Obrazy na stronie

But as, when the Pellæan conqueror dy'd, The Thunderer, who, without the female bed, Many small princes did his crown divide; Could goddesses bring-forth from out his head, So, since my love his vanquish'd world forsook, Chose rather mortals this way to create ; Murder'd by poisons from her falsehood took, So much h' esteem'd his pleasure 'bove his state. An hundred petty kings claim each their part, Ye talk of fires which shine, but never burn; And rend that glorious empire of her heart. In this cold world they'll hardly serve our turn;

As useless to despairing lovers grown,

As lambent flames to men i'th' frigid zone. MY HEART DISCOVERED. The Sun does his pure fires on Earth bestow

With nuptial warmth, to bring-forth things bee Her body is so gently bright,

low; Clear and transparent to the sight,

Such is Love's noblest and divinest heat, (Clear as fair crystal to the view,

That warms like his, and does, like bis, beget. Yet soft as that, ere stone it grew)

Lust you call this; a name to yours more just, That through her flesh, methinks, is seen If an inordinate desire be lust: The brighter'soul that dwells within :

Pygmalion, loving what none can enjoy, Our eyes the subtile covering pass,

More lustful was, than the hot youth of Troy.
And see that lily through its glass.
I through her breast her heart espy,
As souls in hearts do souls descry:
I see 't with gentle motions beat;

I see light in 't, but find no heat,
Within, like angels in the sky,

LOVING ONE FIRST BECAUSE SHE COULD LOVE NO A thousand gilded thoughts do fly ;

BODY, AFTERWARDS LOVING HER WITH DESIRE. Thoughts of bright and noblest kind, Fair and chaste as mother-mind.

WHAT new-found witchcraft was in thee, But oh! what other heart is there,

With thine own cold to kindle me? Which sighs and crouds to her's so near ? Strange art! like him that should devise "Tis all on flame, and does, like fire,

To make a burning-glass of ice : To that, as to its Heaven, aspire !!

When Winter so, the plants would harm, The wounds are many in 't and deep;

Her snow itself does keep them warm. Still does it bleed, and still does weep!

Fool that I was! who, having found Whose-ever wretched heart it be,

A rich and sunny diamond, I cannot choose but grieve to see:

Admir'd the hardness of the stone, What pity in my breast does reign!

But not the light with which it shone. Methinks I feel too all its pain.

Your brave and haughty scorn of all So torn, and so defac'd, it lies,

Was stately and monarchical ;
That it could ne'er be known by th’eyes All gentleness, with that esteemid,
But oh! at last I heard it groan,

A dull and slavish virtue seem'd;
And knew by th' voice that 'twas mine own. Should'st thou have yielded then to me,
So poor Alcione, when she saw

Thou 'dst lost what I most lov'd in thee;
A shipwreck'd body tow'rds her draw,

For who would serve one, whom he sees Beat by the waves, let fall a tear,

That he can conquer if he please?
Which only then did pity wear :

It far'd with me, as if a slave
But, when the corpse on shore were cast, In triumph led, that does perceive
Which she her husband found at last,

With what a gay majestic pride
What should the wretched widow do?

His conqueror through the streets does ride, Grief chang'd her straight; away she flew, Should be contented with his woe, Turn'd to a bird : and so at last shall I

Which makes up such a comely show. Both from my murder'd heart and murderer fly. I sought not from thee a return,

But without hopes or fears did burn;

My covetous passion did approve
ANSIVER TO THE PLATONICS. The hoarding-up, not use, of love.

My love a kind of dream was grown,
So angels love; so let them love for me; A foolish, but a pleasant one:
When I'm all soul, such shall my love too be: From which I 'm waken'd now; but, oh!
Who nothing here but like a spirit would do, Prisoners to die are wakend so;
In a short time, believe 't, will be one too. For now th' effects of loving are
But, shall our love do what in beasts we see? Nothing but longings, with despair:
Evn beasts eat too, but not so well as we: Despair, whose torments no men, sure,
And you as justly might in thirst refuse Put lovers and the damn'd, endure.
The use of wine, because beasts water use: Her scorn I doated once upon,
They taste those pleasures as they do their food; I object for affection;
Undress'd they take 't, devour it raw and crude : But since, alas! too much ’tis provid,
But to us men, Love cooks it at his fire, That yet 'twas something that I lov'd;
And adds the poignant sauce of sharp desire. Now my desires are worse, and fly
Beasts do the same: 'tis true ; but ancient Fame At an impossibility:
Says, gods themselves tüm'd beasts to do the Desires which, whilst so high they soar,

Are proud as that I lov'd before,

Whatlover can like me complain,

If my Understanding do . : '
Who first lov'd yainly, next in rain !

Seek any knowledge but of you ;
If she do near thy body prize
Her bodies of philosophies;

If she to the will do shew

Aught desirable but yon;

Or, if that would not rebel, 1. mine eyes do e'er declare

Should she another doctrine tell; They've seen a second thing that's fair;

If my Will do not resign Or ears, that they have music found,

All her liberty to thine; Besides thy voice, in any sound;

If she would not follow thee, If my taste do ever meet,

Though Fate and thou should'st disagree ; After thy kiss, with aught that 's sweet ;

And if (for Ja curse will give, If my abased touch allow

Such as shall force thee to believe) aught to be smooth, or soft, but you;

My Soul be not entirely thine;
If wbat seasonable springs,

May thy dear body ne'er be mins !
Or the eastern summer brings,
Do my smell persuade at all
Anght perfume, but thy breath, to call;
If all iny senses' objects be

Not contracted into thee,
And so through thee more powerful pass, From Hate, Fear, Hope, Anger, and Envy, fra
As beams do through a burning-glass ;

And all the passions else that be, If all things that in Nature are

In vain I boast of liberty, Either soft, or sweet, or fair,

In vain this state a freedom eall; Be not in thee so' epitomis'd,

Since I have Love, and Love is all: That pought material's not compris'd;

Sot that I am, who think it fit to brag May I as worthless seem to thee,

That I have no disease besides the plague ! As all, but thou, appears to me!

So in a zeal the sons of Israel If I erer anger know,

Sometimes upon their idols fell, Till some wrong be done to you;

And they depos'd the powers of Hell; If gods or kings my envy move,

Baal and Astarte down they threw, Without their crowns crown'd by thy love; .

And Acharon and Moloch too : If ever I a hope admit,

All this imperfect piety did no good,
Without thy image stamp'd on it;

Whilst yet, alas! the calf of Bethel stood.
Or any fear, till I begin
To find that you 're concern'd therein ;

Fondly I boast, that I have drest my vine
If a joy e'er come to me,

With painful art, and that the wine That tastes of any thing but thee;

Is of a taste rich and divine; If any sorrow touch my mind,

Since Love, by inixing poison there, Whilst you are well, and not unkind;

Has made it worse than vinegar. H I a minute's space debate,

Love ev'n the taste of nectar changes so, Whether I shall curse and hate

That gods chuse rather water here below. The things beneath thy hatred fall,

Fear, Anger, Hope, all passions else that be Though all the world, myself and all;

Drive this one tyrant out of me, And for love, if ever I

And practise all your tyranny! Approach to it again so nigh,

The change of ills some good will do: As to allow a toleration

Th’ oppressed wretched Indians so, To the least glimmering inclination;

Being slaves by the great Spanish monarch I thou alone dost not control

made, All these tyrants of my soul,

Call in the States of Holland to their aid.
And to thy beauties ty'st them so,
That constant they as habits grow;
If any passion of my heart,
By any force, or any art,

Be brought to move one step from thee,
May'st thou no passion have for me!

'Tis mighty wise that you would now be thought, If my busy Imagination,

With your grave rules from musty morals brought; Do not thee in all things fashion;

Through which some streaks too of divin'ty ran, So that all fair species be

Partly of monk and partly puritan; Hieroglyphic marks of thee;

With tedious repetitions too you ’ave ta'en If when she her sports does keep

Often the name of Vanity in vain. (The lower soul being all asleep)

Things which, I take it, friend, you'd ne'er recite, She play one dream, with all her art,

Should she I love but say t' you, “ Come at Where thou hast not the longest part;

night.” If aught get place in my remembrance,

The wisest king refus'd all pleasures quite, Without some badge of thy resemblance,

Till Wisdom from above did him enlight; So that thy parts become to me

But, when that gifi his ignorance did remore, A kind of art of memory;

Pleasures he chose, and plac'd them all in love,

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And, if by event the coursels may be seen,

And, since love ne'er will from me flee,
This wisdom 'twas that brought the southern A mistress moderately fair,

And good as guardian-angels are,
She came not, like a good old wife, to know

Only belov'd, and loving me!
The wholesome nature of all plants that grow;
Nor did so far from her own country roam,

Oh, fountains! when in you shall I

Myself, eas'd of unpeaceful thoughts, espy?
To cure scald-heads and broken-shins at home;

Oh fields ! oh woods! when, when shall I be made
She came for that, which more befits all wives,
The art of giving, not of saving, lives.

The happy tenant of your shade?

Here's the spring-head of Pleasure's flood;
Where all the riches lie, that she

Has coin'd and stainp'd for good.

Pride and ambition here

Only in far-fetch'd metaphors appear;
Beneath this gloomy shade,

Here nought but winds can hurtful murmurs
By Nature only for my sorrows made,

I'll spend this voice in cries;

And nought but Echo flatter.
In tears I'll waste these eyes,

The gods, when they descended, hither
By love so vainly fed;

From Heaven did always chuse their way; So Lust, of old, the Deluge punished.

And therefore we may boldly say, “Ah, wretched youth !” said I ;

That 'tis the way too thither. “ Ah, wretched youth!” twice did I sadly cry; ** Ah, wretched youth !" the fields and flouds and one dear she, live, and embracing die!

How happy here should I,

She, who is all the world, and can exclude
When thoughts of love I entertain,

In deserts solitude.
I meet no words but “ Never,” and “ In vain." I should have then this only fear-

“ Never," alas ! that dreadful name Lest men, when they my pleasures see,
Which fuels the eternal flame :

Should hither throng to live like me,
“Never" my time to come must waste;

And so make a city here.
“ In vain" torments the present and the past.
In vain, in vain," said I;

“ In vain, in vain !" twice did I sadly cry;
“ In rain, in vain !" the fields and floods reply.

Now, by my Love, the greatest oath that is,

None loves you half so well as I:
No more shall fields and floods do so;

I do not ask your love for this;
For I to shades more dark and silent go :

But for Heaven's sake believe me, or I die.
All this world's noise appears to me

No servant e'er but did deserve
A dull, ill acted comedy :

His master should believe that he does serre;
No comfort to my wounded sight,

And I'll ask no more wages, though I starve.
In the Sun's busy and impertinent light,
Then down I laid my head,

'Tis no luxurious diet this, and sure
Down on cold earth; and for a while was dead,

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I shall not by 't too lusty prove;

Yet shall it willingly endure, And my freed soul to a strange somewhere fled.

If’t can but keep together life and love. “ Ah, sottish soul !" said I,

Being your prisoner and your slave, When back to its cage again I saw it fly;

I do not feasts and banquets look to have;
“ Fool, to resume her broken chain, A little bread and water 's all I crave.
And row her galley here again!
Fool, to that body to return

On a sigh of pity I a year can live;
Where it condemn'd and destin'd is to burn!

One tear will keep me twenty, at least ; Once dead, how can it be,

Fifty, a gentle look will give; Death should a thing so pleasant seem to thee,

An hundred years on one kind word I'll feast: That thou should'st come to live it o'er again if you an inclination have for me ;

A thousand more will added be, in me?"

And all beyond is vast eternity !

THE WISH. Well then ; I now do plainly see * This busy world and I shall ne'er agree ; "The very honey of all earthly joy

Does of all meats the soonest cloy;

And they, methinks, deserve my pity,
Who for it can endure the stings,
The crowd, and buz, and murmurings,

Of this great hive, the city.

Ah, yet, ere I descend to th' grave,
May I a small house and large garden have!
And a few friends, and many books, both true,

Both wise, and both delightful too !

Taou robb'st my days of business and delights,

Of sleep thou robb'st my nights;
Ah, lovely thief! what wilt thou do?
What ? rob me of Heaven too?
Thou ev'n my prayers dost steal from


And I, with wild idolatry,
Begin to God, and end them all to thee.
Is it a sin to love, that it should thus,

Like an ill conscience, torture us?
Whate'er I do, where'er I go,
(None guiltless e'er was haunted so !)
Still, still, methinks, thy face I view,

And still thy shape does me pursue, At once, with double course in the same sphere, As if, not ypa me, but I had murder'd you.

He runs the day, and walks the year.
From books I strive some remedy to take,

When Sol does to myself refer,
But thy name all the letters make; ?Tis then my life, and does but slowly move;
Whate'er 'tis writ, I find that there,

But when it does relate to her,
Like points and commas every where :

It swiftly flies, and then is love.
Me blest for this let no man hold; Love's my diurnal course, divided right,
For I, as Midas did of old,

Twixt hope and fear-my day and night,
Perish by turning every thing to gold.
What do I seek, alas ! or why do I
Attempt in vain from thee to Ay?

For making thee my deity,
I gave the then ubiquity.

Take heed, take heed, thou lovely maid,
My pains resemble Hell in this ;

Nor be by glittering ills betray'd ;
The Divine Presence there too is, Thyself for money! oh, let no man know
But to torment men, not to give them bliss,

The price of beauty fallin so low !

What dangers ought'st thou not to dread,

When Love, that's blind, is by blind Fortune led? ALL-OVER LOVE.

The foolish Indian, that sells 'Tis well, 'tis well with them, say I,

His precious gold for beads and bells, Whose short-liv'd passions with themselves can Does a more wise and gainful traffic hold, die;

Than thou, who sell'st thyself for gold. For none can be unhappy, who,

What gains in such a bargain are? Midst all his ills, a time does know

He 'll in thy mines dig better treasures far. (Though ne'er so long) when he shall not be so.

Can gold, alas! with thee compare? Whatever parts of me remain.

The Sun, that makes it, 's not so fair; Those parts will still the love of thee retain;

The Sun, which can nor make nor ever see, For 'twas not only in my heart,

A thing so beautiful as thee, Bat, like a god, by powerful art

In all the journeys he does pass, 'Twas all in all, and all in every part.

Though tặe sea serv'd him for a looking-glass. My affection no more perish can

Bold was the wretch that cheapend thee; Than the first matter that compounds a man.

Since Magus, none so bold as he: Hereafter, if one dust of me

Thou 'rt so divine a thing, that thee to buy Mix'd with another's substance be,

Is to be counted simony;
Twill leaven that whole lump with love of thee. Too dear he 'll find his sordid price
Let Nature, if she please, disperse

Has forfeited that and the benefice.
My atoms over all the universe ;

If it be lawful thee to buy, At the last they easily shall

There's none can pay that rate but I ; Themselves know, and together call; Nothing on Earth a fitting price can be, For thy love, like a mark, is stamp'd on all.

But what on Earth's most like to thee;

And that my heart does only bear;

For there thyself, thy very self is there.

So much thyself does in me live,
Now, sure, within this twelvemonth past,

That, when it for thyself I give, l'ave lov'd at least some twenty years or more:

'Tis but to change that piece of gold for this, Thé account of love runs much more fast

Whose stamp and value equal is; Than that with which our life does score:

And, that full weight too may be had, So, though my life be short, yet I may prove

My soul and body, two grains more, I'll add. The great Methusalem of love.

Not that love's hours or minutes are
Shorter than those our being 's measur'd by:

But they 're more close compacted far,
And so in lesser room do lie :

Love from Time's wings hath stol'n the feathers, Thin airy things extend themselves in space,

Sure Things solid take up little place.

He has, and put them to his own; Yet love, alas ! and life in me,

For hours, of late, as long as days endure,

And very minutes hours are grown.
Are not two several things, but purely one;
At once how can there in it be

The various motions of the turning year
A double, different motion ?

Belong not now at all to me: O yes, there may; for so the self-same Sun. Each summer's night does Lucy's now appear, At once does slow and swiftly run :

Each winter's day St. Barnaby. Swiftly his daily journey he goes,

How long a space since first I lov'd it is ! But treads his annual with a statelier pace;

To look into a glass I fear; And does three hundred rounds enclose And am surpriz'd with wonder when I miss Within one yearly circle's space ;

Gray hairs and wrinkles there.


Th’ old Patriarchs' age, and not their happi- | The needle trembles so, and turns about,
ness too,

Till it the northern point find out;
Why does hard Fate t* us restore?

But constant then and fix'd does prove,
Why does Love's fire thus to mankind renew, Fix'd, that his dearest pole as soon may morë,
What the flood wash'd away before?

Then may my vessel torn and shipwreck'd be,
Sure those are happy people that complain.

If it put forth again to sea !
O'th' shortness of the days of man:

It never more abroad shall roam, Contract mine, Heaven! and bring them back Though 't could next voyage bring the Indies again

home. To th' ordinary span.

But I must sweat in love, and labour yet, If when your gift, long life, I disapprove,

Till I a competency get; I too ingrateful seem to be ;

They're slothful fools who leave a trade, Punish me justly, Heaven; make her to love, Till they a moderate fortune by 't have made. And then 'twill be too short for me.

Variety I ask not ; give me one

To live perpetually upon.

The person, Love does to us fit,

Like manna, has the taste of all in it. Gently, ah, gently, madam, touch

The wound which you yourself have made ;
That pain must needs be very much,

Which makes me of your hand afraid.
Cordials of pity give me now,

FOR Heaven's sake, what d' you mean to do? For I too weak for purgings grow.

Keep me, or let me go, one of the two;

Youth and warm hours let me not idly lose, Do but awhile with patience stay

The little time that Love does chuse, (For counsel yet will do no good)

If always here I must not stay,
Till time, and rest, and Heaven, allay
The violent burnings of my blood;

Let me be gone whilst yet 'tis day;
For what effect from this can flow,

Lest I, faint and benighted, lose my

way. To chide men drunk, for being so ?

'Tis dismal, one so long to love Perhaps the physic's good you give,

In vain; till to love more as vain must prove But ne'er to me can useful prove ;

To hunt so long on nimble prey, till we Med'cines may cure, but not revive ;

Too weary to take others be;

Alas ! 'tis folly to remain,
And I'm not sick, but dead in love,

And waste our army thus in vain,
In Love's Hell, not, his world, am I;
At once I live, am dead, and die.

Before a city which will ne'er be ta'en.

At several hopes wisely to fly, What new-found rhetoric is thine !

Ought not to be esteem'd inconstancy; Ex'n thy dissuasions me persuade,

'Tis more inconstant always to pursue And thy great power does clearest shine,

A thing that always flies from you ;
When thy commands are disobey'd.

For that at last may meet a bound,
In vain thou bid'st me to forbear;
Obedience were rebellion here.

But no end can to this be found,

'Tis nought but a perpetual fruitless round. Thy tongue comes in, as if it meant

When it does hardness meet, and pride, Against thine eyes t' assist mine hearts

My love does then rebound t' another side; But different far was his intent,

But, if it aught that's soft and yielding hit, For straight the traitor took their part:

It lodges there, and stays in it. And by this new foe I'm bereft

Whatever 'tis shall first love me, Of all that little which was left.

That it my Heaven may truly be,
The act, I must confess, was wise,

I shall be sure to give 't eternity.
As a dishonest act could be
Well knew the tongue, alas! your eyes
Would be too strong for that and me;

And part o' th' triumph chose to get,
Rather than be a part of it.

Be Heaven, I'll tell her boldly that 'tis she
Why should she asham'd or angry be,

To be belov'd by me?

The gods may give their altars o'er, 'Tis true, l’ave lov'd already three or four, They'll smoak but seldom any more,

And shall three or four hundred more; If none but happy men must them adore.
I'll love each fair-one that I see,

The lightning, which tall oaks oppose in vain, Till I find one at last that shall love me.

To strike sometimes does not disdain That shall my Canaan be, the fatal soil

'The humble furzes of the plain. That ends my wanderings and my toil :

She being so high, and I so low, I'll settle there, and happy grow;

Her power by this

does greater show, The country does with milk and honey flow. Who at such distance, gives so sure a blow.

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