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SONNETS, SWEET spring, thou turn’st, with all thy goodly
train, Thy head with flames, thy mantle bright with flow'rs; The zephyrs curl the green locks of the plain, The clouds for joy in pearls weep down their
Neglected virtue! seasons go and come,
To the Nightingale. SWEET bird, that singést away the early hours,
Of winters past, or coming, void of care, Well pleased with delights that present are; Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling flow'rs: To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leafy bow'rs Thou thy Creator's goodness dost declare, And what dear gifts on thee he did not spare; A stain to human sense in sin that low'rs. What soul can be so sick, which by thy songs (Attir'd in sweetness) sweetly is not driv'n Quite to forget earth's turmoils, spites, and wrongs, And lift a reverend eye and thought to heav'n?
Sweet artless songster, thou my mind dost raise To airs of spheres, yes, and to angels' lays.
SONNET'S. TRUST not, sweetSoul! those curled waves of gold,
With gentle tides that on your temples flow; Nor temples spread with fakes of virgin snow; Nor snow of cheeks, with tyrian grain enroll'd: Trust not those shining lights, whieh wrought my woe When first I did their azure rays behold; Nor voice, whose sounds more strange effects do show Than of the thracian harper have been told. Look to this dying lily, fading rose; Dark hyacinth, of late whose blushing beams Made all the neighbouring herbs and grass rejoice; And think how little is 'twixt life's extremes ! The cruel tyrant, that did kill those flow'rs, Shall once, Ah me! not spare that Spring of your's.
For to enrich the Heaven, mad'st poor this round;
And whilst kings'tombs with laurels flourish green,
# This lady was the daughter of a Mi. Cunningham, of Barnes. According to the information respecting, her to be gleaned from the praises of her lover, she was not only royally descended, but, with the most animating personal attractions, possessed a highly intelligent mind, a voice of melody, and was constitutionally cheerful. His addresses, fervently offered, being at last accepted, the day was appointed for the celebration of their nuptials; when the expected bride was suddenly seized with a fever, which in a short time terminated her life, in the bloom and “ April of her Years !” This shock, that must have seriously affected even an ordinary mind, Drummond bever properly recovered.
SONG. PHOEBUS arise,
And paint the sable skies With azure, white, and red : Rouse Memnon's mother from her Tithon's bed, That she may thy career with roses spread. The nightingales thy coming each-where sing, Making eternal spring, Give life to this dark world that lieth dead. Spread forth thy golden hair In larger locks than thou wast wont before, And, emperor like, decore With diadem of pearl thy temples fair. Chase hence the ugly night, Which serves but to make dear thy glorious light. This is the morn should bring unto this grove My Love, to hear, and recompence my love! Fair king, who all preserves, But shew thy blushing beams; And thou two sweeter eyes Shall see, than those which by Penéus' streams Did once thy heart surprise. Now Flora decks herself in fairest guise. If that, ye winds, would hear A voice surpassing far Amphion's lyre, Your furious chiding stay; Let zephyr only breathe, And with her tresses play. The winds all silent are, And Phæbus in his chair Ensaffroning sea and air, Makes vanish every star. Night, like a drunkard, reels Beyond the hills, to shun his flaming wheels. The fields with flowers are deck'd in every hue, The clouds with orient gold spangle their blue; Here is the pleasant place, And nothing wanting is, save she, alas!
Than this we live in, praise our fate :
Our habits are but coarse and plain, Yet they defend from wind and rain ; As warm too, in an equal eye, As those be stain'd in scarlet dye. The shepherd, with his home-spun lass, As many merry hours doth pass As courtiers with their costly girls, Though richly deck'd in gold and pearls ; And, though but plain, to purpose woo, Nay often with less danger too. Those that delight in dainties store, One stomach feed at once, no more ; And, when with homely fare we feast, With us it doth as well digest; And many times we better speed, For our wild fruits no surfeits breed. If we sometimes the willow wear, By subtle swains that dare forswear, We wonder whence it comes, and fear They've been at court and learnt it there." DAVISON.
From Percy's Collection, IT chanc'd of late a shepherd swain,
That went to seek his straying sheep, Within the thicket, on the plain,
Espied a dainty nymph asleep. Her golden hair o'erspread her face,
Her careless arms abroad were cast, Her quiver had her pillow's place,
Her breast lay bare to every blast. The shepherd stood and gaz'd his fill,
Nought durst he do, nought durst he say ; When chance, or else perhaps his will,
Did guide the God of Love that way. The crafty boy thus sees her sleep,
Whom if she wak'd he durst not see, Behind her closely seeks to creep,
Before her nap should ended be. There come, he steals her shafts away,
And puts his own into their place; Nor dares he any longer stay,
But ere she wakes hies thence apace. Scarce was he gone but she awakes,
And spies the shepherd standing by, Her bended bow, in haste she takes,
And at the simple swain lets fy. Forth flew the shaft, and pierc'd liis heart,
That to the ground he fell with pain ; But up again forthwith he starts,
And to the nymph he ran amain. Amaz'd to see so strange a sight,
She shot, and shot, but all in vain; The more his wounds, the more his might,
Love yielded strength amidst his pain.