RICHARD FLECKNO. [Died 1678?
Still-born Silence; thou that art
Flood-gate of the deeper heart!
Offspring of a heavenly kind,
Frost of the mouth, and thaw of the mind,
Secrecy's confidant, and he
Who makes religion mystery;
Admiration's speakingest tongue,
Leave, thy desert shades among,
Reverend hermits' hallowed cells,
Where retired Devotion dwells-
With thy enthusiasms come,
Seize our tongues, and strike us dumb!
ANDREW MARVELL. [1620-1678
THE RESOLVED SOUL.
Courage, my Soul ! now learn to wield
The weight of thine immortal shield;
Close on thy head thy helmet bright,
Balance thy sword against the fight;
See where an army, strong as fair,
With silken banners spread the air!
Now if thou be'st that thing divine,
In this day's combat let it shine,
And show that nature wants an art
To conquer one resolv-ed heart.
EDMUND WALLER.
ON HIS DIVINE POEMS.
The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed,
Let's in new light, through chinks that time has made.
Stronger by weakness, wiser men become
As they draw near to their eternal home;
Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view,
That stand upon the threshold of the new.
That which her slender waist confined
Shall now my joyful temples bind;
No monarch but would give his crown,
His arms might do what this has done.
It was my Heaven's extremest sphere,
The pale which held that lovely deer;
My joy, my grief, my hope, my love,
Did all within this circle move!
A narrow compass! and yet there
Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair;
Give me but what this ribbon bound,
Take all the rest the sun goes round.
On the Trial of the Seven Bishops for Treason, whose Acquittal was one of the beginnings of James II.'s overthrow, 1688.
And shall Trelawney die?
And shall Trelawney die?
Then fourteen hundred Cornish lads
Shall know the reason why.
Hope, though slow she be and late,
Yet outruns swift time and fate;
And aforehand loves to be
With most remote futurity.
Hope, though she dies, immortal is,
And in fruition's fruit doth fairer rise.
Hope is comfort in distress,
Hope is in misfortune, bliss,
Hope, in sorrow, is delight.
Hope is day, in darkest night.
Hope casts her anchor upward, where
No storm durst ever domineer;
Her hand kind she holds out to thee,
To bid thee welcome to security.
Angels listen when she speaks,
She's my delight, all mankind's wonder.
ALEXANDER'S FEAST; OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC.
In Honour of St. Cecilia's Day.
'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won
By Philip's warlike son ;
Aloft in awful state
The god-like hero sate
On his imperial throne.
His valiant peers were placed around;
Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound,
So should desert in arms be crowned.
The lovely Thaïs by his side,
Sat, like a blooming eastern bride,
In flower of youth and beauty's pride.
Happy, happy, happy pair!
None but the brave, none but the brave,
None but the brave deserves the fair.
Timotheus placed on high,
Amid the tuneful quire,
With flying fingers touched the lyre,
The trembling notes ascend the sky,
And heavenly joys inspire.
The song began from Jove,
Who left his blissful seats above,
Such is the power of mighty love.
A dragon's fiery form belied the god,
Sublime on radiant spheres he rode
And stamped an image of himself
A sovereign of the world.
The listening crowd admire the lofty sound,
"A present deity," they shout around;
"A present deity," the vaulted roofs rebound.
With ravished ears the monarch hears,
Assumes the god, affects to nod,
And seems to shake the spheres.
The praise of Bacchus, then, the sweet musician sung,
Of Bacchus ever fair, and ever young.
The jolly god in triumph comes;
Sound the trumpets, beat the drums;
Flushed with a purple grace,
He shows his honest face;
Now give the hautboys breath; he comes, he comes !
Bacchus, ever fair and young,
Drinking joys did first ordain :
Drinking is the soldier's pleasure;
Rich the treasure, sweet the pleasure;
Sweet is pleasure after pain.
Soothed with the sound the king grew vain;
Fought all his battles o'er again;
And thrice he routed all his foes; and thrice he slew the slain.
The master saw the madness rise ;
His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes:
And while he heaven and earth defied,
Changed his hand, and checked his pride.
He chose a mournful muse, soft pity to infuse :
He sung Darius great and good,
By too severe a fate,
Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen,
Fallen from his high estate,
And weltering in his blood:
Deserted at his utmost need,
By those his former bounty fed,
On the bare earth exposed he lies,
With not a friend to close his eyes.
With downcast looks the joyless victor sat,
Revolving in his altered soul
The various turns of fate below;
And now and then a sigh he stole ;
And tears began to flow.
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