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From the hard season gaining? Time will run

On smoother, till Favonius reinspire
The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire

The lily and rose, that neither sowed nor spun.
What neat repast shall feast us, light 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 those delights can judge, and spare
To interpose them oft, is not unwise.


[TO CYRIACK SKINNER] CYRIACK, whose grandsire on the royal bench

Of British Themis, with no mean applause,
Pronounced, and in his volumes taught, our laws,

Which others at their bar so often wrench,
To-day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench

In mirth that after no repenting draws;
Let Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause,

And what the Swede intend, and what the French. To measure life learn thou betimes, and know

Towards solid good what leads the nearest way;

For other things mild Heaven a time ordains,
And disapproves that care, though wise in show,

That with superfluous burden loads the day,
And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.


[TO THE SAME] CYRIACK, this three years' day these eyes, though clear,

To outward view, of blemish or of spot,
Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot;

Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear
Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year,

Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not
Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot
Of heart or hope, but still bear up and steer

Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask?

The conscience, friend, to have lost them overplied

In Liberty's defence, my noble task,
Of which all Europe rings from side to side.
This thought might lead me through the world's vain

Content, though blind, had I no better guide.



METHOUGHT I saw my late espoused saint

Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave,
Whom Jove's great son to her glad husband gave,

Rescued from Death by force, though pale and faint. Mine, as whom washed from spot of child-bed taint

Purification in the Old Law did save,
And such as yet once more I trust to have

Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint,
Came vested all in white, pure as her mind.

Her face was veiled; yet to my fancied sight

Love, sweetness, goodness, in her 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 brought back my night.



Quis multa gracilis te puer in roså. Rendered almost word for word, without rhyme, according to the

Latin measure, as near as the language will permit. WHAT slender youth, bedewed with liquid odours, Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave,

Pyrrha ? For whom bind'st thou

In wreaths thy golden hair,
Plain in thy neatness? Oh, how oft shall he
On faith and changed gods complain, and seas

Rough with black winds and storms

Unwonted shall admire,
Who now enjoys thee credulous, all gold;
Who always vacant, always amiable,

Hopes thee, of flattering gales

Unmindful! Hapless they
To whom thou untried seem'st fair! Me, in my

vowed Picture, the sacred wall declares to have hung

My dank and dropping weeds
To the stern God of Sea.

(As Milton inserts the original with his translation, as if to challenge

comparison, it is right that we should do so too.]


Horatius ex Pyrrhæ illecebris tanquam e naufragio enataverat cujus

amore irretitos affirmat esse miseros.
Quis multâ gracilis te puer in rosa
Perfusus liquidis urget odoribus
Grato, Pyrrha, sub antro?

Cui flavam religas comam
Simplex munditie! Heu, quoties fidem

Mutatosque Deos flebit, et aspera
Nigris æquora ventis

Emirabitur insolens,
Qui nunc te fruitur credulus aureâ;
Qui semper vacuam, semper amabilem,
Sperat, nescius auræ

Fallacis! Miseri quibus
Intentata nites. Me tabulâ sacer
Votivâ paries indicat uvida
Suspendisse potenti

Vestimenta maris Deo.

April, 1648.-J. M. Nine of the Psalms done into metre; wherein all, but what is in a different character, are the very words of the Text,

translated from the original.



I Thou Shepherd that dost Israel keep,

Give ear in time of need,
Who leadest like a flock of sheep

Thy loved Joseph's seed,
That sitt'st between the Cherubs bright,

Between their wings outspread ;
Shine forth, and from thy cloud give light,

And on our foes thy dread.
2 In Ephraim's view and Benjamin's,

And in Manasseh's sight,
Awake 1 thy strength, come, and be seen

To save us by thy might.
3 Turn us again; thy grace divine

To us, o God, vouchsafe ;
Cause thou thy face on us to shine,

And then we shall be safe,
4 Lord God of Hosts, how long wilt thou,

How long wilt thou declare
Thy 2 smoking wrath, and angry brow,

Against thy people's prayer?
5 Thou feed'st them with the bread of tears;

Their bread with tears they eat;
1 Gnorera.





And mak’st them largely 1 drink the tears

Wherewith their cheeks are wet.
6 A strife thou mak'st us and a prey

To every neighbour foe;
Among themselves they 2 laugh, they play,

And 2 flouts at us they throw. 7 Return us, and thy grace divine,

O God of Hosts, vouchsafe ;
Cause thou thy face on us to shine,

And then we shall be safe.
8 A Vine from Egypt thou hast brought,

Thy free love made it thine,
And drov'st out nations proud and haut,

To plant this lovely Vine. 9 Thou didst


for it a place,
And root it deep and fast,
That it began to grow apace,

And filled the land at last.
10 With her green shade that covered all

The hills were overspread ;
Her boughs as high as cedars tall

Advanced their lofty head.
II Her branches on the western side

Down to the sea she sent,
And upward to that river wide

Her other branches went.
12 Why hast thou laid her hedges low,

And broken down her fence,
That all may pluck her, as they go,

With rudest violence ?
13 The tusked boar out of the wood

Upturns it by the roots;
Wild beasts there browse, and make their food

Her grapes and tender shoots.
14 Return now, God of Hosts; look down

From Heaven, thy seat divine;
Behold us, but without a frown,

And visit this thy Vine.
15 Visit this Vine, which thy right hand

Hath set, and planted long,



1 Shalish.

* Jilgnagu.

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