Those, coarse and negligent, as the natural locks Obedient slumbers, that can wake and weep, And sing, and sigh, and work, and sleep again; And prize themselves; do much, that more they may, A respiration of reviving deaths. But neither are there those ignoble stings That nip the blossom of the world's best things, No cruel guard of diligent cares, that keep Crown'd woes awake, as things too wise for sleep: The self-remembring soul sweetly recovers Her kindred with the stars; not basely hovers Below but meditates her immortal way Home to the original source of Light and intellectual day. VAUGHAN. THE RETREAT. Happy those early days, when I Before I taught my tongue to wound But felt through all this fleshly dress Sweetly didst thou expire: thy soul Softly rest all thy virgin-crumbs To dress them, and unswaddle death! THE WORLD. I saw Eternity the other night, Like a great ring of pure and endless light, And round beneath it, Time in hours, days, years, Like a vast shadow mov'd; in which the world The doting lover in his quaintest strain Did there complain ; Near him, his lute, his fancy, and his slights, With gloves, and knots, the silly snares of pleasure, All scatter'd lay, while he his eyes did pour Upon a flower. 1 The darksome statesman, hung with weights and woe, Condemning thoughts-like sad eclipses-scowl And clouds of crying witnesses without Pursued him with one shout. Yet digg'd the mole, and lest his ways be found, Where he did clutch his prey; but one did see Churches and altars fed him; perjuries It rain'd about him blood and tears, but he The fearful miser on a heap of rust Sate pining all his life there, did scarce trust Yet would not place one piece alone, but lives Thousands there were as frantic as himself, The downright epicure plac'd heav'n in sense, While others, slipt into a wide excess, The weaker sort, slight, trivial wares enslave, And poor despised Truth sate counting by Yet some, who all this while did weep and sing, O fools-said I-thus to prefer dark night To live in grots, and caves, and hate the day The way, which from this dead and dark abode A way where you might tread the sun, and be But as I did their madness so discuss One whisper'd thus, 'This ring the Bridegroom did for none provide, But for His bride.' BEYOND THE VEIL. They are all gone into the world of light! It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast, Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest, I see them walking in an air of glory, Whose light doth trample on my days: O holy Hope! and high Humility, High as the heavens above! These are your walks, and you have shew'd them me, To kindle my cold love. Dear, beauteous Death! the jewel of the just, Shining no where, but in the dark; What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust; Could man outlook that mark! |