240

TO BLOSSOMS.

TO BLOSSOMS.

ROBERT HERRICK.

FAIR pledges of a fruitful tree,
Why do you fall so fast?

Your date is not so past,

But you may stay yet here awhile,
To blush and gently smile,
And go at last.

What! were ye born to be,

An hour or half's delight,
And so to bid good-night?
'Tis pity nature brought ye forth
Merely to show your worth,
And lose you quite.

But you are lovely leaves, where we
May read how soon things have
Their end, though ne'er so brave:

And after they have shown their pride,
Like you awhile, they glide
Into the grave.

VERTUE.

GEORGE HERBERT.

SWEET day, so cool, so calm, so bright,

The bridall of the earth and skie:

The dew shall weep thy fall to-night,

For thou must die.

LOVE.

Sweet rose, whose hue angrie and brave
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye,

Thy root is ever in its grave,

And thou must die.

Sweet spring, full of sweet dayes and roses,
A box where sweets compacted lie,

My musick shows

ye have your closes

And all must die.

Onely a sweet and vertuous soul,
Like season'd timber, never gives;
But though the whole world turn to coal,
Then chiefly lives.

241

LOVE.

SAMUEL BUTLER.

LOVE is too great a happiness
For wretched mortals to possess;
For could it hold inviolate
Against those cruelties of fate
Which all felicities below

By rigid laws are subject to,
It would become a bliss too high
For perishing mortality;

Translate to earth the joys above;
For nothing goes to Heaven but Love.
All love at first, like generous wine,
Ferments and frets until 'tis fine;

242

MARINER'S HYMN.

For when 'tis settled on the lee,
And from the impurer matter free,
Becomes the richer still the older,
And proves the pleasanter the colder.
As at the approach of winter, all
The leaves of great trees use to fall,
And leave them naked, to engage
With storms and tempests when they rage,
While humbler plants are found to wear
Their fresh green liveries all the year;
So when their glorious season's gone
With great men, and hard times come on,
The greatest calamities oppress

The greatest still, and spare the less.

MARINER'S HYMN.

MRS. SOUTHEY.

LAUNCH thy bark, mariner;
Christian, God speed thee!
Let loose the rudder-bands-
Good angels lead thee!
Set thy sails warily,
Tempests will come;
Steer thy course steadily;
Christian, steer home!

Look to the weather-bow,
Breakers are round thee;
Let fall the plummet now,
Shallows may ground thee.

244

PEACE.

PEACE.

GEORGE HERBERT.

SWEET Peace, where dost thou dwell? I humbly

crave,

Let me once know.

I sought thee in a secret cave,
And ask'd, if Peace were there.

A hollow winde did seem to answer, No;
Go seek elsewhere.

I did; and going did a rainbow note:
Surely, thought I,

This is the lace of Peace's coat:
I will search out the matter.

But while I lookt the clouds immediately
Did break and scatter.

Then went I to a garden and did spy
A gallant flower,

The crown Imperiall: Sure, said I,
Peace at the root must dwell.

But when I digg'd, I saw a worm devoure
What show'd so well.

At length I met a rev'rend good old man;
Whom when for Peace

I did demand, he thus began:

There was a Prince of old

At Salem dwelt, who liv'd with good increase
Of flock and fold.