He that hath found some fledged bird's nest, may know At first sight if the bird be flown; But what fair field or grove he sings in now, That is to him unknown. And yet as angels, in some brighter dreams, So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes, And into glory peep. O Father of eternal life, and all Created glories under thee ! Resume thy spirit, from this world of thrall, Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill HENRY VAUGHAN. 1614-1695. ON SPRING. SONNET. WEET Spring! Thou comest with all thy-goodly train, Thy head with flames, thy mantle bright with flowers; The zephyrs curl the green locks of the plain, The clouds for joy in pearls weep down their showers. Sweet Spring, thou comest,-but, ah ! my pleasant hours And happy days with thee come not again; Do with thee come, which turn my sweets to sours. Thou art the same which thou wert still beforeDelicious, healthful, amiable, fair But she whose breath embalm'd thy wholesome air WM. DRUMMOND. MELANCHOLY. ENCE, all ye vain delights, If man were wise to see 't, But only melancholy Oh, sweetest melancholy! Welcome folded arms and fixèd eyes, These are the sounds we feed upon, Then stretch our bones in a still, gloomy valley,-. Nothing so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy. F. BEAUMONT. : PATIENCE. OWN! stormy passions, down! nor more Let your rude waves invade the shore Where blushing Reason sits, and hides Her from the fury of your tides: Fit only 'tis where you bear sway That fools or frantics do obey; Since judgment, if it not resists, Will lose itself in your blind mists. Fall easie, Patience! fall like rest, Oh, in your silken cordage tie BISHOP KING. THE LOVER'S APPEAL. SONG. ND wilt thou leave me thus ? And wilt thou leave me thus ? And wilt thou leave me thus, And wilt thou leave me thus, Never for to depart, Neither for pain nor smart? And wilt thou leave me thus ? Say nay! say nay! SIR T. WYAT. 1503-1543. |