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ESOLUED to dust intombed heere lieth Love,
he strooke her brest, but all in vain did prove
to fire the yse: and doubting by and by
his brand had lost his force, he gan to trye
upon him selfe: which tryall made him dye.
In soothe no force let those lament that lust,
I'le sing a caroll song for obsequy:
for towardes me his dealings were unjust,
and cause of all my passed misery:
the Fates, I think, seeing what I had past,
in my behalf wrought this revenge at last.
But somewhat more to pacyfie my minde
by illing him, by whom I liv'd a slave,
I'le cast his ashes to the open winde,
or write this Epitaph upon his grave;
Here lyeth Love, of Mars the bastard Sonne, whose foolish fault to death him selfe hath donne.
ALAS! they had been friends in youth;
but whispering tongues can poison truth;
and constancy lives in realms above;
and life is thorny; and youth is vain;
and to be wroth with one we love,
doth work like madness in the brain.
And thus it chanced, as I divine,
with Roland and Sir Leoline:
each spake words of high disdain
and insult to his heart's best brother:
they parted-ne'er to meet again!
but never either found another
to free the hollow heart from paining—
they stood aloof, the scars remaining,
like cliffs which had been rent asunder;
a dreary sea now flows between ;
but neither heat nor frost nor thunder
shall wholly do away, I ween,
the marks of that which once hath been.
THE SHEPHERD'S SIRENA
EARE to the silverre Trent
she to whom Nature lent
by whom the Muses late
have for their greater state
twining an anademme
as it belonged to them
Tagus and Pactolus
nor for their golde to us
henceforth of all the rest
which, as the daintyest,
for when my precious one
she to perrle paragonne
Our mournfulle Philomelle,
henceforth in April
and to her shall complayne
redoubling every strayne
for when my love too long
as it had suffered wrong,
all that excelleth,
and the neate Graces
taken their places,
wherewith to crowne
most to renowne her. are to thee debtor, are they the better; be thou the river, puts them down ever; o'er thee doth travelle turneth thy gravelle.
that rarest tuner, shall waken the
from the thicke cover,
over and over;
her chamber keep-
the morning weep-
O more the morn, with tepid rays
noon spreads no more the genial blaze,
nor gentle eve distils the dew.
The lingering hours prolong the night,
usurping darkness shares the day;
her mists restrain the force of light,
and Phoebus holds a doubtful sway.
By gloomy twilight half revealed,
with sighs we view the hoary hill,
the leafless wood, the naked field,
the snow-topt cot, the frozen rill.
No music warbles through the grove,
no vivid colours paint the plain;
no more with devious steps I rove
through verdant paths, now sought in vain.
572 Aloud the driving tempest roars;
congeal'd impetuous showers descend: haste, close the window, bar the doors, fate leaves me Stella, and a friend. In nature's aid let art supply
with light and heat my little sphere; rouse, rouse the fire, and pile it high; light up a constellation here.
Let music sound the voice of joy!
or mirth repeat the jocund tale;
let love his wanton wiles employ,
and o'er the season wine prevail.
Yet time life's dreary winter brings,
when mirth's gay tale shall please no more;
nor music charm, though Stella sings;
nor love, nor wine, the spring restore.
Catch then, O catch the transient hour,
improve each moment as it flies:
life's a short summer,--man a flower,
he dies-alas! how soon he dies!
OW am I pleased to search the hills and woods
for rising springs and celebrated floods!
to view the Nar, tumultuous in his course,
and trace the smooth Clitumnus to his source;
to see the Mincio draw his watery store
through the long windings of a fruitful shore,
and hoary Albula's infected tide
o'er the warm bed of smoking sulphur glide.
Sometimes, misguided by the tuneful throng,
I look for streams immortalized in song,
that lost in silence and oblivion lie,
(dumb are their fountains, and their channels dry)
yet run for ever by the Muse's skill,
and in the smooth description murmur still.
Sometimes to gentle Tiber I retire,
and the fam'd river's empty shores admire,
that destitute of strength derives its course
from thirsty urns and an unfruitful source;
yet, sung so often in poetic lays,
with scorn the Danube and the Nile surveys.
574 Oh could the Muse my ravish'd breast inspire
with warmth like yours, and raise an equal fir
unnumber'd beauties in my verse should shine,
and Virgil's Italy should yield to mine!
See, how the golden groves around me smile,
that shun the coast of Britain's stormy isle;
or when transplanted and preserv'd with care,
curse the cold clime and starve in northern ai
Here kindly warmth their mounting juice ferm
to nobler tastes and more exalted scents;
e'en the rough rocks with tender myrtle bloom
and trodden weeds send out a rich perfume.
Bear me, some god, to Baia's gentle seats,
or cover me in Umbria's green retreats;
where western gales eternally reside,
and all the seasons lavish all their pride.
HE walks in beauty, like the night
and all that's best of dark and bright
meet in her aspect and her eyes:
thus mellow'd to that tender light
which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
had half impair'd the nameless grace,
which waves in every raven tress,
or softly lightens o'er her face;
where thoughts serenely sweet, express,
how pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek and o'er that brow
so soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
the smiles that win, the tints that glow,
but tell of days in goodness spent,
a mind at peace with all below,
a heart whose love is innocent!
IME wasteth yeeres, and months and howr's:
time doth consume fame, honour, witt, and
time kills the greenest herbes, and sweetest flowr's:
time wears out youth and beauties looks at length:
time doth convey to ground both foe and friend,
and each thing els but Love, which hath no end.
Time maketh ev'ry tree to. die and rott:
time turneth ofte our pleasures into paine:
time causeth warres and wronges to be forgott:
time cleares the skie, which first hung full of rayne,
time makes an end of all humane desire,
but onely this, which sets my heart on fire.
Time turneth into naught each princely state,
time brings a fludd from newe resolved snowe:
time calms the sea, where tempest was of late,
time eats whate'er the moone can see below:
and yet no time prevailes in my behoofe,
nor any time can make me cease to love.
ON THE DEATH OF ADDISON
AN I forget the dismal night that gave my soul's best part for ever to the grave! how silent did his old companions tread, by midnight lamps, the mansions of the dead, what awe did the slow solemn knell inspire; the pealing organ, and the pausing choir: the duties by the lawn-rob'd prelate paid; and the last words, that dust to dust convey'd! While speechless o'er thy closing grave we bend, accept these tears, thou dear departed friend. Oh, gone for ever! take this long adieu; and sleep in peace, next thy lov'd Montague: to strew fresh laurels let the task be mine, a frequent pilgrim, at thy sacred shrine; mine with true sighs thy absence to bemoan, and grave with faithful epitaphs thy stone: of thee forgetful if I form a song,
my lyre be broken, and untun'd my tongue.