Shortly she came whereas that woeful squire,
With blood deformed, lay in deadly swound;
In whose fair eyes, like lamps of quenched fire,
The crystal humour stood congealed round;
His locks, like faded leaves, fallen to ground,
Knotted with blood, in bunches rudely ran,
And his sweet lips, on which, before that stound,
The bud of youth to blossom fair began,
Spoil'd of their rosy red, were waxen pale and wan.
Saw never living eye more heavy sight,
That could have made a rock of stone to rue
Or rive in twain; which when that lady bright
Besides all hope, with melting eyes did view,
All suddenly abash'd, she changed hue,
And with stern horror backward 'gan to start;
But when she better him beheld, she grew
Full of soft passion and unwonted smart ;
The point of pity pierced through her tender heart.
Meekly she bowed down, to weet if life
Yet in his frozen members did retain,
And feeling by his pulse's beating rife
That the weak soul her seat did yet remain,
She cast to comfort him with busy pain.
His double-folded neck she rear'd upright,
And rubb'd his temples and each trembling vein;
His mailed haberjon she did undight,
And from his head his heavy burganet did light.
By this he had sweet life recur'd again,
And groaning inly deep, at last his eyes,
His watery eyes, drizzling like dewy rain,
He up 'gan lift toward the azure skies,
From whence descend all hopeless remedies:
Therewith he sigh'd; and turning him aside,
The goodly maid, full of divinities,
And gifts of heavenly grace, he by him spied,
Her bow and golden quiver lying him beside.
"Mercy, dear Lord !" said he, "what grace is this
That thou hast showed to me, sinful wight,
To send thine angel from her bower of bliss
To comfort me in my distressed plight?
Angel, or goddess, do I call thee right?
What service may I do unto thee meet,
That hast from darkness me return'd to light,
And with thy heavenly salves and medicines sweet
Hast drest my sinful wounds? I kiss thy blessed feet."
Thereat she blushing said, "Ah! gentle Squire,
Nor goddess I, nor angel, but the maid
And daughter of a woody nymph, desire
No service but thy safety and aid,
Which if thou gain, I shall be well apaid.
We mortal wights, whose lives and fortunes be
To common accidents still open laid,
Are bound with common bond of frailty,
To succour wretched wights whom we captived see.”
SINCE I did leave the presence of
my love, Many long weary days I have outworn,
And many nights that slowly seem'd to move
Their sad protract from evening until morn.
For, where as day the heaven doth adorn,
I wish that night the noyous day would end;
And when as night hath us of light forlorn,
I wish that day would shortly reascend.
Thus I the time with expectation spend,
And fain my grief with changes to beguile,
That further seems his term still to extend,
And maketh every minute seem a mile.
So sorrow still doth seem too long to last,
But joyous hours do fly away too fast.
LIKE as the culver, on the bared bough
Sits mourning for the absence of her mate,
And in her songs sends many a wishful vow
For his return, that seems to linger late;
So I alone, now left disconsolate,
Mourn to myself the absence of my love,
And, wand'ring here and there, all desolate,
Seek with my plaints to match that mournful dove
No joy of aught that under heaven doth hove,
Can comfort me but her own joyous sight,
Whose sweet aspect both God and man can move,
In her unspotted pleasures to delight.
Dark is my day, whiles her fair light I miss,
And dead my life, that wants such lively bliss.
LEAVE me, oh Love! which reachest but to dust; And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things, Grow rich in that which never taketh rust: Whatever fades but fading pleasure brings.
Draw in thy beams, and humble all thy might To that sweet yoke where lasting freedoms be;
Which breaks the clouds, and opens forth the light, That doth but shine and give us sight to see.
Oh! take fast hold, let that light be thy guide In this small course which birth draws out of death, And think how ill becometh him to slide,
Who seeketh heaven, and comes of heavenly breath. Then farewell, world, thine uttermost I see ; Eternal Love, maintain thy life in me.
COME sleep, O sleep, the certain knot of peace,
The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe;
The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release,
The indifferent judge between the high and low.
With shield of proof shield me from out the press
Of those fierce darts despair doth at me throw;
Oh make in me those civil wars to cease:
I will good tribute pay, if thou do so.
Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed;
A chamber, deaf to noise, and blind to light;
A rosy garland, and a weary head.
And if these things, as being thine by right,
Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me
Livelier than elsewhere Stella's image see.
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