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LXV. EDMUND WALLER. 1. TO A LADY SINGING ONE OF HIS OWN SONAS. 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.
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 weeps
Disorder'd tremble, fawn, and creep
Postures which render him despis'd,
Where he endeavours to be prized,
For women, born to be controld,
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.
4. THE SOU'L. The seas are quiet, when the winds give.c'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.
Clouds of affection from our younger eyes
Conceal that emptiness which age descries.
The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd,
Lets in new light through chinks that time has made :
Stronger by weakness, wiser men become,
As they draw near to their eternal home.
Leaving the oli both worlds at once they view,
That stand upo: the threshold of the new.
LXVI. SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT.
TO QUEEN ELIZABETII VISITING LADY ANGLESEY.
Fair as unshaded light, or as the day
In its first birth, when all the year was May;
Sweet as the altar's smoke, or as the new
Unfolded bud, swelled by the early dew;
Smooth as the face of waters first
Ere tides began to strive, or winds were heard :
Kind as the willing saints, and calmer far
Than in their sleeps forgiven hermits are:
You, that are more than our discreter fear
Dares praise, with such full art, what make you
Here, where the Summer is so little seen,
That leaves (her cheapest wealth) scarce reach at green,
You come, as if the silver planet were
Misled a while from her much-injur'd sphere,
And t' ease the travails of her beams to-night,
In this small lanthorn would contract her light.
LXVII. JOHN MILTON.
1. ALLEGRO. Hence, loathed Melancholy,
Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born,
In Stygian cave forlorn, Mongst norrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy,
Find out some uncouth cell, Where brooding darkness spreads his jealous wings, And the aght raven sings ;
There, under ebon-shades, and low-brow'd rocks,
As ragged as thy locks,
In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.
But come, thou goddess fair and free,
In heaven yclep'd Euphrosyne,
And, by men, heart-easing Mirth,
Whom lovely Venus at a birth,
With two sister Graces more,
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore;
-Or whether (as some sages sing) The frolic wind that breathes the spring, Zephyr, with Aurora playing, As he met her once a-Maying, There on beds of violets blue, And fresh-blown roses wash'd in dew, Fill'd her with thee, a daughter fair, So buxom, blithe, and debonairHaste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee Jest and youthful Jo!lity, Quips and Cranks, and wanton Wiles, Nods and Becks, and wreathéd Smiles, Such as nang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek; Sport that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides, Come, and trip it as you go On the light fantastic toe, And in thy right hand lead with thee The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty; And if I give thee honour due, Mirth, admit me of thy crew, To live with her and live with thee, In unreproved pleasures free; To hear the lark begin his flight, And singing startle the dull night, From his watch-tower in the skies, Till the dappled dawn doth rise ; Then to come, in spite of sorrow, And at my window bid good morrow, Through the sweet-brier, or the vine, Or the twisted eglantine,
While the cock, with lively din,
Scatters the rear of darkness thin,
And to the stack, or the barn-door,
Stoutly struts his dames before :
Oft list’ning how the hounds and bort
Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn,
From the side of some hoar hill,
Through the high wood echoing shril):
Some time walking, not unseen,
By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green,
Right against the eastern gate,
Where the great sun begins his state,
Rob’d in flames and amber light,
The clouds in thousand liveries dight,
While the ploughman near at hand
Whistles o’er the furrow'd land,
And the milk-maid singeth blithe,
And the mower whets his scythe,
And every shepherd tells his tale
Under the hawthorn in the dale.
Straight mine eye hath caught new pieasures
Whilst the landscape round it measures,
Russet lawns, and fallows grey,
Where the nibbling flocks do stray,
Mountains, on whose barren breast
The labouring clouds do often rest;
Meadows trim with daisies pied,
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide :
Towers and battlements it sees,
Bosom’d high in tufted trees,
Where perhaps some beauty lies,
The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes.
Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes,
From betwixt two aged oaks,
Where Corydon and Thyrsis met,
Are at their savoury dinner set,
Of herbs, and other country messes,
Which the neat-handed Phyllis dresses ;
And then in haste her bower she leaves,
With Thestylis to bind the sheaves :