Imagens das páginas

And so attend ye toward her glittering state;
Where ye may all that are of noble stemm
Approach, and kiss her sacred vestures hemm.

2. SONG.
O're the smooth enameld

green Where no print of step hath been,

Follow me as I sing,

And touch the warbled string.
Under the shady roof
Of branching Elm-Star-proof.

Follow me,
I will bring you where she sits
Clad in splendor as befits

Her deity.
Such a rural Queen
All Arcadia hath not seen.


3. SONG.


Nymphs and Shepherds dance no more
By sandy Ladons Lillied banks,
On old Lycæus or Cyllene hoar,

Trip no more in twilight ranks,
Though Erymanth your loss deplore,

A better soyl shall give ye thanks.
From the stony Manalus,
Bring your Flocks, and live with us,
Here ye shall have greater grace,
To serve the Lady of this place.

Though Syrinx your Pans Mistress were,
Yet Syrinx well might wait on her.

Such a rural Queen
All Arcadia hath not seen.

Miscellaneous Poems.

Anno ætatis 17.

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On the Death of a fair Infant

dying of a Cough.


FAIREST flower no sooner blown but


Soft silken Primrose fading timelesie, Summers chief honour if thou hadît out-lasted, Bleak winters force that made thy blossome drie; For he being amorous on that lovely die

That did thy cheek envermeil, thought to kiss But kill'd alas, and then bewayld his fatal bliss.



For since grim Aquilo his charioter
By boistrous rape th’Athenian damsel got,
He thought it toucht his Deitie full neer,
If likewise he some fair one wedded not,
Thereby to wipe away th’infamous blot,

Of long-uncoupled bed, and childless eld,
Which ʼmongst the wanton gods a foul reproach

was held.

3. So mounting up in ycie-pearled carr, Through middle empire of the freezing aire He wanderd long, till thee he spy'd from farr, There ended was his quest, there ceast his care. Down he descended from his Snow-soft chaire,

But all unwares with his cold-kind embrace 20 Unhous'd thy Virgin Soul from her fair biding place.

Yet art thou not inglorious in thy fate;
For so Apollo, with unweeting hand
Whilome did slay his dearly-loved mate
Young Hyacinth born on Eurota's strand
Young Hyacinth the pride of Spartan land;

But then transform’d him to a purple flower Alack that fo to change thee winter had no power.


5. Yet can I not perswade me thou art dead Or that thy coarse corrupts in earths dark wombe, Or that thy beauties lie in wormie bed, Hid from the world in a low delved tombe; Could Heav'n for pittie thee so strictly doom?

Oh no? for something in thy face did shine Above mortalitie that shew'd thou wast divine.

6. Resolve me then oh Soul most surely blest (If so it be that thou these plaints dost hear) Tell me bright Spirit where e're thou hoverest Whether above that high first-moving Spheare Or in the Elisian fields (if such there were.)


Oh say me true if thou wert mortal wight And why from us foquickly thou didst take thy flight.

7. Wert thou fome Starr which from the ruin'd roofe Of shak’t Olympus by mischance didst fall; Which carefull yove in natures true behoofe Took

up, and in fit place did reinstall? Or did of late earths Sonnes besiege the wall

Of Theenie Heav'n, and thou some goddess fled Amongst us here below to hide thy nectar'd head.

8. Or wert thou that just Maid who once before 50 Forsook the hated earth, O tell me footh And cam'ft again to visit us once more? Or wert thou that sweet smiling Youth ! Or that crown’d Matron sage white-robed truth? Or any

other of that heav'nly brood [good. Let down in clowdie throne to do the world some

9. Or wert thou of the golden-winged hoast, Who having clad thy self in humane weed, To earth from thy præfixed seat didît poast, And after short abode flie back with speed, As if to Thew what creatures Heav'n doth breed,

Thereby to set the hearts of men on fire To scorn the sordid world, and unto Heav'n aspire.


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But oh why didst thou not stay here below
To bless us with thy heav'n-lov'd innocence,
To lake his wrath whom sin hath made our foe

To turn Swift-rushing black perdition hence,
Or drive

away the slaughtering pestilence, To stand 'twixt us and our deserved smart But thou canst best perform that office where thou




Then thou the mother of so sweet a child
Her false imagin'd loss cease to lament,
And wisely learn to curb thy sorrows wild;
Think what a present thou to God hast sent,
And render himn with patience what he lent;

This if thou do he will an off-spring give, That till the worlds last-end shall make thy name

to live.

Anno Ætatis 19.

At a Vacation Exercise in the Colledge,

part Latin, part English. The Latin speeches ended, the English thus began.

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AIL native Language, that by sinews weak
Didst move my first endeavouring tongue

to speak,
And mad'st imperfect words with childish tripps,
Half unpronounc't, lide through my infant-lipps,
Driving dum silence from the portal dore,
Where he had mutely fate two years

before : Here I salute thee and thy pardon ask, That now I use thee in my latter talk :

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