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Orinda, on the female coasts of Fame,

And skill in painting, dost bestow, Engrosses all the gooils of a poetic name; | Upon thy ancient arins, the gaudy heavenly She does no partner with her see;

bow. Does all the business there alone, which we

Swift as light thoughts their empty career run, Are forc'd to carry on by a whole company.

Thy race is finish'd when begun; But wit's like a luxuriant vine ;

Let a post-angel start with thee, Unless to virtue's prop it join,

| And thou the goal of Earth shalt reach as soon as Firm and erect towards Heaven bound; Though it with beauteous leaves and pleasant Thou in the Moon's bright chariot, proud and gay, fruit be crown'd,

Dost thy bright wood of stars survey; It lies, deform'd and rotting, on the ground.

And all the year dost with thee bring Now shame and blushes on us all,

Of thousand flowery lights thine own nocturnal Who our own sex superior call !

spring. Orinda does our boasting sex out-do, Not in wit only, but in virtue too:

Thou, Scythian-like, dost round thy lands above She does above our best examples rise,

The Sun's gil: tents for ever move, In hate of vice and scorn of vanities.

And still, as thou in pomp dost go, Never did spirit of the manly make,

The shining pageants of the world attend thy And dip'd all o'er in Learning's sacred lake,

show. A temper more invulnerable take.

Nor amidst all these triumphs dost thou scom No violent passion could an entrance find

The humble glow-worms to adorn, Into the tender goodness of her mind :

And with those living spangles gild Tbrough walls of stone those furious bullets may (O greatness without pride !) the bushes of the Force their impetuous way;

field. When her soft breast they hit, powerless and dead they lay!

Night, and her ugly subjects, thou dlost fright,

And Sleep, the lazy owl of night; The Fame of Friendship, which so long had told

Asham’d, and fearful to appear, Of three or four illustrious names of old,

They screen their horrid shapes with the black Till hoarse and weary with the tale she grew,

hemisphere. Rejoices now t' have got a new, A new and more surprizing story,

With them there hastes, and wildly takes th' Of fair Lucasia's and Orinda's glory.

alarm, As when a prudent man does once perceive

Of painted dreams a busy swarm : That in some foreign country he must live,

At the first opening of thine eye The language and the manners he does strive

The various clusters break, the antic atoms ily. To understand and practise here,

The guilty serpents, and obscener beasts, That he may come no stranger there :

Creep, conscious, to their secret rests : So well Orinda did herself prepare,

Nature to thee does reverence pay, In this much different clime, for her remove | Ill omens and ill sights removes out of thy way. To the glad world of Poetry and Love.

At thy appearance, Grief itself is said

To shake his wings, and rouse his head :

And cloudy Care has often took

A gentle beamy smile, reflected from thy look. HYMN TO LIGHT.

At thy appearance, Fear itself grows bold; First-born of Chaos, who so fair didst come

Thy sun-shine melts away his cold. From the old Negro's darksome womb!

Encourag'd at the sight of thee, Which, when it saw the lovely child, To the check colour comes, and firmness to the The melancholy mass put on kind looks and

knee. smil'di

Ev'n Lust, the master of a harden'd face,
Thou tide of glory, which no rest dost know,

Blushes, if thou best in the place,
But ever ebb and ever flow !

To Darkness' curtains he retires;
Thou golden shower of a true Jove!

In sympathizing night he rolls his smoky fires. Who does in thee descend, and Heaven to Earth | When, goddess ! thou lift'st up thy waken'd make love!

head, Hail, active Nature's watchful life and health! Out of the morning's purple bed, Her jov, her ornament, and wealth!

Thy quire of birds about thee play Hail to thy husband, Heat, anl thee! And all the joyful world salutes the risiig day. Thou the world's beauteous briae, the lusty The ghosts, and monster-spirits, that did presume bridegroom bo!

A body's privilege to assume,
Say from what goldeu quivers of the sky

Vanish again invisibly,
Do all thy winged arrows fly?

| And bodies gain again their visibility.
Swiftness and Power by birth are thine : , All the world's bravery, that delights our eyes,
From thy grvat sire they came, thy sire, the Is but thiy several liveries ;
Word Divine,

Thou the rich dye on them bestow'st, "Tis, I believe, this archery to show,

Thy nimble pencil paints this landscape as thou That so much cost in colours thou,


A crimson garment in the rose thou wear'st; i Instead of carrying him to see
A crown of studded gold thou bear'st;

The riches which do hoarded for him lic
The virgin-lilies, in their white,

In Nature's endless treasury, Are clad but with the lawn of almost naked light. They chose his eye to entertain

(His curious but not covetous eye) The violet, Spring's little infant, stands

With painted scenes and pageants of the brain. Girt in thy purple swaddling-bands

Some few exalted spirits this latter age has On the fair tulip thou dost doat ;

shown, Thou cloth’st it in a gay and party-colour'd coat.

That labour'd to assert the liberty With flame condens'd thou do'st thy jewels fix, (From guardians who were now usurpers grown). And solid colours in it mix:

Of this old minor still, captiv'd Philosophy ; Flora herself envies to see

But 'twas rebellion call'd, to fight Flowers fairer than her own, and durable as she. For such a long-oppressed right.

| Bacon at last, a mighty man, arose, Ah, goddess ! would thou could'st thy hand with

(Whom a wise king, and Nature, chose, hold,

Lord chancellor of both their laws) And be less liberal to gold !

And boldly undertook the injur'd pupil's cause. Didst thou less value to it give, Of how much care, alas ! might'st thou poor man

Authority-which did a body boast, relieve !

Though 'twas but air condens'd, and stalk'd

about, To me the Sun is more delightful far,

Like some old giant's more gigantic ghost, And all fair days much fairer are.

To terrify the learned rout But few, ah! wondrous few, there be,

With the plain magic of true Reason's lightWho do not gold prefer, O goddess ! ev'n to thee.

He chas'd out of our sight; Through the soft ways of Heaven, and air,and sea, Nor suffer'd living men to be misled Which open all their pores to thee,

By the vain shadows of the dead : Like a clear river thou dost glide,

To graves, from whence it rose, the conquer'd And with thy living stream through the close

phantom fled. channels slide.

He broke that monstrous god which stood But, where firm bodies thy free course oppose,

lo midst of th' orchard, and the whole did claim; Gently thy source the land o'erflows;

Which with a useless scythe of wood, Takes there possession, and does make,

And something else pot worth a name, Of colours mingled light, a thick and standing

(Both vast for show, yet neither fit

Or to defend, or to beget; lake.

Ridiculous and senseless terrours !) made But the vast occan of unbounded day,

Children and superstitious men afraid.
In th' empyræan Heaven does stay.

The orchard's open now, and free, ;
Thy rivers, lakes, and springs, below, Bacon has broke the scare-crow deity :
From thence took first their rise, thither at last Come, enter, all that will,
must flow,

Behold the ripen'd fruit, come gather now your


Yet still, methinks, we fain would be

Catching at the forbidden tree
Puilosophy, the great and only heir

We would be like the DeityOf all that human knowledge which has been When truth and falsehood, good and evil, we, Unforfeited by nan's rebellious sin,

Without the senses' aid, within ourselves would Though full of years he do appear,

see; (Philosophy, I say, and call it he,

For 'lis God only who can find For, whatsoe'er the painter's fancy be,

All Nature in his mind. It a male-virtue seems to me)

From words, which are but pictures of the Has still been kept in nonage till of late,

thought, Nor manag'd or enjoy'd his vast estate.

(Though we our thoughts from them perverse y Three or four thousand years, one would have

drew) , thought,

To things, the mind's right object, he it brought: To ripeness and perfection might have brought

Like foolish birds, to painted grapes we flew; A science so well bred and nurst,

He sought and gather'd for our use the true; And of such hopeful parts too at the first:

And, when on heaps the chosen bunches lay, But, oh! the guardians and the tutors, then

He prest them wisely the mechanic way, (Some negligent and some ambitious men)

Till all their juice did in one vessel join, Would ne'er consent to set him free,

Ferment into a nourishment divine, Or his own natural powers to let him see,

The thirsty soul's refreshing wine.
Lest that should put an end to their authority.

Who to the life an exact piece would make,
That his own business he might quite forget, Must not from others' work a copy take;
They' amus'd him with the sports of wanton wit; No, not from Rubens or Vandyke;
With the deserts of poetry they fed him,

Much less content himself to make it like
Instead of solid meats t' increase his force; . Th' ideas and the images which lie
Instead of vigorous exercise, they led him

In his own fancy or his memory.
Into the pleasant labyrinths of ever-fresh dis No, he before his sight must place

The natural and living face;

The real object must command

Those smallest things of Nature let me know, Each judgment of his eye and motion of his hend. Rather than all their greatest actions do ! From these and all long errours of the way

Whoever would deposed Truth advance In which our wandering predecessors went,

Into the throne usurp'd froin it, And, like th'old Hebrews, many years did stray

Must feel at first the blows of Ignorance, In deserts, but of small extent,

And the sharp points of envious Wit. Bacon, like Moses, led us forth at last :

So, when, by various turns of the celestial dance, The barren wilderness he past;

In many thousand years Did on the very border stand

A star, so long unknown, appears, Of the blest Promis'd land ;

Though Heaven itself more beauteous by it grow, And from the mountain's top of his exalted wit,

It troubles and alarms the world below, Saw it himself, and show'd us it.

Does to the wise a star, to fools a meteor, show. But life did never to one man allow

With courage and success you the bold work Time to discover worlds, and conquer too;

begin ; Nor can so short a line sufficient be

Your cradle has not idle been : To fathom the vast depths of Nature's sea. None e'er, but Hercules and you, would be The work he did we ought t'admire;

At five years age worthy a history : And were unjust if we should more require

And ne'er did Fortune better yet From his few years, divided 'twixt th' excess

Th' historian to the story fit: Of low affliction and high happiness :

As you from all old errours free
For who on things remote can fix his sight, And purge the body of Philosophy ;
That's always in a triumph or a fight?

So from all modern follies he
From you, great champions! we expect to get Has vindicated Eloquence and Wit.
These spacious countries, but discover'd yet;

His candid style like a clean stream does slide, Countries, where yet, instead of Nature, we

And his bright fancy, all the way, Her images and idols worship'd see :

Does like the sun-shine in it play ; These large and wealthy regions to subdue,

It does, like Thames, the best of rivers ! glide, Though Learning has whole armies at command,

Where the god does not rudely overturn, Quarter'd about in every land,

But gently pour, the crystal urn, A better troop she ne'er together drew :

And with judicious hand does the whole current Methinks, like Gideon's little band,

guide: God with design has pick'd out you,

'T has all the beauties Nature can impart, To do those noble wonders by a few :

And all the comely dress, without the paint, of When the whole host he saw, “They are" (said

Art. he) "Too many to o'ercome for me :" And now he chooses out his men,

UPON Much in the way that he did then ;

THE CHAIR MADE OUT OF SIR Not those many whom he found Idly extended on the ground,

FRANCIS DRAKE'S SHIP, To drink with their dejected head


No; but those few who took the waters up, And made of their laborious hands the cup.

To this great ship, which round the globe has Thus you prepar'd, and in the glorious fight

And match'd in race the chariot of the Sun, Their wondrous pattern too you take;

This Pythagorean ship (for it may claim Their old and empty pitchers first they brake,

Without presumption so deserv'd a name, And with their hands then lifted up the light. By knowledge once, and transformation now) lo ! sound too the trumpets here!

In her new shape, this sacred port allow. Already your victorious lights appear;

Drake and his ship could not have wish'd from New scenes of Heaven already we espy,

And crowds of golden worlds on high,

A more blest station, or more blest estate;
Which from the spacious plains of earth and sea For lo! a seat of endless rest is given
Could never yet discover'd be,

To her in Oxford, and to him in Heaven,
By sailors' or Chaldeans' watchful eye.
Nature's great works no distance can obscure,
No smallness her near objects can secure;

Y' have taught the curious sight to press
Into the privatest recess

Of her imperceptible littleness !

As, when the midland sea is no where clear Y' have learn'd to read her smallest hand, From dreadful Aeets of Tunis and ArgierAnd well begun her deepest sense to understand ! Which coast about, to all they meet with foes, Mischief and true dishonour fall on those And upon which nought can be got but blowsWho would to laughter or to scorn expose

The merchant-ships so much their passage doubt, So virtuous and so noble a design,

That, though full freighted, none dares renture So human for its use, for knowledge so divine.

out, The things which these proud men despise, and call And trade decays, and scarcity ensues : Impertinent, and vain, and small,

Just so the timorous wits of late refuse,

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Though laded, to put forth upon the stage, | All these, if we miscarry here to-day,
Aflrighted by the critics of this age.

Will rather till they rot in th' harbour stay ;
It is a party numerous, watchful, bold ;

Nay, they will back again, though they were come They can from nought, which sails in sight, with Ev'n to their last safe road, the tyring-room. hold;

Therefore again I say, if you be wise, Nor do their cheap, though mortal, thunder spare; Let this for once pass free; let it suffice They shoot, alas! with wind-guns charg'd with air. That we, your sovereign power here to avow, But yet, gentlemen-critics of Argier,

Thus humbly, ere we pass, strike sail to you. For your own interest I'd advise ye here,

To let this little forlorn-hope go by
Safe and untouch'd. “ That must not be" (you'll | Stay, gentlemen : what I have said was all

But forc'd submission, which I now recall.
If ye be wise, it must; I'll tell you why.

Ye're all but pirates now again ; for here There are seven, eight, nine-stay-there are Does the true sovereign of the seas appear, behind

The sovereign of these narrow seas of wit ; Ten plays at least, which wait but for a wind, 'Tis his own Thames; he knows and governs it And the glad news that we the enemy miss; 'Tis his dominion and domain: as he And those are all your own, if you spare this. Pleases, 'tis either shut to us, or free. Some are but new trimm'd up, others quite new ; Not only, if his passport we obtain, Some by known shipwrights built, and others too | We fear no little rovers of the main ; By that great author made, whoe'er he be, But, if our Neptune his calm visage show, That styles himself“ Person of Quality." | No wave shall dare to rise or wind to blow.

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Th'excess of heat is but a fable;

We know the torrid zone is now found habitable. l'are often wish'd to love ; what shall I do?

Among the woods and forests thou art found, Me still the cruel boy does spare;

There boars and lions thou dost tame; And I a double task must bear,

Is not my heart a nobler game? First to woo him, and then a mistress too.

Let Venus, men; and beasts, Diana, round! Come at last and strike, for shame,

Thon dost the birds thy sub'ects make; If thou art any thing besides a name;

Thy nimble feathers do their wings o'ertake: I'll think thee else no god to be,

Thou all the spring their songs dost hear; But poets rather gods, who first created thee.

Make me love too, I'll siog to thee all the year ! I ask not one in whom all beauties grow; What service can mute fishes do to thee? Let me but love, whate'er she be,

Yet against them thy dart prevails, She cannot seem deforin'd to me,

Piercing the armour of their scales; And I would have her seem to others so.

And still thy sca-born mother lives i' tla' sea. Desire takes wings and straight does fly,

Dost thon deny only to me It stays not dully to inquire the why.

The no great privilege of captivity? That happy thing, a lover, grown,

I beg or challenge here thy bow; I shall not see with others' eyes, scarce with | Either thy pity to me, or else thine anger, show. mine own.

Come ! or I'll teach the world to scorn that bow: If he be coy, and scorn my noble fire;

I'll teach them thousand wholesome arts Jf her chill heart I cannot move;

Both to resist and cure thy darts, Why I'll enjoy the rery love,

More than thy skilful Ovid e'er did know. And make a mistress of my own desire.

Music of sighs thou shalt not hear, Flaines their most vigorous heat do hold, Nor drink one wretched lorer's tasteful tear: And purest light, if compass'd round with cold: Nay, unless soon thou woundest me,

So, when sharp Winter means most barm, My verses shall not only wound, but murder ihres The springing plants are by the snow itself kept warm.

THE THRALDOM. Lut do not touch my heart, and so be gone; I came, I saw, and was undone; Strike deep thy buming arrows in!

Lightning did through my bones and marrow rum, Lukewarmness I acconnta sin,

A pointed pain pierc'd deep my heart; As great in love as in religion.

A swift cold trembling seiz'd on every part; Come arm'd with flames; for I would prove My head turn’d round, nor could it bear All the extremities of unighty Love.

The poison that was enter'd there,

So a destroying-angel's breath

Fond lover! you a mistress have Blows in the plague, and with it hasty death: Of her that's but your fellow-slave. Such was the pain, did so begin,

What should those poets mean of old, To the poor wretch, when Legion enter'd in.

That made their god to woo in gold? Forgive me, God!" I cry'd; for I

Of all men, sure, they had no cause Flatter'd myself I was to die.

To bind Love to such costly laws; But quickly to my cost I found,

And yet I scarcely blame them now; 'Twas cruel Love, not Death, had made the wound; For who, alas! would not allow, Death a more generous rage does use ;

That women should such gifts receive, Quarter to all he conquers does refuse :

Could they, as he, be what they give. Whilst Love with barbarous mercy saves If thou, my dear, thyself shouldst prize, The vanquish'd lives, to make them slaves.

Alas! what value would suffice? I am thy slave then ; let me know,

The Spaniard could not do 't, though he Hard master! the great task I have to do:

Should to both Indies jointure thee. Who pride and scorn do undergo,

Thy beauties therefore wrong will take, In tempests and rough seas thy galleys row;

If thou shouldst any bargain makc; They pant, and groan, and sigh ; but find To give all, will befit thee well; Their sighs increase the angry wind.

But not at under-rates to sell. Like an Egyptian tyrant, some

Bestow thy beauty then on me, Thou weariest out in building but a tomb; Freely, as Nature gave 't to thee; Others, with sad and tedious art,

"Tis an exploded popish thought Labour i'th' quarries of a stony heart:

To think that Heaven may be bought. Of all the works thou dost assign,

Prayers, hymns, and praises, are the way, To all the several slaves of thine,

And those my thankful Muse shall pay:
Employ me, mighty Love! to dig the mine,

| Thy body, in my verse enshrin'd,
Shall grow immortal as thy mind.
I'll fix thy title next in fame

To Sacharissa's well-sung name.

So faithfully will I declare
I'Lion; for what should hinder me

What all thy wondrous beauties are, From loving and enjoying thee?

That when, at the last great assize, Thou canst not those exceptions make,

All women shall together rise, Which vulgar, sordid mortals take,

Men straight shall cast their eyes on thee,
That my fate's too mean and low;

And know at first that thou art she.
Twere pity I should love thee so,
If that dull cause could hinder me

In loving and enjoying thee.

Though you be absent here, I needs must say It does not me a whit displease,

The trees as beauteous are, and flowers as gay, That the rich all honours seize;

As ever they were wont to be ; That you all titles make your own,

Nay, the birds' rural music too Are valiant, learned, wise, alone :

Is as melodious and free, But, if you claim o'er women too

As if they sung to pleasure you : The power which over men ye do;

I saw a rose-bud ope this morn--I'll sweat If you alone must lovers be;

The blushing Morning open'd not more fair. For that, sirs, you must pardon me,

How could it be so fair, and you away? Rather thair lose what does so near

How could the trees be beauteous, flowers so gay? Concern my life and being here,

Could they remember but last year, I'll some such crooked ways invent,

How you did them, they you, delight, As you, or your forefathers, went:

The sprouting leaves which saw you here, I'll flatter or oppose the king,

And call'd their fellows to the sight, "Turn Puritan, or any thing;

Would, looking round for the same sight in vain, I'll force my mind to arts so new!

Creep back into their silent barks again. Grow rich, and love as well as you.

Where'er you walk'd, trees were as reverend But rather thus let me remain,

made, As man in Paradise did reign;

As when of old gods dwelt in every shade. When perfect love did so agree

Is 't possible they should not know, With innocence and poverty,

What loss of honour they sustain Adam did no jointure give;

That thus they smile and flourish now, Himself was jointure to his Eve:

And still their former pride retain ? Untouch'd with avarice yet, or pride,

Dull creatures ! 'tis not without cause that she, The rib came freely back this side.

Who fled the god of wit, was made a tree. A curse upon the man who taught

In ancient times, sure, they much wiser were, Women, that love was to be bought;

When they rejoic'd the Thracian verse to hear; Rather doat only on your gold,

In vain did Nature bid them stay, And that with greedy avarice hold;

When Orpheus had his song begun For, if woman too submit

They call’d their wondering roots away, To that, and sell herself for it,

And bade them silent to him run,

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