And yet, as if some deep hate and dissent,

Bred in thy growth betwixt high winds and thee,
Were still alive, thou dost great storms resent
Before they come, and know'st how near they be.

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Else all at rest thou liest, and the fierce breath
Of tempests can no more disturb thy ease;
But this thy strange resentment after death
Means only those who broke in life thy peace.

So murthered man, when lovely life is done,

And his blood freezed, keeps in the centre, still, Some secret sense which makes the dead blood run At his approach that did the body kili.

And is there any murth'rer worse than sin?
Or any storms more foul than a lewd life?

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Or what resentient can work more within

Than true remorse when with past sins at strife?

He that hath left life's vain joys and vain care,

And truly hates to be detained on earth,

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Hath got an house where many mansions are,

And keeps his soul unto eternal mirth.

But though, thus dead unto the world and ceased
From sin, he walks a narrow, private way,
Yet grief and old wounds make him sore displeased,
And all his life a rainy, weeping day.

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1655.

THOMAS TRAHERNE

THE SALUTATION

These little limbs,

These eyes and hands which here I find, These rosy cheeks wherewith my life begins, Where have ye been? behind

What curtain were ye from me hid so long?
Where was, in what abyss, my speaking tongue?

5

When silent I

So many thousand, thousand years
Beneath the dust did in a chaos lie,
How could I smiles or tears

Or lips or hands or eyes or ears perceive?
Welcome, ye treasures which I now receive.

I that so long

Was nothing from eternity,

Did little think such joys as ear or tongue

To celebrate or see,

Such sounds to hear, such hands to feel, such feet
Beneath the skies on such a ground to meet.

New burnisht joys,

Which yellow gold and pearls excel!

Such sacred treasures are the limbs in boys,
In which a soul doth dwell;

Their organizèd joints and azure veins

More wealth include than all the world contains.

From dust I rise,

And out of nothing now awake:

These brighter regions which salute mine eyes,

A gift from God I take;

The earth, the seas, the light, the day, the skies,
The sun and stars are mine, if those I prize.

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Long time before

I in my mother's womb was born,
A God preparing did this glorious store,

The world, for me adorn:

Into this Eden so divine and fair,

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So wide and bright, I come His son and heir.

A stranger here

Strange things doth meet, strange glories see;

Strange treasures lodged in this fair world appear,

Strange all and new to me;

But that they mine should be, who nothing was,
That strangest is of all, yet brought to pass.

About 1660?

1903.

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WONDER

How like an angel came I down!

How bright are all things here!

When first among His works I did appear
O how their glory did me crown!
The world resembled His eternity,

In which my soul did walk;
And every thing that I did see
Did with me talk.

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The skies in their magnificence,

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Oh how divine, how soft, how sweet, how fair!

The lively, lovely air,

The stars did entertain my sense;

And all the works of God so bright and pure,

So rich and great, did seem,

As if they ever must endure

In my esteem.

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A native health and innocence

Within my bones did grow;

And while my God did all His glories show,

I felt a vigour in my sense

That was all spirit: I within did flow

With seas of life, like wine;

I nothing in the world did know
But 't was divine.

Harsh ragged objects were concealed:

Oppressions, tears, and cries,

Sins, griefs, complaints, dissensions, weeping eyes,

Were hid, and only things revealed

Which heavenly spirits and the angels prize;

The state of innocence

And bliss, not trades and poverties,

Did fill my sense.

The streets were paved with golden stones;

The boys and girls were mine:

Oh, how did all their lovely faces shine!

The sons of men were holy ones;

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In joy and beauty they appeared to me.
And every thing which here I found,
While like an angel I did see,

Adorned the ground.

Rich diamond and pearl and gold

In every place was seen;

Mine eyes did everywhere behold;

Rare splendours, yellow, blue, red, white, and green,

Great wonders clothed with glory did appear.

Amazement was my bliss;

That and my wealth was everywhere;

No joy to this!

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Curst and devised proprieties,

With envy, avarice,

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And fraud, those fiends that spoil even Paradise,
Flew from the splendour of mine eyes:

And so did hedges, ditches, limits, bounds;

I dreamed not aught of those,

But wandered over all men's grounds,
And found repose.

Proprieties themselves were mine,

And hedges ornaments;

Walls, boxes, coffers, and their rich contents

Did not divide my joys, but all combine.
Clothes, ribbons, jewels, laces, I esteemed
My joys by others worn;

For me they all to wear them seemed,
When I was born.

About 1660?

1903.

SIR JOHN DENHAM

FROM

COOPER'S HILL

Thames, the most loved of all the Ocean's sons

By his old sire, to his embraces runs,

Hasting to pay his tribute to the sea,

Like mortal life to meet eternity;

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Though with those streams he no resemblance hold
Whose foam is amber and their gravel gold.
His genuine and less guilty wealth t'explore,
Search not his bottom but survey his shore,
O'er which he kindly spreads his gracious wing,
And hatches plenty for th' ensuing spring;
Nor then destroys it with too fond a stay,
Like mothers which their infants overlay,
Nor, with a sudden and impetuous wave,

Like profuse kings, resumes the wealth he gave.
No unexpected inundations spoil

ΙΟ

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The mower's hopes nor mock the ploughman's toil,
But godlike his unwearied bounty flows;

First loves to do, then loves the good he does.
Nor are his blessings to his banks confined,
But free and common as the sea or wind,
When he to boast or to disperse his stores,
Full of the tributes of his grateful shores,
Visits the world, and in his flying towers

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Brings home to us and makes both Indies ours,
Finds wealth where 't is, bestows it where it wants,
Cities in deserts, woods in cities plants;

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So that to us no thing, no place is strange,

While his fair bosom is the world's exchange.

O, could I flow like thee, and make thy stream

My great example, as it is my theme!

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Though deep, yet clear; though gentle, yet not lull;
Strong without rage, without o'erflowing full.
Heav'n her Eridanus no more shall boast,

པ་

Whose fame in thine, like lesser current, 's lost:
Thy nobler streams shall visit Jove's abodes,
To shine among the stars and bathe the gods.
Here Nature, whether more intent to please
Us or herself with strange varieties
(For things of wonder give no less delight
To the wise maker's than beholder's sight;
Though these delights from sev'ral causes move,
For so our children, thus our friends, we love),
Wisely she knew the harmony of things,
As well as that of sounds, from discord springs.

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