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(1593 - 1633.)


Sweet Day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
The bridal of the earth and sky,
The dew shall weep thy fall to-night;

For thou must die.

Fair pledges of a fruitful tree,

Why do ye 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 halt's delight,

And so to bid good-night?
'T was 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.

Sweet Rose, whose hue, angry 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 days and roses,
A box where sweets compacted lie,
My music show's ye have your closes,

And all must die.

Only a sweet and virtuous soul,
Like seasoned timber, never gives;
But though the whole world turn to coal,

Then chiefly lives.


Is this a fast, to keep
The larder lean,

And clean
From fat of veals and sheep?
Is it to quit the dish
Of flesh, yet still

To fill
The platter high with fish?
Is it to fast an hour,
Or rag'd to go,

Or show
A downcast look, and sour?

How fresh, O Lord, how sweet and

clean Are thy returns! e'en as the flowers in

spring; To which, besides their own demesne, The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure

Grief melts away

Like snow in May,
As if there were no such cold thing.


Who would have thought my shriv

REST. elled heart

When God at first made man, Could have recovered greenness? It was

Having a glass of blessings standing by, gone

“Let us,” said he, “pour on him all we Quite under ground; as flowers depart To see their mother-root, when they have Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie, blown;

Contract into a span."
Where they together,
All the hard weather,

So strength first made a way; Dead to the world, keep house un. Then beauty flowed; then wisdom, honor, known.


When alniost all was out, God made a stay, These are thy wonders, Lord of power, Perceiving that alone, of all his treasure, Killing and quickening, bringing down

Rest in the bottom lay. to hell And up to heaven in an hour;

“For if I should," said he, Making a chiming of a passing bell. “Bestow this jewel also on my creature, We say amiss,

He would adore my gifts instead of me, This or that is:

And rest in nature, not the God of nature; Thy word is all, if we could spell.

So both should losers be. O that I once past changing were,

“Yet let him keep the rest, Fast in thy Paradise, where no flower But keep them with repining restlessness : can wither!

Let him be rich and weary, that at least, Many a spring I shoot up fair

If goodness lead him not, yet weariness Offering at heaven, growing and groan

May toss him to my breast.”
ing thither;
Nor doth my

Want a spring-shower,
My sins and I joining together.

HENRY VAUGHAN. But while I grow in a straight line,

(1614 - 1695.) Still upwards bent, as if heaven were mine own,

THE BIRD. Thy anger comes, and I decline: What frost to that? what pole is not the Hither thou com’st. The busy wind

all night Where all things burn,

Blew through thy lodging, where thy When thou dost turn,

own warm wing And the least frown of thine is shown ? Thy pillow was. Many a sullen storm,

For which coarse man seems much the And now in age I bud again,

fitter born, After so many deaths I live and write;

Rained on thy bed
I once more smell the dew and rain,

And harmless head;
And relish versing : O my only Light,
It cannot be

And now, as fresh and cheerful as the
That I am he

light, On whom thy tempests fell all night. Thy little heart in early hymns doth sing

Unto that Providence whose unseen arm These are thy wonders, Lord of love, Curbed them, and clothed thee well and To make us see we are but flowers that glide;

All things that be praise Him; and had Which when we once can find and Their lesson taught them when first prove,

made. Thou hast a garden for us, where to bide. Who would be more,

So hills and valleys into singing break; Swelling through store,

And though poor stones have neither Forfeit their Paradise by their pride..

speech nor tongue,



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While active winds and streams both run These are your walks, and you have and speak,

showed them me Yet stones are deep in admiration.

To kindle my cold love. Thus praise and prayer here beneath the

Dear, beauteous death, - the jewel of the Make lesser mornings, when the great just, are done.

Shining nowhere but in the dark !

What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, For each inclosed spirit is a star

Could man outlook that mark ! Inlightning his own little sphere, Whose light, though fetcht and borrowed He that hath found some fledged bird's from far,

nest may know, Both mornings makes and evenings At first sight, if the bird be flown; there.

But what fair dell or grove he sings in

now, But as these birds of light make a land That is to him unknown.

glad, Chirping their solemn matins on each And yet, as angels in some brighter tree;

dreams So in the shades of night some dark Call to the soul when man doth sleep, fowls be,

So some strange thoughts transcend our Whose heavy notes make all that hear wonted themes, them sad.

And into glory peep. The turtle then in palm-trees mourns,

If a star were confined into a tomb, While owls and satyrs howl;

Her captive flames must needs burn The pleasant land to brimstone turns,

there; And all her streams grow foul.

But when the hand that lockt her up

gives room, Brightness and mirth, and love and faith, She'll shine through all the sphere.

all My,
Till the day.spring breaks forth again O Father of eternal life, and all
from high.

Created glories under thee!
Resume thy spirit from this world of


Into true liberty!

Either disperse these mists, which blot
They are all gone into the world of light, and fill
And I alone sit lingering here !

My perspective still as they pass; Their very memory is fair and bright, Or else remove me hence unto that hill

And my sad thoughts doth clear. Where I shall need no glass. It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast,

Like stars upon some gloomy grove, Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest

After the sun's remove.

[1588 - 1667.) I see them walking in an air of glory,

Whose light doth trample on my days ; FOR ONE THAT HEARS HIMSELF My days, which are at best but dull and

Mere glimmering and decays. My sins and follies, Lord! by thee

From others hidden are,
O holy hope! and high humility, - That such good words are spoke of me,
High as the heavens above !

As now and then I hear;

For sure if others knew me such, By her help. I also now
Such as myself I know,

Make this churlish place allow
I should have been dispraised as much Some things that may sweeten glad-
As I am praised now.


In the very gall of sadness.
The praise, therefore, which I have heard, The dull loneness, the black shade,
Delights not so my mind,

That these hanging vaults have made; As those things make my heart afеard,

The strange music of the waves, Which in myself I find:

Beating on these hollow caves; And I had rather to be blamed,

This black den which rocks emboss, So I were blameless made,

Overgrown with eldest moss; Than for much virtue to be famed,

The rude portals that give light
When I no virtues had.

More to terror than delight;
This my chamber of neglect,

Walled about with disrespect,
Though slanders to an innocent
Sometimes do bitter grow,

From all these, and this dull air,
Their bitterness procures content,

A fit object for despair,

She hath taught me by her might If clear hiniseit he know.

To draw comfort and delight. And when a virtuous man hath erred,

Therefore, thou best earthly bliss,
If praised himself he hear,

I will cherish thee for this.
It makes him grieve, and more afeard,
Than if he slandered were.

Poesy, thou sweet'st content
That e'er heaven to mortals lent:

Though they as a trifle leave thee,
Lord! therefore make my heart upright, Whose dull thoughts cannot conceive
Whate'er my deeds do seem;

thee; And righteous rather in thy sight, Though thou be to them a scorn, Than in the world's esteem.

That to naught but earth are born, And if aught good appear to be

Let my life no longer he In any act of mine,

Than I am in love with thee! Let thankfulness be found in me,

And all the praise be thine.



(1620- 1678.)


She doth tell me where to borrow
('omfort in the midst of sorrow;
Makes the desolatest place
To her presence be a grace,
And the blackest discontents
Be her fairest ornaments,
In my former days of bliss,
Her divine skill taught me this,
That from everything I saw
I could soine invention draw,
And raise pleasure to her height,
Through the meanest object's sight,
By the murmur of a spring,
Or the least bough's rustlëing.
By a daisy, whose leaves spread,
Shut when Titan goes to bed;
Or a shady bush or tree,
She could more infuse in me,
Than all nature's beauties can
In some other wiser man.

How vainly men themselves amaze,
To win the palm, the oak, or bays:
And their incessant labors see
Crowned from some single herb or

Whose short and narrow-vergéd shade
Does prudently their toils upbraid;
While all the flowers and trees do

To weave the garlands of repose.

Fair Quiet, have I found thee here,
And Immocence, thy sister dear?
Mistaken long, I sought you then
In busy companies of men.
Your sacred plants, if here below,
Only among these plants will grow.

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Society is all but rude
To this delicious solitude.

WHERE the remote Bermudas ride
No white nor red was ever seen

In the ocean's bosom unespied, So amorous as this lovely green.

From a small boat that rowed along, Fond lovers, cruel as their flame, The listening winds received this song: ('ut in these trees their mistress' name.

“ What should we do but sing His praise Little, alas, they know or head,

That led us through the watery maze How far these beauties her exceed!

Where he the huge sea monsters racks, Fair trees! where'er your barks I wound, That lift the deep upon their backs, No name shall but your own be found.

Unto an isle so long unknown,

And yet far kinder than our own ? What wondrous life is this I lead !

He lands us on a grassy stage,

Safe from the storins and prelates' rage. Ripe apples drop about my head. The luscious clusters of the vine

He gave us this eternal spring U pon my mouth do crush their wine.

Which here enamels everything,

And sends the fowls to us in care,
The nectarine, and curious peach,
Into my hands themselves do reach. On daily visits through the air.
Stumbling on melons, as I pass,

He hangs in shades the orange bright, Insnand with flowers, I fall on grass.

Like golden lamps in a green night, Meanwhile the mind from pleasure less

And does in the pomegranates close Withdraws into its happiness,

Jewels more rich than Ormus shows. The mind, that ocean where each kind

He makes the figs our mouths to meet, Does straight its own resemblance find;

And throws the melons at our feet, Yet it creates transcending these,

With apples, plants of such a price, Far other worlds and other seas;

No tree could ever bear them twice. Annihilating all that's made

With ceilars, chosen by his band, To a green thought in a green shade.

From Lebanon he stores the land; Here at the fountain's sliding foot,

And makes the hollow seas that roar, Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root,

Proclaim the ambergris on shore. Casting the bouly's vest asiile,

He cast (of which we rather boast) My soul into the boughs does gliile;

The gospel's pearl upon our coast ; There, like a bird, it sits and sings,

And in these rocks for us did frame Then whets and claps its silver wings,

A temple where to sound his name. And, till prepared for longer flight,

0, let our voice his praise exalt, Waves in its plumes the various light.

Till it arrive at heaven's vault,

Which then perhaps rebounding may Such was the happy garden state,

Echo beyond the Mexic bay." While man there walked without a mate:

Thus sang they in the English boat

A holy and a cheerful note;
After a place so pure and sweet,
What other help could yet be meet!

And all the way, to guide their chime, But 't was beyond a mortal's share

With falling oars they kept the time.
To wander solitary there:
Two paradises are in one,
To live in paradise alone.

How well the skilful gardener drew
Of flowers and herbs this dial new!

[1608 - 1674.]
Where, from above, the milder sin
Does thiough a fragrant zoliac run:

And, as it works, the industrious bee
Computes its time as well as we. It was the winter wild,
How could such sweet and wholesome While the heaven-born child

All meanly wrapt in the rude manger Be reckoned, but with herbs and flow. ers?

Nature, in awe of him,


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