
For me they all to wear them seemed.
When I was born.
318
News J^ J^
News from a foreign country came
As if my treasure and my wealth lay
there;
So much it did my heart inflame,
'Twas wont to call my Soul into mine
ear;
Which thither went to meet
The approaching sweet,
And on the threshold stood
To entertain the unknown Good.
It hover'd there
As if 't would leave mine ear.
And was so eager to embrace
The joyful tidings as they came,
'T would almost leave its dwelling place
To entertain that same.
As if the tidings were the things,
My very joys themselves, my foreign
treasure —
Or else did bear them on their wings—
With so much joy they came, with so
much pleasure.
319
NEWS
My Soul stood aL that gate
To recreate
Itself with bliss; and to
Be pleased with speed, a fuller view
It fain would take,
Yet journeys back would make
Unto my heart, as if 'twould fain
Go out to meet, yet stay within
To fit a place to entertain
And bring- the tidings in.
VVIiat sacred instinct did Inspire
M}- soul in childhood with a hope so
strong?
What secret force moved my desire
To expect my joys beyond the seas, so
young?
Felicity I knew
Was out of view,
And being here alone,
I saw that happiness was gone
From me! For this
I thirsted absent bliss.
And thought that sure beyond the seas,
Or else in something near at hand
I knew not yet — since naught did please
I knew — my bliss did stand.
But little did the infant dream
That all the treasures of the world were by:
320
NEWS
And that himsell was so the cream
And crown of all whicli round about did
lie.
Yet thus it was; the Gem,
The Diadem,
The Ring enclosing" all
That stood upon this earthly ball;
The Heavenly eye,
Much wider than the sky,
Wherein they all included were ;
The glorious Soul, that was the King
Made to possess them, did appear
A small and little thing!
B 126 ) 321
Sir Charles Sedley
To Chloris ^^ -^
Ah Chloris! that I now could sit
As unconcerned as when
Your Infant beauty could beget
No pleasure nor no pain.
When I the dawn used to admire,
And praised the coming day,
I little thought the growing fire
Must take my rest away.
Your charms in harmless childhood lay
Like metals in the mine;
Age from no face took more aw^ay
Than youth concealed in thine.
But as your charms insensibly
To their perfection prest,
Fond love as unperceived did fly
And in my bosom rest.
My passion with your beauty grew,
And Cupid in my heart,
323
TO CHLORIS
Still as his niotlirr favoured you,
Threw a more flaming' dart.
Each i^luried in their wanton part;
To make a lover, he
Employed the utmost of his art—
To make a beauty, she.
3'-i4
To Celia J^ j^
Not, Celia, that 1 juster am.
Or better than the rest;
For I would change each hour, like them,
Were not my heart at rest.
But I am tied to very thee
By every thought I have;
Thy face I only care to see,
Thy heart I only crave.
All that in woman is adored
In thy dear self 1 find —
For the whole sex can but afford
The handsome and the kind.
Why then should 1 seek further store.
And still make love anew?
When change itself can give no more
'Tis easy to be true.
32s
Aphera Behn
Song, from ^ ^
Abdelazar
Love in fantastic triumph sat,
Whilst bleeding hearts around him
flowed,
For whom fresh pains he did create;
And strange tyrannic power he showed.
F'rom thy bright eyes he took his fires,
Which round about in sport he hurled ;
But 't was from mine he took desires
Enough to undo the amorous world.
From me he look his sighs and tears,
From thee his pride and cruelty;
From me his languishment and fears.
And every killing dart from thee.
Thus thou and I the god have armed.
And set him up a deity;
But my poor heart alone is harmed,
Whilst thine the victor is, and free.
327
The Earl of Rochester
An Apology ^ ^
All my past life is mine no more;
The flying hours are gone,^
Like transitory dreams given o'er,
Whose images are kept in store
By memory alone.
The time that is to come is not;
How can it then be mine?
The present moment's all my lot;
And that, as fast as it is got,
PhilHs, is only thine.
Then talk not of inconstancy,
False hearts and broken vows;
If I by miracle can be
This live-long minute true to thee,
'Tis all that Heaven allows.
329
The Duke of Buckingham
On One who
died, Discovering
her Kindness
Some vex their souls with jealous pain
While others sigh for cold disdain.
Love's various slaves we daily see,
Yet happy all compared with mc.
Of all mankind I loved the best
A nymph so far above the rest
That we outshined the blest above
In beauty she, as I in love.
And therefore they, who could not bear
To be outdone by mortals here,
Among- themselves have placed her now
And left me wretched here below.
331
ON ONE WHO DIED
All other fate 1 could have borne,
And even endured her very scorn;
But oh thus all at once to find
That dread account I — both dead and kind-
What heart can hold? If yet 1 live,
'Tis but to show how much I grieve.
THE END
332
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