WHEN to the sessions of sweet silent thought And with old woes new wail my dear time's Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, [waste: For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, And weep afresh love's long-since cancel'd woe, And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight. Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, Which I new pay as if not paid before. But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restored, and sorrows end. SHAKSPEARE. THAT time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or few or none, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds In me thou seest the twilight of such day [sang, As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black death doth take away, Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by. This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long. SHAKSPEARE. THE forward violet thus did I chide ; Sweet thief, where didst thou steal thy sweet that smells, If not from my love's breath? The purple pride And buds of marjoram had stolen thy hair: But for his theft, in pride of all his growth, A vengeful canker eat him up to death. More flowers I noted, but I none could see But sweet or colour it had stolen from thee. SHAKSPEARE. My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun, But no such roses see I in her cheeks; That music hath a far more pleasing sound; I grant I never saw a goddess go,— [ground: My mistress, when she walks, treads on the And yet, by Heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare. SHAKSPEARE. To his Mistress. I SWEARE, Aurora, by thy starrie eyes, Whose like yet never worldy treasure bought, Then since I love those virtuous parts in thee, Shouldst thou not love this vertuous mind in me? EARL OF STIRLING. I KNOW that all beneath the moon decays, With toil of sprite which are so dearly bought, DRUMMOND. SLEEP, Silence' child, sweet father of soft rest, Prince whose approach peace to all mortals brings, Indifferent host to shepherds and to kings, Sole comforter of minds which are oppress'd; Lo, by thy charming rod all breathing things Lie slumbering, with forgetfulness possess'd, And yet o'er me to spread thy drowsy wings Thou sparest, alas! who cannot be thy guest. Since I am thine, O come, but with that face To inward light which thou art wont to show, With feigned solace ease a true-felt woe; Or if, deaf god, thou do deny that grace, Come as thou wilt, and what thou wilt beI long to kiss the image of my death. [queath, DRUMMOND. To hear my plaints, fair river crystalline, Ye bow your heads when I my woes display; Forests, in you the myrtle, palm, and bay Have had compassion, listening to my groans; The winds with sighs have solemnized my moans 'Mong leaves, which whisper'd what they could not say; The caves, the rocks, the hills, the sylvans' thrones DRUMMOND. Of mortal glory, O soon darkened ray! O winged joys of man, more swift than wind! O fond desires, which in our fancies stray! O traitorous hopes, which do our judgments Lo, in a flash that light is gone away [blind! Which dazzle did each eye, delight each mind, And with that sun, from whence it came, combined, Now makes more radiant heaven's eternal day. Let Beauty now bedew her cheeks with tears, Let widow'd Music only roar and groan, [spheres, Poor Virtue, get thee wings, and mount the For dwellingplace on earth for thee is none: Death hath thy temple razed, Love's empire foil'd, The world of honour, worth, and sweetness spoil'd. DRUMMOND. O FATE, conjured to pour your worst on me! A little space of earth my love doth bound; That beauty which did raise it to the sky, Turn'd in disdained dust, now low doth lie, Deaf to my plaints, and senseless of my wound. Ah! did I live for this? Ah! did I love? And was't for this (fierce powers) she did excel, That ere she well the sweets of life did prove, She should, too dear a guest! with darkness dwell? Weak influence of Heaven! what fair is wrought Falls in the prime, and passeth like a thought. DRUMMOND. |