'Tis an arrow in its flight,
Mocking the pursuing sight;
'Tis a short-liv'd fading flower;
'Tis a rainbow on a shower;
'Tis a momentary ray,
Smiling in a winter's day;
'Tis a torrent's rapid stream;
'Tis a shadow, 'tis a dream
"Tis the closing watch of night,
Dying at the rising light:
'Tis a bubble: 'tis a sigh;
Be prepared, O man! to die.
LVIII. HENRY KING.
1. THE LIFE OF MAN.
Life's the falling of a star,
Or as the flights of eagles are;
Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue;
Or silver drops of morning dew:
Or like a wind that chafes the flood;
Or bubbles which on water stood;
E'en such is man, whose borrow'd light
Is strait call'd in, and paid to-night.
The wind blows out, the bubble dies ;
The spring entomb'd in autumn lies :
The dew dries up; the star is shot;
The flight is past-and man forgot.
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 sorrows breed.
Each minute is a short degree,
And every hour a step towards thee.
At night when I betake to rest,
Next morn I rise nearer my west
Of life, almost by eight hours sail,
Than when sleep breathed his drowsy gale.
LIX. ROBERT HERRICK.
1. TO GOD. IN HIS SICKNESS.
What though my harp and viol be
Both hung upon the willow tree?
What though my bed be now my grave,
And for my house I darkness have?
What though my healthful days are fled,
And I lie number'd with the dead?
Yet I have hope, by thy great power,
To spring-though now a wither'd flower.
Humble we must be, if to heaven we go;
High is the roof there, but the gate is low:
Whene'er thou speak'st, look with a lowly eye-
Grace is increased by humility.
3. 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 ye 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 ye 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.
4. SONG TO ANTHEA.
Bid me to live, and I will live,
Thy protestant to be;
Or bid me love, and I will give
A loving heart to thee.
A heart as soft, a heart as kind,
A heart as sound and free,
As in the whole world thou canst find,
That heart I'll give to thee.
Bid that heart stay, and it will stay,
To honour thy decree :
Or bid it languish quite away,
And 't shall do so for thee.
Bid me to weep, and I will weep,
While I have eyes to see;
And having none, yet I will keep
A heart to weep for thee.
Bid me despair, and I'll despair
Under that cypress tree;
Or bid me die, and I will dare
E'en death, to die for thee.
Thou art my life, my love, my heart,
The very eyes of me;
And hast command of every part,
To live and die for thee.
5. THE ROSARY.
One asked me where the roses grew,—
I bade him not go seek;
But forthwith bade my Julia shew
A bud in either cheek.
Some asked me where the rubies grew,
And nothing I did say,
But with my finger pointed to
The lips of Julia.
Some asked how pearls did grow and where,
Then spoke I to my girl
To part her lips and show them there
The quarrelset of pearl.
6. TO THE MEADOWS IN WINTER.
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 where they
With wicker arks did come,
To kiss and bear away
The richer cowslips home.
Ye've heard them sweetly sing,
And seen them in a round,
Each virgin like a spring,
With honey-suckle crowned.
But now ye 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,
Ye're left here to lament
Your poor estates alone.
LX. GEORGE HERBERT.
1. CONVERSATION.
If thou be master-gunner, spend not all
That thou canst speak at once, but husband it : And give men turns of speech: do not forestall By lavishness thine own and others' wit,
As if thou madest thy will: a civil guest
Will no more talk all, than eat all the feast.
Be calm in arguing: for fierceness makes
Error a fault, and truth discourtesy.
Why should I feel another man's mistakes
More than his sickness or his poverty?
In love I should; but anger is not love,
Nor wisdom neither; therefore gently move.
Calmness is great advantage: he that lets
Another chafe, may warm him at his fire;
Mark all his wanderings, and enjoy his frets,
As cunning fencers suffer heat to tire.
Truth dwells not in the clouds: the bow that's there
Doth often aim at, never hits the sphere.
Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
The bridal of the earth and sky!
Sweet dews shall weep thy fall to-night,
For thou must die.
Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave,
Bids the rash gazer wipe his
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 you have your closes,
And all must die.
Only a sweet and virtuous soul,
Like season'd timber, never gives;
But when the whole world turns to coal,
Then chiefly lives.
LXI. ISAAC WALTON
THE ANGLER'S WISH.
I in these flowery meads would be:
These crystal streams should solace me
To whose harmonious bubbling noise
I with my angle would rejoice,
Sit here, and see the turtle dove
Court his chaste mate to acts of love,
Or on a bank feel the west wind
Breathe health and plenty, please my mind
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