[hale, THE WATER-GODS RESTORE MARINA, ADMINISTER AN OBLIVI- Not all the ointments brought from Delos' isle, Saffron confected in Cilicia; Nor that of quinces, nor of marjoram, Nor these, nor any else, though ne'er so rare, The olive that in wainscot never cleaves; 1 See Spenser's Faery Queene, b. i., c. i., st. 8, 9. Amongst the rest the tamarisk there stood, The maple, ash, that do delight in fountains, To frame an arbor that might keep within it SIMILE OF THE BRIDAL; MAIDS STREWING RUSHES, HERBS, AND FLOWERS, IN THE PATH OF THE BETROTHED. As I have seen upon a bridal day Full many maids clad in their best array, In honor of the bride, come with their flaskets Filled full with flowers, others in wicker-baskets Bring from the marish rushes, to o'erspread The ground, whereon to church the lovers tread; Whilst that the quaintest youth of all the plain Ushers their way with many a piping strain : So, as in joy, at this fair river's birth, Triton came up a channel with his mirth, And called the neighboring nymphs, each in her To pour their pretty rivulets from their urn, To wait upon this new-delivered spring. Some running through the meadows, with them bring Cowslip and mint; and 't is another's lot To light upon some gardener's curious knot, Whence she upon her breast (love's sweet repose) Doth bring the queen of flowers, the English rose. Some from the fen bring reeds, wild-thyme from downs ; Some from a grove the bay that poets crowns ; [turn, STREAM COMPARED TO THE UNSUCCESSFUL RHYMESTER AUTHOR. -THE COURSE AND ACTION OF A STREAM. Thus while the flood which yet the rock up-pent, And suffered not with jocund merriment To tread rounds in his spring, came rushing forth, As angry that his waves, he thought, of worth Should not have liberty, nor help the prime. And as some ruder swain, composing rhyme, Spends many a gray goose-quill unto the handle, Buries within his socket many a candle, Blots paper by the quire, and dries up ink, As Xerxes' army did whole rivers drink, Hoping thereby his name his work should raise, That it should live until the last of days; Which finished, he boldly doth address Him and his works to undergo the press; When, lo, O fate! his work not seeming fit To walk in equipage with better wit, Is kept from light, there gnawn by moths and worms, The western vales of fertile Albion, That his intended passage doth up-lock; * * THE SLEEP OF INNOCENCE; NURSE; BABE; THE DEAD GIRL. But as when some kind nurse doth long time keep Her pretty babe at suck, whom fallen asleep She lays down in his cradle, stints his cry With many a sweet and pleasing lullaby; Whilst the sweet child, not troubled with the shock, As sweetly slumbers as his nurse doth rock. So laid the maid, the amazed swain sat weeping, And death in her was dispossessed by sleeping. The roaring voice of winds, the billows' raves, Nor all the muttering of the sullen waves, Could once disquiet, or her slumber stir ; But lulled her more asleep than wakened her. Such are their states whose souls from foul offence Enthroned sit in spotless innocence. NIGHT, THE NIGHTINGALE, AND THE LOVER. Now had the glorious sun ta'en up his inn, And all the lamps of heaven enlightened been, Within the gloomy shades of some thick spring, Sad Philomela 'gan on the hawthorn sing Whilst every beast at rest was lowly laidThe outrage done upon a silly maid. All things were hushed, each bird slept on his bough; And night gave rest to him day-tired at plough; Each beast, each bird, and each day-toiling wight, Received the comfort of the silent night; Free from the gripes of sorrow every one, Except poor Philomel and Doridon; She on a thorn sings sweet though sighing strains; He on a couch more soft, more sad complains ; Whose in-pent thoughts him long time having pained, He sighing wept, and weeping thus complained. A MORNING CONCERT OF BIRDS. Two nights thus passed. The lily-handed morn Saw Phoebus stealing dew from Ceres' corn. The mounting lark (day's herald) got on wing, Robin the mean, that best of all loves men ; In embassy unto the king of bees, To aid his partners on the flowers and trees: To bear the bass to his well-tuned song. I grieve not at their mirth, said Doridon; Leave further talk, quoth Remond, let's be gone, I'll help you with your sheep, the time draws on. Fida will call the hind, and come with us. Thus went they on, and Remond did discuss Their cause of meeting, till they won with pacing The circuit chosen for the maiden's tracing. SCENE OF THE DANCE DESCRIBED; THE MUSIC AND MAIDS. It was a rundle seated on a plain, That stood as sentinel unto the main, Environed round with trees and many an arbor, Wherein melodious birds did nightly harbor ; And on a bough within the quickening spring, Would be a-teaching of their young to sing; Whose pleasing notes the tired swain have made To steal a nap at noontide in the shade. Nature herself did there in triumph ride, And made that place the ground of all her pride. Whose various flowers deceived the rasher eye, In taking them for curious tapestry. A silver spring forth of a rock did fall, That in a drought did serve to water all. Upon the edges of a grassy bank, A tuft of trees grew circling in a rank, (0, who would not at such a meeting be?) THE DANCING DESCRIBED. As when some gale of wind doth nimbly take A fair, white lock of wool, and with it make Some pretty driving; here it sweeps the plain, There stays, here hops, there mounts, and turns Yet all so quick, that none so soon can say [again; That now it stops, or leaps, or turns away: So was their dancing, none looked thereupon, But thought their several motions to be one. A crooked measure was their first election, Because all crooked tends to best perfection. And as I ween this often bowing measure Was chiefly framed for the women's pleasure, Though, like the rib, they crooked are and bending, Yet to the best of forms they aim their ending: Next in an (I) their measure made a rest, Showing when love is plainest it is best. Then in a (Y) which thus doth love commend, Making of two at first, one in the end. And lastly closing in a round do enter, Placing the lusty shepherds in the centre : About the swains they dancing seemed to roll, As other planets round the heavenly pole. Who, by their sweet aspect or chiding frown, Could raise a shepherd up or cast him down. THE SHEPHERD'S DANCING SONG. Thus were they circled till a swain came near, And sent this song unto each shepherd's ear: The note and voice so sweet, that for such mirth The gods would leave the heavens and dwell on earth: Happy are you so enclosed, May the maids be still disposéd, In their gestures and their dances, Yes, heaven means to take these thither, Gentle nymphs, be not refusing, They and beauty are but lent you ; Beauty gone you will repent you. "T will be said, when ye have provéd, Never swains more truly loved; O, then fly all nice behavior. Pity fain would, as her duty, Be attending still on beauty, Let her not be out of favor. Disdain is now so much rewarded, That pity weeps since she is unregarded. THE LOVE POSIES' PRESENTED. The measure and the song here being ended, The second, his pipe, with these : Bid me to sing, fair maid, my song shall prove, The third, a pair of gloves, thus : These will keep your hands from burning, To shield my heart from your fair eyes? And for love give love again : The fifth, a ring, with a picture in a jewel on it: Nature hath framed a gem beyond compare, The world's the ring, but you the jewel are. The sixth, a nosegay of roses, with a nettle in it: Such is the poesie love composes, A stinging-nettle mixed with roses. The seventh, a girdle: This during light I give to clip your waist; THE DANCE DISTURBED BY AN ALARM. Whilst every one was offering at the shrine Of such rare beauties might be styled divine, This lamentable voice towards them flies: 'O Heaven, send aid, or else a maiden dies!' Herewith some ran the way the voice them led; Some with the maidens stayed, who shook for dread; What was the cause time serves not now to tell. Hark! for my jolly wether rings his bell, And almost all our flocks have left to graze ; Shepherds, 't is almost night, hie home apace; When next we meet, as we shall meet ere long, I'll tell the rest in some ensuing song. - Rural Odes for June. WARTON'S "HAMLET." WRITTEN IN WHICHWOOD FOREST. THE hinds how blest, who, ne'er beguiled To quit their hamlet's hawthorn wild, Nor haunt the crowd, nor tempt the main, For splendid care, and guilty gain! When morning's twilight-tinctured beam Strikes their low thatch with slanting gleam, They rove abroad in ether blue, To dip the scythe in fragrant dew, 'Midst gloomy glades, in warbles clear, In their lone haunts and woodland rounds, For them the moon, with cloudless ray, The meadows incense breathe at eve. That o'er a glimmering hearth they share: The little sons, who spread the bloom Or drive afield the tardy kine; Or hasten from the sultry hill, To loiter at the shady rill; Or climb the tall pine's gloomy crest, Their humble porch with honeyed flowers Nor fell disease, before his time, BRYANT'S "SONG OF WOOING." Dost thou idly ask to hear At what gentle seasons Nymphs relent, when lovers near Press the tenderest reasons? Ah, they give their faith too oft To the careless wooer ; Maidens' hearts are always soft, Would that men's were truer ! Woo the fair one, when around Early herbs are springing: When the brookside, bank, and grove, All with blossoms laden, Shine with beauty, breathe of love, Woo the timid maiden. Woo her, when, with rosy blush, When, on rills that softly gush, When, through boughs that knit the bower, Woo her, when autumnal dyes Tinge the woody mountain; When the drooping foliage lies In the half-choked fountain; Warn her, ere her bloom is past, Woo her, when the north winds call When, within the cheerful hall, While the wintry tempest round DAWES'S "SPIRIT OF BEAUTY." THE Spirit of Beauty unfurls her light, By the blossoms that cluster and whiten there; At morn, I know where she rested at night, At noon, she hies to a cool retreat, She dimples the wave, where the green leaves dip, At eve, she hangs o'er the western sky She hovers around us at twilight hour, MOTHERWELL'S "SUMMER MONTHS." THEY come! the merry Summer months They come the gladsome months that bring Up, up, my heart! and walk abroad, Fling work and care aside; Seek silent hills, or rest thyself Where peaceful waters glide; Or underneath the shadow vast Of patriarchal trees, See through its leaves the cloudless sky The grass is soft; its velvet touch It stirs their blood with kindest love, To bless and welcome thee. And mark how with thine own thin locks, And whispering, 'Be gay!' There is no cloud that sails along But hath its own winged mariners Thou see'st their glittering fans outspread, Their merry course they hold. Cap make a scoff of its mean joys, But, soft! mine ear upcaught a sound- That, apart from all his kind, Good Lord! it is a gracious boon For thought-crazed wight like me, To suck once more, in every breath, And feed my fancy with fond dreams The reckless truant boy Wandered through green woods all day long, A mighty heart of joy! I'm sadder now — I have had cause; But, O! I'm proud to think That each pure joy-fount loved of yore I yet delight to drink; Leaf, blossom, blade, hill, valley, stream, Still mingle music with my dream, When Summer's loveliness and light |