WHO would perfection's fair idea sce,
On pretty Cloris let him look with me;
White is her hair, her teeth white, white her skin,
Black be her eyes, her eye-brows Cupid's inn:
Her locks, her body, hands do long appear,
But teeth short, short her womb, and either ear,
The space 'twixt shoulders; eyes are wide, brow wide,
Strait waist, the mouth strait, and her virgin pride.
Thick are her lips, thighs, with banks swelling there,
Her nose is small, small fingers, and her hair,
Her sugar'd mouth, her cheeks, her nails be red,
Little her foot, breast little, and her head.
Such Venus was, such was that flame of Troy,
Such Cloris is, mine hope and only joy.

LALUS' DEATH.

AMIDST the waves profound,

Far, far from all relief,

The honest fisher Lalus, ah! is drown'd,

Shut in this little skiff;

The boards of which did serve him for a bier, So that when he to the black world came near, Of him no silver greedy Charon got;

For he in his own boat

Did pass that flood, by which the gods do swear.

FLOWERS OF SION:

OR,

SPIRITUAL POEMS.

TRIUMPHANT arches, statues crown'd with bays,
Proud obelisks, tombs of the vastest frame,
Brazen Colosses, Atlases of fame,
And temples builded to vain deities' praise;
States which unsatiate minds in blood do raise,
From southern pole unto the arctic team,
And even what we write to keep our name,
Like spiders' cauls, are made the sport of days;

All only constant is in constant change;
What done is, is undone, and when undone,
Into some other figure doth it range;

Thus rolls the restless world beneath the Moon:
Wherefore, my mind, above time, motion, place,
Aspire, and steps, not reach'd by nature, trace.

A GOOD that never satisfies the mind,
A beauty fading like the April show'rs,
A sweet with floods of gall that runs combin'd,
A pleasure passing ere in thought made ours,
A honour that more fickle is than wind,
A glory at opinion's frown that low'rs,
A treasury which bankrupt time devours,
A knowledge than grave ignorance more blind,
A vain delight our equals to command,
A style of greatness, in effect a dream,
A swelling thought of holding sea and land,
A servile lot, deck'd with a pompous name:
Are the strange ends we toil for here below,
Till wisest death make us our errours know.

Look as the flow'r, which ling'ringly doth fade,
The morning's darling late, the summer's queen,
Spoil'd of that juice which kept it fresh and green,
As high as it did raise, bows low the head:
Just so the pleasures of my life being dead,
Or in their contraries but only seen,
With swifter speed declines than erst it spread,
And, blasted, scarce now shows what it hath been.
Therefore, as doth the pilgrim, whom the night
Hastes darkly to imprison on his way,
Think on thy home, my soul, and think aright
Of what's yet left thee of life's wasting day:
Thy sun posts westward, passed is thy morn,
And twice it is not given thee to be born.

THE weary mariner so far not flies
An howling tempest, harbour to attain ;
Nor shepherd hastes, when frays of wolves arise,
So fast to fold, to save his bleating train,
As I (wing'd with contempt and just disdain)
Now fly the world, and what it most doth prize,
And sanctuary seek, free to remain

From wounds of abject times, and envy's eyes:
To me this world did once seem sweet and fair,
While sense's light mind's perspective kept blind;
Now like imagin'd landscape in the air,
And weeping rainbows, her best joys I find :
Or if aught here is had that praise should have,
It is an obscure life and silent grave.

Or this fair volume which we world do name,
If we the sheets and leaves could turn with care,
Of him who it corrects, and did it frame,
We clear might read the art and wisdom rare,

Find out his power which wildest powers doth tame,
His providence extending every where,
His justice, which proud rebels doth not spare,
In every page, no period of the same:
But silly we, like foolish children, rest
Well pleas'd with colour'd vellum, leaves of gold,
Fair dangling ribbands, leaving what is best,
On the great writer's sense ne'er taking hold;
Or if by chance we stay our minds on aught,
It is some picture on the margin wrought.

THE grief was common, common were the cries,
Tears, sobs, and groans of that afflicted train,
Which of God's chosen did the sum contain,
And Earth rebounded with them, pierc'd were skies;
All good had left the world, each vice did reign
In the most monstrous sorts Hell could devise,
And all degrees and each estate did stain,
Nor further had to go whom to surprise;
The world beneath, the prince of darkness lay,
And in each temple had himself install'd,
Was sacrific'd unto, by prayers call'd,
Responses gave, which, fools, they did obey;
When, pitying man, God of a virgin's womb
Was born, and those false deities struck dumb.

"RUN shepherds, run, where Bethlem blest appears;
We bring the best of news, be not dismay'd,
A Saviour there is born, more old than years,
Amidst the rolling Heaven this Earth who stay'd;
In a poor cottage inn'd, a virgin maid,
A weakling did him bear who all upbears;
There he in clothes is wrapp'd, in manger laid,
To whom too narrow swadlings are our spheres.
Run, shepherds, run, and solemnize his birth;
This is that night, no day, grown great with bliss,
In which the power of Satan broken is;
In Heaven be glory; peace unto the Earth :"
Thus singing through the air the angels swam,
And all the stars re-echoed the same.

"O THAN the fairest day, thrice fairer night,
Night to best days, in which a sun doth rise,
Of which the golden eye which clears the skies
Is but a sparkling ray, a shadow light;
And blessed ye, in silly pastors' sight,
Mild creatures, in whose warm crib now lies
That heaven-sent youngling, holy-maid-born wight,
'Midst, end, beginning of our prophecies:
Blest cottage, that hath flow'rs in winter spread;
Though wither'd, blessed grass, that hath the grace
To deck and be a carpet to that place."
Thus singing to the sounds of oaten reed,

Before the babe the shepherds bow'd their knees,
And springs ran nectar, honey dropp'd from trees.

"THE last and greatest herald of Heaven's king, Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild, Among that savage brood the woods forth bring, Which he more harmless found than man, and mild. His food was locusts, and what there doth spring, With honey that from virgin hives distill'd; Parch'd body, hollow eyes, some uncouth thing Made him appear, long since from Earth exil'd.

There burst he forth. All ye whose hopes rely
On God, with me amidst these deserts mourn,
Repent, repent, and from old errours turn."
Who listen'd to his voice, obey'd his cry?
Only the echoes, which he made relent,

Rung from their flinty caves, "Repent, repent."

"THESE eyes, dear Lord, once tapers of desire,
Frail scouts betraying what they had to keep,
Which their own heart, then others set on fire,
Their trait'rous black before thee here out-weep;
These locks of blushing deeds, the gilt attire,
Waves curling, wreckful shelves to shadow deep,
Rings, wedding souls to sin's lethargic sleep,
To touch thy sacred feet do now aspire.
In seas of care behold a sinking bark,
By winds of sharp remorse unto thee driven:
O let me not be ruin's aim'd-at mark;
My faults confess'd, Lord, say they are forgiven."
Thus sigh'd to Jesus the Bethanian fair,
His tear-wet feet still drying with her hair.

"I CHANGED Countries new delights to find,
But, ah! for pleasure I did find new pain;
Enchanting pleasure so did reason blind,
That father's love and words I scorn'd as vain.
For tables rich, for bed, for following train
Of careful servants to observe my mind;
These herds I keep my fellows are assign'd,
My bed's a rock, and herbs my life sustain.
Now while I famine feel, fear worser harms,
Father and Lord, I turn, thy love, yet great,
My faults will pardon, pity mine estate."
This, where an aged oak had spread its arms,
Thought the lost child, while as the herds he led,
And pin'd with hunger, on wild acorns fed.

Ir that the world doth in amaze remain,
To hear in what a sad, deploring mood,
The pelican pours from her breast her blood,
To bring to life her younglings back again;
How should we wonder at that sovereign good,
Who from that serpent's sting that had us slain,
To save our lives, shed his life's purple flood,
And turn'd to endless joy our endless pain!
Ungrateful soul, that charm'd with false delight,
Hast long, long wander'd in sin's flow'ry path,
And didst not think at all, or thought'st not right
On this thy pelican's great love and death.
Here
pause, and let (though Earth it scorn) Heaven
Thee pour forth tears to him pour'd blood for thee.

IF in the east when you do there behold

Forth from his crystal bed the Sun to rise, With rosy robes and crown of flaming gold; If gazing on that empress of the skies

[see

That takes so many forms, and those fair brands Which blaze in Heaven's high vault, night's watch

ful eyes;

If seeing how the sea's tumultuous bands

Of bellowing billows have their course confin'd; How unsustain'd the Earth still stedfast stands; Poor mortal wights, you e'er found in your mind

Bemoan this cruel death and ruthful case,
If ever plaints just woe could aggravate :
From sin and Hell to save us human race,

See this great king nail'd to an abject tree,
An object of reproach and sad disgrace.
O unheard pity! love in strange degree!

He his own life doth give, his blood doth shed, For wormlings base such worthiness to see. Poor wights! behold his visage pale as lead,

His head bow'd to his breast, locks sadly rent, Like a cropp'd rose, that languishing doth fade. Weak nature, weep! astonish'd world, lament! Lament, you winds! you Heaven, that all contains!

And thou, my soul, let nought thy griefs relent! Those hands, those sacred hands, which hold the reins Of this great all, and kept from mutual wars The elements, bare rent for thee their veins : Those feet, which once must tread on golden stars, For thee with nails would be pierc'd through and [bars: For thee Heaven's king from Heaven himself deThis great heart-quaking dolour wail and mourn, Ye that long since him saw by might of faith, Ye now that are, and ye yet to be born. Not to behold his great Creator's death,

torn;

The Sun from sinful eyes hath veil'd his light, And faintly journies up Heaven's sapphire path; And cutting from her prows her tresses bright

The Moon doth keep her Lord's sad obsequies, Impearling with her tears her robe of night; All staggering and lazy lour the skies;

The earth and elemental stages quake; The long-since dead from bursted graves arise. And can things, wanting sense, yet sorrow take,

And bear a part with him who all them wrought, And man (though born with cries) shall pity lack? Think what had been your state, had he not brought To these sharp pangs himself, and priz'd so high Your souls, that with his life them life he bought! What woes do you attend, if still ye lie

Plung'd in your wonted ordures! Wretched brood!
Shall for your sake again God ever die?

O leave deluding shows, embrace true good,
He on you calls, forego sin's shameful trade;
With prayers now seek Heaven, and not with
blood.

Let not the lambs more from their dams be had,
Nor altars blush for sin; live every thing;
That long time long'd-for sacrifice is made.
All that is from you crav'd by this great king
Is to believe: a pure heart incense is.
What gift, alas! can we him meaner bring?
Haste, sin-sick souls! this season do not miss,
Now while remorseless time doth grant you
space,

And God invites you to your only bliss:
He who you calls will not deny you grace,
But low-deep bury faults, so ye repent;
His arms, lo! stretched are, you to embrace.

When days are done, and life's small spark is spent,
So you accept what freely here is given,
Like brood of angels deathless, all-coutent,
Ye shall for ever live with him in Heaven.

COME forth, come forth, ye blest triumphing bands,
Fair citizens of that immortal town;
Come see that king which all this all commands,
Now, overcharg'd with love, die for his own:
Look on those nails, which pierce his feet and hands;
What a sharp diadem his brows doth crown!
Behold his pallid face, his heavy frown,
And what a throng of thieves him mocking stands !
Come forth, ye empyrean troops, come forth,
Preserve this sacred blood that Earth adorns,
Gather those liquid roses off his thorns;
O! to be lost they be of too much worth:
For streams, juice, balm, they are, which quench,
kills, charms,

Of God, Death, Hell, the wrath, the life, the harms.

RISE from those fragrant climes, thee now embrace;
Unto this world of ours, O haste thy race,
Fair Sun, and though contrary ways all year
Thou hold thy course, now with the highest share,
Join thy blue wheels to hasten time that low'rs,
And lazy minutes turn to perfect hours;
The night and death too long a league have made,
To stow the world in horrour's ugly shade.
Shake from thy locks a day with saffron rays
So fair, that it outshine all other days;
And yet do not presume, great eye of light,
To be that which this day must make so bright.
See an eternal Sun hastes to arise;
Not from the eastern blushing seas or skies,
Or any stranger worlds Heaven's concaves have,
But from the darkness of an hollow grave.

And this is that all-powerful Sun above [move.
That crown'd thy brows with rays, first made thee
Light's trumpeters, ye need not from your bow'rs
Proclaim this day; this the angelic pow'rs
Have done for you: but now an opal hue
Bepaints Heaven's crystal to the longing view:
Earth's late-hid colours shine, light doth adorn
The world, and, weeping joy, forth comes the moru;
And with her, as from a lethargic trance
The breath return'd, that bodies doth advance,
Which two sad nights in rock lay coffin'd dead,
And with an iron guard environed:

Life out of death, light out of darkness springs,
From a base jail forth comes the King of kings;
What late was mortal, thrall'd to every woe
That lackeys life, or upon sense doth grow,
Immortal is, of an eternal stamp,

Far brighter beaming than the morning lamp.
So from a black eclipse out-peers the Sun :
Such (when her course of days have on her run,
In a far forest in the pearly east,

And she herself hath burnt, and spicy nest,)
The lovely bird with youthful pens and comb,
Doth soar from out her cradle and her tomb:
So a small seed that in the earth lies hid,
And dies, reviving bursts her cloddy side,
Adorn'd with yellow locks anew is born,
And doth become a mother great with corn;
Of grains brings hundreds with it, which when old
Enrich the furrows, which do float with gold.

Hail, holy victor! greatest victor, hail!
That Hell doth ransack, against Death prevail.
O! how thou long'd for com'st! With joyful cries,
The all-triumphing palatines of skies
Salute thy rising; Earth would joys no more
Bear, if thou rising didst them not restore.
A silly tomb should not his flesh enclose,
Who did Heaven's trembling terrasses dispose;
No monument should such a jewel hold,
No rock, though ruby, diamond, and gold.
Thou didst lament and pity human race,
Bestowing on us of thy free-given grace
More than we forfeited and losed first,
In Eden rebels when we were accurst.
Then Earth our portion was, Earth's joys but given,
Earth, and Earth's bliss, thou hast exchang'd with
Heaven.

O! what a height of good upon us streams
From the great splendour of thy bounty's beams!
When we deserv'd shame, horrour, flames of wrath,
Thou bled'st our wounds, and suffer didst our death:
But Father's justice pleas'd, Hell, Death, o'ercome,
In triumph now thou riseth from thy tomb,
With glories, which past sorrows countervail;
Hail, holy victor! greatest victor, hail!

Stern executioner of heavenly doom,
Made fruitful, now life's mother art become;
A sweet relief of cares the soul molest;
An harbinger to glory, peace and rest:
Put off thy mourning weeds, yield all thy gall
To daily sinning life, proud of thy fall;
Assemble all thy captives, haste to rise,
And every corse, in earthquakes where it lies,
Sound from each flowry grave and rocky jail:
Hail, holy victor! greatest victor, hail!

The world, that wanning late and faint did lie,
Applauding to our joys, thy victory,
To a young prime essays to turn again,
And as ere soil'd with sin yet to remain ;
Her chilling agues she begins to miss ;
All bliss returning with the Lord of bliss.
With greater light, Heaven's temples opened shine;
Morns smiling rise, evens blushing do decline,
Clouds dappled glister, boist'rous winds are calm,
Soft zephyrs do the fields with sighs embalm,
In silent calms the sea hath hush'd his roars,
And with enamour'd curls doth kiss the shores;
All-bearing Earth, like a new-married queen,
Her beauties heightens, in a gown of green
Perfumes the air, her meads are wrought with flow'rs,
In colours various, figures, smelling, pow'rs;
Trees wanton in the groves with leavy locks,
Here hills enamell'd stand, the vales, the rocks,
Ring peals of joy, here floods and prattling brooks,
(Stars' liquid mirrors) with serpenting crooks,
And whispering murmurs, sound unto the main,
The golden age returned is again.

The honey people leave their golden bow'rs,
And innocently prey on budding flow'rs;
In gloomy shades, perch'd on the tender sprays,
The painted singers fill the air with lays:
Seas, floods, earth, air, all diversely do sound,
Yet all their diverse notes hath but one ground,
Re-echo'd here down from Heaven's azure vail;
Hail, holy victor! greatest victor, hail!

O day, on which Death's adamantine chain
The Lord did break, did ransack Satan's reign,
And in triumphing pomp his trophies rear'd,
Be thou blest ever, henceforth still endear'd
With name of his own day, the law to grace,
Types to their substance yield, to thee give place
The old new-moons, with all festival days;
And, what above the rest deserveth praise,
The reverend sabbath: what could else they be
Than golden heralds, telling what by thee
We should enjoy? Shades past, now shine thou

clear,
And henceforth be thou empress of the year,
This glory of thy sister's sex to win,
From work on thee, as other days from sin,

sense!

We now reach Heaven; your weak intelligence
And searching pow'rs were in a flash made dim,
To learn from all eternity, that him
The Father bred, then that he here did come
(His bearer's parent) in a virgin's womb: [thorn,
But then when sold, betray'd, crown'd, scourg'd with
Nail'd to a tree, all breathless, bloodless, torn,
Entomb'd, him risen from a grave to find,
Confounds your cunning, turns,like moles, you blind.
Death, thou that heretofore still barren wast,
Nay, didst each other birth eat up and waste,
Imperious, hateful, pitiless, unjust,
Unpartial equaller of all with dust,
VOL. V.

The prince of planets warmeth in his race,
And far beyond his paths in frozen climes:
And may thou be so blest to out-date times,
That when Heaven's choir shall blaze in accents loud
The many mercies of their sovereign good,
How he on thee did Sin, Death, Hell destroy,
It may be still the burthen of their joy.

BENEATH a sable veil, and shadows deep,
Of inaccessible and dimming light,

In silence ebon clouds more black than night,
The world's great Mind his secrets hid doth keep:

X X

Through those thick mists when any mortal wight
Aspires, with halting pace, and eyes that weep
To pry, and in his mysteries to creep,

With thunders he and lightnings blasts their sight.
O Sun invisible, that dost abide

Within thy bright abysmes, most fair, most dark, Where with thy proper rays thou dost thee hide, O ever-shining, never full-seen mark,

To guide me in life's night, thy light me show; The more I search of thee the less I know.

Ir with such passing beauty, choice delights,
The Architect of this great round did frame
This palace visible, short lists of fame,
And silly mansion but of dying wights;
How many wonders, what amazing lights
Must that triumphing seat of glory claim,
That doth transcend all this all's vasty heights,
Of whose bright Sun, ours here is but a beam!
O blest abode! O happy dwelling-place!
Where visibly th' Invisible doth reign;
Blest people, which do see true Beauty's face,
With whose far shadows scarce he Earth doth deign:
All joy is but annoy, all concord strife,
Match'd with your endless bliss and happy life.

LOVE which is here a care,
That wit and will doth mar,
Uncertain truce, and a most certain war;
A shrill tempestuous wind,

Which doth disturb the mind,

And like wild waves all our designs commove; Among those powers above,

Which see their maker's face,

It a contentment is, a quiet peace,

A pleasure void of grief, a constant rest,
Eternal joy, which nothing can molest.

THAT space, where curled waves do now divide
From the great continent our happy isle,
Was sometime land; and now where ships do glide,
Once with laborious art the plough did toil:
Once those fair bounds stretch'd out so far and wide,
Where towns, no shires enwall'd, endear each mile,
Were all ignoble sea and marish vile,

Where Proteus' flocks danc'd measures to the tide:
So age transforming all, still forward runs ;
No wonder though the Earth doth change her face,
New manners, pleasures new, turn with new suns,
Locks now like gold grow to an hoary grace;
Nay, mind's rare shape doth change, that lies de-
spis'd

Which was so dear of late, and highly priz'd.

And lean to gilded glories which decay?
WHY, wordlings, do ye trust frail honour's dreams,
Why do ye toil to registrate your names
On icy pillars, which soon melt away?
True honour is not here, that place it claims
Where black-brow'd night doth not exile the day,
Nor no far-shining lamp dives in the sea,
But an eternal Sun spreads lasting beams;
There it attendeth you, where spotless bands
Of sp'rits stand gazing on their sovereign bliss,
Where years not hold it in their cank'ring hands,
But who once noble, ever noble is.

Look home, lest he your weaken'd wit make thrall,
Who Eden's foolish gard'ner erst made fall.

As are those apples, pleasant to the eye,
But full of smoke within, which use to grow
Near that strange lake where God pour'd from the
sky

Huge show'rs of flames, worse flames to overthrow:
Such are their works that with a glaring show
Of humble holiness in virtue's dye

Would colour mischief, while within they glow
With coals of sin, though none the smoke descry.
Bad is that angel that erst fell from Heaven;
But not so bad as he, nor in worse case,
Who hides a trait'rous mind with smiling face,
And with a dove's white feathers clothes a raven.
Each sin some colour bath it to adorn,
Hypocrisy Almighty God doth scorn.

NEW doth the Sun appear,

The mountains' snows decay,

Crown'd with frail flow'rs forth comes the infant

year;
My soul, time posts away,
And thou, yet in that frost

Which flow'r and fruit hath lost,
As if all here immortal were, dost stay:
For shame! thy powers awake,

Look to that Heaven which never night makes

black,

And there at that immortal Sun's bright rays, Deck thee with flow'rs, which fear not rage of days.

THRICE happy he who by some shady grove,
Far from the clamorous world, doth live his own,
Though solitary, who is not alone,

But doth converse with that eternal love.
O how more sweet is birds' harmonious moan,
Or the hoarse sobbings of the widow'd dove,
Than those smooth whisp'rings near a prince's
throne,

Which good make doubtful, do the evil approve!
O! how more sweet is zephyrs' wholesome breath,
And sighs embalm'd, which new-born flow'rs un-
fold,

Than that applause vain honour doth bequeath! How sweet are streams to poison drank in gold! The world is full of horrours, troubles, slights: Woods' harmless shades ha. only true delights.