The fruitful seed of heaven did brooding lie, (The men whom through long wanderings he had led) That he would give them ev'n a heaven of brass: They look'd up to that heaven in vain, That bounteous heaven, which God did not restrain "The Rachel, for which twice seven years and more Given to another, who had store Of fairer and of richer wives before, And not a Leah left, thy recompense to be! Into the court's deceitful lottery: But think how likely 'tis that thou, Thou, to whose share so little bread did fall, And to her thus, raising his thoughtful head, "Ah, wanton foe! dost thou upbraid The ills which thou thyself hast made? When in the cradle innocent I lay, Thou, wicked spirit! stolest me away, Into thy new-found worlds, I know not where, And ever since I strive in vain The foolish sports I did on thee bestow, "When my new mind had no infusion known, To wash away th' inherent dye; Long work, perhaps, may spoil thy colours quite, But never will reduce the native white: To all the ports of honour and of gain, I often steer my course in vain; Thy gale comes cross, and drives me back again. The tinkling strings of thy loose minstrelsy. As they who only heaven desire Do from the world retire. This was my error, this my gross mistake, Thus, with Sapphira and her husband's fate And perish for the part which I retain. "Teach me not then, oh thou fallacious muse! The heaven under which I live is fair, Thine, thine is all the barrenness; if thou Makest me sit still and sing when I should plough, When I but think how many a tedious year Our patient sovereign did attend His long misfortunes' fatal end; How cheerfully, and how exempt from fear, To wait on his, oh thou fallacious Muse! Kings have long hands, they say; and, though I be So distant, they may reach at length to me. However, of all the princes, thou [slow; Shouldst not reproach rewards for being small or THE WISH. WELL, then; I now do plainly see Does of all meats the soonest cloy; Who for it can endure the stings, Ah, yet, ere I descend to th' grave, A mistress moderately fair, And good as guardian-angels are, Only beloved, and loving me! Oh, fountains! when in you shall I Myself, eased of unpeaceful thoughts, espy; Oh fields, oh woods! when, when shall I be made The happy tenant of your shade? Here's the spring-head of Pleasure's flood; Where all the riches lie, that she Has coin'd and stamp'd for good. Pride and ambition here Only in far-fetch'd metaphors appear; Here naught but winds can hurtful murmurs scatter, And naught but Echo flatter. The gods, when they descended, hither From heaven did always choose their way; And therefore we may boldly say, That 'tis the way to thither. How happy here should I, And one dear she, live and, embracing, die! I should have then this only fear, THE PRAISE OF POETRY. "Tis not a pyramid of marble stone, Though high as our ambition; "Tis not a tomb cut out in brass, which can Give life to th' ashes of a man, But verses only; they shall fresh appear Whilst there are men to read or hear; When time shall make the lasting brass decay, And eat the pyramid away; Turning that monument wherein men trust Their names to what it keeps, poor dust; Then shall the epitaph remain, and be Poets by death are conquer'd, but the wit Of poets triumphs over it. What cannot verse? When Thracian Orpheus took The learned stones came dancing all along, With all the better trees which erst had stood And ev'ry loving arm embraced, and made The fearful hart next to the lion came, Who, when their little windpipes they had found O'ercome by art and grief, they did expire, Happy, oh happy they! whose tomb might be, OF SOLITUDE. HAIL, old patrician trees, so great and good! Where the poetic birds rejoice, And for their quiet nests and plenteous food Pay with their grateful voice. Hail the poor Muse's richest manor-seat! |