These hillocks Phœbus loves, Ceres these plains,
These shades the Sylvans; and here Pales strains
Milk in the pails; the maids which haunt the springs
Dance on these pastures; here Amyntas sings:
Hesperian gardens, Tempe's shades, are here,

Or what the Eastern Inde and West hold dear. Come then, dear youth! the wood-nymphs twine thee boughs

With rose and lily to impale thy brows.

Thus ignorant I mus'd, not conscious yet

Of what by Death was done, and ruthless Fate:
Amidst these trances Fame thy loss doth sound,
And through my ears gives to my heart a wound.
With stretch'd-out arms I sought thee to embrace,
But clasp'd, amaz'd, a coffin in thy place;

A coffin of our joys which had the trust,

Which told that thou wert come, but chang'd to dust!
Scarce, ev'n when felt, could I believe this wrack,
Nor that thy time and glory Heavens would break.
Now, since I cannot see my Alcon's face,

And find nor vows nor prayers to have place
With guilty stars, this mountain shall hecome
To me a sacred altar, and a tomb

To famous Alcon. Here, as days, months, years
Do circling glide, I sacrifice will tears;

Here spend my remnant time, exil'd from mirth,
Till Death at last turn monarch of my earth.

Shepherds on Forth, and you by Doven rocks,
Which use to sing and sport, and keep your flocks,

Pay tribute here of tears; ye never had

To aggravate your moans a cause more sad ;
And to their sorrows hither bring your mands,
Charg'd with sweetest flowers, and with pure hands,
Fair nymphs, the blushing hyacinth and rose
Spread on the place his relics doth inclose ;
Weave garlands to his memory, and put
Over his hearse a verse in cypress cut:
"Virtue did die, goodness but heaven did give,
"After the noble Alcon left to live:

"Friendship an earthquake suffer'd; losing him
"Love's brightest constellation turned dim."

FLOWERS OF SION:

OR,

SPIRITUAL POEMS.

These Poems were first published in 1630, by John Hart;

to which was 66

adjoined" The Cypress Grove.

H

FLOWERS OF SION:

OR,

SPIRITUAL POEMS.'

THE INSTABILITY OF MORTAL GLORY.

TRIUMPHANT arches, statues crown'd with bays,
Proud obelisks, tombs of the vastest frame,
Colosses, brazen Atlases of fame,

And temples builded to vain deities' praise;
States which unsatiate minds in blood do raise,
From southern pole unto the arctic team,
And even what we write to keep our name,
Like spiders' cauls, are made the sport of days:
All only constant is in constant change;
What done is, is undone, and when undone,
Into some other figure doth it range;

Thus rolls the restless world beneath the moon:
Wherefore, my mind, above time, motion, place,
Aspire, and steps, not reach'd by nature, trace.

1 Vide "Urania, or Spiritual Poems. Printed by John Hart in 1630."