To see sweet dew-drops kiss these flowers,
And then wash'd off by April showers :
Here hear my Kenna sing a song,
There see a blackbird feed her young,
Or a laverock build her nest;
Here give my weary spirits rest,
And raise my low-pitch'd thoughts above
Earth or what poor mortals love:
Thus free from lawsuits and the noise
Of princes' courts I would rejoice.
Or with my Bryan and my book,
Loiter long days near Shawford brook;
There sit by him and eat my meat,
There see the sun both rise and set,
There bid good-morning to next day,
There meditate my time away,
And angle on, and beg to have
A quiet passage to a welcome grave.
1. LXII. SHIRLEY.
The glories of our birth and state
Are shadows, not substantial things:
There is no armour against fate:
Death lays his icy hands 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 the strong nerves at last must yield;
They tame but one another still,
Early or late,
And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, stoop to death.
The garlands wither on your brow;
Then boast no more your mighty deeds:
Upon death's purple altar now
See where the victor victim bleeds:
All heads must come
To the cold tomb;
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.
2. A FINE DAY OVERCLOUDED.
Have you never
Look'd from the prospect of your palace window,
When some fair sky courted your eye to read
The beauties of a day: the glorious sun
Enriching so the bosom of the earth
That trees and flowers appear'd but like so much
Enamel upon gold: the wanton birds
And every creature but the drudging ant
Despising providence, and at play, and all
That world you measure with your eye so gay
And proud, as winter were no more to shake
His icy locks upon them, but the breath
Of gentle Zephyr to perfume their growth,
And walk eternally upon the spring;
When from a coast you see not, comes a cloud
Creeping as overladen with a storm,
Dark as the womb of night, and with her wings,
Surprising all the glories you behold,
Leaves not your frighted eyes a light to see
The ruins of that fluttering day?
Great monarch of the world, from whose power springs
The potency and power of kings,
Record the royal woe my suffering sings.
Nature and law, by thy divine decree
(The only root of righteous royalty)
With this dim diadem invested me.
Upon my grief, my grey discrownéd head,
Are those that owe my bounty for their bread.
Tyranny bears the title of taxation,
Revenge and robbery are reformation,
Oppression gains the name of sequestration.
The church of England doth all factions foster,
The pulpit is usurped by each impostor,
Extempore excludes the Paternoster.
The corner-stone's misplaced by every pavier:
With such a bloody method and behaviour
Their ancestors did crucify our Saviour.
THE FIRMAMENT.
When I survey the bright
Celestial sphere,
So rich with jewels hung that night
Doth like an Ethiop bride appear,
My soul her wings doth spread,
And heaven-ward flies,
The Almighty's mysteries to read
In the large volumes of the skies.
For the bright firmament
Shoots forth no flame
So silent, but is eloquent
In speaking the Creator's name.
No unregarded star
Contracts its light
Into so small a character
Removed far from our human sight:
But, if we steadfast look,
We shall discern
In it, as in some holy book,
How man may heavenly knowledge learn.
LXV. EDMUND WALLER.
1. TO A LADY SINGING ONE OF HIS OWN SONGS.
Chloris, yourself you so excel,
When you vouchsafe to breathe my thought, That, like a spirit, with this spell
Of my own teaching I am caught.
That eagle's fate and mine are one,
Which, on the shaft that bade him die,
Espy'd a feather of his own,
Wherewith he wont to soar so high.
Had Echo, with so sweet a grace,
Narcissus' loud complaints return'd,
Not for reflexion of his face,
But of his voice, the boy had burn'd.
2. SONG.
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 retir'd:
Bid her come forth,
Suffer herself to be desir'd,
And not blush so to be admir'd.
Then die, that she
The common fate of all things rare
May read in thee:
How small a part of time they share,
That are so wondrous sweet and fair!
Anger in hasty words or blows
Itself discharges on our foes:
And sorrow too finds some relief
In tears which wait upon our grief.
So every passion, but fond love,
Unto its own redress does move,
But that alone the wretch inclines
To what prevents his own designs;
Makes him lament and sigh and weep,
Disorder'd tremble, fawn, and creep
Postures which render him despis'd,
Where he endeavours to be prized,
For women, born to be control'd,
Stoop to the forward and the bold,
Affect the haughty and the proud,
The gay, the frolic, and the loud.
Who first the generous steed opprest,
Not kneeling did salute the beast,
But with high courage, life, and force,
Approaching tam'd th' unruly horse.
All this with indignation spoke,
In vain I struggled with the yoke
Of mighty Love: that conquering look,
When next beheld, like lightning strook
My blasted soul, and made me bow
Lower than those I pitied now.
So the tall stag. upon the brink
Of some smooth stream about to drink,
Surveying there his armed head,
With shame remembers that he fled
The scorned dogs: resolves to try
The combat next: but if their cry
Invades again his trembling ear,
He straight resumes his wonted care,
Leaves the untasted spring behind,
And, wing'd with fear, outflies the wind.
The seas are quiet, when the winds give.o'er: So, calm are we, when passions are no more! For then we know, how vain it was to boast Of fleeting things so certain to be lost.
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