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From the Sun-rise; a Poem.
THOU youthful goddess of the morn,
Too much of time the night devours,
With what enamel thou dost paint the skies.
Ah, now I see the sweetest dawn!
Dull silence, and the drowsy king
But all those little birds, whose notes
Praising, to which thou art but harbinger.
With holy reverence inspir'd,
The humble shepherd, to his rays
A kiss commended to the rose,
Whispers some amorous story in her ear.*
* The remainder of this poem would now be thought forced and unnatural.
SIR ROBERT HOWARD.
To the inconstant Cynthia.
IN thy fair breast, and once fair soul,
When you had thrown the bond away?
Nor must we only part in joy,
Our tears as well must be unkind; Weep you, that could such truth destroy, And I that did such falseness find. Thus we must unconcern'd remain
In our divided joys and pain.
Yet we may love, but on this different score, You what I am, I what you were before.
NO, Cynthia, never think I can
Love a divided heart and mind;
None but the duller Persians kneel,
Though I resolve to love no more,
To your much injured peace and name,
She that to age her charms resigns,
Though virtue much the change inclines, "Tis sullied by necessity.
On Clarastella saying she would commit herself to a Nunnery.
STAY, Clarastella, prithee stay!
Recal those frantic vows again! Wilt thou thus cast thyself away,
As well as me, in fond disdain ?
Wilt thou be cruel to thyself? chastise
Thy harmless body, 'cause thy powerful eyes
If but the cause you could remove
When Heaven was prodigal to you,
Why should the gold then fear to see that sun
Thyself a holy temple art,
Where love shall teach us both to pray; I'll make an altar of my heart,
And incense on thy lips I'll lay.
Thy mouth shall be my oracle, and then
For beads we'll tell our kisses o'er again,
Till they, breath'd from our souls, shall cry, amen.