To Chloris SINGING A SONG OF HIS OWN COMPOSITION HLORIS, yourself you so excel, When you vouchsafe to breathe my thought, That like a spirit, with this spell, own teaching, I am Of my own caught. That eagle's fate and mine are one, Which on the shaft that made him die, Espy'd a feather of his own, Wherewith he wont to soar so high. Had Echo with so sweet a grace, Not for reflection of his face, But of his voice, the boy had burned. -Edmund Waller. TAY, Phoebus! stay! The world to which you fly so fast, Conveying day. From us to them, can pay your haste With no such object nor salute your rise, With no such wonder as De Morney's eyes. Well does this prove The error of those antique books Which made you move. About the world: Her charming looks Would fix your beams, and make it ever day, Did not the rolling earth snatch her away. - Edmund Waller. To flabia IS not your beauty can engage The sun, in all his pride and rage, And yet he shines as bright as you, 'Tis not the pretty things you say, Nor those you write, Which can make Thyrsis' heart your prey: The For that delight, graces of a well-taught mind, In some of our own sex we find. To Flavia No, Flavia! 'tis your love I fear; Those which so seldom fail him, are Their very shadows make us yield; HOE'ER she be, That not impossible She That shall command my heart and Where'er she lie, Lock'd up from mortal eye In shady leaves of destiny: Till that ripe birth Of studied Fate stand forth, And teach her fair steps tread our earth; Till that divine Idea take a shrine Of crystal flesh, through which to shine: |