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UNGRATEFUL BEAUTY THREATENED. K NOW, Celia (since thou art so proud)
'Twas I that gave thee thy renown; Thou hadst, in the forgotten crowd
Of common beauties, liv'd unknown, Had not my verse exhald thy name, And with it impt the wings of fame. That killing power is none of thine,
I gave it to thy voice and eyes; Thy sweets, thy graces, all are mine;
Thou art my star, shin'st in my skies : Then dart not from thy borrow'd sphere Lightning on him that fix'd thee there. Tempt me with such affrights no more,
Lest what I made I uncreate,
I'll know thee in thy mortal state.
Now that the Winter's gone, the Earth hath lost Her snow-white robes; and now no more the
Frost Candies the grass, or casts an icy cream Upon the silver lake, or crystal stream : But the warm Sun thaws the benumbed earth, And makes it tender ; gives a second birth To the dead swallow; wakes in hollow tree The drowsy cuckoo, and the humble bee. Now, do a choir of Chirping Minstrels bring In triumph to the world the youthful Spring ; The valleys, hills and woods, in rich array, Welcome the Morning of the longed-for May... Now all things smile! only my Love doth lour! Nor hath the scalding noon-day sun the pow'r i
To melt the marble ice that still doth hold
When June is past, the fading rose?
DEATH's FINAL CONQUEST. 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 their strong nerves at last must yield; They tame but one another still.
Early or late,
They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep 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 ;
TO THE SUN. THOU art return?d, great Light, to that blest hour
In which I first, by marriage' sacred power, Join'd with Castara hearts; and as the same Thy lustre is as then, so is our flame: Which had increas'd, but that by love's decree Twas such at first-it ne'er could greater be ! But tell me, glorious Lamp! in thy survey Of things below thee, what did not decay By age to weakness ? I, since that, have seen The Rose bud forth and fade; the Tree grow green, And wither; and the beauty of the field With Winter wrinkled : even thyself dost yield Something to Time, and to the grave fall nigher: But Virtuous Love is one sweet, endless fire!
THE DESCRIPTION OF CASTARA.
Prospers in some happy shade,
To no looser eye betray'd ; For she's to herself untrue, Who delights i'th' public view. Such is her beauty, as no arts
Have enrich'd with borrow'd grace ;
For she blushes in her place;
Whilst wild passions captive lie;
TO CASTARA. GIVE me a heart, where no impure
Disorder'd passions rage;
Nor vanity t expence engage:
Which not the softness of the age
Provokes new appetite;
Or wanton stratagem of wit ;
Aiming each beauteous mark to hit;
That fair beauty I did swear,
You're not worth the serious part.
Hoiding parley with your eye:
All is but a handsome lie.
When I eye your curl or lace,