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Fle, sovereign priest, stooping his regal head,
Yet more; the stroke of death he must abide, Then lies him meekly down fast by his brethren's
side. These latest scenes confine my roving verse ; To this horizon is my Phæbus bound : His godlike acts, and his temptations fierce, And former sufferings, other-where are found ; Loud o'er the rest Cremona's trump doth sound;
Me softer airs befit, and softer strings Of lute, or viol still, more apt for mournful things. Befriend me, night, best patroness of grief: Over the pole thy thickest mantle throw, And work my flatter'd fancy to belief, That heaven and earth are colour'd with my woe My sorrows are too dark for day to know;
The leaves should all be black whereon I write And letters, where my tears have wash’d, a wannish
See, see the chariot, and those rushing wheels,
There doth my soul in holy vision sit,
Mine eye hath found inat sad sepulchral rock
For sure so well instructed are my tears,
Or should I thence, hurried on viewless wing,
Might think the infection of my sorrows oud
[This subject the author finding to be above the years he has when he wrote it, and nothing satisfied with what was be un, leg ů unfinished.]
UPON THE CIRCUMCISION.
Ye flaming powers, and winged warriors bri,
Enter'd the world, now bleeds to give us eas.
His infancy to seize!
Will pierce more near his heart.
ON THE DEATH OF A PAIR INFANT, DYING OF A COUGH. O FAIREST flower, no sooner blown but blasted, Soft silken primrose fading timelessly, Summer's chief honour, if thou hadst out-lasted Bleak Winter's force that made thy blossom dry; For he, being amorous on that lovely dye
That did thy cheek envermeil, thought to kiss, But kill'd, alas! and then bewail'd his fatal bliss
For since grim Aquilo, his charioteer,
If likewise he some fair one wedded not.
Of long uncoupled bed and childless ek., Which, 'mongst the wanton gods, a foul reproach
So, mounting up in icy-pearled car,
But, all un’wares, with his cold, kind embrace,
But then transform’d him to a purple flower: Alack, that so to change thee Winter had no power! Yet can I not persuade me thou art dead, Or that thy corse corrupts in earth's dark womb Or that thy beauties lie in wormy bed, Hid from the world in a low-delved tomb; Could Heaven, for pity, thee so strictly doom?
Oh, no! for something in thy face did shine Above mortality, that show'd thou wast divine.
Resolve me, then, O soul most surely blest,
Whether above that high first-moving sphere,
O, say me true, if thou wert mortal wight,
flight? Wert thou some star which from the ruin'd roof Of shaked Olympus by mischance didst fall; Which careful Jove in nature's true behoof Took up, and in fit place did reinstal? Or did of late Earth's sons besiege the wall
Of sheeny heaven, and thou, some goddess, flel Amongst us here below to hide thy nectar'd head ? Or wert thou that just maid, who once before Forsook the hated earth, oh, tell me sootii, And camest again to visit us once more? Or wert thou that sweet-smiling youth? Or that crown'd matron sage, white-robed Truth?
Or any other of that heavenly brood [good ? Let down in cloudy throne to do the world some Or wert thou of the golden-winged host, Who, having clad thyself in human weed, To earth from thy prefixed seat didst post, And after short abode fly back with speed, As if to show what creatures heaven doth breed;
Thereby to set the hearts of men on fire, To scorn the sordid world, and unto heaven aspire But, oh! why didst thou not stay here below To bless us with thy heaven-loved innocence, To slake his wrath whom sin hath made our foe,