IL DIVOTO.

DESCRIPTION

OF A RELIGIOUS HOUSE AND CONDITION OF LIFE.

10 roofs of gold o'er riotous tables shining, Whole days and suns devour'd with endless dining:

No sails of Tyrian silk proud pavements
sweeping,

Nor ivory couches costlier slumbers keeping,
False lights of flaring gems: tumultuous joys,
Halls full of flattering men and frisking boys:
Whate'er false shows, of short and slippery good,
Mix the mad sons of men in mutual blood.
But walks and unshorn woods, and souls just so
Unforced and genuine (but not shady, though-)
Our lodgings hard and homely, as our fare,
That chaste and cheap, as the few clothes we wear.
A hasty portion of prescribed sleep,

Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep,

Hands full of hearty labours: pains that pay

And prize themselves-do much, that more they may.

No cruel guard of diligent cares, that keep Crown'd woes awake, as things too wise for sleep : But reverend discipline, religious fear,

And soft obedience, find sweet biding here;

Silence and sacred rest, peace and pure joys

Kind loves keep house, lie close, and make no noise:

And room enough for monarchs, while none swells Beyond the limits of contentful cells.

The self-remembering soul sweetly recovers

Her kindred with the stars: not basely hovers
Below-but meditates th' immortal way

Home to the source of light and intellectual day.

CRASHAW.

NOX NOCTI INDICAT SCIENTIAM.

HEN I survey the bright

Celestial sphere,

So rich with jewels hung, that night
Doth like an Ethiop bride appear;

My soul her wings doth spread,
And heavenward flies,

The Almighty's mysteries to read,

In the large volumes of the skies.

For the bright firmament
Shoots forth no flame,

So silent, but is eloquent

In speaking the Creator's name.

No unregarded star

Contracts its light

Into so small a character,

Removed far from our human sight,

But, if we steadfast look,

We shall discern

In it, as in some holy book,

How man may heavenly knowledge learn.

It tells the conqueror,

That far-stretch'd power,

Which his proud dangers grapple for,

Is but the triumph of an hour.

That from the farthest North

Some nation may,

Yet undiscover'd, issue forth,

And o'er his new-got conquest sway.

Some nation yet shut in

With hills of ice,

May be let out to scourge his sin,

Till it shall equal him in vice.

H

And then it likewise shall
Its ruin have;

For, as yourselves, your empires fall,
And every kingdom hath a grave.

Thus those celestial fires,

Though seeming mute,

The fallacy of our desires,

And all the pride of life, confute.

For they have watch'd, since first
The world had birth,

And found sin in itself accurst,

And nothing permanent on earth.

HABINGTON.

ON A HERMITAGE.

O the cold, humble hermitage,

(Not tenanted but by discolour'd age, Or youth enfeebled by long prayer,

And tame with fasts,) the Almighty doth repair

But from the lofty gilded roof,

Stain'd with some pagan fiction, keeps aloof;

Nor the gay landlord deigns to know,

Whose buildings are like monsters kept for show.

O rather may I patient dwell

In th' injuries of an ill-cover'd cell,

'Gainst whose too weak defence the hail,

The angry winds, and frequent showers prevail;
Where the swift measures of the day
Shall be distinguish'd only as I pray,
And some star's solitary light

Be the sole taper to the tedious night.
The neighbouring fountain, not accursed,
Like wine, with madness, shall allay my thirst,
And the wild fruits of nature give

Diet enough to make me feel I live.
You wantons! who impoverish seas,

And air dispeople, your proud taste to please,
A greedy tyrant ye obey,

Who varies still his tribute with the day:

While who, forgetting rest and fare,

Watcheth the fall and rising of each star,

Ponders how bright the orbs do move,

And thence how much more bright the heavens above:

Where, on the heads of Cherubins,

The Almighty sits, disdaining our bold sins,
Who, while on th' earth we grovelling lie,
Dare, in our pride of building, tempt the sky.

HABINGTON.