« AnteriorContinuar »
II. DRINKING. The thirsty earth soaks up the rain, And drinks, and gapes for drink again, The plants suck-in the earth, and are With constant drinking fresh and fair ; The sea itself (which one would think Should have but little need of drink) Drinks twice ten thousand rivers up, So fill'd that they o'erflow the cnp. The busy Sun (and one would guess By 's drunken fiery face no less) Drinks up the sea, and, when he 'as done, The Moon and stars drink up the Sun: They drink and dance by their own light; They drink and revel all the night. Nothing in nature 's sober found, But an eternal health goas round. Fill up the bowl then, fill it high, Fill all the glasses there ; for why Should every creature drink but I ; Why, man of morals, tell me why?
| The living and the killing arrow
Ran through the skin, the flesh, the blood,
V. AGE. Oft am I by the women told, Poor Anacreon! thou grow'st old: Look how thy hairs are falling all ; Poor Anacreon, how they fall! Whether I grow old or no, By th' effects I do not know ; This, I know, without being told, 'Tis time to live, if I grow old; "Tis time short pleasures now to take, Of little life the best to make, And manage wisely the last stake.
Liberal Nature did dispense
Arm’d, when they themselves undress, . Cap-a-pie with nakedness ?
VI. THE ACCOUNT, When all the stars are by thee told (The endless sums of heavenly gold); Or when the hairs are reckon'd all, From sickly Autumn's head that fall; Or when the drops that make the sea, Whilst all her sands thy counters be ; Thou then, and thou alone, mays't prove . Th'arithmetician of my love. An hundred loves at Athens score, At Corinth write an hundred more: . Fair Corinth does such beauties bear, So few is an escaping there. Write then at Chios seventy-three ; Write then at Lesbos (let me see) Write me at Lesbos ninety down, Full ninety loves, and half a one. And, next to these, let me present The fair Ionian regiment ; And next the Carian company; Five hundred both effectively. Three hundred more at Rhodes and Crete ; Three hundred 'tis, I'm sure, complete; For arms at Crete each face does bear, And every eye's an archer there. Go on: this stop why dost thou make? Thou think'st, perhaps that I mistake. Seems this to thee too great a sum? Why many thousands are to come ;. The mighty Xerxes could not boast Such different nations in his host. On; for my love, if thou be'st weary, Must find some better secretary. I have not yet my Persian told, Nor yet my Syrian loves enrolld, Nor Indian, nor Arabian; Nor Cyprian loves, nor African ; Nor Scythian nor Italian flames; There's a whole map behind of names Of gentle loves i' th' temperate zone, And cold ones in the frigid one, Cold frozen loves, with which I pine, And parched loves beneath the line,
IV. THE DUEL.
Yes, I will love then, I will love ;
X. THE GRASSHOPPER. A MIGHTY pain to love it is,
Happy Insect! what can be And 'tis a pain that pain to miss ;
In happiness compar'd to thee? But, of all pains, the greatest pain
Fed with nourishment divine, It is to love, but love in vain.
The dewy Morning's gentle wine ! Virtue now, nor noble blood,
Nature waits upon thee still, Nor wit by love is understood;
And thy verdant cup does fill; Gold alone does passion move,
'Tis fill'd wherever thou dost tread, Gold monopolizes love ;
Nature's self's thy Ganymede. A curse on her, and on the man
Thou dost drink, and dance, and sing; Who this traffic first began !
Happier than the bappiest king! A curse on him who found the ore !
All the fields which thou dost see, A curse on him who digg'd the store !
All the plants, belong to thee; A curse on him who did refine it !
All that summer-hours produce, A curse on him who first did coin it!
Fertile made with early juice. A curse, all curses else above,
Man for thee does sow and plow; On him who us'd it first in love!
Farmer he, and landlord thou! Gold begets in brethren hate;
Thou dust innocently joy; Gold in fainilies debate;
Nor does thy luxury destroy ; Gold does friendships seperate;
The shepherd gladly heareth thee, Gold does civil wars create.
More harinonious than he. These the smallest harms of it!
Thee country binds with gladness hear,
Prophet of the ripen'd ycar!
Phæbus is himself thy sire,
To thee, of all things upon Earth.
Life is no longer than thy mirth, Fill the bowl with rosy wine!
Happy insect, happy thou! Around our temples roses twine!
Dost neither age nor winter know; And let us cheerfully awhile,
But, when thou'st drunk, and danc'd, and sung Like the wine and roses, smile.
Thy fill, the flowery leaves ąinong Crown'd with roses, we contemn
(Voluptuous, and wise withal, Gyges' wealthy diadem.
Epicurean animal!) To day is ours, what do we fear?
Sated with thy summer feast,
Thou retir'st to endless rest.
XI. THE SWALLOW.
Foolish Prater, what dost thou
With thy tuneless serenade?
Well 't had been had Tereus maile
Thee as dumb as Philomel; UNDERNEATH this myrtle shade,
There his knife had done but well. On flowery beds supinely laid,
In thy undiscovered nest With odorous oils my head o'er-flowing,
Thou dost all the winter rest, And around it roses growing,
And dreamest o'er thy summer joys, What should I do but drink away
Free from the stormy seasons' noise : The heat and troubles of the day
Free from th’ill thou'st done to me; In this more than kingly state
Who disturbs or seeks-out thee? Love himself shall on me wait.
Hadst thou all the charming notes. Fill to me, Love, nay fill it up;
Of the wood's poetic throats, And mingled cast into the cup
All thy art could never pay Wit, and mirth, and noble fires,
What thou hast ta'en from me away. Vigorous health and gay desires.
Cruel bird ! thou'st ta'en away The wheel of life no less will stay
A dream out of my arms to-day ; In a smooth than rugged way:
A dream, that ne'er must equall'd be Since it equally doth flee,
By all that waking eyes may see. Let the motion pleasant be.
Thou, this damage to repair, Why do we precious ointments sbow'r ?
Nothing half so sweet or fair, Nobler wines why do we pour?
Nothing half so good, canst bring, Beauteous flowers why do we spread,
Though men say thou bring'st the Spring Upon the monuments of the dead? Nothing they but dust can show, Or bones that hasten to be so.
ELEGY UPON ANACREON. Crown me with roses whilst I live,
WHO WAS CHOAKED BY A GRAPE-STONE, Now your wines and ointments give;
SPOKEN BY THE GOD OF LOVE,
How shall I lament thine end,
My best servant and my friend?
Nay, and, if from a deity
Some do but their youth allow me,
Had I the power of creation, As I have of generation, Where I the matter must obey, And cannot work plate out of clay, My creatures should be all like thee, 'Tis thou shouldst their idea be: They, like thee, should thoroughly hate Business, honour, title, state; Other wealth they should not know, But what my liying mines bestow; The pomp of kings, they should confess, At their crownings, to be less Than a lover's humblest guise, When at his mistress' feet he lies. Rumour they no more should mind Than men safe landed do the wind; Wisdom itself they should not hear, When it presumes to be seyere; Beauty alone they should admire, Nor look at Fortune's vain attire,
| Nor ask what parents it can shew ;
Till my Anacreon by thee fell,
It grieves me when I see what fate
How the eternal Father did bestow
His own eternal Son as ransom for his foe. TAKEN OUT OF A GREEK ODE, WRITTEN BY MR. I'll sing aloud, that all the world may hear
The triumph of the buried Conqueror.
How Hell was by its prisoner captive led, Eyooch, my Muse! of earthly things,
And the great slayer, Death, slain by the dead. And inspirations but of wind;
Methinks, I hear of murdered men the voice, Take up thy lute, and to it bind
Mixt with the murderers' confused noise, Loud and everlasting strings;
Sound from the top of Calvary ; And on themn play, and to them sing,
My greedy eyes fly up the hill, and see The happy mournful stories,
Who 'tis hangs there the midmost of the three ; The lamentable glories,
Oh, how unlike the others he! Of the great crucified King.
Look, how he bends his gentle head with blessings Mountainous heap of wonders! which dost rise
from the tree! Till Earth thou joinest with the skies!
His gracious hands, ne'er stretch'd but to do good, Too large at bottom, and at top too high,
Are nail'd to the infamous wood ! To be half seen by mortal eye!
And sinful man does fondly bind How shall I grasp this boundless thing? | The arms, which he extends t'embrace all humanWhat shall I play; what shall I sing?'"
kind, I'll sing the mighty riddle of mysterious love, | Unhappy man! canst thou stand by and see Which neither wretched men below, nor blessed
All this as patient as he? spirits above,
Since he thy sins does bear, With all their comments can explain;
Make thou his sufferings thine own, How all the whole world's life to die did not dis
And weep, and sigh, and groan, dain!
And beat thy breast, and tear
Thy garments and thy hair,
And let thy grief, and let thy love, The depths unfathom'd yet
Through all thy bleeding bowels move. By reason's plummet and the line of wit; Dost thou not see thy prince in purple clad all o'er, Too light the plummet, and too short the line! Not purple brought from the Sidonian shore,
But made at home with richer gore? 'These verses were not included among those Dost thou not see the roses which adorn which Mr. Cowley himself styled Miscellanies; ! The thomy garland by him worn ? but were classed by Bishop Sprat under the title Dost thou not see the livid traces by which they are here distinguished. N.
Of the sharp scourges' rude embraces ?
If yet thou feelest not the smart
Where'er I see an excellence,
I must admire to see thy well knit sense, • If that be yet not crucified;
Thy numbers gentle, and thy fancies high; Look on his hands, look on his feet, look on his side! Those as thy forehead smooth, these sparkling as Open, oh ! open wide the fountains of thine eyes,
'Tis solid, and 'tis manly all,
Or rather 'tis angelical;
For, as in angels, we 'Twould all, alas ! too little be,
Do in thy verses see Though thy salt tears come from a sea.
Both improv'd sexes eminently meet; Canst thou deny him this, when he
They are than man more strong, and more than woHas open'd all his vital springs for thee ?
man sweet. Take heed; for by his side's mysterious food
They talk of Nine, I know not who,
Female chimeras, that o'er poets reign;
But have invok'd them oft, I'm sure, in vain:
They talk of Sapphd; but, alas ! the shame!
Ill-manners soil the lustre of her fame;
That, like a lantern's fair enclosed light,
It through the paper shines where she does write.
Honour and friendship, and the generous scorn We allow'd you beauty, and we did submit
Of things for which we were not born
(Things that can only by a fond disease, Ah ! cruel sex, will you depose us too in wit?
Like that of girls, our vicious stomachs please) . Orinda does in that too reign;
Are the instructive subjects of her pen; Does man behind her in proud triumph draw,
And, as the Roman victory
Taught our rude land arts and civility,
At once she overcomes, enslaves, and betters, men.
But Rome with all her arts could ne'er inspire In Beauty's campit was not known ;
A female breast with such a fire : Too many arms besides that conqueror bore:
The warlike Amazonian train, 'Twas the great cannon we brought down
Who in Elysium now do peaceful reign, T assault a stubborn town;
And Wit's mild enipire before arms prefer, Orinda first did a bold sally make,
Hope 'twill be settled in their sex by her. Our strongest quarter take,
Merlin, the seer, (and sure he would not lye, And so successful prov'd, that she
In such a sacred company) Turn'd upon Love himself his own artillery.
Does prophecies of learn'd Orinda show,
Which he had darkly spoke so long ago;
Ev'n Boadicia's angry ghost
Forgets her own misfortune and disgrace,
And to her injur'd daughters now does boast, If in it sometime they conceiv'd,
That Rome's o'ercome at last, by a woman of her Th’abortive issue never liv'd.
UPON OCCASION OF A COPY OF VERSES OF MY LORD
BROGHILL'S. And 'tis a strange increase that it does yield.
Be gone (said I) ingrateful Muse! and see As, when the happy gods above
What others thou canst food, as well as me. Meet altogether at a feast,
Since I grew man, and wiser ought to be, A secret joy unspeakable does move
My business and my hopes I left for thee: In their great mother Cybele's contented breast : With no less pleasure thou, methinks, should see,
For thee (which was more hardly given away) This, thy no less immortal progeny ;
I left, even when a boy, my play.
But say, ingrateful mistress! say, And in their birth thou no one touch dost find,
What for all this, what didst thou ever pay? Of th' ancient curse to woman-kind :
Thou 'lt say, perhaps, that riches are
Not of the growth of lands where thou do st trade,
And I as well my country might upbraid
Because I have no vineyard there.
Well : but in love thou dost pretend to reign; In the unexhausted and unfathom'd womb,
There thine the power and lordship is; (That, like the Holland countess, thou may'st bear
| Thou bad’st me write, and write, and write againg A child for every day of all the fertile year.
'Twas such a way as could not miss. Thou dost my wonder, wouldst my envy, raise, 1, like a fool, did thee obey: If to be prais'd I lov'd more than to praise : I wrote, and wrote, but still I wrote in rain; '
For, after all my expense of wit and pain, * Mrs. Catharine Phillips,
A rich, unwriting hand, carried the prize away.