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mour.

them go.

Snow;

Had doffed her gaudy trim,

For all the morning light, With her great Master so to sympathize: Or Lucifer had often warned them It was no season then for her

thence; To wanton with the sun, her lusty para- But in their glimmering orbs did glow,

Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid Only with speeches fair She wooes the gentle air,

And, though the shady gloom To hide her guilty front with innocent Had given day her room,

The sun himself withheld his wonted And on her naked shame,

speed, Pollute with sinful blame,

And hid his head for shame, The saintly veil of maiden-white to As his inferior flame throw;

The new-enlightened world no more Confounded, that her Maker's eyes

should need; Should look so near upon her foui deform. He saw a greater sun appear ities.

Than his bright throne, or burning axle

tree, could bear. But he, her fears to cease, Sent down the meek-eyed Peace : The shepherds on the lawn, She, crowned with olive green, came Or ere the point of dawn, softly sliding

Sat simply chatting in a rustic row; Down through the turning sphere,

Full little thought they then His ready harbinger,

That the mighty Pan With turtle wing the amorous clouds Was kindly come to live with them be

dividing; And, waving wide her myrtle wand, Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep, She strikes a universal peace through sea

Was all that did their silly thoughts so and land.

busy keep.

When such music sweet
No war or battle's sound

Their hearts and ears did greet,
Was heard the world around:
The idle spear and shield were high up- Divinely warbled voice

As never was by mortal fingers strook, bug; The hooked chariot stood

Answering the stringéd noise,

As all their souls in blissful rapture Unstained with hostile blood;

took : The trumpet spake not to the arméd The air, such pleasure loath to lose, throng;

With thousand echoes still prolongs each And kings sat still with awful eye,

heavenly close. As if they surely knew their sovereign lord was by.

Nature, that heard such sound,

Beneath the hollow round But peaceful was the night,

Of Cynthia's seat, the airy region Wherein the Prince of Light

thrilling His reign of peace upon the earth began: Now was almost won, The winds, with wonder whist,

To think her part was done, Smoothly the waters kissed,

And that her reign had here its last Whispering new joys to the mild ocean,

fulfilling; Who now hath quite forgot to rave, She knew such harmony alone While birds of calm sit brooding on the Could hold all heaven and earth in happier charméd wave.

union.

low;

The stars, with deep amaze,
Stand fixed in steadfast gaze,
Bending one way their precious influ.

ence;
And will not take their flight,

At last surrounds their sight
A globe of circular light,
That with long beams the shame-faced

night arrayed;
The helméd cherubim,

[blocks in formation]

And sworded seraphim,

Must redeem our loss, Are seen in glittering ranks with wings So both himself and us to glorify: displayed,

Yet first, to those ychained in sleep, Harping in loud and solemn quire, The wakeful trump of doom must thunder With unexpressive notes, to Heaven's through the deep, new-born heir.

With such a horrid clang Such music as 't is said

As on Mount Sinai rang, Before was never made,

While the red fire and smouldering But when of old the sons of morning clouds outbrake; sung,

The aged earth aghast, While the Creator great

With terror of that blast, His constellations set,

Shall from the surface to the centre And the well-balanced world on hinges

shake; hung,

When, at the world's last session,
And cast the dark foundations deep, The dreadful Judge in middle air shall
And bid the weltering waves their oozy spread his throne.
channel keep

And then at last our bliss,
Ring out, ye crystal spheres,
Once bless our human ears,

Full and perfect is,
If ye have power to touch our senses so;

But now begins ; for, from this happy

day, And let your silver chime Move in melodious time;

The old dragon, underground, And let the bass of Heaven's deeporgan

In straiter limits bound, blow;

Not half so far casts his usurpéd sway; And, with your ninefold harmony,

And, wroth to see his kingdom fail, Make up full concert to the angelic sym. Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail. phony.

The oracles are dumb; For, if such holy song

No voice or hideous hum Enwrap our fancy long,

Runs through the arched roof in words Time will run back, and fetch the age deceiving of gold;

Apollo from his shrine And speckled Vanity

Can no more divine, Will sicken soon and die,

With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos And leprous Sin will melt from earthly leaving. mould;

No nightly trance, or breathéd spell, And Hell itself will pass away,

Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the And leave her dolorous mansions to the

prophetic ceil. peering day. Yea, Truth and Justice then

The lonely mountains o'er, Will down return to men,

And the resounding shore, Orbed in a rainbow; and, like glories

A voice of weeping heard and loud wearing,

lament; Mercy will sit between,

From haunted spring and dale, Throned in celestial sheen,

Edged with poplar pale, With radiant feet the tissued clouds The parting Genius is with sighing sent; down steering;

With flower-inwoven tresses torn, And Heaven, as at some festival,

The nymphs in twilight shade of tangled Will open wide the gates of her high

thickets mourn. palace hall.

In consecrated earth, But wisest Fate says no,

And on the holy hearth, This must not yet be so;

The Lars and Lemures mourn with mid. The babe yeť lies in smiling infancy, night plaint. That on the bitter cross

In urns and altars round,

A drear and dying sound

Troop to the infernal jail, Affrights the Flamens at their service Each fettered ghost slips to his several quaint;

grave; And the chill marble seems to sweat, And the yellow-skirted fays While each peculiar power foregoes his Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their wonted seat.

moon-loved maze.

see,

Peor and Baälim

But the Virgin blest Forsake their temples dim

Hath laid her babe to rest; With that twice-battered God of Pales Time is our tedious song should here tine;

have ending: And moonéd Ashtaroth,

Heaven's youngest-teeméd star Heaven's queen and mother both, Hath fixed her polished car, Now sits not girt with tapers' holy Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp shine;

attending; The Libyac Hammon shrinks his horn; And all about the courtly stable In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Bright-harnessed angels sit in order serThammuz mourn.

viceable.

And sullen Moloch, fled,

SONNETS. Hath left in shadows dread

His burning idol all of blackest hue: ON ARRIVING AT THE AGE OF TWENTYIn vain with cymbals' ring

THREE They call the grisly king,

In dismal dance about the furnace blue: How soon hath Time, the subtle thief The brutish gods of Nile as fast,

of youth, Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste.

Stolen on his wing my three-and-twen

tieth year! Nor is Osiris seen

My hasting days fly on with full career,

But my late spring no bud or blossom In Memphian grove or green,

showeth. Trampling the unshowered grass with Perhaps my semblance might deceive the lowings loud;

truth, Nor can he be at rest

That I to manhood am arrived so near, Within his sacred chest,

And inward ripeness doth much less Naught but profoundest hell can be his shroud ;

appear,

That some more timely-happy spirits In vain with timbrelled anthems dark

endu'th. The sable-stoléd sorcerers bear his wor. Yet, be it less or more, or soon or slow, shipped ark.

It shall be still in strictest measureeven

To that same lot, however mean or high, He feels from Judah's land

Toward which Time leads me, and the The dreaded infant's hand,

will of Heaven; The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky All is, if I have grace to use it so, eyne;

As ever in my great Taskmaster's eye. Nor all the gods beside Longer dare abide, Not Typhon huge ending in snaky

ON HIS BLINDNESS. twine; Our babe, to show his Godhead true, WHEN I consider how my light is spent, Can in his swaddling bands control the

Ere half my days in this dark world damnéd crew.

and wide,

And that one talent, which is death to So, when the sun in bed,

hide, Curtained with cloudy red,

Lodged with me useless, though my soul Pillows his chin upon an orient wave,

more bent The flocking shadows pale

To serve therewith my Maker, and present

THOMAS ELWOOD.

SIR ROGER L'ESTRANGE.

39

My true account, lest he returning Christ leads me through no darker rooms chide;

Than he went through before; “Doth God exact day-labor, light He that into God's kingdom comes denied ?"

Must enter by his door. I fondly ask: but Patience, to prevent Come, Lord, when grace has made me That murmur, soon replies, "God doth meet not need

Thy blessed face to see ; Either man's work or his own gifts : who For if thy work on earth be sweet, best

What will thy glory be? Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: his state

Then shall I end my sad complaints, Is kingly; thousands at his bidding And weary, sinful days; speed,

Anil join with the triumphant saints And post o'er land and ocean without That sing Jehovah's praise. rest;

My knowledge of that life is small, They also serve who only stand and The eye of faith is dim; wait."

But 't is enough that Christ knows all,

And I shall be with him.

THOMAS ELWOOD.

(1639-1713.)

SIR ROGER L'ESTRANGE.

PRAYER.

(1616 - 1704.]

Unto the glory of thy Holy Name,

IN PRISON. Eternal God whom I both loveand fear, Here bear I witness that I never came Beat on, proud billows; Boreas, blow; Before thy throne and found thee Swell, curled waves, high as Jove's loath to hear,

roof; But, ever ready with an open ear. Your incivility doth show And though sometimes thou seem'st thy That innocence is tempest proof; face to hide

Though surly Nereus frown, my thoughts As one that hath his love withdrawn

are calm ; from me,

Then strike, Affliction, for thy wounds "T is that my faith may to the full be

are balm. tried, And I thereby may only better see

That which the world miscalls a jail How weak I am when not upheld by

A private closet is to me;
Thee.

Whilst a good conscience is my bail,

And innocence my liberty:

Locks, bars, and solitude together met, RICHARD BAXTER.

Make me no prisoner, but an anchoret. (1615- 1691.)

I, whilst I wisht to be retired,

Into this private room was turned; RESIGNATION.

As if their wisdoms had conspired

The salamander should be burned ; LORD, it belongs not to my care,

Or like those sophists, that would drown Whether I die or live:

a fish, To love and serve thee is my share,

I am constrained to suffer what I wish.
And this thy grace must give.
If life be long, I will be glad,

The cynie loves his poverty;
That I may long obey;

The pelican her wilderness;
If short, yet why should I be sad And 't is the Indian's pride to be
To soar to endless day?

Naked on frozen Caucasus :

see

Contentment cannot smart ; stoics we | Whilst loyal thoughts do still repair

T' accompany my solitude : Make torments easier to their apathy. Although rebellion do my body bind,

My king alone can captivate my mind. These manacles upon my arm

I as my mistress' favors wear;
And for to keep my ankles warm

I have some iron shackles the
These walls are but my garrison ; this cell, EDMUND WALLER.
Which men call jail, doth prove my cit-
adel.

(1605 - 1687.) I'm in the cabinet lockt up,

OLD AGE AND DEATH.
Like some high-prizéd margarite,
Or, like the Great Mogul or Pope,

The seas are quiet when the winds give Am cloistered up from public sight:

o'er; Retiredness is a piece of majesty,

So calm are we when passions are no And thus, proud sultan, I'm as great as

more. thee.

For then we know how vain it was to

boast Here sin for want of food must starve,

Of fleeting things, too certain to be lost. Where tempting objects are not seen; Clouds of affection from our younger eyes And these strong walls do only serve To keep vice out, and keep me in:

Conceal that emptiness which age de. Malice of late 's grown charitable sure;

scries. I'm not committed, but am kept secure.

The soul's dark cottage, battered and

decayed,

Lets in new light through chinks that So he that struck at Jason's life,

time has made. Thinking t have made his purpose

sure, By a malicious friendly knife

Stronger by weakness, wiser men become, Did only wound hiin to a cure.

As they draw near to their eternal home. Malice, I see, wants wit; for what is Leaving the old, both worlds at once

they view, meant Mischief, ofttimes proves favor by the That stand upon the threshold of the

event.

new.

Have you not seen the nightingale,

A prisoner like, coopt in a cage,
How doth she chant her wonted tale,

ABRAHAM COWLEY.
In that her narrow hermitage?
Even then her charming melody doth

(1618-1667.)
prove
That all her bars are trees, her cage a

OF MYSELF. grove.

This only grant me, that my means may I am that bird, whom they combine

lie Thus to deprive of liberty;

Too low for envy, for contempt too high. But though they do my corps confine, Some honor I would have,

Yet maugre hate, my soul is free: Not from great deeds, but good alone; And though immured, yet can I chirp, The unknown are better than ill known: and sing

Rumor can ope the grave. Disgrace to rebels, glory to my king. Acquaintance I would have, but when 't

depends My soul is free as ambient air,

Not on the number, but the choice, of Although my baser part 's immured,

friends.

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