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BREAK, Phant'sie, from thy cave of cloud,

And spread thy purple wings, Now all thy figures are allowed

And various shapes of things; Create of airy forms a stream,

It must have blood and nought of phlegm.
And though it be a waking dream,
Yet let it like an odour rise

To all the senses here,
And fall like sleep upon their eyes,

Or music on their ear.

SONG.

DRINK to me only with thine eyes,

And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup,

And I'll not look for wine.
The thirst that from my soul doth rise

Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of Jove's nectar sup,

I would not change for thine.
I sent thee late a rosy wreath,

Not so much honouring thee,
As giving it a hope that there

It would not withered be;
But thou thereon didst only breathe,

And sent it back to me;
Since then it grows and smells, I swear,

Not of itself, but thee.

STILL to be neat, still to be drest
As you were going to a feast,
Still to be powdered, still perfumed,
Lady, it is to be presumed,
Though art's hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.

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LYLY -HERRICK-MILTON-SHIRLEY-DRYDEN.

199

JAMES SHIRLEY,

1594-1666.

Fools in love's college
Have far more knowledge
To read a woman over,
Than a neat prating lover;
Nay, 'tis confessed,
That fools please women best.

THE SHEPHERD'S HOLIDAY.

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ROBERT HERRICK.

1591—1674.

GATHER YE ROSEBUDS.

WOODMEN, shepherds, come away,
This is Pan's great holiday;

Throw off cares;
With your heaven aspiring airs,

Help us to sing,
While valleys with your echoes ring.
Nymphs that dwell within these groves,
Leave your arbours, leave your loves;

Gather posies,
Crown your golden hair with roses ;

As you pass
Foot like fairies on the grass.
Joy crowns our bowers ; Philomel,
Leave off Tereus' rape to tell.

Let trees dance
As they at Thracian lyre did once,

Mountains play;
This is the shepherd's holiday.

GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may,

O!d Time is still a-flying; And this same flower that smiles to-day

To-morrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,

The higher he's a-getting, The sooner will his race be run,

And nearer he's to setting.

The age is best which is the first,

When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse and worst

Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,

And while you may, go, marry; For having lost but once your prime,

You may for ever tarry.

JOHN DRYDEN.

1636–1700. ALEXANDER'S FEAST;

OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC.
An Ode on St. Cecilia's Day.

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JOHN MILTON.

1608—1674. SONG ON MAY MORNING.

Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger,

(with her Comes dancing in the east, and leads The flow'ry May, who from her green lap

throws The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose.

Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire
Mirth, and youth, and warm desire;
Woods and groves are of thy dressing,

Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. Thus we salute thee with our early song, And welcome thee, and wish thee long,

'Twas at the royal feast, for Persia won,

By Philip's warlike son:
Aloft in awful state
The godlike hero sate

On his imperial throne:
His valiant peers were placed around;
Their brows with roses and with myrtle

bound:
So should desert in arms be crowned.

The lovely Thais by his side
Sat, like a blooming Eastern bride,
In flow'r of youth and beauty's pride.

Happy, happy, happy pair !
None but the brave,
None but the brave,
None but the brave deserve the fair.

Timotheus placed on high,

Amid the tuneful quire,
With flying fingers touched the lyrę:

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Softly sweet in Lydian measures,
Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures.
War, he sung, is toil and trouble;
Honour but an empty bubble

Never ending, still beginning,
Fighting still, and still destroying:

If the world be worth thy winning, Think, oh, think it worth enjoying !

Lovely Thais sits beside thee,

Take the good the gods provide thee. The many rend the skies with loud applause; So love was crowned, but music won the

cause. The prince, unable to conceal his pain,

Gazed on the fair

Who caused his care, [looked, And sighed and looked, sighed and Sighed and looked, and sighed again: At length, with love and wine at once

oppressed, The vanquished victor sunk upon her breast.

Now give the hautboys breath. He comes,

he comes !
Bacchus, ever fair and young,
Drinking joys did first ordain :

Bacchus' blessings are a treasure,
Drinking is the soldier's pleasure;

Rich the treasure,

Sweet the pleasure; Sweet is pleasure after pain. Soothed with the sound the king grew vain; Fought all his battles o'er again; And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice

he slew the slain.
The master saw the madness rise;
His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes:
And while he heaven and earth defied,
Changed his hands and checked his pride.

He chose a mournful muse
Soft pity to infuse:
He sung Darius great and good,

By too severe a fate,
Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen,

Fallen from his high estate,
And welt'ring in his blood:
Deserted at his utmost need
By those his former bounty fed,
On the bare earth exposed he lies,
With not a friend to close his eyes.
With downcast look the joyless victor

sat,
Revolving in his altered soul
The various turns of fate below;

And now and then a sigh he stole,
And tears began to flow.
The mighty master smiled, to see
That love was in the next degree;
'Twas but a kindred sound to move,
For pity melts the mind to love,

Now, strike the golden lyre again;
A louder yet, and yet a louder strain!
Break his bands of sleep asunder,
And rouse him, like a rattling peal of

thunder.
Hark, hark! the horrid sound

Has raised up his head;

As awaked from the dead, And amazed, he stares around. “Revenge! revenge Timotheus cries,

"See the furies arise! See the snakes that they rear,

How they hiss in their hair! And the sparkles that flash from their eyes!

Behold a ghastly band,

Each a torch in his hand ! (slain, These are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were

And unburied remain
Inglorious on the plain :
Give the vengeance due

To the valiant crew.
Behold how they toss their

torches on high, How they point to the Persian abodes, And glitt'ring temples of their hostile gods."

The princes applaud, with a furious joy; And the king seized a flambeau, with zeal to

Thais led the way, [destroy:

To light him to his prey, And, like another Helen, fired another Troy.

Thus, long ago,
Ere heaving bellows learned to blow,
While organs yet were mute,
Timotheus to his breathing flute
And sounding lyre,

[desire. Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft

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At last divine Cecilia came, Inventress of the vocal frame; The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store,

Enlarged the former narrow bounds,

And added length to solemn sounds, With nature's mother - wit, and arts

unknown bcfore.
Let old Timotheus yield the prize,
Or both divide the crown:
He raised a mortal to the skies;
She drew an angel down!

SONG.

"COME, if you dare!" our trumpets sound; "Come, if you dare!" the foes rebound;

“We come, we come!" [drum: Says the double beat of the thund'ring

Now they charge on amain,
Now they rally again.

(hold, The gods from above the mad labour beAnd pity mankind that will perish for gold. The fainting foemen quit their ground, Their trumpets languish in the sound

They fly! they fly! “Victoria ! Victoria!" the bold Britons cry.

Now the victory's won,

To the plunder we run ; Then return to our lasses like fortunate traders,

[invaders. Triumphant with spoils of the vanquished

By Lucy warned, of flattering swains

Take heed, ye easy fair!
Of vengeance due to broken vows,

Ye perjured swains- beware!
Three times all in the dead of night

A bell was heard to ring,
And shrieking, at her window thrice

The raven flapped his wing.
Too well the love-lorn maiden knew

The solemn boding sound.
And thus in dying words bespoke

The virgins weeping round:
"I hear a voice you cannot hear,

Which says I must not stay; I see a hand you cannot see,

Which beckons me away.
“ By a false heart and broken vows

In early youth I die.
Was I to blame because his bride

Was thrice as rich as I?
“Ah, Colin! give not her thy vows, -

Vows due to me alone;
Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss,

Nor think him all thy own.
"To-morrow in the church to wed,

Impatient both prepare; [man! But know, fond maid! and know, false

That Lucy will be there. "Then bear my corse, my comrades ! bear,

This bridegroom blithe to meet;
He in his wedding trim so gay,
I in my winding-sheet."

[borne She spoke; she died. Her corpse was

The bridegroom blithe to meet ; He in his wedding trim so gay,

She in her winding-sheet. Then what were perjured Colin's thoughts?

How were these nuptials kept? The bridesmen flocked round Lucy dead,

And all the village wept. Confusion, shame, remorse, despair,

At once his bosom swell; The damps of death bedewed his brow;

He shook, he groaned, he fell.

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THOMAS TICKELL.

1686–1740.

COLIN AND LUCY.

Of Leinster, famed for maidens fair,

Bright Lucy was the grace,
Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid stream

Reflect so sweet a face;
Till luckless love and pining care

Impaired her rosy hue,
Her coral lips and damask cheeks,

And eyes of glossy blue.
Oh! have you seen a lily pale

When beating rains descend?
So drooped the slow-consuming maid,

Her life now near its end.

From the vain bride, ah! bride no more!

The varying crimson fled, When stretched before her rival's corpse

She saw her husband dead.

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FAREWELL to Lochaber! farewell to my. William, then high upon the yard,
Jean!

Rocked with the billows to and fro, Where heartsome wi' her I have many a Soon as her well-known voice he heard, day been;

He sighed, and cast his eyes below; To Lochaber no more, to Lochaber no The cord slides quickly through his glowing more,

hands,

(stands. We'll maybe return to Lochaber no more! And, quick as lightning, on the deck he These tears that I shed, they are a' for my dear,

So the sweet lark high poised in air And no for the dangers attending on weir; Shuts close his pinions to his breast Though borne on rough seas to a far If chance his mate's shrill call he hear, bloody shore,

And drops at once into her nest. Maybe we'll return to Lochaber no more. The noblest captain in the British fleet

Might envy William's lips those kisses Though hurricanes rise, though rise every sweet. wind, [mind;

영 No tempest can equal the storm in my “O Susan! Susan! lovely dear! Though loudest of thunders on louder My vows shall ever true remain; waves roar,

Let me kiss off that falling tearThere's naething like leavin' my love on We only part to meet again. [be the shore.

Change as ye list, ye winds, my heart shall To leave thee behind me my heart is sair The faithful compass that still points to thee.

pained, But by ease that 's inglorious no fame can "Believe not what the landsmen say, be gained;

Who tempt with doubt thy constant mind; And beauty and love's the reward of the They 'll tell thee sailors when away brave,

In every port a mistress find- [so, And I maun deserve it before I can crave. Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee

For thou art present wheresoe'er I go. Then glory, my Jeannie, may plead my excuse ;

[refuse? "If to far India's coast we sail, Since honour commands me, how can I Thine eyes are seen in diamonds bright, Without it, I ne'er can have merit for thee, Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale, And losing thy favour, I'd better not be. Thy skin is ivory so white;

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