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Forget not; in thy book record their groans
Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold
Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans
To Heaven. Their martyred blood and ashes sow
O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway
A hundred fold, who, having learned thy way,
ON HIS BLINDNESS.
WHEN I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
My true account, lest He returning chide;
I fondly ask : But patience to prevent
Either man's work, or his own gifts; who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best : his state
And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
LAWRENCE! of virtuous father virtuous son,
Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire,
Help waste a sullen day, what may be won
On smoother, till Favonius re-inspire
The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire
The lily and rose, that neither sowed nor spun. What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice,
Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise
To hear the lute well touched, or artful voice
He who of those delights can judge, and spare
TO CYRIAC SKINNER.
CYRIAC! whose grandsire on the royal bench
Of British Themis, with no mean applause
Which others at their bar so often wrench;
In mirth, that, after, no repenting draws;
And what the Swede intends, and what the French.
Toward solid good what leads the nearest way;
For other things mild Heaven a time ordains,
That with superfluous burden loads the day,
TO THE SAME.
CYRIAC! this three years' day these eyes, though clear,
To outward view, of blemish or of spot,
Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear
Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not
Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask?
The conscience, Friend, to have lost them overplied
In Liberty's defence, my noble task,
This thought might lead me through the world's vain mask
ON HIS DECEASED WIFE.
METHOUGHT I saw my late espoused saint
Brought to me, like Alcestis, from the grave,
Rescued from death by force, though pale and faint.
Purification in the old law did save,
Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint,
Her face was veiled; yet to my fancied sight
Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shined
But, oh! as to embrace me she inclined,
THE FIFTH ODE OF HORACE, LIB. I. Quis multo gracilis te puer in rosa, rendered almost word for woni,
without rhyme, according to the Latin measure, as near as the language will permit. What slender youth, bedewed with liquid odours, Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave,
Pyrrha? for whom bind'st thou
In wreaths thy golden hair,
Rough with black winds and storms
Unwonted shall admire !
Hopes thee, of flattering gales
Unmindful. Hapless they
My dark and dropping weeds
FROM GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH.
Brutus thus addresses Diana in the country of Leogecia. GODDESS of shades, and huntress! who at will Walk’st on the rolling spheres, and through the deep;