Where ev'ry calmy morn I'll stand, And ere one sheep out of my fold I tell, Sad Willy's pipe shall bid his friend farewell. And still as time comes in, it goes away, Unhappy to the last, the kind releasing ABRAHAM COWLEY. 1618-1667.] ON THE DEATH OF CRASHAW. The hard and rarest union which can be, Hast brought them nobly home back to Ah, wretched We! poets of earth! but thou Wert living the same poet which thou'rt now. Whilst angels sing to thee their airs And joy in an applause so great as thine, And they, kind Spirits! Shall all rejoice to see How little less than they exalted man may be. LIBERTY, The weight of that mounts this so high. These men are Fortune's jewels, moulded bright, Brought forth with their own fire and If I, her vulgar stone, for either look, Sure I Fame's trumpet hear: It sounds like the last trumpet, for it can Unpass'd Alps stop me, but I'll cat And march, the Muse's Hannibal. Hence, the desire of honours or estate, WHERE honour, or where conscience does And all that is not above Fate; Does, like an unthrift, mortgage his es- All I was born to know: Welcome, learn'd Cicero ! whose bless'd As beams do through a burning-glass; tongue and wit Preserves Rome's greatness yet: Whose verse walks highest, but not flies; Who brought green Poesy to her perfect age, And made that art which was a rage. But you have climb'd the mountain's top, there sit On the calm flourishing head of it, If all things that in nature are THE WISH. WELL, then, I now do plainly see, And whilst, with wearied steps, we up- Who for it can endure the stings, ward go, See us and clouds below. LOVE IN HER SUNNY EYES. LOVE in her sunny eyes does basking play: Love walks the pleasant mazes of her hair; Love does on both her lips for ever stray, And sows and reaps a thousand kisses there ; In all her outward parts Love's always seen, But, Oh! he never went within. THE SOUL. Ir mine eyes do e'er declare After thy kiss with ought that's sweet; Ought to be smooth or soft but thou! Ought perfume but thy breath to call; Not contracted into thee, The crowd, and buz, and murmurings, Ah! yet, e'er I descend to the grave, May I a small house and large garden have! And a few friends, and many books, both true, Both wise, and both delightful too! AN IMPRECATION AGAINST CIVIL STRIFE. CURS'D be the man (what do I wish? as though The wretch already were not so; But curs'd on let him be) who thinks it brave And great his country to enslave; The balance of a nation : Against the whole, but naked state, Who in his own light scale makes up with arms the weight. Who of his nation loves to be the first, A well proportion'd man; And so through thee more pow'rful pass, The sun of earth, with hundred hands, Upon his three pil'd mountain stands, What blood, confusion, ruin, to obtain In what oblique and humble creeping Does the mischievous serpent rise? A basilisk he grows if once he get crown. a Come the eleventh plague rather than Come sink us rather in the sea : Come God's sword rather than our own: Or Saxon, Norman, or the Dane : We griev'd, we sigh'd, we wept : we neve. If by our sins the divine vengeance be Let some denouncing Jonas first be sent But no guards can oppose assaulting Methinks, at least some prodigy, ears, Or undermining tears; No more than doors or close-drawn curtains keep The swarming dreams out when we sleep: That bloody conscience, too, of his, (For oh! a rebel red-coat 't is) Does here his early hell begin; Some dreadful comet from on high, wwww [ROBERT SOUTHWELL. 1560-1595-] TIMES GO BY TURNS. THE loppéd tree in time may grow again, He sees his slaves without, his tyrant feels Most naked plants renew both fruit and within. Let, gracious God! let never more thine Lift up this rod against our land: What rivers stain'd with blood have What storm and hail-shot have we seen? late? How has it snatch'd our flocks and herds And made even of our sons a prey! sent The restless nation to torment! flower, Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy belt of straw and ivy-buds, What should we talk of dainties, then, |